PostED ON 16 OCTOBER 2022

Published in 1986, Mai Zetterling's memoir, All Those Tomorrows, reveals a unique journey and a singular vision. The actress and filmmaker hides nothing, describing her difficult childhood, a Hollywood love affair (with Tyrone Power) and her desire to take the helm of her own artistic destiny. Two passages from a remarkable book.

On being a woman filmmaker

When the reviews of my first feature film came out, I was horrified to read, "Mai Zetterling directs like a man". What did that mean? Because I was successful in a male profession, did that make me a man? How could I change so quickly? After being gossiped about as a sexy Swedish actress, I was suddenly treated like and talked about as a very tough director. I didn't understand what had happened. Inside, I felt the same. I looked in the mirror; was it true what they were saying, that I had started to change even physically because of my new responsibilities? I felt that as a woman, I was still trapped in a man's world where I didn't quite belong and whose language I didn't really speak.

But then, what did I want as a woman? Not to be a man, for a start. It's not that I think women are better than men; we are as good or as bad as each other. I don't want to be an imitation, but something unique, myself. I want to dare to discover my own energies and be a self-sufficient person. To be strong without feeling guilty. At the same time, I don't want to lose my femininity.


On Ingmar Bergman

On the first day of shooting Music in Darkness, we celebrated an ancient Swedish custom that takes place every December 13th in the early morning. A woman is chosen to be Lucia, the one who brings light on the darkest day of the year. I was Lucia, with a crown of candles on my head; Ingmar was one of the altar boys, dressed in a white nightgown and wearing a tall paper hat decorated with stars.

What a strange sight: his devilish laugh and odd half-smile didn't match the costume... It was so strange to see him in bed at night, dressed head to toe in a white flannel onesie, or was it pink, the kind babies wear, with their feet, all zipped up. His current wife had made it for him; he said he felt safe in it at night. It wasn't really sexy, but it was funny and endearing. Also, he was very proud of his nightwear and didn't mind us seeing him in it; it made him look vulnerable and childlike. What surprised me most about Ingmar was at such a young age he had acquired the habits of an old man.