Mention the phrase "Swedish cinema" and it will unfailingly evoke words like silence, solitude, angst, despair and dread. Or, as British critic David Frost once remarked, "Hell is a place where the comedians are Swedish." While not totally inaccurate, these characterizations are only an approximation of Swedish cinema's great breadth and richness. The fact remains that throughout this century, Swedish cinema has actually been vibrant and wide-ranging, offering everything from light comedy to intense drama and from children's tales to gritty police thrillers. There have also been outstanding achievements in documentary, animation and experimental filmmaking. Considering its size, Sweden's contributions to world cinema have been nothing short of remarkable.

In addition to having produced one of the most significant and singular film artists ever–Ingmar Bergman–this small Scandinavian nation has developed a healthy indigenous filmmaking industry backed by an enviable combination of private investment and state support. Sweden's cinematic self-image has undergone constant construction and detonation, reconstruction, fragmentation, and interrogation.

Since the beginning, Swedish filmmakers have been actively examining the social function of cinema, reflecting on its relation to ideas of national identity and probing the contours and fissures in Swedish politics, culture, history and society. And there is much to examine. In this century, Sweden has evolved from a largely agrarian, late-19th century society into an industrial and technological powerhouse. It has also moved from strict Lutheran Protestantism to liberalized attitudes about sexuality and morality, and from a centuries-old hierarchical social and political structure to a more egalitarian social democracy. And like some other countries, Sweden has moved from a culturally and racially homogenous nation to a multi-cultural, multi-racial society.

Cinema came to Sweden at the end of the 19th century. The first public projection was in the southern city of Malmö, on June 28, 1896. In 1897, Stockholm photography shopkeepers Numa Peterson and Oliver Florman created newsreels and short portraits of Swedish life and the aristocracy. That same year Florman began to experiment with dramatic sketches and made The Barber's Shop in the Village, the first-ever Swedish film drama. By 1898, Florman's Swedish scenes were touring all over the country, and by 1905, most towns already had their own cinemas. In fact, the screenings' popularity led a young bookkeeper named Gustav Bjösrkman to convince his middle-aged boss, N.H. Nylander, to open his own film production company in the town of Kristianslad in 1905. In February, 1907, the two founded AB Svensk Biografteatern and launched the golden age of Swedish cinema. (The company became known as Svensk Filmindustri in 1919.)

Newsreel photographer Charles Magnusson was hired as Svensk's first head of production. A critical figure in the evolution of Swedish film, Magnusson insisted on location shooting and technical refinement. Thanks to Magnusson, films from Sweden's early silent era were regarded as some of the finest films of that nascent art form. Magnusson also established two characteristics that have come to dominate Swedish film: the constant appearance of the Swedish landscape and the mastering of cinematic techniques. He also hired Sweden's first superstar directors, Victor Sjöström and Mauritz Stiller. Between 1915 and 1925, these two filmmakers won an international reputation for the excellence of Swedish silent cinema.

Drawing on Swedish literature of the late 19th century, which is filled with national ideals, thematically resonant landscapes, allegory, adventure and tales of man against the elements, Stiller developed a distinctive brand of ironic comedy, which was later to inspire Ernst Lubitsch. Meanwhile, Sjöström explored man-in-nature narratives and examined Swedish social life. His famous Ingeborg Holm (1913), an attack on Sweden's laws for the poor, was followed by a series of impressive adaptations such as Terje Vigen (1917), based on an Ibsen poem, and from the Selma Lagerlof novel, The Phantom Carriage. Meanwhile Stiller established his brilliant career with films such as Sir Arne's Treasure (1918), Erotikon (1920) and best known of all, Gösta Berling's Saga (1924), which starred his discovery, Greta Garbo. The latter earned both Garbo and Stiller an invitation from Louis B. Mayer to work in Hollywood. So began the trend that saw Swedish actors and directors such as Ingrid Bergman, Ingmar Bergman, Max von Sydow, Bo Widerberg and most recently, Stellan Skarsgård, move to Hollywood.

It is important to emphasize that the Swedes began producing their own images of and for themselves, without relying on Americans or Europeans. Clearly, Swedish participation in cinematic expression was–and still remains–a cultural priority. Sweden's neutrality in the First World War also contributed to the development of a golden era in its silent cinema. While other national cinemas were being weakened by the war efforts and while no foreign films were shown in their country, the Swedes produced, distributed and exhibited their own films, developing an audience at the same time.

