Click Your Fingers Applauding the Play: The Magician

Though critically acclaimed throughout his career, Ingmar Bergman was never a filmmaker that drew large crowds to his movies. His preoccupation with the hefty themes of belief, death, and truth relegates his films as a staple of arthouse distribution, meant for a niche market rather than mass appeal. While Bergman might not have aimed for popularity, he remained a sensitive artist who despised those who judged his work unfavorably. His cerebral horror film The Magician (1958) serves as his revenge on those critical audiences.

The Magician begins with traveling entertainers in a fog-filled forest, setting the film’s dark tone. Led by the mute Albert Manuel Vogler (Max von Sydow), the magicians perform under the auspicious title of “Vogler’s Magnetic Health Theater.” They come upon a dying, alcoholic actor named Johan Spegel (Bengt Ekerot) who immediately recognizes the falseness of Vogler’s appearance, as he is adorned with both a wig and fake beard. Spegel asks Vogler, “Are you a swindler who must conceal his true face?” Vogler is not the only member of his retinue that travels in disguise. So does his wife, Manda (Ingrid Thulin), who hides her blonde hair under a dark wig, wears gentlemen’s clothing, and answers to the pseudonym of “Mr. Aman,” an amusing alias that suggests that she is a man. 

The reason for their deception is for more than just costuming; they are, in fact, wanted by authorities for providing their entertainment to hateful crowds in 19th-century Scandinavia. Performing magic in this Age of Reason is life-threatening for the traveling entertainers, as it frightens audiences whose superstitions are a threat to their sanity. From a book that Manda reads, “deception is so prevalent that those who speak the truth are usually branded the greatest liars.” In such an era of distrust, the Voglers’ concealment of identity is strategic for both professional and personal survival.

Their survival is put to another test when they arrive at the home of Consul Egerman (Erland Josephson) and his wife Ottilia (Gertrud Fridh). This aristocratic couple also hosts Dr. Vergerus, Minister of Health (Gunnar Björnstrand), who serves as the chief antagonist in the film by representing those who condemn belief in magic. The medical doctor believes “to accept the inexplicable would be a catastrophe for science.” Vergerus performs a humiliating public examination of Albert’s throat, concluding there is no physical reason for the magician’s muteness. He also shares his sadistic desire to perform an autopsy on Albert, to scientifically prove that nothing miraculous exists within the entertainer to allow him to perform his magic. Vergerus’ startling wish to medically dissect Albert echoes Spegel’s own desire for dismemberment, “a sharp blade that would scrape out all uncleanliness” for his alcoholism. Albert, the titular performer, knows how to satisfy both characters’ desires for mutilation while preserving his life and artistry. 

As artists, the Voglers simply wish to ply their craft and receive patronage for its success from enthusiastic audiences. Instead, the couple is on the run after several run-ins from unappreciative mobs and nobles who desired to court Manda, all enhancing the fury of Albert. Much to the Volgers’ disappointment, their hosts at the Egerman residence prove no different from those who have previously preyed upon them. In attempted nighttime seductions, Ottilia longs for Albert and Vergerus lusts for Manda. Albert displays his disgust with these hosts physically: his clenched fist is raised in frustration at Ottilia’s wrong assumptions that they are soulmates; he attacks Vergerus when he finds the doctor attempting to woo his wife. The hosts have crossed many lines of decency by entrapping the Voglers, demanding a private performance, and attempting to break up their romantic/professional partnership. Consoled by Manda, Albert removes his wig and beard, de-masking to the film audience for the first time, and finally says: “I hate them. I hate their faces, their bodies, their movements, their voices.” This animosity voices Bergman’s own disgust for critics that fail to recognize his artistry.

Albert Volger exacts his revenge on Vergerus in a theatrical manner, true to his craft. He falsifies his death; then, employs all his talents as a magician to frighten Vergerus into believing the deceased have risen to avenge the performers' humiliation. The subsequent scenes earn The Magician its horror designation, with cinematic tricks of mirror reflections, an eyeball in Vergerus' inkwell, and a dismembered hand adding to the chilling atmosphere. It is frightening to see how far Albert will go to succeed in the battle between magic and science; he haunts Vergerus with momentary appearances, his hands gripping at the doctor's throat from places of concealment.

While the Voglers achieve the victory of making Vergerus feel a “momentary fear of death”, they have not won completely. Instead, Albert follows his reveal by asking Vergerus for monetary payment; his truest appearance being of a starving artist. Ironically, this look, without his former costume, frightens Ottilia and her elevated rank. Though successful in providing a healthy scare to his hosts, Albert is more fearsome to Ottilia as a begging performer than as a mysterious magician. Dejected, Albert and Manda prepare to depart, existentially persisting in their careers as performers. Woe is the life for these artists, as Bergman dramatizes the angst that all artists suffer in the face of ingratitude. 

At the risk of hypocrisy, the ending of The Magician does deserve criticism. There is a sudden burst of sunshine and trumpets as messengers arrive, announcing that the Voglers’ talents are requested for a performance for the king that evening. While this invitation is the very patronage that the Voglers, like all artists, yearn for, this happy conclusion seems forced from Bergman, suggesting that the filmmaker is too dedicated in seeing his characters triumph over their critics. Frustrated artists seething in existential crises, in the rain no less, seems a more apt conclusion from the director of films such as The Seventh Seal. Nevertheless, The Magician does achieve providing viewing audiences with a cerebral scare. As Roky Erickson once sang, “Click your fingers applauding the play.”

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