One of Bergman's simplest yet most powerful films, it fuses medieval Christianity with paganism in its enactment of rituals sacred and profane. Eschewing all but the most basic of symbols, the director roots his tale of death and transfiguration in the natural world, implying the unruly force of both instinctive human drives and the primitive beliefs that held sway long before the arrival of the Christian faith embraced by the family of Max Von Sydow's farmer. Bergman sketches the small joys and petty jealousies of the family with a bold economy, including some nasty foreshadowing in the prank played by spiteful servant Ingeri (Gunnel Lindblom) on the slightly spoiled daughter, Karin (Birgitta Pettersson). The director orchestrates the confrontation of her innocence and the shepherds' brutality with the utmost care and deliberateness, in fashioning a scene of sexual assault all the more disturbing for its naturalism. In the film's most indelible moment, Karin's mother leans back in frozen horror as one of the rapists unwittingly offers her the girl's bloodstained garment. But Von Sydow is the focal point here, a man of deep faith and strict self-discipline, he's shocked both by a God who would allow such a tragedy to befall him and by his own transgression, in savagely dispatching his daughter's murderers. In a denouement that restores the farmer's belief, Bergman pays tribute to the simple faith of the medieval world. While the flawless acting of the director's stock company and the outstanding work of Sven Nykvist is almost too familiar to require mention, the film's fortress-like set is particularly noteworthy in its evocation of an entirely foreign world.