Just wanted to get this thought down before it dissipates: I think the ending of Wild Strawberries is one of the best conclusions to any movie that I have ever seen. It is the only movie thus far in my 381 class that has brought me to the verge of tears. The harp-melody that plays during his memory, the quiet hush of breath and the creaking of the bed are beautiful notes to end on. I think he was a romantic at heart. The memory of the woods with Sara is almost maternal; the strawberry fields may be gone, but he surrounds himself with the womb of the forest. The image of the two fishermen waving to him, whether they are his parents are not, is sublime. It is absolutely stunning.
Note: Mill on the Floss, Brothers Karamazov, and now this seem to call back at the very end, moments of childhood. Why do we insist on returning to the moments of our youth?
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