Here are a few random people who happen to be awesome. I’m just saying.

The Coen Brothers
Evidence:
- The Big Lebowski, 1998 (directors/writers)
- O Brother, Where Art Thou?, 2000 (directors/writers)
- No Country for Old Men, 2007 (directors/writers)
- pretty much all of their other movies

Giulietta Masina
Evidence:
- La Strada, 1954 (Gelsomina)
- Le notti di Cabiria, 1957 (Maria “Cabiria” Ceccarelli)

Sam Mendes
Evidence:
- American Beauty, 1999 (director)
- Away We Go, 2009 (director)
Even if you’re one of those people who doesn’t like Away We Go (why are there so many of you??), whatever, American Beauty is enough on its own to make him awesome.

Ron Perlman
Evidence:
- La cité des enfants perdus, 1995 (One)
- Hellboy, 2004 (Hellboy)

Adam Elliot
Evidence:
- “Uncle,” 1996 (director/writer)
- “Cousin,” 1998 (director/writer)
- “Brother,” 1999 (director/writer)
- “Harvie Krumpet,” 2003 (director/writer)

Pais: Italia
Año: 1954
Género:  Drama
Duración: 94 min.
Dirección: Federico Fellini
Guion: Tullio Pinelli & Federico Fellini
Música: Nino Rota
Producción: Ponti de Laurentiis

Reparto:
Giulietta Masina, Anthony Quinn, Richard Basehart, Aldo Silvani.

Descripción:
Cuando muere el padre de Gelsomina, su propia madre la vende a un artista ambulante, Zampanó. Pese al carácter violento y agresivo de éste, la muchacha se siente atraída por ese estilo de vida en la Strada (la calle, en italiano), sobre todo cuando su dueño la incluye como parte de su espectáculo. Pese a que varios de los pintorescos personajes que se encuentra por el camino le ofrecen que se una a ellos, Gelsomina demostrará su fidelidad a Zampanó hasta los límites de su voluntad.

Críticas:
1956: 1 Oscar mejor película extranjera

Ganó el Oscar a la mejor película extranjera y fue nominada al Oscar al mejor guión. Obtuvo el León de Plata de Venecia al mejor director y el Silver Ribbon (Nardo d’Argento) al mejor director y al mejor productor.

La acción tiene lugar en Italia en los primeros años de la Posguerra. Narra la historia de una muchacha, Gelsomina di Constanzo (Giulietta Masina), vendida por su madre a un forzudo actor de circo, Zampanó (Anthoy Quinn), que la trata con rudeza, agresiones verbales y abusos. Ella lo soporta todo con resignación, mientras huye de la realidad a través de sus sueños. En un circo coinciden con un funambulista (Richard Basehart), alegre, jovial, excéntrico, amable y respetuoso, que entabla amistad con Gelsomina y provoca los celos de Zampanó. La película se centra en la descripción de dos pesonajes contrapuestos, unidos por el azar, que viven en un carromato montado sobre una vieja motocicleta. Él se gana la vida haciendo un número circense de fuerza: es presuntuoso, agresivo, irascible y bravucón. Ella, mucho más joven, es sencilla, inocente, ingenua, generosa y pacífica, pese a que su vida está marcada por la violencia. Cuando nace en ellos un atisbo de amor, éste no consigue aflorar a causa del orgullo de él y la timidez de ella. Ambos comparten una profunda soledad y una vida de marginación, desarraigo y miseria, que se enmarca en la visualización de la pobreza de Italia tras la II GM. La tragedia de los protagonistas y de quienes les rodean, es narrada con un lirismo sorprendente y con toques de humor. La asociación de poesía y tragedia constituye el rasgo más sobresaliente del film. La playa es el lugar de encuentro, recreo, refugio y despedida, en el que los personajes buscan ayuda, reposo, trabajo y amor.

La música es de Nino Rota, colaborador habitual de Fellini y de Coppola en “El Padrino” (I y II). La melodía central presenta una progresión sorprendente: Gelsomina la balbucea fragmentariamente al principio, la completa gracias al funambulista (que la interpreta con un violín de miniatura), la repite con la trompeta de Zampanó y al final suena en formato orquestal, de recuerdo y homenaje. La fotografía extrae del rostro de Masina expresiones antológicas, en tomas tan expresivas como fugaces. Presenta numerosos travellings que subrayan el sentimiento de estar siempre en camino hacia un destino incierto y sin fin. La interpretación de los protagonistas es soberbia. Masina tenia 32 años cuando hizo el papel de Gelsomina, de menos de 20. El guión define los personajes principales y permite penetrar en su interior. La dirección crea una obra sólida, equilibrada, desgarradora y tierna, que cautiva y eleva el espíritu.

Una de las mejores obras de Fellini. En la lista del crítico John Kobal ocupa la posición 83 entre las 100 mejores películas.
–

Toda la belleza del mundo
Un poeta checo definió con esta expresión la evocación de la Juventud. Cuando se pierde para siempre es cuando confluye en ella, en su recuerdo, toda la belleza que existe. Desde que lo leí ansié apropiarme de este título para escribir un texto.

La capa de Mefistófeles le mostró a Fausto todos los prodigios del mundo. Fue un gran viaje y Goethe llegó hasta la misma frontera del ingenio humano para hacer su crónica. Son palabras torrenciales y graves, pensadas para espíritus astrales, más que para simples humanos. Si una palabra escrita es un árbol inmortal, “Fausto” es un gigantesco bosque de secuoyas.

Pero yo creo que toda la belleza del mundo también puede concentrarse en algo más pequeño. Tan minúsculo que puede pasar toda una vida sin que lo veamos; mucho más pequeño que un poema épico o que un bosque de árboles gigantes; por ejemplo, una canción; por ejemplo, un verso de una canción; por ejemplo, una sola palabra de ese verso.

¿Es posible? ¿Es posible, además, que esté a nuestro lado sin advertirlo? ¿Y es posible, en ese caso, que alguna vez nos demos cuenta?

Desde que hace muchos años vi “La Strada”, creo que lo es.

¿Hay alguna forma de ver, de comprender que la cosa más insignificante del mundo contiene toda su belleza? ¿Cuál es la fórmula secreta, el conjuro mágico que nos haga abrir los ojos? La respuesta no la doy yo, sino Zampanó, Perderla para siempre.
—
GIULETTA MASINA SERÁ SIEMPRE GELSOMINA
Sé que me será dificil volver a ver a Giuletta Masina sin recordar a Gelsomina. Hay papeles e interpretaciones que marcan, Charlton Heston siempre será Ben-Hur, Kirk Douglas siempre Espartaco e innumerables más. Y ¿Porqué no? Anthony Quinn tiene todos los números para ser un eterno Zorba el Griego.
Dicho esto y reiterando que La Strada es por encima de todo Gelsomina, quiero romper una lanza en favor de ese binomio absolutamente creíble Quinn – Zampanó. Anthony Quinn le da vida al personaje. No le da una vida maravillosa, no es una vida culta, no es una vida fácil… No. Nada de eso. Le da la vida que exige el guión. La existencia de quien no sabe hacer otra cosa, la existencia que sobrevive, que lucha, que no se acompleja ni amilana, que responde a la provocación con violencia.
En algunas críticas que leí lo califican de tirano. Pero un tirano sabe que lo es. Y Zampanó solo sabe que ha vivido así siempre y que no hay otra forma de vivir. Únicamente, en un final tan previsible como inevitable, la nostalgia y los recuerdos “humanizan” (desde mi punto de vista) al personaje.
En cierta medida me recuerda al Padre Padrone de los Taviani condenado a ser como es.
Por último, citar a Fellini, un Fellini que como siempre pone en celuloide su universo. Pero quizás este universo felliniano sea aquí el mismo universo de una Italia que trata de encontrar un futuro al mismo tiempo que sobrevive.
¡Ah! Y siempre, siempre, siempre… la música de Nino Rota, esa música eterna que nos transporta y nos hace sobrevolar esa Italia carnavalesca y felliniana con personajes absolutamente entrañables como éstos.

Datos técnicos:

Tamaño:  1,64 Gb
Duracion: 01:43:10
Vídeo codec: Xvid (doble pasada)
Resolución: 640 x 480
Bitrate: 1822 Kbps.  Qf: 0.237
Audio codec: 0×2000(AC3, Dolby Laboratories, Inc) AC3
Bitrate Castellano/Italiano: 48000Hz  224 kb/s (1 chnl)
Subtítulos : [Castellano]

Capturas:

Película

Extra VOSE

Subs.castellanos

P R O X I M A

]]> http://miaga.wordpress.com/2009/10/20/federico-fellini-one-of-the-greatest-master-filmmakers-and-sorely-missed/ Tue, 20 Oct 2009 09:51:34 +0000 miaga http://miaga.wordpress.com/2009/10/20/federico-fellini-one-of-the-greatest-master-filmmakers-and-sorely-missed/

Fellini (Source: Walter Albertin/United States Library of Congress's Prints and Photographs Division under the digital ID cph.3c22919)

With the end of the 2009 Lavazza Italian Film Festival and the forthcoming 16th anniversary of master filmmaker Federico Fellini’s death (31st Oct), the time has come to ask what made his films so important to film history and why they consistently appear on many (Time, IMDB, Empire) all time ‘best films’ lists.

