The period of comedy began within the ‘50s as a strong antidote to the preceding neo-realist period, appealing to the newly-educated audiences; but by the 1990s this had faded (as cinema interest did in general) because of a mass increase in TV subscriptions and audiences. Moretti was never one to follow trends – as more dramatic fare was becoming widely favoured his comedy Caro Diario (Dear Diary) won him Best Director at Cannes in 1994. The turn to mainstream drama wasn’t necessarily of his choice – changing attitudes of TV audiences through Berlusconi was a major inevitable influence. Moretti’s own foray into politics after The Son’s Room, through party Il Goritondo (The Merry-go-round), opposed Berlusconi and the bureaucratic nature of his ruling. However, film has primarily been his most effective way of activism as he records his own histories as a reflection of his country.

Moretti’s satire has never left him as he refuses to shy away from contemporary issues or critics, while his creative involvement is imperative to his work. As director/writer/producer/star of The Son’s Room, the story of Giovanni and his family reflects how they deal with grief after the death of son Andrea. Focusing on the father and his work as a psychotherapist drives the theme of personal cognition even further as we see Giovanni become disillusioned with his job and life. Moretti uses a mock-autobiographical persona within many of his films, using his own line of thought to create Giovanni’s relationship with his society. Social observations as simple as running and facing the camera are a key motif in the film as he struggles to confront his loss, while the diversity of his patients reflects the different paths available in society. It’s here that contrasts in dealing with death show – Giovanni’s choice to run from his work after Andrea’s death ignites unexpected reactions from his patients, contrary to the humdrum of their usual sessions. His imagination runs rife through the course of the film as we get to know a man who would do anything to change the past, Moretti using flashbacks and fluid camera movements to express where his life has been and where it is going.

By placing himself as the protagonist – the film’s messenger – Moretti seeks personal renewal. Also seen recently in Quiet Chaos, another film dealing with loss and grief in the family, The Son’s Room is an example of Italy’s emotional state; the country’s own social consciousness. Moretti’s use of music is important in recognising the pop culture of mainstream Italy, the prevalence of English songs suggesting the emergence of commercialism and tying into Berlusconi’s media and sudden political influence. It’s necessary to note that the film was affected by politics regardless of Moretti’s views – public television station RAI, run by leading political parties, contributed to the production. The censorship within the Berlusconi era no doubt would have influenced some of Moretti’s choices as a filmmaker and is a reflection of the monopoly Italy’s media finds itself in.

The Son’s Room was well received in Italy, returning the best box office receipts for Moretti yet. As a Palme d’Or winner, it stands high as a film that draws on the open emotion of Italian nature to comment on society. Moretti’s interest in film technique provides him with options in expressing his concern for his country, with satire usually safe in providing laughs but also displays the irony of Italian people and power. This film indeed provides satire but dramatically informs us that we can’t escape grief; we must move forward to become ourselves again – but whether that relates to Italy and its controlled media is for the people to decide.

Quiet Chaos [Caos Calmo] (Review)

Italian Retrospective #4: La Finestra di Fronte (Facing Windows)

Italian Retrospective #3: Roma, Citta Aperta (Open City)

Italian Retrospective #5: Io Non Ho Paura (I’m Not Scared)

Italian Retrospective #1: Il Gattopardo (The Leopard)

Set in 1978, I’m Not Scared is based in Basilicata, a poor isolated region in Italy’s south used in the Fascist period to send opponents into exile. The protagonist is Michele, a 10-year-old boy who thrives on adventures with his friends and whose views are influenced by the fairytales he reads at night. We see his story in chapters as he discovers Filippo, a young boy kidnapped for ransom – Salvatores weaving a major issue of 1970s Italy into the tale. The rural location also reflects the lack of education that surrounds the country’s poor areas, but this doesn’t affect Michele as he starts to slowly understand the power of a secret.

As Michele stumbles upon Filippo, Salvatores raises ideas of familism and melodrama. He presents the story through the eyes of the child (literally via a shorter eye level and wider shots representing broad focus) as it acts upon his world. It’s also worth remembering that children also see things in a more exaggerated way, affecting their school, friend and family relationships. Salvatores asks the questions about Michele’s ability to deal with less trivial and more adult information through the secrets his family keep as well as his own, and the experience makes him grow throughout the film. However, the innocence is never truly lost as the fairytales he reads put events into perspective and his decisions remain that of a boy his age. Children are always taught about right and wrong, which is essentially a black-and-white perspective – but as we understand, more often than not there are multiple shades of grey.

