Voila! Finally, the Persona
script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the Ingmar Bergman movie. This script is a transcript that was painstakingly
transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Persona. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally
tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to
drop me a line. You won't
hurt my feelings. Honest.
You wanted
to talk with me, doctor?
Have you been to see
Mrs. Vogler yet, Sister Alma?
No, not yet.
Let me explain her situation
and the reason why
you have been hired to care for her.
Mrs. Vogler is an actress,
as you know.
During her last performance
of Electra,
she fell silent
and looked around as if in surprise.
She was silent
for over a minute.
She apologized afterward,
saying she had got the urge to laugh.
The next day the theater rang,
as Mrs. Vogler
had not come to rehearsals.
The maid found her still in bed.
She was awake
but did not talk or move.
This condition has now lasted
for three months.
She has had all sorts of tests.
She's healthy
both mentally and physically.
It's not even some kind
of hysterical reaction.
Any questions, Sister Alma?
Well, then,
you can go to Mrs. Vogler now.
How do you do, Mrs. Vogler?
I am Sister Alma.
I'm here to take care of you.
Maybe I should tell you
a little about myself.
I'm years old and engaged.
I graduated from nursing school
two years ago.
My parents have a farm
in the country.
My mother was also a nurse
until she got married.
I should go get
your dinner tray.
Fried liver and fruit salad.
It looked tasty.
Another pillow?
Is that good?
Sister Alma,
what's your first impression?
I don't know
what to say, doctor.
Her face looks soft,
almost childish.
Then you see her eyes...
She has a mean look, I think.
- I don't know. I shouldn't...
- What were you going to say?
I thought I should say no
to this case.
Why?
Did something frighten you?
No, not exactly.
Perhaps Mrs. Vogler
needs an older person
with more life experience.
- I might not be able to handle her.
- Handle? In what way?
- Mentally.
- Mentally?
If Mrs. Vogler's silence
and immobility are her decision...
Well?
That shows great mental strength.
I might not be able to cope.
I thought that you might want
to see the sunset.
Shall I turn on the radio?
There is a play.
I'm sorry, my love.Oh, you have to forgive me.I want nothingbut your forgiveness.Forgive me and I can...
What are you laughing at, Mrs. Vogler?
Is the actress so funny?
What do you know about mercy?What do you know?What do you know about mercy?
Mrs. Vogler,
I don't understand those things.
I'm interested in film and theater,
but I don't go very often.
I have a tremendous
admiration for artists.
I think that art is of enormous
importance in people's lives,
especially for those
who have problems.
I shouldn't talk about these things
with you, Mrs. Vogler.
I'm skating on thin ice.
Let's see if there's some music.
Is that all right?
Good night, then, Mrs. Vogler.
Sleep well!
Damn...
It's funny.
You can go about
as you please...
...do almost anything.
I'll marry Karl-Henrik
and have a couple of children,
which I'll have to raise.
All of this is predestined.
It's inside me.
It's nothing to think about.
It's a safe feeling.
I have a job
that I like and enjoy.
That's good, too...
...but in another way.
But it's good.
Good.
I wonder
what's really wrong with her.
Elisabet Vogler.
Elisabet.
Mrs. Vogler, would you like me
to open the letter?
Shall I read it?
Shall I read it to you?
"Dearest Elisabet,
"Since I'm not allowed to see you,
I'm writing to you.
You don't have to read my letter.
You can ignore it."
"I cannot help
seeking contact with you this way.
"I'm haunted
by a constant question...
"Have I hurt you in any way?
Have I unknowingly hurt you?"
"Is there some terrible
misunderstanding between us?"
Do you really
want me to go on?
"I thought we were happy.
We have never been so close."
"Do you remember saying,
"'I'm beginning to understand
what it means to be married'?
'You have taught me..."'
I can't read it.
"'You have taught..."'
Now I see.
"'You have taught me
that we have to see each other
"'as two anxious children,
"'filled with good will
and the best intentions,
but ru..."'
Now I see.
"'... ruled by powers
that we can only partially control.'
Do you remember
saying all that?"
"We went for a walk
in the woods,
and you stopped
and grabbed the belt of my coat."
There is a photo with the letter.
A photo of your son.
I don't know if...
Do you want it, Mrs. Vogler?
He looks terribly cute.
Elisabet, I don't think
there's any point
in your staying at the hospital.
It's just hurting you to be here.
Since you don't want to go home,
I suggest you and Sister Alma
stay at my summer house
by the sea.
Don't you think I understand?
The hopeless dream of being.