The main reason why Fellini is still revered so long after his death was that the man was a creative genius.

Federico Fellini (author: Italiamia under CC Attribution ShareAlike 3.0 license)

At a time when Hollywood was making wonderful blockbuster epics such as ‘Lawrence of Arabia’ (1962) and ‘The Great Escape’ (1963), Italian born Fellini made films such as ‘La Dolce Vita’ (1960) and ‘8 ½’ (1963) – some of his greatest films.

In anticipation of his next film, Fellini had a hard time coming up with a new concept and narrative, so he decided to make a film about just that – a filmmakers’ struggle.

‘8 ½’ is about a director (Fellini’s alter ego, ‘Guido’ played by Marcello Mastroianni) who has a creative block as he allows his fears and anxieties to overtake him. This then leads to a midlife crisis of sorts. From there ‘Guido’ enters a world of introspection, memory and fantasy.

This film is high on symbolism as most of Fellini’s movies are. He had a lifelong fascination with the circus, vaudeville characters and religion.

The insightful, often tragic portrayals of outcasts in society within his films, such as ‘Cabiria’, a prostitute who tries to find love from ‘Nights of Cabiria’ (1957) and ‘Gelsomina’ a girl who gets sold to a cruel circus owner from ‘La Strada’ (1954), are heartbreaking . Yet ultimately you are full of admiration for their strength, resolve and human spirit.

Both of these characters were brilliantly played by Fellini’s wife, Giulietta Masina (who died a year after Fellini).

Fellini’s fascination with the circus and vaudeville began in his childhood in a small town named Rimini (Italy) where the travelling circus would come and entertain the town.

Fellini never forgot these childhood impressions and these were manifested throughout his films.

Following is a scene from ‘8 1/2′ (source: Desvelos)

On the biographical nature of his films he colourfully stated:

“Cinema is an old whore, like circus and variety, who knows how to give many kinds of pleasure. Besides, you can’t teach old fleas new dogs.”

He was brought up a staunch Catholic but is highly critical of religion in his movies.

In his own way he does portray a reverence for it. This love/hate relationship with religion led the Vatican to attempt to ban ‘La Dolce Vita’ and they succeeded in the end.

It was mainly seen as immoral as it juxtaposed religious icons (such as the statue of Jesus floating over Rome) against a backdrop of new ‘profane’ Italian modernism based on the economic boom of the late 1950s. It also treated themes such as sexuality and suicide in a very casual manner for the time.

‘La Dolce Vita’ also criticized Rome’s vision of itself and depicted it as an ‘over civilized’ ‘moral wasteland’ in which the Italian government thought unacceptable. Remember it was in the early 1960’s, however his critique of society is arguably still valid today (especially with Berlusconi at the helm).

There are so many levels of meaning and complexities in Fellini’s films, it really is a shame more people aren’t exposed to them anymore.

Here is the infamous Trevi Fountain clip from ‘La Dolce Vita’ (source:  juliabarnum)

Another scene from ‘La Dolce Vita’ (source: brushstrocksrock)

Walking into most chain movie rental stores is a sad experience as many master filmmakers, such as Fellini, are mostly no longer available.

Fifteen years ago the ‘arthouse’ sections were bursting, and today they’re virtually non-existent. But that’s another issue altogether.

If you had the chance to see his films, you are definitely one of the lucky ones. If you haven’t and you get the opportunity – don’t miss it!

Here is a video excerpt of an interview with Fellini (source: stockhausen/bbc 1965)

His masterful response on being called a genius:

“Nietzsche claimed that his genius was in his nostrils and I think that is a very excellent place for it to be.”

RIP Fellini.

Block-notes Di Un Regista (1969) (aka Fellini: A Director’s Notebook)
Federico Fellini
Italian/English

“To me, the subway is like a catacomb which goes right through the bowels of Rome.”

If there ever was something called personal cinema, it had to come in the form of Fellini’s masterpiece 8½ (1963). With 8½ had come a new kind of cinematic artist, standing in front of an unlimited canvas woven in time, dipping his hands in colours called memory, fantasy and magic, painting it without giving a damn about what a world would think about it. Placing himself at the centre of his fictional world, Fellini had indeed made it clear what the director of a film can do to it – as a manager, as an artist and as a personality himself. But to see that a film that he made half a dozen years later, Fellini: A Director’s Notebook (1969) that is as ambitious in its scope and as groundbreaking in its impact as 8½, is much less discussed is both surprising and disheartening especially considering the way Fellini transforms a mere, unappealing making-of-movie into something that is as profound and as personal as his acclaimed movies. Made as a part of a series titled NBC Experiment in Television (1967-71), A Director’s Notebook is a precursor to his next film Satyricon (1969) and traces the groundwork that Fellini laid before the shooting of this film.

A Director’s Notebook presents us Federico Fellini setting out in search of locations, sets and character inspirations for the period drama  within modern day Rome. The narrator tells us that he is trying to affirm his belief that there is a strong link between the ancient and the modern and that the Rome of history text books is still alive and kicking. This idea forms the backbone for the hunt as Fellini hops from night-time streets of Rome to the countryside, from the city’s subways to world renowned monuments and from abandoned sets to active slaughterhouses. We meet a range of characters and also get to see them through Fellini’s eyes. Soon we start to sense what Mr. Fellini is arriving at. We see the Coliseum alongside defunct movie sets, we see images of Nero’s debauched army along side the street birds of Rome, and we see brave gladiators alongside butchers of slaughterhouses. Fellini, as usual, has fun transforming his situation as he wants. He seamlessly switches between images of the past and those happening now. We even get to see the iconic Marcello Mastroianni, whom Fellini likes to call a true Roman (“has all the virtues and all the faults of the ancient Romans”), and his subsequent conversations with Fellini beyond which the film really digs deep.

Throughout the film, Fellini sets up a channel between the two Roman civilizations – the present and the ancient – in a way that, primarily, serves as an inspiration for his next movie but also as a personal journey towards the director’s own roots. Be it the virtues – especially the warm and hospitable nature of the people – or the vices – the notorious debauchery of Nero and Caligula – Fellini seems to believe that the culture and the spirit has persisted through the years in the Romans. Towards the end of the A Director’s Notebook, Fellini even has the townsfolk who work at the slaughterhouse enact sequences from ancient Rome, complete with costumes and wreaths, in order to validate them for his next film (In the sequence’s hilarious end, one of the gladiator almost cries because he gets a scratch on his ear). In some ways, A Director’s Notebook is Fellini’s version of the wonderful Tarkovsky documentary Voyage in Time (1983), which too unfolds as a nostalgic trip set in Italy, wherein the director uses geography extensively to invoke memories and emotions. In one scene, Fellini and company travel in the subway train and we notice ancient Romans standing outside the train at many places, upon which the director himself notes that this must be a journey in time and not space.

A Director’s Notebook is to 8½ what Woody Allen’s Deconstructing Harry (1997) is to his Stardust Memories (1980). Allen’s admiration for Fellini has been largely overshadowed by the influence of Bergman on him. In fact, Allen’s career closely follows that of Fellini’s even though the philosophical questions that Allen revisits is that of the Swedish. Stardust Memories (which, in a way, happens to be Woody’s 8½th movie), like Fellini’s 8½, is all about the director. Both movies are exercises in narcissism as many have pointed out. In both, the director treats himself as if he is the centre of the universe while the world around seems to exploit him despite his turmoil. In Deconstructing Harry, Allen comes full circle and, once and for all, accepts the fact that it is he who has been exploitative and that he has to let go of his balancing act between his fictional world and the real world. Likewise, in A Director’s Notebook, Fellini studies his own self and, in an act of purging himself of the ego, reflects on how his relation has been with his actors and everyone else who has helped him gain the international reputation. Towards the end, when many actors and players try to impress the director with their skill set, Fellini tells us in the voice over:

“Yes, it might seem very cynical, very cruel. But no, I am very fond of all these characters who are always chasing after me, following me from one thing to another. They are all a little mad, I know that. They say they need me, but the truth is that I need them more.”

