I can’t believe I forgot to mention this earlier but on September 20th famed cinematographer Sven Nykvist died. I imagine some of you may not be familiar with this man; sadly, such is the case with a number of noteworthy cinematographers who, in the eyes of the general public, possess this tendency to vanish into obscurity beneath the overwhelming ego of the director. Yet, Nykvist, for those familiar with him, held a place as one of the greatest cinematographers of all time. Anyone who has viewed a film by Ingmar Bergman knows what I mean since from the inception of The Virgin Spring onward Nykvist shot a large majority of Bergman’s work. The Bergman/Nykvist partnership belongs alongside other famous and prodigious partnerships such as Godard and his cinematographer throughout the 60s Raoul Coutard, in addition to some noteworthy contemporary examples like Wong Kar-Wai and Christopher Doyle and David Gordon Green and Tim Orr.

But Nykvist didn’t collaborate solely with Bergman – although their union produced most of his finest work – many mainstream American directors enlisted his luminous talent to assist in creating a number of more recognizable films such as Chaplin, the film adaptation of The Unbearable Lightness of Being (which earned him his third Academy Award nomination), two projects with Woody Allen – Crimes and Misdemeanors and Celebrity – Sleepless in Seattle and What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. Despite this erratic output late in his career, his work with Bergman provided him with the majority of his success, earning him two Academy Award wins – for Cries and Whispers and Fanny and Alexander – in addition to the respect of critics and filmmakers alike throughout the world.

I could cite many films shot by Nykvist that hold a special place in my heart, but looking back over Bergman’s threes film loosely grouped together as a trilogy – Through a Glass Darkly, Winter Light and The Silence – I find that these films represent the perfect distillation of the brilliance of Nykvist’s style. This collaboration would be the turning point in Bergman’s career, propelling him away from the poetic realism of his 50s output in favor of a far more intimate and personal take on filmmaking. Nykvist proved to be the perfect pairing for such an undertaking. Harnessing a more natural approach to the lighting as his unifying motif throughout the three films, Nykvist subtlety shifts the respective tone of each film simply by employing an almost imperceptible alteration in how that light falls upon the actors.

In Through a Glass Darkly he lets the light fall harshly on the actors, creating broad, stifling shadows that elicit a sense of claustrophobia or oppression within the environment, drawing out the jarring mental instability of its central character. In Winter Light the light creeps onto the screen in a far more gentle manner. Yet, rather than producing a mollifying effect on the viewer’s sensibility, it instead suggests a dimness or fading of illumination, complementing the film’s vision of a man rendered hopeless in the face of nuclear holocaust and a priest no longer passionate enough to offer solace to his beleaguered flock. Finally in The Silence – a film I consider to be Bergman’s greatest work – Nykvist adopts a style reminiscent of the German Expressionists. The shadows remain as harsh as they did in Through a Glass Darkly, but darkness plays a far more prominent role here. At times Nykvist will shatter this darkness with a glaring, intense white light that pierces through it in a violent manner. The light plays along with the conflicted relationship between the sisters in the film – one whose love for her sibling goes beyond acceptable standards, and the other whose hatred of her sister and her debilitating disease boarders on perniciousness. But the darkness could in addition represent the absence of God in the world or the silence with which he responds to our suffering, a theme Bergman would return to repeatedly throughout his career.

I mention these films by way of introducing those unfamiliar with Nykvist to what I believe to be his finest work, and also to perhaps revitalize the interest of those who haven’t paid him enough attention recently. His passing marks a significant loss for cinema and as connoisseurs of the medium we would be doing this art form a great disservice not to honor this man’s astounding contributions and achievements to filmmaking. Many great cinematographers will come and go, but as talented as they may be, none will hold as intrinsic a place in the history of film as Sven Nykvist. Rest in Peace.