The silence of God on a summer night - Through a Glass Darkly

So many years since I first saw Bergman's 1961 "chamber" movie (i.e., like a piece of chamber music or more precisely like one of Strindberg's "chamber plays," with in this case only 4 actors for the stark b/w 90-minute film) Through a Glass Darkly (a beautiful Biblical reference but probably an inaccurate translation of the title, which I think references images seen in a mirror?) that I couldn't remember a thing about it except for one or two of the striking images - so who really saw it? Not I, I guess. Anyway, at nearly 60 it's still a great film and to the extent that it doesn't feel like a contemporary movie, rest assured it never did. It's about 4 people on an island (apparently the remote Baltic island where Bergman made his home after visiting it first for this film - much more developed, I'm sure, in later years than it seems in this film, isolated from the mainland except by private motor boats): a young woman and her seemingly older husband (the ever-dour and always excellent Max van Sydow), her teenage brother, and her father. They're at the father's summer house - we see these long Nordic nights, as they eat outdoors near midnight w/ just a few lanterns; the father is a novelist struggling to complete his book, and from all appearances he's a  pedestrian writer (he reads aloud some of his textual revisions, all of them astonishingly banal) - perhaps he's never even published (the characters in a play the children put on after dinner, an artist so pure he has no artworks to his name, seems to be a cutting blow); MVS is a physician deeply troubled by his wife's mental instability - she has some unnameable and incurable mental illness. The young brother is an aspiring dramatist, but very boyish and immature. The woman flirts aggressively with her brother and suffers strange delusions that in the end lead to a complete breakdown - but in addition to her delusions she has developed an acute sense of hearing. What to make of all this? Each of the characters is struggling with self-identity and with suffering, and as w/ so many Bergman films of the era this film is also about faith and our relation to a god who is strangely silent and distant: the woman seems at possessed, almost damned, and in an extraordinary scene at the end she and MVS are lifted away by an insect-like chopper (one of the few scenes I remember from earlier viewing, an incredibly spooky scene that may also be a Bergman homage - ina different key, to Fellini), bringing her to a hospital (she screams in terror and horror as they sedate her for the airlift: it's as if she is going through an apotheosis, which her brother and father, silent witnesses cannot comprehend. The brother (Minus) asks is father, in a final scene as which they stand before a set of window panes, the mullions looking like crosses against the white sky - and asks about God and faith and the father explains a bit of his philosophy, that love is our proof of the existence of god, and the boy's final words are something like "Papa spoke" - another kind of god, breaking his silence.