In one section in A Director’s Notebook, Fellini visits his long time friend and movie star Marcello Mastroianni to audition him for the leading role in his unfinished film The Journey of G. Mastorna. Fellini tries a lot – adding make up, setting up wigs, going for multiple takes – to somehow get a shade of the cellist Mastorna out of Mastroianni, but finally resigns. When he turns down Mastroianni telling him that he wasn’t into it at all, the actor quips back: “No Fellini, it’s because now you have no faith. It’s as if you are scared. If you could believe that I am Mastorna, I would automatically become Mastorna”. Throughout the movie, Fellini examines the cost that he has to pay for conforming to his reputation, the cost to that has to be paid for him to remain the Fellini that the world knows him as (Fellini is notorious for rarely using the same actor more than once), the cost for imitating oneself just for the heck of it. Fellini’s situation remains true for any filmmaker who tries to construct his fictional world the way he wants it, even at the cost of the real one – issues that both Woody Allen and his idol Bergman have explored time and again.

Fellini really pushes the boundaries of filmmaking over here. Unfolding as a tone poem in typical Markerian style, A Director’s Notebook soon goes on to blend documentary and fiction to create a truly personal form of expression that seems to be way ahead of its time. Far from the assured and fluid camera work of 8½ and rightly so, the cinematography in A Director’s Notebook is self-conscious, largely handheld, seemingly offhand and purely functional all the way. Closer to a series of essays than a complete film, the movie seems to be one of the earliest examples of the kind of cinema that would later be explored deeply by filmmakers such as Werner Herzog and Jean-Luc Godard. What part of the film was scripted, what was improvised and what was plainly documented will remain a mystery, but what matters is the unique concoction that the director achieves by this mixture. Stacking various levels of reality over one another like 8½, but also taking it further, this stunning little gem from Fellini may just be the golden key required to unlock all his films that were to follow.

A Director’s Notebook, true to its title, also serves as a nostalgia trip for both the director and fans of his work. There are throwbacks of his earlier films throughout A Director’s Notebook. When Fellini visits Mastroianni, the latter is in an interview where the reporters ask him inane questions, much reminiscent of the irritating paparazzi of La Dolce Vita (1960). Early in the film when Fellini is scouting for locations during the night, we cut to a little interview of his wife Giulietta Masina who recalls the (then) edited scene in The Nights of Cabiria (1957) where a strange man delivers goodies to the people living on the fringes of Rome. The hilarious audition section where we have all kinds of people, including a boy who claims he can whistle like a blackbird, a charlatan who seems to know painters more important than Raphael, a lady who thinks her music conveys the same thing as Fellini’s films and even a man whose life depends on his wig, seems straight out of 8½. Even the sequences in the film where the director hunts for life in the streets of Rome during the night time has a lot in common with the positively eerie and Lynchian atmosphere that he created in his segment Toby Dammit in the portmanteau film Spirits of the Dead (1968).

But even without the references, A Director’s Notebook remains an auteur’s work. Even if one doesn’t see any connections of this film to his other movies, one can say with conviction that it is a “Fellini movie”. No one other than the ringmaster called Fellini could have assembled the army of characters that appears at various places in the film. At one point in the film, Fellini takes a mini nostalgic trip where he recounts the people of his childhood watching a movie at the theatre, hinting at the kind of films he would be making henceforth. The clairvoyant who can talk to the people of the past, the professor who studies the connection between historical Rome and its present version and the crewmen who turn into Nero’s soldiers are all characters who have the Fellini tag stuck on their forehead. The lonely yet lyrical, dark yet alluring, beautiful yet decaying streets of Rome, the array of immensely human characters who keep flooding the screen with enthusiasm and women with exaggerated make-up and strikingly extreme expressions – now, where else can one see such images other than at Fellini’s circus?

The Swindle aka Il Bidone | Federico Fellini, 1955

Rimini-born filmmaker Federico Fellini was as influential as any in taking Italian cinema out from under the shadow of Neorealism. While his earlier work as a writer had involved a few important contributions to the Neorealist movement, once the time came to grace the director’s chair he took things in a different direction entirely. With his first three pictures; Variety Lights, The White Sheik, and I Vitelloni, Fellini embraced his Neorealist roots yet laid the kind of intellectual foundation that would serve his entire career. These three films deal differently with the same conflict between one’s outer personality and inner feelings, between one’s social mask and true face. As such this trio is often referred to as his trilogy of character. With La Strada, in 1954, Fellini commenced work on what was to become another trilogy, this time focusing on spiritual poverty: the solitude and loneliness of the soul. La Strada was a grand international success and put Fellini’s name firmly on the world map, allowing him to continue this trilogy with The Swindle (Il Bidone) a year later. This second attempt at depicting solitude takes place in the world of con-men upon the backdrop of fifties Rome, focusing in particular on an aged swindler named Augusto (played by American actor Broderick Crawford). Augusto is flanked by two other crooks: one, a young and fresh-faced fool who only wants to get rich quick and the other a tentative family man. The latter of these, Picasso, is also played by an American (Richard Basehart) and is looking to escape his current line of work. The example set by an ailing and lonely Augusto coupled with the suspicions of his much-neglected wife (Giulietta Masina) allows Picasso to realise that this life just isn’t worth the trouble.

It still surprises me looking back on these kind of projects just how international they were. Even with La Strada a largely unproven Federico Fellini didn’t think twice before utilising several non-Italian speaking actors in main roles. With The Swindle this confidence in a cosmopolitan cast pays off spectacularly as Broderick Crawford hands in a beautifully layered performance. His character is surly and intimidating yet also emotionally damp; he is unashamedly attached to the fast life he leads yet still feels hopelessly alone. It takes the appearance of his estranged daughter to open eyes and hammer this loneliness home – or so you would think. Thus, we come to the infamous Augusto’s final swindle: a scam that he has done many times before involving a faux priest (himself) and the exploiting of a random peasant family in outer Rome. Upon completing the con and turning to leave Augusto is asked by the mother to speak with her crippled daughter. He has no way of refusing this request and so carries out an awkward dialogue with this paralysed young girl, who stares at Augusto with love and faith in her eyes. The two speak of overcoming adversity and learning through suffering, so as a stunned Augusto drives away we feel he may have finally seen the light. He explains to his cronies that he couldn’t take the money, and after a moment of disbelief they search his pockets. This is where Fellini reveals his true genius of course, for it appears Augusto did pocket the cash after all. The film closes with Augusto beaten, left for dead, ironically crippled by his fall and lying in the dust. Thus, The Swindle contains no sentimental conversion whatsoever, for our protagonist remains in death what he has been for most of his life: a swindler.

Our Rating:

6. Movies- Connect the following:

Marquee 6

Ans.: All movies had wife of the director in the female lead.
Nights of Cabiria- Federico Fellini- Giulietta Masina
Do Aankhen Baarah Haath- V.Shantaram- Sandhya
U me aur Hum- Ajay Devgan- Kajol
Maya Memsaab- Ketan Mehta- Deepa Mehta

Cracked by Narayan Swamy and Sabharatnam Narayanan

Variety Lights | Federico Fellini, 1950

Federico Fellini may be considered a legendary figure these days, but his introduction into cinema was a lot more humbling. In the summer of 1944 as Italy was being liberated and World War II drew to a close, Fellini was making money by drawing caricatures of Allied solders. It was during this memorable summer that he was approached by Roberto Rossellini about contributing on the project Rome, Open City. Of course, Fellini had written for films before, but it would be many years yet before he took his first and rather tentative steps into directing. Indeed, part of the reason Variety Lights presented such an opportune platform for Fellini was because he would be teaming up with an experienced Milanese director named Alberto Lattuada. They would go on to form a firm friendship in their creation of this fun little film about a travelling troupe of theater people – a film that would go on to critical and commercial failure,  costing each filmmaker dearly. The story itself concerns the dangerous influences of fame and greed, encouraged within a provincial vaudeville group when a pretty young country girl joins them and makes it big. Primarily, this affects the aging stage comic Checco (played by Peppino De Filippo) who already harbours illusions of fame and grandeur. He falls for the girl Liliana (played by Carla Del Poggio, the wife of Lattuada) and becomes convinced that the she and he are destined for greatness, ruining his relationship with the lovely Melina (Giulietta Masina, the wife of Fellini) in the process.

Variety Lights is a warm debut from Fellini though never presents much forward development plot-wise as the story is rather static. While characters aren’t seen to evolve they certainly gain more depth as the film rolls on, and each is unique and likeable in their own way – most of all Checco whose hard-headed attitude never abates throughout. The film also offers an intriguing insight into the lives of these kind of performers,  whose very being we are introduced to through colour and glamour but that we later find out is  tawdry and poor existence. One of the more important reasons to see Variety Lights however is that it shows a young Fellini as he discovers concepts and ideas that will play a prominent part in his entire career. An example of this would be the uniquely Fellinian use of Rome’s piazzas, which are seen as full or empty to signify either wild social enjoyment or solitude and loneliness. One of the film’s finer scenes involves Checco waiting dejected outside his hotel in an abandoned piazza for the lovely Liliana to return. She comes back with news of signing for a much more famous theater group, and Checco doesn’t hesitate to mention all he has done for her. He ends by hinting that perhaps in return she should allow him to share her bed, to which she agrees without hesitation – uncovering the lack of morals she usually hides. Checco sees this and slaps her in retaliation, in turn removing his own facade to reveal a good and honest man underneath – perhaps bettering any of his peformances on the stage. Variety Lights is an enjoyable ride but one that suffers slightly from bloated writing and crossed morals. Though above all it should be noted as a critical point in Fellini’s development and in his new style of cinema that would eventually replace Neorealism.

