In Sweden, Walpurgis is a festival celebratingthe arrival of spring-a time for love, sex and procreation. Arguingstrenuously for all three, and throwing in an anti-abortion tract forgood measure, Walpurgis Night is a fascinating look at mid-thirtiesmores that may be without equivalent in the Hollywood cinema. The greatsilent star and director Victor Sjöström here plays anewspaperman mounting his annual soapbox on the subject of Sweden'sfalling birthrate. A poor man's Gertrud, he is a veritable fount ofwisdom on the subject of love, and he ascribes the population problem toa passionless new breed who don't know what to do on Walpurgis Night.His daughter, played by Bergman, meanwhile pines away for her marriedboss (Lars Hanson) with a great deal of passion, and he for her as hismarriage falls apart because his wife refuses to have a child (in theprevailing climate, grounds for crucifixion). Described by acontemporary Swedish critic as "one of the most brilliant eroticcomedies ever made in this country," with one back-alley abortion,one murder and one suicide, Walpurgis Night seems deadly serious to us,despite its occasional satire on sex and journalism. Bergman, thoughlovely, appears strangely frightened throughout the film, and perhapswith good reason; as she herself would find in fifties America, betweenthe scandalmongers and the idealists there's little room for passion.