Not seeming, but being.
In every waking moment
aware, alert.
The tug of war... what you are
with others and who you really are.
A feeling of vertigo
and a constant hunger
to be finally exposed.
To be seen through,
cut down...
even obliterated.
Every tone of voice a lie.
Every gesture false.
Every smile a grimace.
Commit suicide?
That's unthinkable.
You don't do things like that.
But you can refuse to move
and be silent.
Then, at least,
you're not lying.
You can shut yourself in,
shut out the world.
Then you don't
have to play any roles,
show any faces,
make false gestures.
You'd think so...
...but reality is diabolical.
Your hiding-place
isn't watertight.
Life trickles in everywhere.
You're forced to react.
Nobody asks if it's real or not,
if you're honest or a liar.
That's only important
at the theater,
perhaps not even there.
Elisabet, I understand why
you're silent, why you don't move.
Your lifelessness
has become a fantastic part.
I understand and I admire you.
I think you should play
this part until it's done...
...until it's no longer interesting.
Then you can leave it,
as you leave all your roles.
Mrs. Vogler and Sister Almamove into the doctor'ssummer house.The seaside stayagrees very well with the actress.Her former apathy gives wayto long walks, fishing,cooking, letter-writing,and other diversions.Sister Alma enjoys the seclusionof the countrysideand takes great careof her patient.
It's bad luck to compare hands.
Elisabet, can I read
a bit of my book to you?
Or am I disturbing you?
Listen to this...
"The anxiety
we carry with us,
"all our broken dreams,
the inexplicable cruelty,
"the fear of death,
the painful insight
into our earthly condition..."
"...have worn out our hope
of a divine salvation.
"The cries
of our faith and doubt
"against the darkness
and the silence
"are terrible proof
of our Ioneliness and fear."
Do you think it's like that?
I don't believe that.
To change...
but I'm so lazy.
And it makes me feel guilty.
Karl-Henrik always scolds me
for not having any ambitions.
He says I'm like a zombie.
I think it's unfair.
I graduated
with the highest marks in my class.
Maybe he means something else.
You?
I'm sorry...
You know...
At the hospital,
where I graduated,
there is a home
for old nurses,
ones who've been nurses all
of their lives and lived for their work...
always in uniform...
and they live there.
Imagine having a calling that strong
that you devote your life to it...
Believing in something,
doing something.
To think your life has meaning.
I like that.
Sticking to it whatever happens.
I think you should be
of importance to others.
Do you believe that?
I know it sounds na¨ï¨ve,
but I believe in that.
What a downpour!
Yes, he was married.
We had an affair for five years.
Then he got tired, of course.
I was so in love,
and he was the first.
It was like a prolonged pain...
...Iong periods of pain
and short moments of...
I started thinking about it all
because you've taught me to smoke.
He smoked a lot.
In hindsight, it's banal, of course.
Sort of like pulp fiction.
In a strange way,
it was never real.
I don't know how
to describe it.
I was never real to him.
But my pain was real,
that's for sure.
In some way, that was a part of it,
in some nauseating way,
as if it should be like that.
Even the things
we said to each other.
People tell me
that I'm a good listener.
Isn't that strange?
Nobody ever bothered to listen to me.
Not the way you do now.
You listen.
I think you're the first person
to listen to me.
It can't be interesting.
You could read a book instead.
Look at me, talking.
I hope it doesn't irritate you.
It feels so good to talk.
It feels warm and nice.
I've never been in a mood
like this before.
I've always wanted a sister.
I only have brothers.
Seven of them. Strange, eh?
And then I turned up.
Boys have surrounded me
all my life, as long as I can remember.
But I like boys.
But you would know that
with your experience as an actress.
I like Karl-Henrik so much, but...
You probably only love once.
I'm faithful to him.
There are opportunities
in my profession, you know.
Karl-Henrik and I had rented
a cottage by the sea once.
It was in June,
and we were all alone.
One day Karl-Henrik
had gone into town.
I went to the beach on my own.
It was a warm and nice day.
There was another girl there.
She had come
from another island
because our beach
was sunnier and more secluded.
We lay there
completely naked and sunbathed...
...dozing off and on,
putting sunscreen on.
We had silly straw hats on.
Mine had a blue ribbon.
I lay there...
Iooking out at the landscape,
at the sea and the sun.
It was kind of funny.
Suddenly I saw two figures
on the rocks above us.
They hid
and peeped out occasionally.
"Two boys are looking at us,"
I said to the girl.
Her name was Katarina.
"Let them look," she said,
and turned over on her back.
