Snowbound in Hell: Big Stan K. and the Subversion of Expectations

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LIE #5: The Wolf is Not at the Door, It Has Eaten It! (The Door to Your Subconscious, That Is….)—a review of Bergman’s “Hour of the Wolf” (1968)

[This post is part of the Viewer Vomit #7 blogothon organized by The Moon Is a Dead World. And make sure to check out the various links to other bloggers' reviews; some very interesting viewpoints out there indeed.]

Hour of the Wolf (Vargtimmen; 1968; Ingmar Bergman) is an anguished, painful, intense film that had been made with exquisite precision.

I’m willing to admit that this is a film I do not “get” intellectually; but emotionally it gets under your skin—or it did to me, at least—disturbing and confusing this viewer, leaving much food for thought—and worries about sleepless nights.

An incredibly personal film, full of dense symbology unique to itself, Hour of the Wolf is the result of director Bergman trying to make sense of a nervous breakdown he had at the time.