Munich–Rome–Los Angeles, or ‘The last temptation of Ingmar Bergman’
This chapter deals with Bergman’s close contacts with transnational film producer Dino de Laurentiis, working out of Rome, and with legendary Hollywood talent agent Paul Kohner. Bergman discussed potential film projects with both of them over the years, and their correspondence is traced in detail here. Bergman was contacted by De Laurentiis in the early 1960s regarding a possible adaptation of the story of Jesus, which in the end came to nothing. Bergman also enjoyed close contacts with Kohner, who was the agent of Bergman actress Liv Ullmann. As with predecessors like Mauritz Stiller, who had entered Hollywood in the 1920s accompanied by Greta Garbo, Bergman’s possible entrance into Hollywood was connected to his leading female star. Kohner was also involved with certain distribution deals regarding Bergman’s films in the USA. The possible projects discussed by Bergman and Kohner mainly concerned a possible Hollywood adaptation for the cinema of Franz Lehár’s operetta The Merry Widow, starring American actress Barbra Streisand, a project which also involved de Laurentiis as producer. Had the film been made, it would have become the fourth film version of this story. Although it was discussed for several years and went through various stages of development, Bergman’s enthusiasm for the project eventually waned, and Elsaesser emphasizes Bergman’s difficulties in adapting to Hollywood professional strategies. As for de Laurentiis, he would eventually produce Bergman’s English-language film The Serpent’s Egg (1977), shot in Germany during Bergman’s self-imposed exile from Sweden.
There is ample use of still photography in Ingmar Bergman’s films, in which they serve many and varied functions. They have been shown to add historical and political context, as in Persona (1966), or have served, in Linda Rugg’s expression, as ‘portals into the past’. They have also been shown to be important components in Bergman’s autobiographical project in the latter part of his career, particularly in the novels based on his parents’ lives, Den goda viljan (1991)/Best Intentions (1993), Söndagsbarn (1993)/Sunday’s Children (1994), and Enskilda samtal/Private Confessions (1996). This chapter is concerned with the functions of photographs in Bergman’s writings, particularly with their linguistic description and extraordinary attention to detail, with the aim of showing how such ekphrases go well beyond their role in the stages of imaginative conception in general, or their organic and ‘realistic’ place in the fiction of the individual works. Rather, the aim here is to show to what extent such ekphrases serve as invitations to media experiences or media meditations in Bergman’s writings through a selection of ekphrastic descriptions of photographs, particularly in two of the novels mentioned above, Best Intentions and Sunday’s Children. The chapter presents some passages from previously unpublished diaries as well as earlier versions of the scripts, which were eventually edited from the published version.
The chapter explores the processes by which Scots, Irish and Welsh began to appear as shareholders and directors of the East India Company. The analysis initially considers the relatively marginal Irish, Scots and Welsh presence among the shareholders and directors. It is noticeable that metropolitan provincials tended to secure positions on the directorate after returning from successful careers in Asia. This trajectory of accessing London via the empire explains the careers of a number of important directors. It encompassed figures as diverse as the Irish and Welsh military officers Sweny Toone and William Jones, the Irish free merchant Robert Gregory, the Scots Company civil servant Charles Grant, the free merchant David Scott and the East Indiaman commander William Fullerton-Elphinstone. Despite these similar pathways to involvement at the apex of the Company, the number of Scots acquired directorships was noticeably higher. This had major implications for the sponsorship of clients into the employment in Asia. The chapter conceives of such patronage was a form of ‘brokering human capital’, with local networks connecting to the metropole through the directors. The reconstruction of almost two thousand instances of patronage demonstrates that a conspicuous climate of favouritism towards networks, families and individuals from the director’s place or region of origin. With more directors with Scottish backgrounds able to undertake this function of mobilising human wealth, substantially greater numbers of Scots found their way into the elite sectors of employment compared to the Welsh or Irish.
This chapter is an attempt to outline some of the specific literary qualities of Ingmar Bergman’s screenplays. As the chapter demonstrates, Bergman’s writing is a great artistic achievement in its own right. As screenplays, Bergman’s scripts are rather idiosyncratic and variegated. Reading Bergman may sometimes be a similar experience to that of reading a traditional drama (Scenes from a Marriage, Autumn Sonata); a novel (parts of Fanny and Alexander, Sunday’s Children); or even poetry (Persona). At times, Bergman’s writings seem to defy not only their genre but their purpose. The script of the film Hour of the Wolf thus seems to resist adaptation for the screen. More of a closet drama, the work is first and foremost literature. Bergman’s use of the Swedish language is, as any speaker of Swedish would notice, rather peculiar. His written language is archaic, elevated, highly strung—in short: written rather than spoken. As such, the ceremonious language in which characters speak indicates how communication in Bergman is always conditioned by conventions, norms, and structures. Bergman is notoriously hard to translate. With its emphasis on prosodic rhythm, phonetics, and puns, his unique style is sometimes lost in translation. His use of punctuation marks is an example of how even the smallest parts of the (written) language, such as colons, exclamation marks, and question marks, were carefully selected by the author in order to make a point.
