This semester I will be discussing some international, independent and classic films that principally circulate outside the mainstream. For the last two years, I have diligently absorbed as many as I could (sometimes 20+ per week), and now I will try to spread the word about some most worthy of continued appreciation.

I will start with a brief survey of one of my favorite filmmakers — Swedish auteur Ingmar Bergman, whose career has spanned seven decades and is still going strong. Bergman is a master of chiaroscuro, both literal and figurative; personal perceptions and their mutual interactions are always pivotal in his works, and few directors are more effective at the use of light and (more recently) color to embellish them.

“Wild Strawberries” (1957)

1957 was arguably Bergman’s greatest year. “The Seventh Seal,” a captivating allegory of man’s relationship with death (and probably his most influential work) was also released in that year. While “Wild Strawberries” is a polar opposite to it in many respects, it is no less an excellent composition. It is the story of an elderly professor who reflects upon his life — cherished memories, regretted faits accomplis, loves shared — while journeying to a celebration in honor of his career. The monochrome medium’s inherent ambiguities actually facilitate the fluid transitions between vivid real-time and gossamer memory, marking some of the finest cinematography on black and white celluloid. The protagonist’s sincerity and unvarnished humanity is what so moves you: the unobtrusive lucidity with which his personality is imbued on the film. Almost 50 years later, it remains inspiring and uplifting.

“Scenes from a Marriage” (1973)

It is not spoiling this film much to reveal that it is really more the story of a divorce than a marriage, and it is a truly heartbreaking one. Originally aired in Europe as a revolutionary six-part TV-miniseries, “Scenes” was eventually released in the United States as a heavily edited feature film. Again, it is the realism of Bergman’s characters that radiate, but it is an altogether different kind of humanity. These people have very striking faults, and impeccable performances by Liv Ullman and Erland Josephson arouse a complex fusion of frustration with and sympathy for them. I kept asking myself why they can’t just be happy together, without all of this posturing and pain. It is because they’re so human, and that’s really the miracle of this film.

“Fanny & Alexander” (1981)

Set in the very early 20th century, the eponymous children from whom this film borrows its moniker are faced with difficult transitions when their widowed mother remarries. Her betrothed is a pious, strict and sadistic cleric, played by Jan Malmsjö, who endeavors to instill in them his own vision of propriety, and Alexander’s conflicted rebellion against him is the focus of the film. Winner of the Academy Award for best set design, “Fanny & Alexander” is an unmistakably beautiful film. However, its richness almost distracts from the character studies that so amply exemplify Bergman’s mastery, regularly accosting his audience with images of staggering splendor tempered with a pervasive emotional frigidity. Like many of Bergman’s works, it is a difficult film, but an extremely rewarding one.