Three women at a lying-in hospital reflect on how they got there in Mai Zetterling's first feature as a director.
I was surprised at how Bergmanesque this movie was, although not as overtly cerebral. Of course a good deal of that can be attributed to the presence of Harriet Anderson, one of Bergman's frequent leading ladies, and Sven Nyquist being the cinematographer; but while it looks like a duck and walks like a duck, it doesn't quack like a duck. Instead of Bergman's meditation on keeping society going in a G*dless universe, it considers woman's place in a society run for the benefit and pleasure of its men; and the continuation of society depends more on popping out babies, a process which the women don't have on their minds when they get pregnant. Bergman may mourn the absence of G*d, but to Zetterling, He's irrelevant.
