Ingrid Bergman (1) (1915–1982)

Ingrid Bergman's autobiography, My Story, was a guilty pleasure for me. I've been curious about various Hollywood exposés for years, especially focusing on Golden Age celebrities, but Bergman’s is my first. It lives up to its imaginary billing: a bit of behind-the-scenes commentary, some sniping at fellow film stars and makers, and liberal amounts of praise for those she admired. It’s knit together primarily as a response to the world-wide scandal greeting Bergman when she quite show more suddenly and dramatically left her husband and daughter for Roberto Rossellini. She was pilloried in the papers, and not just the trades, though it didn’t seem to stop her from making films. Eventually, she was almost as popular after as before.

I’d a vague idea of a scandal surrounding Bergman, and thought her role in Notorious was an ironic commentary on it. In fact, that role preceded the scandal, so anyone with dramatic flair could consider it prescient. I recently read Anna Karenina and there are remarkable parallels between Tolstoy's plot and Bergman's memoir, though I'd say Bergman's ends much happier.

I was completely unaware of Bergman’s significant work on the stage as well as screen. Apparently the two experiences fed into each other and developed her talents. It would appear her instincts played an equally strong part, though, as her craft was evident from the beginning, with little to no formal training. She left Sweden’s Royal Academy to work in Swedish film, and never looked back. It’s also true she never stopped learning, though formal training was not part of it.

I’d assumed Ingrid Bergman was related to Ingmar Bergman, but in fact: they’re not. They did work together, on Autumn Sonata, and the account of it here prompts me to raise its position in my queue.

It’s fascinating to learn that Ingrid was, by all accounts, a strong and confident person in her work, never hesitating to tell Hitchcock, Bergman, Selznick, Michael Redgrave, or John Gielgud what she thought would be improvements in their direction. Yet in her personal life, she confesses she was always deferring to her husband. It’s not clear to what extent relationship problems were rooted in her deferential personality, and to what extent it made it difficult once she encountered problems.

The book scans quickly, and reads as though a transcript was made from interviews with her. Alan Burgess supplies the editing, filling in details between the ‘transcripts’ with description, lengthy quotations from others, excerpts from newspaper accounts and several memos from David O. Selznick (who helped ‘discover’ Bergman for Hollywood). My edition includes copious photos, both personal and publicity stills, and most helpfully: an annotated list of Bergman’s films and stageplays. show less

Isn’t it great when you stumble upon a book at a yard sale or used bookstore—and it turns out to be terrific? A friend of mine described the experience like this: you read something you never thought you would and, when it’s over, ask, “How did I go for so long without this book in my life?” That’s how I feel about My Story, which I bought for a penny on Amazon on a whim one night after seeing Notorious for the millionth time.

It’s is not a quick, slick, tell-all but a real show more memoir and portrait of an artist. It’s long—over 550 pages of tiny, old-school packed-on-the-page type—but there isn’t a scene I would cut. The story of her marriages, her career, her strained relationship with her oldest daughter, and her health scares are all told as well as could be by any skilled novelist. It’s also a great evocation of the age of Selznick and the studios. Bergman wisely shares the credit with Alan Burgess, whose traditional biographical narrative is interpolated throughout Bergman’s recounting of her life. The reader gets a real sense of Bergman as a person—or, probably more accurately, “Bergman,” since only she knows the real person. There’s something here reminiscent of The Picture of Dorian Gray—the idea that people are more real when they are onstage than when they are off and one person’s struggle to make her offstage life as fulfilling and meaningful. It doesn’t work for Sybil Vane, but it seems to have done so for Bergman. show less

Less engrossing & slower than Rod Hardy's remake. Set in Sydney, Australia, in 1831-1832, its focus is the relationship between Samson Flusky, an emancipist, and his wife Lady Henrietta Flusky, daughter of an Irish earl who is succumbing to alcoholism when 20-year-old Charles Adare, who knew Lady Hattie in Ireland, comes into their lives.