I had a funny feeling.
I wanted to jump up
and put my suit on,
but I just lay there on my stomach
with my bottom in the air,
unembarrassed, totally calm.
And Katarina was next to me
with her breasts and big thighs.
She was just giggling.
I noticed that the boys
were coming closer.
They just stood there
looking at us.
I noticed they were very young.
The boldest one
approached us...
...and squatted down
next to Katarina.
He pretended to be busy
picking his toes.
I felt very strange.
Suddenly Katarina said to him,
"Hey, you, why don't you
come over here?"
Then she took his hand and helped him
take off his jeans and shirt.
Suddenly he was on top of her.
She guided him in
and held his butt.
The other boy
just sat and watched.
I heard Katarina whisper
in the boy's ear and laugh.
His face was right next to mine.
It was red and swollen.
Suddenly I turned and said,
"Aren't you coming to me, too?"
And Katarina said,
"Go to her now."
He pulled out of her and...
then fell on top of me,
completely hard.
He grabbed my breast.
It hurt so much!
I was overwhelmed
and came almost immediately.
Can you believe it?
I wanted to tell him to be careful
not to make me pregnant...
...when he came.
I felt something
I'd never felt in my life...
how his sperm
was shooting inside me.
He held my shoulders
and bent backwards.
I came over and over.
Katarina lay there watching
and held him from behind.
After he came,
she took him in her arms
and used his hand
to make herself come.
When she came,
she screamed like a banshee.
The three of us started laughing.
We called to the other boy,
who was sitting on the slope.
His name was Peter.
He seemed confused and was
shivering there in the sunshine.
Katarina unbuttoned his pants
and started to play with him.
And when he came,
she took him in her mouth.
He bent down
and kissed her back.
She turned around,
took his head in both hands,
and gave him her breast.
The other boy got so excited
that he and I started all over again.
It was just as nice as before.
Then we had a swim
and went our separate ways.
When I came home, Karl-Henrik
was already back from town.
We had dinner
and some red wine.
Then we had sex.
It had never been that good,
before or after.
Can you understand that?
And I got pregnant, of course.
Karl-Henrik,
studying to be a doctor,
took me to a colleague
who carried out the abortion.
We were both pleased.
We didn't want to have children.
Not then, anyway.
It doesn't make any sense.
None of it fits together.
You feel guilty for little things.
Can you understand that?
And what happens to everything
that you make up your mind to do?
Is it necessary to do it all?
Is it possible
to be one and the same person
at the same time?
I mean, two people?
Oh, Lord, it's so silly.
No reason to start crying.
I'll get a handkerchief.
It's almost morning.
And it's still raining.
Imagine, talking incessantly.
I've been talking and you've
been listening. How boring for you.
What could possibly interest you
about my life?
I should be like you.
You know what I thought
after seeing your movie that night?
When I came home
and looked in the mirror, I thought,
"But we look alike."
Don't misunderstand me.
You're more beautiful.
But somehow... I think I could
change myself into you if I tried.
I mean, inside.
You could be me, just like that.
But your soul would be too big.
It would stick out everywhere!
Go to bed. Otherwise,
you'll fall asleep at the table.
I have to go to bed now
or I'll fall asleep at the table.
That would be uncomfortable.
Good night.
Elisabet.
Did you speak to me last night?
Were you in my room?
Shall I take your mail, too?
My dear,
I could live like this forever.
Silent, living a secluded life,
reducing my needs,
feeling my battered soul
finally starting to smooth itself out.
Alma takes care of me,
spoils me in the most touching way.
I believe that she likes it here
and that she's very fond of me...
perhaps even in love
in an unaware and enchanting way.
In any case,
it's very interesting studying her.
Sometimes she cries
over past sins...
an orgy with a strange boy
and a subsequent abortion.
She claims that her perceptions
do not correspond
with her actions.
You're reading a play.
That's a healthy sign.
I'll tell the doctor.
Do you think we'll leave soon?
I'm starting to miss the city.
Aren't you?
Would you like
to make me really happy?
I know it's a sacrifice,
but right now I could use your help.
Nothing dangerous.
I just want you to talk to me.
Nothing special.
We could talk about anything...
what to have for dinner,
if you think the water
is cold after the rain,
if it's too cold to go swimming.
Just talk for a few minutes.
One minute.
You could read aloud,
just say a couple of words.
I have to try not to get angry.
You remain silent.
That's your prerogative,
but now I need you to talk to me.
Dearest, please,
can't you just say one word?
I knew you would refuse.
You can't know how I feel.