Our Rating:

Nights of Cabiria | Federico Fellini, 1957

One of the more productive and legendary marital relationships in all of cinema is that of Federico Fellini and Giulietta Masina. The pair married in 1943 just before the great director’s career took off, and despite many ups and downs managed to stay together for fifty long and prosperous years. Fellini first directed his wife in his very first film: Variety Lights (Luci del Varieta), in 1950, and the couple would collaborate on another film: The White Sheik (Lo Sceicco Bianco) two years later. Masina’s role in The White Sheik as a feisty prostitute named Cabiria (borrowed from the 1914 Italian film of the same name) was a small but memorable one, and the character went down so well that five years later the pair decided to use her story as a feature film: Nights of Cabiria (Le Notti di Cabiria). The film follows Cabiria on her search for love among the back alleys and deserted streets of old Rome. We open on her in a happy state; frolicking in the dusty fields that border the city with her new lover Giorgio, before the man promptly pushes her into the nearest river in order to nab her handbag. Bedraggled and saved from certain death by some attentive river folk, Cabiria traipses home to her one-person flat and loneliness once again. Things continue in much the same way for our naive, fur-coated protagonist, and while she may be used to working the gritty streets she spends most of her time staring at the stars – her dreams designed for romance only. The brief romantic episodes that she undertakes are always destined to end in humiliation, and so it is that Cabiria is left as the film closes; with a broken heart and an empty pocket, walking the long road home and still smiling at life in spite of her own shortcomings.

Nights of Cabiria can be used as an excellent example to detail Fellini’s transitional period. It makes us aware of the fleeting Neorealism that inspired his earlier work yet looks towards the future and visual prosperity of his later films. His 1955 film, The Swindle (Il Bidone), centered around a good thief, whereas here Fellini moves on to a character who would be better described as a saintly fool. Nights of Cabiria draws heavily from earlier Fellini efforts, covering such specific themes as the nature of grace and of salvation. It applies these to a single, spiritually rich individual and forces her to undergo one soul-rending disappointment after another. Cabiria is portrayed by the majestic Giulietta Masina in a performance that far outshines her work in the earlier La Strada. I do not think Chaplinesque is too far-fetched an adjective to use here, for it is pluckiness and a certain romantic approach to life that define her character. Cabiria is a prostitute, at home in the shadows and used to a life of hard-knocks, yet in contrast to this outer shell she is a sensual romantic at heart. She wants to be swept off her feet, and this is what makes her such an easy and naive target for the men who walk all over her throughout the film. As Nights of Cabiria closes its penultimate scene, Cabiria is robbed and dumped once again beside a riverbank. Things have come full circle; our story has ended the way it began and Cabiria faces a long walk home in the dead of the Roman night. But of course Fellini has an affecting finale up his sleeve and as Cabiria walks down the road back to the city she is surrounded by a group of people, singing and laughing to traditional music. This music, so spontaneous and uplifting inspires a smile on her tear-glazed face, ensuring us that her soul is still in one piece and life goes on. This final shot is perhaps the most simple and effective that Fellini has ever crafted and is the perfect conclusion to such a wonderful film.

Our Rating:

Director/Writer:Federico Fellini/Federico Fellini (story and screenplay), Ennio Flaiano (story and screenplay), Tullio Pinelli (story and screenplay), Pier Paolo Pasolini (screenplay)
Director of Photography: Aldo Tonti
IMDB: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0050783/
Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nights_of_cabiria
Video/Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hlcJt63Gyps

Summary (from IMDB): Cabiria is a wide-eyed waif, a streetwalker living in a poor section of Rome where she owns her little house, has a bank account, and dreams of a miracle. We follow her nights (and days): a boyfriend steals 40,000 lire from her and nearly drowns her, a movie star on the Via Veneto takes her home with him, at a local shrine she seeks the Madonna’s intercession, then she meets an accountant who’s seen her, hypnotized on a vaudeville stage, acting out her heart’s longings. He courts her. Is it fate that led to their meeting? Is this finally a man who appreciates her for who she is? Written by jhailey@hotmail.com.

My Take: Giulietta Masina, if I may quote Robert Redford in “Up Close and Personal,” eats the lens as Cabiria. Is it obnoxious that I quoted an obscure movie from the early 90s? Absolutely. But she does. As does Franca Marzi as Wanda.

I loved this movie not only for the performances by the entire cast, but because Fellini lends several dimensions to his lead character, a prostitute. She is romantic, determined, kind (mostly), hard-working and tragic. He allows the audience to get to know Cabiria as a human being whose only dream is to fall in love.

Sometimes I think we have to make happiness. . .you know, like making a batch of cookies. Yes, it sounds easier than it is (now you know I’ve admitted that most things seem that way, right?). Admittedly, you cannot manufacture happiness like a chocolate factory manufactures candy bars. Happiness is not a commodity that is mass produced. And I haven’t seen any available for purchase at the local discount store, either. What I have seen, though, is that it’s almost impossible to find happiness if all you focus on in life is yourself. Have you noticed this, too?? Now don’t get me wrong—I am not saying that you aren’t the star of your show or that the title of my first post here, “It’s All About You” didn’t mean that it is, in fact, all about you. The thing about it is it’s not just about you. Does that make sense?? It’s like saying that you can have anything you want (and you can!), but not everything you want. For one thing, acquiring one thing in your life may automatically make it impossible for you to acquire something else. If, for example, you want a new car and you want both a BMW and a jaguar,  you probably aren’t going to be able to get both, unless you are a millionaire.  Now this diva couldn’t afford either car, but that’s beside the point *wink*.  Let me give you another illustration. If you go into a restaurant and you order a slice of cheesecake, the chances are that by making this choice, you will have to forfeit the chocolate cake and the apple pie. So, as you see, we make choices. We also make a choice as to whether we want a life that centers exclusively around us, or whether we would like to have a cast of supporting players. Having been a theater actress for a few years, I can safely say that one of the very worst things you can do, when you are starring in a play, is not realize that the entire cast of the play is a team. Competitiveness can be a positive thing, but if it means that you don’t want the best for someone else, especially someone whom you’re working with, it can become very destructive. In a way, life is the same way as a play. I’ve mentioned before that there are a lot of similarities between the world and a stage and between people and actors and actresses. The American author Nathanael West, in his bleak but brilliant novel, The Day of the Locust, presented the pessimistic theory that life is essentially like a Hollywood sound stage. There is a scene in the book that I found particularly painful. Oddly enough, it involves a cock fight. On my initial reading of the book, I failed to see the significance of this brutal scene. Reading about two roosters brutalizing each other seemed as if it hadn’t much of a point. But now, on reflection, I’m wondering something: was Nathanael West trying to make a point about life and what some people do to other people? Was he not basically saying that the world supports and promotes the idea of the “survival of the fittest”, so to speak? Was he not saying that if you’re weaker than someone else, they will take advantage of that fragility? West himself had to witness other writers succeeding who certainly didn’t possess his genius, while he was forced to sell Hollywood scripts just to have enough money to eat and feed his family. Maybe his own experiences are what shaped his oppressive worldview. But what West failed to see is that just because the world is attempting to promise this “you win/I lose” mindset, it doesn’t mean that we have to buy into it. Society and “popular” culture will always try to get us to buy into what they say everyone is doing, thinking, saying, or experiencing. However, let me ask you: when you go into a clothing shop, do you buy everything you see? If one of the sales assistants comes up to you and tries to persuade you to buy a dress or a suit by telling you about how many other people have bought it, do you automatically go into the dressing room and try it on? And if you try it on, do you purchase it, even if you don’t like how it looks on you?? Well, if you answered “no” to that, then why are you purchasing the opinions and ideas that society promotes?? If you believe in God but society tells you that you shouldn’t, why would you listen to them?? Similarly, if your best friend is a Christian, but you have no interest in becoming one, are you going to let him/her convince you? I’m not saying that having faith in a power beyond ourselves cannot provide us with solace in our darkest hours. Your Success Diva believes in God. But she doesn’t try to push others to believe in Him just because she does. Why?? Well, you see, here’s the way I look at it: only those who feel a weakness within themselves would feel it was necessary to alter the opinions and beliefs of those around them. If you have full confidence in your convictions, you don’t feel you have to persuade others to share them nor do you feel that you have to defend them or disguise them.