The golden age lasted into the twenties when the arrival of sound movies proved problematic. The lack of international interest in films that only a few million people could understand and the emigration of stars such as Garbo and Stiller to Hollywood made the thirties difficult. Although the number of films produced didn't decline significantly, Hollywood films began to show up on Sweden's screens more and more. A few talents did emerge, however, with director Gustav Molander and his 1936 melodrama, Intermezzo, which featured stars such as Gösta Ekman and Ingrid Bergman. While the domestic Swedish market was satisfied in this first decade of talking films, Sweden's international reputation dropped precipitously, a drop that forced the industry to turn around and look inward for answers. The situation was so dire that industry workers held a protest meeting in a Stockholm concert hall to complain about the low artistic standards in Swedish films.

This collective energy and another world war in which Sweden again declared its neutrality actually revitalized Swedish cinema in the 1940s. Once again, the flow of foreign films was cut off. Swedish films were watched more often and filmmakers such as Alf Sjöberg returned after a decade in the theatre to make films such as The Road to Heaven (1942) and Frenzy (1944). Other notable directors of this era were Anders Hendrikson (A Crime, 1940), Nils Poppe (Money, 1946) and Eric Faustman (Night in the Harbour, 1943).

Part of this revival ignited a literary movement that called itself "Writers of the Forties." This group rejected outright the romanticized, idealized images of the Swedish landscape and character, and harshly criticized the country and the previous generation for their supposed wartime neutrality. The movement was also disillusioned by the postwar atomic age and favoured dramatic explorations of the individual's psychological interior over external social observation.

Another event that contributed to the revival was the appointment of Victor Sjöström as artistic director of Svensk Filmindustri by the new head of the company, Carl Anders Dymling. Dymling believed that creative talent should be treated with patience and be allowed to make mistakes in order to improve. It was under these conditions that the legendary poetic documentarian Arne Sucksdorff began his career in 1943. That same year a young scriptwriter was hired by Svensk Filmindustri. His name was Ingmar Bergman.

Ingmar Bergman is a cinema unto himself, but he is also a part of the Swedish film tradition, the successor of Stiller, Sjöström and Sjöberg. Bergman's career began with several modest films in the 1940s that imitated the claustrophobic plays of August Strindberg. In the 1950s, having been allowed to make mistakes, Bergman began to probe the interior of the Swedish sensibility with his own increasingly authoritative and perceptive voice in films such as Sawdust and Tinsel (1953), Smiles of a Summer Night (1955), The Seventh Seal (1957) and Wild Strawberries (1957).

Exploring themes of isolation and alienation, and emphasizing individual psychology and its tangles of social and sexual expressions, Bergman mapped the region between desire, memory and action, often merging dream and reality in dense, compelling dramas such as Persona (1968), Cries and Whispers (1972), Scenes From a Marriage (1975) and Fanny and Alexander (1982). Garnering much international acclaim and hundreds of awards, Bergman placed Swedish film at the forefront of international cinema for three decades. Despite the originality of his talent in cinema, theatre and television, Bergman admits that he is only one in a long tradition of Swedish artists and craftsmen. In the 1998 documentary by director Jörn Donner, Ingmar Bergman: Life and Work, the octogenarian Bergman sums up his career by saying, "I can be very proud in a professional sense of having done a good job. That's the most important thing, the absolute basis of my opinion. It's like crafting a well-made consumer product, like a solid table or a comfortable chair." Undoubtedly, Charles Magnusson would agree.

Aside from Bergman's international successes and other more modest achievements by filmmakers Arne Mattsson (One Summer of Happiness, 1951) and Hasse Ekman (Girl with Hyacinths, 1950), filmmaking in Sweden became increasingly difficult. The growing number of Hollywood releases on Swedish screens, the arrival of television, and the closing of production companies were the main reasons for the difficulty.

To provide a spark, Swedish film industry workers organized a demonstration on May 1, 1962, much as their predecessors had done in 1936. The protest was led by actress Ingrid Thulin who, like others, demanded to know why the prosperous Swedish welfare state had failed to adequately support cultural industries. The event was historic, and combined with the provocative statement called Can We Afford Culture?, by Harry Schein, it led to the establishment of the Swedish Film Institute in 1963.