I thought that great artists
had great compassion for people...
...that they created
through a great compassion
and a need to help.
That was stupid.
You have used me.
For what, I don't know.
Now that you don't need me
anymore, you throw me away.
Oh, yes,
I hear how false it sounds...
"You used me
and then you threw me away."
That's how it is, every word.
And then these glasses!
You've hurt me badly.
You've laughed at me
behind my back.
Yes, I read the letter
that you wrote to the doctor.
Yes, I did, because it wasn't sealed,
and I read all of it.
You made me talk.
You made me talk about things
I've never told anybody.
And you told.
What a study, eh?
You, you...
You're going to talk!
If you have something
to say, goddamn it...
No, don't do it!
That scared you, didn't it?
For a second,
you were really scared, right?
A real fear of death, huh?
"Alma has gone crazy,"
you thought.
What kind of a person are you?
Or maybe you thought,
"I'll remember that face,
that tone of voice,
that expression."
I'm going to give you something
you won't forget!
You're laughing, are you?
It's not that simple for me.
Not so funny, either.
But you have always
your laughter.
Does it have to be like this?
Is it really important
that you don't lie, that you tell the truth,
talk with a genuine
tone of voice?
Can you live
without talking freely?
Lie and make excuses?
Isn't it better to give yourself
permission to be lazy and lie?
Perhaps you get better
if you just be the way you are.
No, you don't understand.
You don't understand
what I'm saying.
You're unapproachable.
The doctor said you're healthy,
but I wonder about your madness.
You're acting healthy so well
that everyone believes you.
Everyone but me,
because I know how rotten you are.
Look at me behaving like this.
Elisabet!
Elisabet, forgive me.
Oh, my God,
I behaved like an idiot.
I don't know what came over me.
I'm here to help you.
It was that awful letter.
I was so disappointed.
You asked me
to talk about myself.
It felt so good. You seemed
so kind and understanding.
I had been drinking.
It felt so good to talk about it all.
I was flattered that a great actress
like you bothered to listen.
Somehow I thought it would be nice
if it was of some use to you.
But it is so awful.
It's sheer exhibitionism.
Elisabet, I want you to...
I want you to forgive me.
I care for you so much.
You mean so much to me.
I've learned so much from you.
Let's not part as enemies.
You don't want to forgive me
because you're too proud!
You don't want to give in
because you don't think it's necessary.
I won't...
I won't...
... doesn't speak, doesn't listen,can't understand...
Elisabet!
What means... can't use...to make listen?Practically...
When you sleep,
your face is relaxed...
...your mouth
is swollen and ugly.
There's a mean wrinkle
on your forehead.
You smell of sleep and tears.
I can see the pulse
on your neck.
It has a scar
you normally cover with makeup.
Elisabet!
He's calling again.
I'll find out
what he wants from us...
...out here,
far away here in our solitude.
Elisa...
I'm sorry if I frightened you.
I'm not Elisabet.
I have no demands.
I didn't want to disturb you.
Don't you think I understand?
The doctor has explained things.
But it's hard to explain
to your little boy.
I do the best I can.
There's something deep down,
difficult to get a grip on.
You love somebody,
or say you do...
...it's tangible, like words.
Mr. Vogler, I'm not your wife.
You are also loved.
You form a bond.
It gives you security,
a chance to endure, doesn't it?
How can I say it all
without losing myself?
Without boring you?
I love you as much as ever.
No. Don't worry, my love.
We have each other.
We trust each other.
We know each other's thoughts.
We love each other.
That's how it is. Isn't it?
More important is the effort.
Not what we accomplish, right?
To see each other as children,
tormented and helpless,
Ionely children.
Tell your little boy
that his mother will be back soon...
...that Mommy has been ill,
but she longs for her little boy.
Remember to buy a toy for him.
Tell him it's a present from Mommy.
Don't forget.
I have such
a great tenderness for you.
It's almost unbearable.
I don't know what to do
with my tenderness.
I live on your tenderness.
Elisabet, is it good for you with me?
Is it nice for you?
You're a wonderful lover.
You know that.
My dearest!
Give me a sedative,
throw me away.
No, I can't go on anymore...
My darling...
Leave me alone!
It's shameful, all of it.
Leave me alone!
I'm cold and rotten
and indifferent.
It's all lies and imitation.
What have you got there?
What are you hiding
under your hand?
Let me see.
It's the picture of your little boy,
the one you tore up.
We have to talk about it.
Tell me now, Elisabet.
Well, then, I will.
It was an evening
at a party, wasn't it?
