Ingmar Bergman's characters suffer from many things, one of them being logorrhea. They talk directly to the camera, they talk solitarily to themselves, they talk to framed photographs, and of course, when given the chance, they talk each other's ears off, but even then their gaze tends to wander into empty space as if tracking an especially monstrous idea or painful memory. Ingrid Bergman, who now more than ever is apt to be confused with Ingmar, plays a successful concert pianist, and Liv Ullmann, with girlish braids, steel-rimmed specs, and shy smiles, is her neglected daughter. The two of them have a fine scene early on, when Bergman, with exquisitely mixed emotions, listens to Ullmann perform a Chopin piano prelude and then cheerfully squashes the poor girl with an illuminating lecture on the composer and his music. Later on, Bergman is repaid tenfold. She is visited by a nightmare, awakens Ullmann with a shout, and then, wham, does she catch hell! "People like you are a menace. You should be locked up and rendered harmless," etc., etc. -- the familiar Bergman blood bath of recrimination and remorse. Sven Nykvist photographs this chamber piece in fastidious, harmonious colors in the brown-beige-cream range, his job made easier by the actors sitting perfectly still for long periods of time so that he can get the lighting just right. (1978) — Duncan Shepherd