Wild Strawberries, director Ingmar Bergman's second film from 1957, is, that's right, a no-two-ways-about-it masterpiece, his third in a row, but it's also the first one that is distinctly and insistently an Ingmar Bergman film, taking place entirely in the generic wheelhouse and cultural milieu of almost all his no-two-ways-about-it masterpieces to come. 1957's The Seventh Seal is similarly a no-two-ways-about-it masterpiece, but it's also a strange pageant-like work of dense symbolism, unafraid to toy with medievalist kitsch and warped comedy. 1955's Smiles of a Summer Night is a no-two-ways-about-it masterpiece, as far as I'm concerned, but it's also a light bauble: tinged with melancholy and hard-won worldy wisdom, but still mostly a sex farce.
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