Crisis, the underrated debut of director Ingmar Bergman, features a shrewd omniscient narrator who shares this observation about the film itself during an introduction of the plot: “Let the play begin. I wouldn’t call this a great or harrowing tale. It really is just an everyday drama. Almost a comedy.”

It’s an ironic way to open the movie, as neither the title nor the immediate subject matter suggest comedy. In Crisis, a woman named Jenny visits the town where her 18-year-old daughter, Nelly, has been residing her entire life under the care of her foster mother Ingeborg. Jenny, for the first time, feels it’s time to retrieve her biological child. This, of course, doesn’t sit well with Ingeborg, who at one point argues that Nelly should be with her “real” mother” and “[n]ot just someone who gave birth to her!” Delivered with irritation and zest by actress Dagny Lind, this dialogue trumpets Bergman’s intense interest in women as beings with unique existences compared to men. (Indeed, later in the film, Ingeborg draws a harsh juxtaposition between the sexes: “The man got the money and the fun. The woman got the kids and the disgrace.”)

The human turmoil in Crisis largely revolves around how every major character is obsessed with being around Nelly. This infatuated group includes not only the two mothers but also Ulf, a modest man who lives in a room in Ingeborg’s house, and Jack, a womanizer who loses sexual interest in Jenny when he connects with Nelly. In one of the film’s most entertaining scenes, Ulf chases Jack until the latter must jump into the water from a dock. Ulf can’t woo Nelly like Jack, but he can impose his much larger body on Jack to relieve some sexual frustration.

Although the conflict between Ingeborg and Jenny involves more motherly urges, it also has a subtle sexual dimension. After Nelly leaves Ingeborg to go live with Jenny, Ingeborg one day decides to visit her lost daughter at Jenny’s residence. Here, the different appearances of the two older women are striking. Ingeborg wears a modest black dress with some white trim, reflecting her austere personality. On the other hand, Jenny’s nipples protrude from a more colorful dress that has a deeper V neck, sparkling forearms, and a butterfly pendant pinned to it. As Jenny casually aims verbal jabs at Ingeborg, twisting the knife so to speak, her flamboyant attire speaks to her relaxed dominance.

In a scene that reveals the ultimate theme of Crisis, Ingeborg has a conversation with Jack. As Jack, with desperation, speaks about Nelly being a sort of anchor in his life, Ingeborg recognizes her own selfishness about Nelly in Jack’s feelings. Later, Ingeborg becomes severely troubled by her attachment to Nelly, while Jack goes on to commit suicide after Jenny, in a selfish move of her own, tries to create distance between Jack and Nelly by painting Jack as a liar.

Given these depressing turns in the story, how is Crisis “almost a comedy,” as Bergman’s narrator asserts? The answer lies in the fact that Nelly, though pretty to look at, is a fundamentally less interesting person than Ingeborg, Jenny, Ulf, and Jack, mainly because she isn’t chasing anyone in particular. The drama of Crisis is driven by the moments when characters can or cannot satisfactorily remain in the very presence of Nelly. When Nelly finally returns to Ingeborg’s house, Bergman draws attention to how Ingeborg, in her stoic manner, is beside herself with almost incredulous relief as Nelly and Ulf interact in the background. In other words, if you’re watching Crisis primarily for insight into the inner workings of Nelly, the capricious teenager, the joke is on you.