“There’s no dividing line, no insurmountable wall. I know it can’t be described. It’s a world of liberated feelings. Do you know what I mean? To me, man is a tremendous creation, an inconceivable thought. In man is everything, from the highest to lowest. Everything exists side by side. Realities, not only the reality we perceive with our dull senses, but a tumult of realities arching above each other inside and outside. It’s just fear and priggishness to believe in limits. There are no limits, neither to thoughts nor feelings. It’s anxiety that sets limits.”

One of Ingmar Bergman’s claustrophobic and surgically focused chamber dramas, Autumn Sonata (1978) is the examination of the relationship between Eva, the timid wife of a village pastor (played by Liv Ullmann), and her solipsistic mother Charlotte, an internationally famous pianist played by Ingrid Bergman. Eva’s disabled sister Helena has moved in with her, and when Charlotte makes a rare visit to her daughter, the presence of the sister set the ball rolling on a series of increasingly frank and bitter conversations.

It starts oddly, with Eva’s husband narrating the situation (seemingly in the role of Ingmar Bergman himself) to the camera and then sinking into the background. As with most of Bergman’s movies, the focus is on women and fractured relationships. The film rests on the power of the performances: Ingrid Bergman in her final film role is imperious and emotionally absent. But it is Ullmann who stands out – possibly the greatest and most versatile of Bergman’s muses. The character of Eva is a barely held in bundle of anger and resentment, contained only by her love for her sister and her loveless but pragmatic marriage. Her character is also one of the best depictions of generalised anxiety I’ve seen on screen – a perfect mix of stoicism and fragility that any who has suffered from panic attacks can relate to.

Bergman’s movie oozes sympathy and humanity; a microscopic study of a personal relationship that he unwraps in a way that makes it universal. I watched this after the colourful and extravagant Fanny and Alexander (1982). The contrasts between the two films are notable – and are the best demonstration of the range and quality of Bergman. In two films, the Swedish director has leapt a long way up my list of favourites.