I have a great many friends who are atheists, and we all get along beautifully. On the other hand, my grandmother, a religious fundamentalist, tends to alienate those who do not believe exactly the same way she does. In fact, her best friend, whom she knew for several decades, didn’t feel that she could share personal things with her. She knew my grandmother would judge her for any conduct that she didn’t approve of. It’s funny how so many people who believe in God want to adopt the role of God for themselves. Rather than allowing everyone to have the freedom to believe the way they like, they somehow feel they have the right to interfere and control the lives of those around them. What I feel would be so much more beneficial is to merely share the positive qualities that others might associate with religious faith with your friends and acquaintances. Could there be a better testimony than that? I daresay not. Of course, whether you are Jewish, an atheist, a Christian, a Buddhist, a Mormon, or someone who hasn’t ever made up his/her mind what you believe, you will probably see at some point that making yourself the only focus of your life isn’t going to leave you feeling very content.  We are not made to be solitary creatures. If you will note, birds tend to migrate in flocks more often than not. And if you have the cable channel, Animal Planet, you might have had the chance to watch the fascinating and entertaining show, “Meerkat Manor”. If so, did you notice how the meerkats supported and cared for each other?? Yes, they had misunderstandings and quarrels and so forth. Yet, ultimately, they bonded with one another and saw that living in harmony with each other provided them more benefits than braving it out by themselves. “But I’m not a meerkat, dear diva,” you say. No, of course you’re not. You are a living, breathing human being, and my guess is that you need to give and receive love and affection a great deal more than any meerkat in existence does.

One of the most difficult things to do, though, is to reach out to others when you are in the depths of despair. How do I know?? Well, I have often isolated myself when I have been experiencing deep depression. I have shut people who cared about me out of my life by refusing to return phone calls and/or answer e-mails and letters sent to me by post. It was not a conscious decision on my part—or, at least, I didn’t think it was at the time. The problem is, the more I isolated myself, the more depressed I became. The fact that I wasn’t willing to give affection to others made me even less able to give myself any affection. The more I withdrew, the more I disliked myself. The less love I gave, the less I received, and the less I was able to give to myself. Even now, when I am feeling extremely sad, I have a habit of closing myself off. It often seems like such a formidable task to talk to others about how you are feeling, when all you really want to do is sit in a chair and/or cry for a few hours. You also fear that no one will really understand. To be honest, there are plenty of people who won’t understand. They’ll tell you things like “Pull yourself (or your act) together,” or they are sometimes even insensitive enough to say, “Snap out of it.” Does this mean that they don’t care about you?? No, it doesn’t. What it means is that they haven’t yet learned how to respond to the needs of other people. To them, depression is merely a state of mind, and they probably think that a state of mind can be changed as easily as a pair of shoes. It’s very easy to resent such people and to blame them for their uncaring attitude. But what I think will benefit you the most (and remember, you are the most important person in your life, even if you aren’t the only important person) is to not allow yourself to give way to resentment and bitterness. The moment you start feeling yourself getting angry at the people who don’t understand, ask yourself this: if I let myself be driven by a negative emotion because of this person, who is in control of me and of my life—me or them?? Do you see that the answer is “them”? I hope you do because it is. Anger can be used positively, but more often than not it is used destructively. Reacting in anger to something another person says or does is the same as saying: “Hey, I want you to know that you have had such a powerful influence on my life by what you said or did, that I am allowing you to make me angry, even though I know that anger is a destructive emotion and that I am hurting myself more than anyone else.” Is that what you want to do?? Is anything that anyone does or says worth it? Have you noticed, too, that anger, even if it seems to lend you energy at first, usually exhausts you in the long run? I have. Emotions such as love and compassion and generosity will actually give you energy, but resentment, frustration, anger, and hate will take energy from you. Now it’s one thing to remove toxic people from your life. There are indeed times when you simply must walk away from someone. However, never do so out of anger, even if ridding yourself of the anger you feel towards a particular person seems impossible. Always keep in mind that the last impression you make on someone can be every bit as important as the first impression. Wrap your mind about that thought for a moment, and tell me whether or not you want a person’s final impression of you to be of someone who has no control over his/her own emotions.

Now that you’ve heard your diva’s thoughts about anger, I will return to the subject of reaching out to those around you. Have you ever noticed that when you get intensely preoccupied, you forget about other things that are going on in your life?? For example, let’s say that you love foreign films. Well, if you go to the video store and rent a couple of movies directed by Federico Fellini or Francois Truffaut or Ingmar Bergman or another foreign filmmaker who is among your favorites, even if you just found out that your boyfriend or girlfriend has been cheating on you, are you focusing on that when you sit down to watch the films? Sure, you can’t exactly forget about it entirely. I mean, it’s a real situation—it does exist. But if you’re watching Fellini’s muse, Giulietta Masina, light up the screen in “La Strada” or “The Nights of Cabiria,” are you thinking every second about your unfaithful “significant other”? I doubt you are. To give another example, if you have a headache, but you love ice cream and decide to stop by the ice cream shop to get a scoop of your favorite flavor (whatever that might be), are you thinking about your headache as you enjoy the ice cream? If so, are you thinking about it as much as you were?? Are you sure?? Come on now, you know you weren’t.

Well, the emotional turmoil that comes from depression is not unlike the pain that you would experience if you found out that the man or woman you love has been involved with someone else at the same time he/she has been romancing you. It’s also not unlike a stomach ache. Sure, stomach pain is usually the result of a physical ailment, but it’s still pain, isn’t it? Next time you’re feeling blue or having a bad day, try reaching out to someone else. You don’t have to do anything that requires a lot of time and/or effort. Your act of kindness can be as simple as a short phone call, a brief e-mail, or a greeting card sent by post. Also, you don’t have to say much. I emphasize this because often, when a person is hurting themselves, they are unsure what to say and have difficulty communicating. What I would suggest is a simple message such as “You are in my thoughts” or “I’m sending you a hug” or “I just want you to know that you are one of the special people in my life.” You don’t have to worry about being eloquent or profound or charming. Just be sincere. A simple and small gesture can often mean as much to another person as an expensive gift, a bouquet of roses, or a lengthy letter or e-mail. And a phone call just to say “hello” can make the difference in both how you feel and how the person on the other end of the phone feels. You can make it a situation that is mutually beneficial. Is there anything better than that? Our competitive and fast-paced society is repsonsible for the “What’s in it for me?” attitude. But you know what? If you adopt your diva’s suggestion, you will find that there’s always something in it for you when you show caring for someone else.

I must provide one word of caution, though: not everyone is receptive. Why? Well, it’s easy for people to be skeptical when people do nice things for them or say kind things to them. They tend to think that you must have a motive behind your actions and/or words. This is why being completely sincere is essential. If someone is a friend but not a close friend, don’t pretend they are. It will probably make them suspicious. And when you tell another person that you love them, make sure the words are coming from your heart. And don’t expect them to say that they love you, too. Love is something that must be unconditional if it is to be at all genuine. Perhaps they are at a place in their life where they feel they must withhold affection. Maybe they have been rejected so much that they are afraid to freely give love. Or maybe they usually associate love with romantic love, and feel that saying they love you wouldn’t be appropriate. Whatever the case, don’t worry about it. You have done yourself a favor by verbally expressing your love. Love happens to be one of those emotions that has no negative consequences. Even if it isn’t reciprocated, it will not harm you or anyone else. Indeed, it is the only emotion that can fully heal someone.

That being said, I urge you to open yourself up to the love that others demonstrate towards you. In accepting the love you receive, you will be able to pass it along to others. What is essential is that you not count on the fact that the love you give to others will necessarily be returned to you from those specific people. You will get the love back, but it may come from other sources. Life is an odd thing, really—it’s incredibly complicated, utterly unpredictable, but ultimately fulfilling. But it can only be fulfilling if you let yourself be fulfilled by it. Now, it’s going to be complicated and unpredictable whether you want it to be or not. Those are two things that you haven’t any choice about. Personal fulfillment is something you do have a choice about, though. And although you should never look to others to fulfill you, I think you’ll find that in reaching out to others, you will be enabling yourself to experience a significant feeling of fulfillment.

To all of you, I send love, peace, joy, happiness. . .& loads of success!

