Only a man of Ingmar Bergman's genius could make a movie version of The Magic Flute and begin with a long, beautiful series of close ups of the faces in the audience -- cutting back and forth to a child's eyes, because it's where Mozart's magic really lives.
And how deliciously Bergmanian is the paradox that it took an obsessively private, surly, misanthropic Swede to make the films that have revealed the most secret depths of the human soul.