Bergman's work is frequently autobiographical, but here he's quite blatantly self-referential. The film covers a lot of ground, mostly typical Bergman themes: the looming threat of mortality, strained relationships, and the creative impulse as a form of madness. In a rather brilliant manner, he manages to express his joy for both film and theater, and even gives us a loving tribute to Schubert. The acting is superb across the board.

Pialat makes reference to the parallels between van Gogh and Schubert, and the latter plays a key role in this rumination on art as an always slightly absurd if not mad struggle to make contact in the face of ever-impending mortality. A slightly stagebound adaptation of Bergman's own play, this telemovie is also an ode to both cinema and theatre, and a significant contribution to his later work, which may be a bit wistful but never mawkish or even really nostalgic. Josephson very good as always.

In his old age, Bergman still finds new angles on an old theme, capping the trilogy of autobiographical films directed by others with this tight, intense, yet ultimately forgiving existential horror story. Weird English title, but I suppose "Struts And Frets" would have made it sound like it's about lutherie.

Bergman återvänder ännu en gång till tidigt 1900-tal. Det är väl lite som en del andra av hans senare TV-filmer; välspelat och genomarbetat, men inte särskilt ambitiöst.

Probably the most boring movie I've seen in my life.