Your Success Diva

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(photo: a group of meerkats show what team spirit is all about)

This page and all written material at The Success Diva pages is written by Alexis Wingate. All rights are reserved. (C) Copyright Alexis Wingate. The Success Diva

Rumor has it Juliet of the Spirits was both a product of an LSD-induced haze and Fellini’s “tribute” to his wife. Both are distinctly probable. The film follows Giulietta through a bizarre sequence of events teasing and positing queries and scenarios regarding femininity, marriage and what it takes to be truly happy. Juliet of the Spirits is, without a doubt, among the 5 most visually stunning films I’ve ever seen. The saturated technicolor is breathtaking. Everything is so beautifully contrasted. Fellini’s camera floats through dreamscapes, examines Masina’s big, gorgeous and expressive eyes and probes the subconscious. Fellini was clearly having fun exploring his dreamy visions, and he occasionally hits on some potent and important points with his delirious surrealism.

Giorgio feels like Fellini’s skinnier, more refined double. Word is Fellini was unfaithful himself, and this film could be his lament for his actions. I can see him experiencing a lot of guilt and using this film as a form of purging. Fellini attempts to rationalize and explore the psychological ramifications of his actions and how they manifested themselves in Giulietta’s mind. His experiences at the circus and with psychics clearly finding their way into his vision as the whole film feels like a celebration of the eccentric and weird people that populated both Fellini and Masina’s lives, as well as Italy in the 60s. They oppress, idolize and react to Giulietta in various ways. As probing as Fellini is, the film’s best moments are fleeting. The scope and visual bombardment too often overwhelm some of the thematic communication. It’s a flawed film, and probably 10-15 mins too long, but it is quite the visual achievement. Overall, it’s a ride well worth taking.

Fellini’s 1957 Nights of Cabiria is about houses and homelessness and the painful exchange we make, as modern creatures, when forced to cash out the stagnant wealth of the past for a new and desperate freedom. By the 1970s, when the Italian director made Amarcord, the price had been paid, and everyone in the little town depicted there lived in some version of the late Fellini’s modern-cinematic-surrealist world of restlessness and narcissism and irony. But in Nights of Cabiria, the title character, played by Giulietta Masina, is in the midst of the transition, torn between the house that gives her dignity, and the grand cinematic dreams of love and redemption that will leave her both homeless, yet terribly free of old mythic encumbrances.

          Cabiria, a prostitute who falls in love with dubious men, is often swindled of her earnings. But she has managed to protect her house, a simple structure near Rome on the road to Ostia, from her own recklessness and naiveté. It is basic, a rectangular box with only one room. When we see her enter it for the first time, she must climb through a window because the man she loved took her purse, and thus her keys, and left her to drown in a river.

          Cabiria’s house, a symbol of her fraught independence (she has no pimp and thus no protection), is her sole asset, and it is small one. The arid, rectilinear high-rise apartment buildings of suburban Rome are encroaching. Just as her life as a prostitute is untenable, so too her home. It contrasts sharply with two other dwellings in the film: The caves that worn-out street walkers are destined for, a lunar landscape of utter destitution we see in a haunting interlude; and the modern house of Alberto Lazzari, the besotted movie actor who takes Cabiria home only to dump her even before consummating the dalliance.

          This last house is a marvel of architectural confusion. Even Cabiria, in the morning, gets lost trying to escape its white walls and glass doors. A staircase, steep and straight, seems to be going both up and down at the same time, a confusing inner passageway in a house that should be open and blank in the high modern fashion. Lazzari is struggling against the architecture, stuffing his home with all the nonsense that modernism is supposed to banish. It is cluttered with modern art and luxuries, but also a Baroque spiral column sitting in the room as a purely sculptural and decorative object. The transparency of the modern style has been subverted and the space feels closed in.

Cabiria’s house is secure, yet she can always get in, while Lazzari’s house is protected by ferocious dogs, yet it’s hard to get out. One frail house is threatened by modernity, while another sumptuous one is an example of the failure of freedom that modernity is supposed to bring. Music, for both Cabiria and Lazzari, is a consolation for problematic homes, a way of being rooted in structures that are insecure or vulnerable or contradictory.

          Cabiria’s fate is in the hands of a man whose house—if he has one—we never see. He lives in another part of the city, he comes from a village outside of Rome, he is rootless and foreign within his own country. At the moment he threatens Cabiria—just before wresting from her the money that came from selling her house—we see him standing in the exact pose of Caspar David Friedrich’s Der Wanderer über dem Nebelmeer. Wandering, restlessness, motion—this is the new sublime, the reward for everything lost when the home is taken from us. The whole film could pivot at this point. Cabiria’s pathos could work on the man’s conscience. It almost does.

          But no. This is the moment when Cabiria crosses over and loses the last of the emotional tendrils that connect her to the old way of life. She is homeless but fully modern, drawn to the itinerant music of life after dwelling.

She isn’t disillusioned—that would be a different movie, a morality tale—but she will never have as much at stake when she invests in a man, or a place, or an idea again. Having cashed out her house, having been swindled by a homeless man from the land of  nowhere, she finds herself swept up in the flow of youth. “We’re going to lose our way, going home,” says one of her new friends, with happy abandon. And so Cabiria exits walking, strolling, almost dancing, part of a loose network of ephemeral alliances, never again to be rooted in something so burdensome (or consoling) as pile of stone with a roof on it.

Para su primera película en colores, Federico Fellini se reservó un capítulo personal, mucho más íntimo, inaccesible e inconfesable que las vivencias propias ligadas a su profesión y recogidas en la magistral Otto e mezzo, rodada dos años antes. A un tiempo experimento formal y excéntrica narración de un capítulo oscuro finalmente eliminado de la anterior película, esta obra de 1965 resulta tan cautivadora como inquietante, tan seductora como repelente, pero de un atractivo visual irresistible que no ha perdido ni un ápice de fuerza en más de cuarenta años y que para sí lo querría más de un director que pretende hacer de los colorines su particular seña de identidad. Y decimos bien, película en colores, porque en su primera experiencia fuera del blanco y negro, Fellini nos obsequia con una catarata tremebunda e incontenible de ellos, un frenesí casi orgiástico de juegos cromáticos que no ha tenido parangón posteriormente y que va mucho más allá de la simple metáfora de arquetipos morales o estados de ánimo expresados a través del color.

La película supone la introspección psicoanalítica en el interior de la mente de una mujer, Giulietta (Giulietta Massina, compañera y sempiterna musa del cineasta). Ésta es una mujer algo ingenua, en algunos aspectos incluso casi infantil, que a diario halla pequeñas cotidianidades con las que sorprenderse e ilusionarse como si en lugar de ser una mujer de su edad se tratara de una niña ávida de conocer mundo, curiosa, osada, pero también escéptica, vacilante, temerosa. Giulietta está casada, pero su marido la engaña: su matrimonio es ya un mero formalismo, y él, asumiéndolo como tal, no escatima ocasiones para estar con otras mujeres, para mantener aventuras o participar en juegos sexuales, bien en pareja, bien en grupo. Giulietta, en parte por su incapacidad para afrontar la situación de una manera madura como corresponde a su edad, y en parte por la constante necesidad de abrirse a nuevos caminos, penetra en un extraño ambiente de videntes excéntricas, prostitutas de lujo y hombres y mujeres de alta sociedad que deambulan junto a ellas que, al mismo tiempo, como al espectador, la escandaliza y la atrae. Su tradicional educación en valores religiosos conservadores choca de lleno con el panorama de alternativas que se le ofrecen en ese planeta de sensaciones y tentaciones, mientras que su curiosidad o la necesidad de liberarse de esa carga de moralidad inducida, de esas convenciones que la esclavizan, la hace sentirse cada vez más llamada a introducirse de lleno en esa promesa de liberación que los devaneos de su marido le ha abierto.

Así, Fellini nos introduce en una narración que tiene mucho más de autobiográfica que lo que indica el nombre de la protagonista, si bien reboza cualquier referencia personal, por un lado, de un estilo que combina lo onírico y lo erótico con lo descaradamente surrealista, y por otro, con un lenguaje visual de enorme belleza y para el que realiza composiciones de planos realmente soberbias, más cercanas al mundo de la pintura que al del cine, en las que combina un auténtico carrusel de colores en una sucesión de escenas en que los rojos fuertes predominantes pueden convertirse en verdes fosforescentes o en blancos casi dolorosos a la vista que se pierden en una oscuridad tenebrosa casi gótica. En medio de todo esto, Giulietta, sacudida por la fascinante, enigmática y casi hipnótica partitura de Nino Rota, esa pachanga de tómbola o de tren de la bruja, deambula como por una feria, como una nueva Alicia o una Dorothy en busca de Oz, asistiendo a cada momento a la nueva representación de un mundo irreal, acaso soñado, que es el propio espectáculo de su interior, o la función a la que asiste junto a su marido, uno a cada lado del escenario, a cada lado de un mismo espejo.

