Hour of the Wolf (1968) Review

A perplexing horror classic in its own right, Ingmar Bergman’s Hour of the Wolf is the director’s distressing and darkly odd tale of a painter in the midst of a mental breakdown. It’s all intentionally cryptic and hard to make exact sense of, but as far as anyone would tell, this is essentially a man descending into the depths of madness, repressing his troubling past and what not. His wife is completely sane and at one point, face to face with the camera, almost speaks like a torn page from a secret diary. Her words are gentle, concerning, sad, and logical, while her husband begins to develop into the morbid and ambiguous persona that, perhaps, he is.

Ingmar Bergman likes to let the emotional pressure simmer and eventually boil, and by the end the film’s surrealistic nature is bubbling with hidden gestures of repression and dementia. In a sense, Hour of the Wolf was indeed a film ahead of its time; an unquestionably morbid and ambiguous project from the great director.

8.0/10

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