Hello Ingmar presents itself as autobiography, as documentary, as true/not true, but in its deliberate confusions of fiction and fact, calling into question our definitions of both those properties by distorting the narrative, the film becomes a ‘meta-biography’. Humorous, outrageous, factual, or a complete lie, the film is a perceptual recounting of experience, in which history is the result not of facts, but of perceptions.

In Hello Ingmar Josephson flees through the angst-ridden, bourgeois-humanist and theatrical world of Ingmar’s imagery, a world where cock, cunt and hell are arranged in mono-syllabic and insistent equivalence.