In a world of sin, where are we to turn for virtue? Education may provide us some understanding, but it is nevertheless an understanding of a harsh, cruel world—after all, Ester is highly educated, yet still adrift and weak. She has been supplied with no justification, but merely an explanation of the corruption that surrounds her. Art seems like a healthy option, but if art is a reflection of the artist, is it not then a reflection of a sinner? Is it simply a lament to those who lament, a prayer to those who pray? Young Johan expresses himself through some drawings and a puppet show, but they are rather rudimentary and inexplicably devilish. Connection to others is what we're taught to seek, but again, these are connections with other sinners. It seems contradictory and/or useless—even in this brief span of time that we've come to know our three protagonists, it is quite clear that they are a shattered family. So again I ask: in a world of sin, where are we to turn for virtue? Answer: in a world of sin, we must logically come to the conclusion that there is no virtue. Pain and suffering rule over the land like the great plagues they are, and the only medicine, it seems, is vice.

Vice offers connection among sinners (where better to be with your fellow pigs than in the mud?), as it requires no understanding. We are all broken, and that's all which needs to be understood. Some, like Ester, choose to drink: it offers not only to ease her self-loathing, but also to make her more agreeable and talkative with the people around her. Some, like Anna, opt for sex: a primal instinct for human contact, binding two bodies together without even the need for words. Primitive, yet pure. Many, like the foreign country outside their window (and even little Johan who begins to show some aforementioned signs) turn to anger and violence: a brief relief from the great weight we all carry, expelling our own burden outwards unto others. In these moments of indulgence, all seems clear. Vice, however, proves to be its own empty promise. Bottles can only hold so much liquor, sex only lasts so long, and violence is inevitably met with a return of violence. Fleeting happiness is not true hope, but rather a long road towards a dead-end, as our characters eventually come to understand.

What are we to do then, us sinners, us lost and broken, if there is no true rescue from the depraved world around us? That's just it: there is hope in the fact that we are all lost and broken. We're all wandering through this wasteland, crying out to the heavens, hoping desperately to latch onto something along the way—but the fact is, there's beauty in that. Just look at how stunningly haunting the shadows look as they dance across the walls of this barren hotel; look at the innocence of a child's play, and that innocence returned through the universality of smile and laughter; look at how these people struggle to understand each other through language, but immediately understand each other through emotion. We may feel as if our imperfections make us unable to connect with one another, but that is exactly the commonality that binds us all together. It's about understanding your fellow man without ever truly understanding him: empathy. Empathy is the key to righteousness, and though it may not offer immediate solace, it is the one thing that can keep that spark of hope alive for a better tomorrow. Save the world by saving yourself, save yourself by saving another, and that, my friends, is where the true virtue lies.

Every time I think I'm ready for Bergman, and every time he lays me right back out again.