Stop all this talk about monsters. . . . monsters don’t exist. It’s men you should be afraid of, not monsters.

Novelist/screenwriter Niccola Ammaniti created Michele’s town and its people as sinister under the surface, but shows father Pino as having split personalities. He pressures Michele to do the right thing for his family, setting ideas of right and wrong but failing to extend the ideals past that point. Arguments between the two often show the difference between the child’s moral honour and the adult’s ethical honour, with neither necessarily right or wrong but presenting the idea that fear comes from what’s unfamiliar (what we struggle to convey, to ourselves and others). Italian families living in extreme poverty, particularly in the South, often show signs of backwardness because there’s a lack of community action – the idea of familism (spending more time with family than neighbours) spread in this part of the country over the 70s period and remains in some remote communities today.

The North/South divide prevalent in the previous Retrospective films is seen here with the inclusion of family friend Sergio. Played by Salvatores regular Diego Abatantuono, the man from Milan represents the Northerner attitude as seen by the Southerners – obnoxious, uncaring for others and domineering. Michele immediately registers his displeasure towards Sergio – as a kid would, living what they act and revealing emotion. The neo-realist look on Michele here is that he’s a knowing victim, and as directors Vittorio DeSica and Roberto Rossellini often portrayed, definitely not a delinquent or corrupt. It’s what surrounds him that presents a dark metaphor for Italy – familism as a result of weak national identity and the uncertainty of how to deal with secrets and their implications. Michele learns his fate and accepts it; even at a young age he understands that the hero does fall, contrary to what’s depicted in his fairytales.

I’m Not Scared is more subtle in its criticism of Italy, not because of the younger protagonist but because the little details adding up to an entertaining story that does hint at Italy’s problems. A child’s eyes are indeed different, but in no way does that discount the problems a country faces. The story of Michele serves to prove that morality can go a long way and that sometimes Italy may need to see its problems in plain black and white in order to fix them.

Italian Retrospective #4: La Finestra di Fronte (Facing Windows)

Italian Retrospective #3: Roma, Citta Aperta (Open City)

Italian Retrospective #1: Il Gattopardo (The Leopard)

Italian Retrospective #2: I Cento Passi (The Hundred Steps)

Italian Retrospective #6: La Stanza Del Figlio (The Son’s Room)

Director Ferzan Ozpetek is a modern auteur known for concentrating on ‘Otherness’, his films often dealing with sexuality; gay relationships. Being of Turkish background, he also includes many immigrants as outsiders, engaging cross-cultural interaction with central characters. Writing all of his films, most stories come from memories that usually become reconfigured in a contemporary setting. Facing Windows draws on emotions that come from memory itself, as old Davide (the late Massimo Girotti in his final role) struggles to find who he really is, wandering through the present day with thoughts of war-torn 1943 in his head. Davide’s Jewish background represses him even in the present day, as does his love for Simone from his past. This secret relationship runs parallel to Giovanna’s some 60 years later, whose meeting Davide enables her to look for a difference in her life.

The heroine of the story is typical of anyone in a mid-life crisis – married, but without passion or sense of direction. What Facing Windows does is use that as an entry into identification – if the audience connects, then the identification develops into what can become the dominant identity. Italy wants a national belonging that incorporates all its citizens, and this film helps engrave that in the public’s memory. Ozpetek is a European filmmaker that holds an obsession with recovering memory, which by many is seen as the key to identity. It is a part of Ozpetek’s reality, and in turn what he constructs reflects his perspective. The relationships of Davide and Simone, and Giovanna with neighbour Lorenzo are juxtaposed with exploring the modern identities of the characters and society in general. Ozpetek does this to make you see that the ‘Others’ are really no different to anyone else.

Giovanna and Lorenzo’s relationship comes through their facing windows, their curiosity getting the better of them after seeing into each other’s lives every day. Looking into a window is looking into a personal space, and Ozpetek uses this to show the secrets we hold. From Lorenzo’s hosting duties to Giovanna’s mundane routine and Davide’s flashbacks which intertwine the past and present, Ozpetek refreshes an arthouse technique, blending it in with Hollywood stylistic romance. It’s in his technique that we understand we aren’t watching Hollywood, but a national statement on Italian society then and now. His edits of characters’ looks are so important in reminding us of how we see people – and how they see us, and also that our realities are represented on film as identifiable.