No se trata probablemente de una película cómoda para cualquier espectador, de un producto disfrutable por todo tipo de público, como ocurre con buena parte del cine de Fellini. Muy al contrario, exige la predisposición total a participar en un juego, en un perturbador caleidoscopio de sensaciones y sugerencias al que acompañar a Giulietta adoptando su misma perspectiva entre cándida y pusilánime, espoleada por una curiosidad insana, sin hacerse otra pregunta que no vaya relacionada con la impaciente espera de la siguiente atracción del carrusel. Con todo, dos aspectos destacan enormemente en la película y hacen que merezca la pena su visionado, tanto por parte del enamorado del resto del cine de Fellini como por quien se vea inmerso sin comerlo ni beberlo en esta historia de ciento cincuenta minutos y se halle perdido en un aparente sin sentido. El primero de ellos es su modernidad formal y estética. La película, de 1965, resulta completamente actual, casi futurista, en lo que a vestuarios, maquillaje y atmósferas se refiere. Mucho más adelantada a su tiempo que el cine de su época, resulta chocante cómo cuarenta y cinco años después encaja tan plenamente con nuestra realidad y con los derroteros habituales de nuestra imaginación, sin resultar chirriante ni estrafalaria. Al contrario, se muestra absolutamente precursora y, de la misma manera que Antonioni un año después con Blow up, Fellini capta a la perfección la estética de la psicodelia y la cultura pop. El segundo es la aparición constante de la tecnología como instrumento al servicio de ese mundo onírico, surrealista, a través del cual Fellini se introduce en la mente de Giulietta (y de la suya propia; o de la nuestra…). Es constante la presencia de teléfonos, pantallas, televisores, proyectores de cine, imágenes, aparatos varios, que lejos de quedarse en los estrictos límites de su uso común y mundano, son puertas a ese otro mundo de sensaciones y perversiones por cuyo filo se mueve Giulietta durante todo el film.

Pero lo más importante de la cinta, lo que obliga a verla como mero escaparate, como una antigua atracción de feria, como una parada de monstruos en la que ver desfilar diferentes criaturas, todas ellas con una parte humana y otra soñada, imaginada (no necesariamente la más evidente), es que la película constituye junto al cine de Buñuel, de Hitchcock y de Bergman, quizá una de las mejores y más logradas zambullidas por parte de un cineasta en el inexplorado mundo del inconsciente, ese mágico y desconocido plano de la existencia donde reinan los sueños, los absurdos, los secretos de lo inconfesable o de lo incomprensible, lo que nos da miedo de nosotros mismos, lo que también nos llama con una fuerza irresistible. Giulietta se atreve a asomarse a ese mundo de la mano de un marido que la lleva a rastras hasta él. El culpable de adulterio es sin embargo su cicerone por ese mundo atractivo de lo prohibido, de lo no sujeto a reglas o convenciones. Giulietta y Fellini son dos planos del mismo ser, dos caras de la misma moneda, la cara visible y la oculta de la luna. Esa misma que nosotros no nos atrevemos a mirar de frente.

Other volumes can be found here. And don’t forget to click for larger images!

Image from: My Own Private Idaho | Gus Van Sant, 1991

My Own Private Idaho, Gus Van Sant’s controversial take on the William Shakespeare play Henry IV, is a film that confused me greatly to begin with, but I soon came to love. It’s not a film that many will point out for its use of photography, but there are one or two shots that have remained with me. River Phoenix’s character Mike is particularly intriguing, and it’s his journey that propels the film forward. Van Sant uses numerous shots of this seemingly endless road so as to symbolise his central character’s plight. The film closes with the words; “I’m a connoisseur of roads. I’ve been tasting roads my whole life. This road will never end. It probably goes all around the world…” as Mike finally comes to understand the reason for his existence. These scenes, drenched in an evocative yellow tone, are for me the highlight of the film. I love the well-trodden allusion that Van Sant draws, linking roads to life and visa versa, but none of this would have been quite as effective without these expansive perspective shots.

Image from: Nights of Cabiria | Federico Fellini, 1957

Somebody already pointed out a distinct lack of close shots in the first volume of Evocative Images in Film, so this timeless image from Federico Fellini’s Nights of Cabiria should make up for that. The image is taken from one of my- nay, my favourite closing scene in all of Italian cinema. Cabiria is a down-on-her-luck prostitute played by Giulietta Masina, a character who could only be described as a saintly fool. She is a hopeless – or perhaps hapless – romantic who falls for every man who shows her something more than just lust, and has been has more than her fair share of disastrous romantic conclusions. As the film draws to a close, Cabiria robbed and dumped once again beside a riverbank. As she walks down the road back to the city she is surrounded by a group of people, singing and laughing to traditional music. This music, so spontaneous and uplifting inspires a smile on her tear-glazed face, ensuring us that her soul is still in one piece and life goes on.

Image from: There Will Be Blood | Paul Thomas Anderson, 2007

Paul Thomas Anderson’s There Will Be Blood is a film full of symmetrical shots. Whether or not this was a conscious decision by the director is unknown to me, but it certainly makes for wonderful viewing. In this particular scene, the main character Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day Lewis) begins to realise that his so-called “brother” is trying to put one over him. The pair celebrate the arrival of their new oil pipeline by taking a dip in the local bay, and it’s a scene brimming with furious undertones. Paul Thomas Anderson uses the classic approach of framing both characters, keeping one in the shade and one in the dark, yet maintaining the symmetrical nature of most of the film’s photography. It’s also a refreshing scene, visually-speaking, in a film where most of the first and second act takes place in a dusty, barren part of America. There Will Be Blood is a visual feat, this is certain, and most of that is down to the seasoned hand of Oscar-winning director of photography Robert Elswit.

Image from: Gladiator | Ridley Scott, 2000

This image taken from Ridley Scott’s Roman epic Gladiator is yet another example of a film using dark and light to signify good and evil. The scene is yet another landscape one, I’m afraid, but one that holds so much meaning. The scene precedes an important point in the film where its hero Maximus finds that his family home has been pillaged. He races back but to no avail, and this sweeping image of rolling green hills tells it all. It would be an idyllic scene if it wasn’t for the black smoke that appears to be billowing from among the distant trees, and this is used to symbolise the dark nature of that which has occured. Gladiator is full this kind of impressive landscape shot, and it’s easy to see why someone as experienced as Ridley Scott has ensured the involvement of cinematographer John Mathieson in every project of his since. I enjoy how the image doesn’t include a house, either, for that would have appeared perhaps too dramatic. As it is, we can’t see where the house is in relation to the smoke, all we know is that the two statues either side of the road signify that someone does indeed live on that fateful hill.

Image from: Manhattan | Woody Allen, 1978

Many filmmakers have put New York City on celluloid, but few as effectively as the great Woody Allen. His 1978 film Manhattan is arguably his most comprehensive work in a career spanning more than four decades as a director. As I’ve written about previously, it’s often a single image that helps capture and preserve the memory of a given film – and with Manhattan, it is this one. It seems that all the great New York filmmakers approach the illustrating of their great city in a different way; whether it be Martin Scorsese, Sidney Lumet or Woody Allen, there’s always something different to be found. Allen’s New York is by far my favourite, as he’s usually always so obsessed with the city’s people rather than the city itself. This single image from Manhattan goes against that idea, but goes some way in explaining the man’s love for his hometown. Set to the booming classical music of George Gershwin, Manhattan is a celebration of New York more than anything else, and this single image helps capture that perfectly.

Thanks for reading, and expect another volume of Evocative Images in Film very soon! Meanwhile, please feel free to make suggestions for images that could be involved in the next volume.

Title: Le notti di Cabiria
Year: 1957
Director: Federico Fellini
Writers: Federico Fellini, Ennio Flaiano, Tullio Pinelli & Pier Paolo Pasolini, based on the novel by Maria Molinari
Starring: Giulietta Masina, François Périer, Franca Marzi
Music: Nino Rota
Distinctions: Oscar for best foreign language film; currently #143 on IMDb’s Top 250
Synopsis: a prostitute copes with being low-class
Length: 117 minutes
How I saw it: on video (rented from Netflix), yesterday
Subjective Rating: 5/10
Objective Rating: 6/10 (points off for concept, story, pacing and subjective rating)

Masina’s performance and character are entertaining, but it’s a pretty slow movie. There’s not much of a plot, and what little there is doesn’t really get started until over half way though.

Title: Lo sceicco bianco
Year: 1952
Director: Federico Fellini
Writers: Federico Fellini, Tullio Pinelli & Ennio Flaiano; story by Michelangelo Antonioni, Fellini & Pinelli
Starring: Alberto Sordi, Brunella Bovo, Leopoldo Trieste, Giulietta Masina
Music: Nino Rota
Synopsis: an idiot fan girl ditches her husband on their honeymoon
Length: 86 minutes
How I saw it: on video (rented from Netflix), yesterday
Subjective Rating: 6/10
Objective Rating: 9/10 (1 point off for concept)

A sit-com-type story.  Amusing, but nothing special.  Trieste’s clownish performance is delightful.

