"I did not have what one would call difficulties in my working relationship with Ingrid Bergman. Rather, it was a kind of language barrier, but in a profound sense. Starting on the first day when we all read the script together in the rehearsal studio, I discovered that she had rehearsed her entire part in front of the mirror, complete with intonations and self-conscious gestures. It was clear that she had a different approach to her profession than the rest of us. She was still living in the 1940s."


"What I will never know is this: How did it happen that this film was Autumn Sonata? If you carry around a story inside long enough or keep dwelling on a certain subject as happened with Persona or Cries and Whispers, it is possible to discern how a film evolved and why it ended up as it did. But how did Autumn Sonata suddenly burst forth, looking the way it does, like a dream?...And perhaps that is its weakness: it should have remained a dream. Not a film of a dream but a dream of a film: two characters. Background and everything else ought to have been pushed to the side. Three acts in three kinds of lighting: one evening light, one night light, and one morning light. No cumbersome sets, two faces, and three kinds of lighting. Without a doubt that is how I first imagined Autumn Sonata."


"This was during my exile. I was away from Sweden, staying in Munich at the time. I was busy writing a script. I had talked to Liv about it, that she'd have a part in it. We'd been very indecisive as to who should play the mother, this concert pianist. There were a few names. And suddenly it hit me: Ingrid Bergman is absolutely perfect for the part. The tension that might arise between Liv Ullmann and Ingrid Bergman, these two incredibly strong personalities—mother and daughter—That could really be something. So we all sat down at a table and read the script. That's when I got a real shock. Because Ingrid had prepared herself to the nth degree for this role. She had read it and knew her lines practically by heart. She had probably stood in front of a mirror and rehearsed inflections and gestures—all of it. So she sat at the table and practically performed the role in a frightfully overacted manner. I remember I got this headache, and I don't know where it came from. It must have been a headache from sheer fear. What do you do with this incredibly strong and solid human being? How can I get her to dismantle this interpretation of the role that she has already decided on? The kind that's best played on a stage in a theatre that only seats 2,000 people, not in front of a camera. The first few days of shooting were a nightmare. Ingrid simply wouldn't take direction. She did it her own way...and it was terrible. I thought, 'We have to have a talk.' At that point I learned...that Ingrid suffered from a severe form of cancer. Her life was incredibly—Her life had in fact become limited, because her cancer was so far advanced...that it was impossible to operate. She'd had one or two operations already. And so we talked about this, and about this overacting of hers. And I said, 'You're doing something completely different from what I had in mind. Is there any way we could meet halfway? After all, you wanted to work with me. Couldn't we try it my way, or use both ways? Partly your way—' Then she says—She wasn't upset or anything. She said, 'I want to see what I've done.' So she watched her takes...and then she came into my office, closed the door and said, 'You're completely right. Completely right. I'm going about this wrong. We'll redo it.' And so we reshot those days...and all of a sudden she was very sensitive and fantastic to work with. She was amazing...and great. A real handful, but great. These hardships and difficulties—there was something fun in them. There's also a substance in this script that I like. For Ingrid, and for the substance of this script, I think this movie is definitely worth seeing."