The Swedes can seem like a cold, emotionless people until they take their clothes off. Blonde to her core and bountiful up top, Scandinavian scorcher Anna Bergman is nothing like her father Igmar’s films. While Daddy’s body of work can be seen as dark, brooding and symbolic of death, decay and doldrums, a sort of endless winter twilight, the midnight sunshine of Anna’s bared breasts rises golden and glowing warm as if from twin orbs of life. Deeply attractive Anna grins the grin of the Cheshire cat that ate the canary in Intimate Games (1976), and why shouldn’t she? If your pretty face was lit from below by a set of rising suns, you’d be smirking and smug too.