1985. Uno dei migliori film di Fellini, secondo me.

Trama essenziale. Lui e lei erano stati (decenni prima) ballerini di avanspettacolo, passabili imitatori della coppia americana. Si ritrovano sul set di uno show telenatalizio a riproporre il loro numero. Se la cavano ancora. Addio alla stazione Termini. Lui: “Ti ho sempre amata…” Adieu adieu.

Lui: Marcello, malinconico gigione.

Lei: Giulietta, praticamente all’ultimo film.

Bravissimi tutti e due.

Procuratevi il DVD, se non ce l’avete già. Soldi ben spesi.

Particolare non trascurabile: è (oltre che una delicata storia d’amore) una feroce satira della TV berlusconiana. Presentato da un cinico e ipocrita trombone, che finge di commuoversi tutti i momenti (vi ricorda qualcuno?) il megashow è una grottesca sfilata di mezzecalzette, fenomeni da baraccone, “casi umani” (il prete innamorato, ecc) e gnocche mezzenude. Incombe la pubblicità di polenta e insaccati.

Scena memorabile (dopo un’ora e 22′). Lei, presa da una crisi di panico davanti allo specchio per il trucco, vuole andarsene; ma nella sala entra il PRESIDENTE Fulvio Lombardoni. Aggirandosi tra cortigiani e divette, si avvicina a LEI, la seduce con un sorrisone e due frasette gentili, accenna a ballare “cheek to cheek”. LEI cambia idea: the show must go on.

Mi dispiace non poter mostrare il videoclip. Ma ve l’ho detto: accattateve ‘o DVD.

Title: La Strada
Year: 1954
Director: Federico Fellini
Writer: Federico Fellini, Tullio Pinelli & Ennio Flaiano
Starring: Anthony Quinn, Giulietta Masina, Richard Basehart
Music: Nino Rota
Distinctions: Oscar for best foreign language film (1957); currently #215 on IMDb’s Top 250
Synopsis: a girl is sold to a traveling performer
How I saw it: on video (rented form Netflix), March 2008
Subjective Rating: 5/10
Objective Rating: 7/10 (points off for dialog, cinematography and subjective rating)

Kind of boring. Not my sort of thing, but well done. If you dig literary analysis and tragic characters, go for it. The music is great (as you might expect from Rota). The main character’s (Masina’s) acting is so bad it’s good; very memorable.

By Gjon Mili

Ore 01.43 – Mi sono appena riguardato “Le notti di Cabiria“. Ero leggermente perso tra i miei pensieri. Insofferente, ecco, credo che questo sia il termine più adatto a descrivere il mio stato d’animo. Prima di scegliere il film me ne sono stato venti minuti seduto per terra davanti alle colonnine porta dvd con una sigaretta accesa penzoloni a pensare non so bene nemmeno io a cosa. Avevo dentro la voglia di far mille cose e di far nulla allo stesso tempo. Perciò me ne stavo lì, seduto per terra, come ci si sta quando si hanno cinque anni o poco più a fantasticar del mondo e di mille altre piccole cose. Mi son tornate in mente le bombole del gas nascoste da due tendine sotto la cucina nella vecchia casa in campagna di zia e le mattonelle in cotto, rosse aceto, grosse e tutte inarcate come non se ne vedo più nelle case d’oggi. Quanti chilometri macinati a piedi nudi sopra quelle mattonelle l’estate, solo per sentire la frescura sotto i piedi nudi quando fuori nel primo pomeriggio il sole cuoceva tutto. E le serate passate nel giardino a fissare le stelle coccolati da quel frescolino che solo nelle notti d’estate, con l’odor degli zampironi poggiati sul tavolino di plastica che ti solleticano il naso mentre stai li ad osservare il fumo che sale mentre le orecchie son stordite, alienate dal canto dei grilli e delle cicale. Non c’era internet, non c’erano cellulari, solo un vecchio telefono di quelli grigi che per comporre il numero dovevi far girare la ghiera e la suoneria era solo un driiin e mica la potevi cambiare. Ti ci affezionavi e basta ben che andasse. Io me ne son stato li, venti minuti, seduto per terra, che per terra avevo voglia di stare, con la sigaretta a penzoloni che non so nemmeno se ho aspirato mentre pensavo a tutte queste cose, col cervello che frullava indietro, poi un pochino più avanti, poi nuovamente indietro. Sembrava stesse a far le manovre. Mi è venuta voglia di mettermi a piedi nudi e uscir fuori a correre sulla ghiaia, sull’erba con la brezza e le stelle sopra. Ho scorso i dvd uno a uno, poi ho preso “Le notti di Cabiria” mica per altro, ma a quel personaggio son affezionato. Comincio a guardare il film, la seguo nella sua avventura, piccolo clown sventurato. Come si fa a non immedesimarsi, a non tifare per lei? Continuo a pensare durante tutto il film. Mi lascio coccolare, mi arrabbio, mi svuoto, mi sento partecipe nei miei pensieri di quelle sventure. E’ un otto volante, sali scendi finché alla fine non sei li sul burrone, tu e lei, con Oscar che ad un certo punto ti fissa per una manciata di secondi, diritto in camera, il viso freddo, sudato, l’occhio vitreo e assassino. Cosa pensa? Temi di finire giù, anche tu, con tutto il circo, il carro e i buoi e tanti saluti, e oppalalà fine di tutti i pensieri, delle retromarce e delle manovre. Non accade, l’eroina ha ricevuto la grazia chiesta, non si è accorta che è giunta in quel momento per lei, per te, per tutto il circo il carro e i buoi e allora niente finale tragico per i pensieri e oppalalà continui, corri sulle mattonelle di cotto, e senti ancora lo zampirone anche se sei un po’ nostalgico, perso. Fino a quando eccola. Quello sguardo sorridente bagnato dalla lacrima, quel sorriso incerto ma grintoso che fissa direttamente in camera, fissa te e ti dice grazie di essere li a guardare, a pensare a lottare, a lasciarti andare con un film, con la testa, coi ricordi mentre lei se ne va avvolta da giovani canterini e musicanti. Si va giù ma si riemerge sempre. Dai pensieri quanto meno.

Un’altra paglia penzoloni è tra le mie labbra, la candela accesa, e una piccola lampadina a rinforzare il dondolante bagliore della fioca luce. Oppalalà, con tutto il circo, il carro e i buoi.

Buon fine settimana ragassuoli.

- La Strada – 1954 – ♥♥♥♥♥ - 

di

Federico Fellini

Cosa fanno questa sera sul grande schermo? Un film del grande maestro Fellini? Come posso solo pensare di perdermelo? Questo è il mio stato d’animo quando leggo che daranno al cinema un vecchio film di Federico Fellini: La Strada. Capolavoro! Questo è il mio stato d’animo alla sua conclusione. Il film narra le vicende di Gelsomina (Giulietta Masina), una donna-bambina un pò maldestra che viene comprata dal rude girovago Zampanò (interpretato da un bravissimo Anthony Quinn) che si esibisce di paese in paese con un unica attrazione basata su capacità di forza fisiche. Il personaggio di Gelsomina rappresenta un pò l’essenza della donna “domestica” per anni assoggettata e schiava di mariti “borghesi” che la hanno sfruttata. Il suo personaggio spesso mi rievoca Charlot di Chaplin, o per gli amanti del cinema indiano il vagabondo Raj di Awara interpretato da Raj Kapoor. Quello di Gelsomina è un personaggio che ha in se , nelle sue espressioni mimiche e un pò “clownesche” le due facce della vita umana: quella della gioia e quella del dolore. Gioia esplicata nel suo desiderio di fare l’artista e in ogni manifestazione esterna di questa sua volontà. Dolore causato dal crudele Zampanò da ogni sua parola verso di lei, e sopratutto dal gesto assurdo dell’uccisione de “Il Matto”, un equilibrista filosofo che riesce al contrario a stimolare il lato gioioso e vitale di Gelsomina. E Il Matto è proprio a mio parere la chiave dell’intera favola felliniana, è colui che ci comunica che “Tutto serve a qualcosa, nell’universo. Anche un sassolino”. E’ colui che indica a Gelsomina la strada verso la libertà. E lei deciderà attraverso il suo dolore di abbandonare Zampanò, lasciandolo in seguito anche alla sua morte in un abisso lacerante di disperazione solitaria sulla spiaggia nella quale tutto era anche iniziato. Tutto ha un perchè. Ogni azione umana passata negativa , e in questo caso di Zampanò, inevitabilmente  avrà in un futuro le sue conseguenze.

(Con la sola forza dei pettorali, cioè il Petto spezzerò 

questa catena di ferro puro...)

(Il Matto e Gelsomina)