SMILES OF A BERGMAN NIGHT

"It is not night when I do see your face, Therefore I think I am not in the night; Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company, For you, in my respect, are all the world." - A Midsummer Night's Dream - William Shakespeare

Well, it's raining again and the nights are getting increasingly dark early. I'm loathe to say goodbye to summer just yet so have decided that perhaps a reminiscence of the season is just what is required. Perhaps you feel the same?

Ever since I first watched the forest scenes in Peter Weir's 'Dead Poet Society' (1989) and later attended Adrian Noble's 1995 RSC production of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', I've never failed to believe summer nights were made for woods where culture and magic await and where Bottom, Titania, Lysander and Hermia all awaken.

There are times in life when you're so much in love that you believe that the magic you suddenly find all around you in the world is a direct result of the 'cosmic' energy shared between you and your partner. Yes, it may well be delusion but in the madness of the fever dream of love it's almost as if the vibrational frequency of the entire universe has seemingly bent to your collective will as a couple and where, as a consequence, reality seems to take on the effects of your ecstatic happiness and becomes wholly theatrical and unreal, perhaps even cinematic in appearance.

To add to this notion of romantic illusion the mythic power of woods with all their nocturnal enchantments and where gods, monsters, sprites and outlaws may all lurk together, I now recall a vivid scene from my own life that had all the atmosphere of Shakespeare's 'A Midsummer Night's Dream' combined with Ingmar Bergman in films such as his 'The Seventh Seal', 'Summer With Monika' or 'Wild Strawberries'.

My girlfriend at the time was what is typically known as a 'free spirit', the female equivalent of Dionysis to my more restrained Apollo (you'll forgive the grandiose Olympian analogies) and was preparing to go on holiday to France the following morning with her sister. Rather than get an early night, she did, of course, the opposite and took up an invitation from some old school friends to meet them in the bowl-shaped valley where I grew up, appropriately called 'The Heavens' where campfires, waterfalls, tree swings and babbling brooks all amass in a 'Shire-like', tree-lined amphitheatre of nature.

Initially reluctant to join my girlfriend on her impulsive jaunt to the midnight woods, I was eventually persuaded when she threatened to steal my guitar and felt it might be better if I went with her in the event she broke the stringed instrument on the steep, winding path that leads to 'The Heavens'. Even Elysian lyres weren't guaranteed their safety in this hallowed place.

Who minds
What dangers?
I know we'll get past the woods.
And once we're past,
Lets' hope the changes last

Beyond woods,
Beyond witches and slippers and hoods,
Just the two of us - 'It Takes Two' from 'Into The Woods' by Sondheim And Lapine

Upon finding her old school friends assembled around a glowing campfire where occasional sparks shot out into the summer night like miniaturized fireworks, we joined them as they offered us welcoming bottles of wine and spirits.

Leaning back in the warm July grass, I closed my eyes and listened to the happy sounds of my girlfriend talking with her friends and singing rounds accompanied by the strumming of a guitar.  It was the sound of freedom to my mind and after years of suffering from anxiety attacks, it was not for one second taken for granted. Such peace was like a thousand Christmases all at once and I was truly grateful that I had been returned to a place of happiness I'd almost forgotten existed.

But, as is proven by history, peace is often disturbed by 'events' and so it was that not long into my late-night summer idyll dream-trance, my girlfriend and her friends were alerted to the sound of approaching figures in the dark.

"Who's there?" they shouted in unison, like a chorus of Rhinemaidens protecting the Rheingold as I imagined a small dwarf army of Alberichs coming to attack us and putting out our campfire, with their tiny buckets of water.

As it turned out, an army of sorts did appear but it was a disparate band of brothers and sisters all dressed as if they were auditioning for a Tim Burton movie and carrying with them an eclectic assortment of musical instruments like a boho/gothic band on the run. With their face paint illuminated by the flickering campfire there was an almost Kabuki quality to the strange scene as it played out in front of me like a peyote-induced hallucination.

Clearly, it had been the clarion strum of my girlfriend's guitar playing that had stirred this gypsy crew down from the higher ridge of the surrounding forest and so now a wild rumpus of music began with the 'Rhinemaidens' and the 'Wild Things' figuring our what keys, chords and time signatures to co-ordinate between them as I watched on like a overgrown child in wonder.

Later it turned out, that the motley crew of musicians who had appeared out of the trees and bushes were a bonafide group going by the name of 'Rapskallion'. They had travelled from Australia to England to tour the country and were about to play some gigs in a local music festival so had made camp in the secret valley.

For some reason it came to my mind at that moment that the entire scene was Bergman-esque and, more specifically, 'The Seventh Seal' (1957) where I could see these timeless faces before me from centuries past just like the theatre players who the knight Antonius Block (Max Von Sydow) and Squire Jons (Gunnar Björnstrand) keep company with in the famous movie.

Magical moments such as these in the woods touch upon an immortal atmosphere that reminds one of the true essence of what it is to be alive.

Or perhaps I just dreamt all of it as a consequence of a magic potion that further induced my love madness back then.

For as Shakespeare once wrote: "Lovers and madmen have such seething brains Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend more than cool reason ever comprehends."