The chapter explores the growing participation of Scots, Irish and Welsh in the East India Company’s medical sector. Despite access to similar educational opportunities either in Dublin, Edinburgh and London, Scots significantly outnumbered the other two national groups, both in overall and in per capita terms. With around 20 percent of all such posts throughout the eighteenth century, the acquisition by Scots of medical posts expanded to between 35 percent and 45 percent in the 1790s to 1810s. The chapter explores how patterns of professional mobility and phases of education in the provinces, in London and in Asia enabled surgeons to enhance their human capital. They sought to ‘realise’ this form of wealth through publication strategies and the maintenance of links with institutions such as Trinity College Dublin, Marischal College, Aberdeen and the University of Edinburgh. In this way, imperial service in Asia shaped the timing and tone of medical enlightenment in the metropolitan provinces.
The chapter surveys the timing and nature of Irish, Scottish and Welsh involvement in the English East India Company’s elite commercial, administrative and merchant shipping sectors. Personnel in these areas of the corporation were never especially numerous, with only 3,393 civil servants securely identified between 1690 and 1813. In this context of elite but limited opportunities, the movement of Irish, Scots and Welsh into corporate employment developed slowly. In both the civil service and among the merchant marine officers of the Company’s fleet, metropolitan provincial numbers remained insignificant until the 1740s and 1750s. During the 1690s and early 1700s, London-based expatriates from Wales were able to sponsor clients into the civil service at a greater per capita rate than their Irish or Scottish equivalents. By the mid-eighteenth century, however, the number of Scots in both the administrative and merchant marine branches had significantly outpaced that of the other two metropolitan provincial groups. The quality of the Company’s archives makes it possible to reconstruct the educational and career backgrounds of many of those joining the Company’s upper echelons. Previously unknown regional patterns, including the prominence of individuals from South Wales, Leinster and east-central Scotland demonstrate the way in which regional connections to London were projected outwards into the eastern half of the empire. In this context Edinburgh and Dublin assume a new importance as key ‘sub-metropoles’, providing investment networks and educational infrastructure that shaped patterns of participation in the Company’s civil service and merchant marine.
This book advances the case for narrow AI as a fundamentally destabilizing force, which could increase the risk of nuclear war. It explains how, left unchecked, the uncertainties created by the rapid proliferation and diffusion of AI into advanced weapons systems will become a significant source of future instability and great power (especially US–China) strategic competition. It conceptualizes recent technological developments in AI with the broader spectrum of emerging technologies – robotics and autonomy, cyberspace, hypersonic weapons, 5G networks, and quantum communications – and analyzes the impact of these trends for future warfare between nuclear states. Anticipating and preparing for the consequences of AI has already become a critical – yet underappreciated – task for international security, defense planning, and statecraft.
‘Poor’ Europe’s pathways to empire and globalisation
The conclusion reflects on the wider lessons to be drawn from the example of Irish, Scottish and Welsh involvement in the English East India Company from c.1690 to c.1820. The emphasis is placed on how these societies, despite forming part of the British Empire’s ‘metropolitan core’, can be seen as exemplars of ‘comparatively disadvantaged’, ‘poor’ Europe. They provide evidence of how areas lacking large reserves of monetary capital sought to exploit early modern globalisation and expansion. In this way their example can contribute to wider debates on the nature of European expansion and colonialism and the basis of proto-globalisation.
Will the use of AI in strategic decision-making be stabilizing or destabilizing? How might synthesizing AI with nuclear command, control, and communications early warning systems impact the nuclear enterprise? The compression of detection and decision-making timeframes associated with the computer revolution is not an entirely new phenomenon. During the Cold War, the US and Soviet Union both automated their nuclear command-and-control, targeting, and early warning detection systems to strengthen their respective retaliatory capabilities against a first strike. Technologies developed during the 1950s paved the way for modern undersea sensors, space-based communication, and over-the-horizon radars. Moreover, many of the systems and concepts introduced in the 1960s are still in use today.
How might AI-augmented drone swarming and hypersonic weapons complicate missile defense, undermine states’ nuclear deterrent forces, and increase the risk of escalation? How might AI-augmented unmanned systems effect escalation, deterrence, and conflict management, when fewer human lives are perceived to be at risk? The proliferation of a broad range of AI-augmented autonomous weapon systems – most notably drones used in swarming tactics – might have significant strategic implications for nuclear security and escalation in future warfare. Unmanned autonomous systems could be deployed in complex missions in hitherto inaccessible and cluttered environments, and aerial and underwater drones in swarms might eventually replace intercontinental ballistic missiles and nuclear-armed submarines for the delivery of nuclear weapons.