Mandated to support the production of Swedish films of "high merit" and to promote Swedish film internationally, the Institute was funded by a 10 percent box office levy. The levy is still in place, though it has been broadened to include video rentals and the broadcasting of films. It is still based on the practical and patriotic principle that those who exhibit films in Sweden should contribute to the financing of new Swedish films.

During the sixties, a new group of filmmakers began to emerge from Bergman's shadow, even rebelling against his whole generation. Most prominent among them was Bo Widerberg (Elvira Madigan, 1967, All Things Fair, 1996), who had earlier written a pamphlet, The Vision in the Swedish Cinema, that was highly critical of the previous generation of filmmakers. Influenced by French New Wave and American filmmakers like John Cassavetes, this new group called for dramas or documentaries that examined the social and political realities of contemporary Sweden. Among the leaders were Vilgot Sjöman (I Am Curious, Yellow, 1967), Jan Troell (The Emigrants, 1970) and Stefan Jarl (They Call Us Misfits, 1968, A Respectable Life, 1979). The group regarded Bergman's approach as apolitical and outmoded. In the 1970s, while he continued to produce films that reflected the modern Swedish predicament, albeit in a different vocabulary, the younger directors sought to expose and document the hypocrisies and failures, and challenge Sweden's vaunted welfare state.

After making Fanny and Alexander, Bergman retired from filmmaking in 1982, causing Swedish cinema to redefine itself yet again. In spite of, or perhaps because of Bergman's enormous influence, Swedish cinema since 1982 has given us some of the most provocative, genre-bending, thoughtful and troubling portraits of a changing nation. Significantly, this latest renaissance is being led largely by women. Powerful, accomplished women are not unusual in Swedish films, but their emergence as directors is especially noteworthy.

Following the directorial footsteps of acclaimed actresses Mai Zetterling (Night Games, 1968) and Gunnel Lindblom (Paradise Place, 1976), have come talented, challenging directors such as Suzanne Osten, Agneta Fagerström-Olsson, Susanne Bier, Marie-Louise Ekman and Christina Olofson. Osten's potent political dramas (Guardian Angel, 1990, Speak Up, It's So Dark, 1993) tackle such explosive topics as gender and race relations in Sweden today. Fagerström-Olsson's work (Season, 1987, Magic Stronger Than Life, 1993) chronicles the struggle of women to take control of their lives in a stubbornly patriarchal society. Ekman's experimental absurdist dramas (The Secret Friend, 1990, Dad is Tired Again, 1996) probe the darkest corners of identity, while Olofson's defiant, penetrating documentaries combine observation with astute analysis of social ills.

Despite Hollywood's large share of its screens, its admission into the European Union as a member state and its co-production agreements with four other Nordic nations, Sweden produces films that are seen by 20 percent of its population. Swedes still want to see themselves on screens.

Consequently, their cinema appears to be vigorous and healthy, if not a little beleaguered. Feature dramas like Colin Nutley's House of Angels (1992), Kjell-Åke Andersson's Christmas Oratoria (1996), Kjell Sudvall's The Hunters (1996), combine with well-crafted documentaries, animation productions and experimental films to form an impressive range of cinema in a market dominated by foreign interests. Moreover, a younger generation of directors is emerging. They include Björn Ringe (Harry and Sonja, 1996), Kristian Petri (Between Summers, 1995), Daniel Bergman (Expectations, 1997), Daniel Fridell (Beneath the Surface, 1998) and Lucas Moodysson, whose Fucking Åmål (1998) captured an award at the 1999 Berlin International Film Festival.

The new generation of directors has even come to terms with the Bergman legacy. Instead of resenting him, as the previous generation did, the new filmmakers recognize and appreciate his contribution. As Kristian Petri observes, "I think it was Majakovski who said that all Russian writers crawled out of Gogol's coat. In Sweden, we can probably say that all filmmakers have, at some point, looked into Bergman's mirror." While Petri and others acknowledge their indebtedness to Bergman, they are now fashioning their own mirrors, exploring contemporary Swedish society as a part of the cinematic heritage that Bergman inherited from Sjöström, Stiller and Sjöberg. Indeed, in their very search for a new and relevant Swedish cinema, they are creating it.