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You either switch out of normal gear and adjust to the pace, the language and the emotional intensity of Liv Ullmann’s new film version of “Miss Julie” or you don’t. This is not a movie that apologizes for itself, or tries to make nice. It’s an adaptation of an especially unforgiving psychological drama by the infamous misogynist August Strindberg, a swirling but uneasy erotic triangle involving a bored daughter of the aristocracy, her valet with dreams of grandeur and the humble housemaid the valet has promised to marry. And it was adapted and directed by the legendary Scandinavian actress, the former lover and longtime collaborator of the late Ingmar Bergman, who more than anyone else was Strindberg’s cinematic heir (minus the misogyny, or perhaps with the misogyny inverted). I’m sure there many people these days who have no idea who Ullmann is, or for that matter who Bergman was, beyond some severe caricature in black-and-white. All I can say is that they changed my life, and are still capable of changing yours.
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