It was late and rather noisy.
In the early hours,
someone said to you...
"Elisabet, you have everything
as a woman and as an artist,
but you lack motherliness."
You laughed because
you thought it was ridiculous...
...but you couldn't stop thinking
about what he had said.
You grew more worried...
...so you let your husband
make you pregnant.
You wanted to be a mother.
When you knew it was definite,
you became afraid,
afraid of responsibility,
afraid of being tied down,
afraid to leave the theater...
...afraid of pain,
afraid of dying,
afraid of your swelling body.
But all the time you acted,
played the part
of the happy expectant mother.
And everybody said,
"She has never been this beautiful."
You tried several times
to get rid of the fetus.
But you failed.
When you knew it was inevitable,
you started to hate the child
and wished it would be stillborn.
You wished
that the baby would be dead.
You wanted a dead child.
It was a long and difficult delivery.
You suffered for days.
The baby was delivered
with forceps.
You looked with disgust
at your screaming child
and whispered,
"Can't you die soon? Can't you die?"
But he survived.
The boy screamed
day and night...
...and you hated him.
You were afraid.
You felt guilty.
In the end, relatives and a nanny
took care of the boy,
and you could leave your sickbed
and return to the theater.
But the suffering wasn't over.
The boy was seized by a massive
and unfathomable love for his mother.
You resisted desperately
because you felt
that you could not return it.
You try and try...
...but the meetings with him
are cruel and awkward.
You can't do it.
You're cold and indifferent.
And he looks at you.
He loves you, and he's soft,
and you want to hit him
for not leaving you alone.
You think he's repulsive,
with his thick lips and ugly body
and his moist and pleading eyes.
You think he's repulsive,
and you're afraid.
What are you hiding
under your hand?
Let me see.
It's the picture of your little boy,
the one you tore up.
We have to talk about it.
Tell me now, Elisabet.
Well, then, I will.
It was an evening
at a party, wasn't it?
It was late and rather noisy.
In the early hours,
someone said to you...
"Elisabet, you have everything
as a woman and as an artist..."
"...but you lack motherliness."
You laughed because
you thought it was ridiculous...
...but you couldn't stop thinking
about what he had said.
You grew more worried...
...so you let your husband
make you pregnant.
You wanted to be a mother.
When you knew it was definite,
you became afraid...
...afraid of responsibility,
afraid of being tied down,
afraid to leave the theater...
...afraid of pain,
afraid of dying,
afraid of your swelling body.
But all the time you acted,
played the part
of the happy expectant mother.
And everybody said,
"She has never been this beautiful."
You tried several times
to get rid of the fetus.
But you failed.
When you knew
it was inevitable...
...you started to hate the child...
...and wished
it would be stillborn.
You wished
that the baby would be dead.
You wanted a dead child.
It was a long and difficult delivery.
You suffered for days.
The baby was delivered
with forceps.
You looked with disgust
at your screaming child
and whispered,
"Can't you die soon?
Can't you die?"
The boy screamed
day and night,
and you hated him.
You were afraid.
You felt guilty.
In the end, relatives and a nanny
took care of the boy...
...and you could leave your sickbed
and return to the theater.
But the suffering was not over.
The boy was seized by a massive
and unfathomable love for his mother.
You resisted desperately
because you felt
that you could not return it.
You try and try...
...but the meetings with him
are cruel and awkward.
You can't do it.
You're cold and indifferent.
And he looks at you.
He loves you, and he's soft,
and you want to hit him
for not leaving you alone.
You think he's repulsive,
with his thick lips and ugly body
and his moist and pleading eyes.
You think he's repulsive,
and you're afraid.
No.
I'm not like you.
I don't feel the same as you.
I'm Sister Alma.
I'm only here to help you.
I'm not Elisabet Vogler.
You're Elisabet Vogler.
I would like to have...
I love...
I haven't...
I've learned quite a lot.
Let's see how long
I can hold out.
I'll never be like you.
I change all the time.
You can do what you want.
You won't get to me.
Say nothing...
cut a candle.
Not now. No, no.
Warning and timeless.
Unforeseen...
When it had to happen,
it didn't, so... failure.
You stand there,
but I should be.
Not inward, not close...
Say collect and advise others.
Desperate, maybe...
I take... yes,
but what is the closest...
What is it called?
No...
Us, we, me, I...
Many words and disgust,
unbearable pain,
the nausea.
Try to listen to me.
Repeat after me...
Nothing.
Nothing.
No, nothing.
Nothing.
There.
That's right.
That's how it should be.