The same nobility, the same candles, the same gorgeousness, the same Christmas scene.
I thought it was a reminiscence of the past, so gorgeous, but there is always a sad atmosphere lingering.
The moving statue, the visions of the dead Fanny and Alexander, the god in disguise, the psychic cousin, the fire brought by the god's punishing aunt.
Bergman, whose dreams and reality are intertwined, immerses himself in the film in his memories. All the shaping and investment are in the seemingly ignorant, but precocious, but unmanned Alexander.
If you can't tell the difference, you don't try to distinguish. As the old grandmother said at the end, time and space do not exist.
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