In Wild Strawberries (1959), an old man and esteemed professor gets, in a way, bludgeoned for being less virtuous than others would suspect.  (He’s expressionistically bludgeoned.)

Is there anything that saves this famous Ingmar Bergman film?  NO.  It’s tiresome glop.  When it isn’t fatuous (the despairing husband who also serves as figurative judge) it’s sentimental (the old man’s gentle eyes fixed on a remembered Bibi Andersson).  Plus the protag’s selfishness, etc. is usually revealed through exposition, not drama. . . In truth, art should not be as unentertaining as this.

Wild Strawberries (film) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)