"There are foolish critics who can recognize greatness only when it has become pitiful self-parody, and so it is that the late, sorry films of Ingmar Bergman (among others) have received almost as much approbation as the earlier sublime ones. Hence the enormous acclaim for Fanny and Alexander–Bergman's biggest hit in Sweden and an Oscar-winner here–which I consider wan, diluted stuff....[After the Rehearsal], though only 72 minutes long, seems interminable and almost as unsuited to TV as to the cinema, where it is being exhibited hereabouts. It is an example of talking heads where neither the talk nor the heads are very interesting. Aside from being static almost to the point of rigor mortis, it features characters and situations–even dialogue–that we have encountered in previous Bergman films in fresher, more penetrating and pertinent form....Lena Olin, as Anna, has none of the histrionic and erotic appeal of Bergman's earlier ingenues and leading ladies–has, in fact, a certain stolidity. And Erland Josephson, though a gifted actor, is miscast. His specialties are weak, ordinary men or slightly bizarre eccentrics; he has neither the commanding presence of a Max von Sydow or Gunnar Björnstrand nor the sinister fascination of a Jarl Kulle or Hasse Ekman. In no way does he suggest the complexities and sex appeal of a Vogler-Bergman. Ingrid Thulin still has the old acuteness, but a car accident requiring the complete restructuring of her fine face has made her age not singly but doubly. After the Rehearsal seems to be also well after Bergman, made by a belated imitator."

"To my surprise, the shooting was completely joyless. Seeing After the Rehearsal now, I find it much better than I had remembered. When you have struggled with a bad shoot, the dispiritedness lingers. It makes you remember the film with greater distaste than necessary. One frustration I felt concerned a scene with Ingrid Thulin, truly one of the great movie actresses of our time. As a jealous colleague expressed it once: 'she is married to the camera.' But in this film she couldn't distance herself from her part. When she would say the line 'Do you think that my instrument is destroyed forever?' she would begin to cry. I told her, 'Please don't sentimentalize!' To me, it seemed natural for her to say the line with cool observance. Instead she burst out crying every time. Finally I gave up. Perhaps I was upset with Ingrid because I was angry with myself. 'Is my instrument destroyed forever?' The question seemed to concern me more than it did her. Add to this fact that Erland Josephson was overworked. For the first time during our long collaboration, he was hit by what the Germans call Textangst (which literally means text anxiety–having trouble learning and remembering lines). The last and most important day brought short-circuiting and blackouts. We muddled through, but that was all. Lena Olin kept her presence of mind, and in spite of being relatively inexperienced, she managed gallantly without letting herself be disturbed by our turmoil. "