A choice of Giovanna’s in revitalising her life revolves around her job as a pastry chef. Through cooking she finds solace and shares this with Davide. New creations are a metaphor for a new reinvention in her life, and the inclusion of cakes can be seen as a reference to Italy’s increase in food consumption during the mid-20th century as well as temptation to follow the gluttonous or immoral path. The love that Giovanna and Davide have for cooking is reflected in the presentation, in which perfection can be linked to an idealistic view of love. However, Ozpetek doesn’t let us all the way in. True to national cinema, he withholds information and uses music instead of words to convey a response. Emotion is what matters, and the expression that Ozpetek gives us links back to Italy’s cross-cultural issues. As much as the search for national identity has progressed, treatment of refugees and migrants has not. Italy’s multiculturalism stems from the complexities of the WWII era and Mussolini, who failed to start an empire in North Africa and Albania, and this still holds many implications for Italians today.

Facing Windows tackles Italy’s identity issues from ‘Other’ eyes and suggests that the minorities do have an increasing voice. Davide’s presence provides Giovanna with options so similar to his own, which may suggest nothing has changed. Italy does have an ugly side to its past, and the implicating wounds are only now starting to heal. Ozpetek’s films show that in modern Italy neither open sexuality nor multicultural relationships should be considered taboo, and Facing Windows provides a reason for Italians to believe it.

Loose Cannons [Mine Vaganti] (Review)

Italian Retrospective #6: La Stanza Del Figlio (The Son’s Room)

Italian Retrospective #3: Roma, Citta Aperta (Open City)

Italian Retrospective #5: Io Non Ho Paura (I’m Not Scared)

Italian Retrospective #1: Il Gattopardo (The Leopard)

Federico Fellini quoted neo-realism as “a way of seeing reality without prejudice, without conventions coming between it and myself”, but it’s hard to define – there are only about 90 films post-WWII that can be classified as neo-realism, stories presented with a more ‘stained’ reality. Open City, an early neo-realist film from 1945, shows the fact of Nazi-occupied Rome within the narrative: Giorgio Manfredi, part of the Resistance, is on the run from forces and seeks refuge with the help of priest Don Pietro, friend Francesco and his pregnant fiancé Pina. Rome, along with Paris, was an ‘open city’ during WWII –neutral, but occupied by the Germans as part of the country’s north. Allies captured the South and ousted Mussolini in 1943, creating another divide in the north-south relations within Italy. It led to the change of Italy’s social structure; the Fascists’ idea of a well-run society differed enormously to the commoners’ reality of poverty and illiteracy. Rossellini shows this in Open City in his desire to represent the truth of the Nazis’ controlling ‘power’ versus how the people resist the forces. This is most prevalent with the common motif of faith.

As in the previous Retrospective films, Open City has a religious undertone that holds an important place in Italian society. In this film, faith stands as the hope for an overturn of Fascism and the creation of a new Italy. Don Pietro’s presence in the film is imperative because of the slight contradiction it presents. Although his neutrality is expected as a priest, he’s the middle man in between Francesco and the military junta in helping the Resistance, and ultimately between Francesco and the Nazis. Rossellini presents him comically as a form of objective reality through scenes such as the slapstick of knocking out Pina’s father with a frying pan, and dramatically while discussing faith and identity with Pina. Contrary to other neo-realist films, the tight narrative within intertwining subplots gives Open City gives that much more to the viewer – in the final stages of the film, Manfredi is presented like Christ, with cuts across his body, and his body positioned limp and helpless (much like Peppino in The Hundred Steps). While showing a reality, we don’t forget that the projection is shown through cinematic conventions.

Oh it’s not difficult to die well. The difficult thing is to live right.

The production of Open City not only affected the emergence of neo-realism but has a lot to say about the state of Italy at the time. Rossellini had an early background in documentaries, so had no problem with location shooting and providing an objective presentation of events. The problem came with the film itself – celluloid was made using the same chemicals as gunpowder, which was problematic throughout the war. Little equipment was left when the Germans retreated in 1945 and Rossellini scrounged what he could to make the film. What resulted was the grainy effect and different lighting within scenes presented to us in Open City and encapsulates the objectivity that neo-realism strives for. It’s been suggested that this isn’t just politically relevant, but acts as a statement about the importance of film in politics. Open City led to accusations of Communist, or at least Left-wing, preferences on Rossellini (the Christian Democratic group in power were Right-wing, who later censored many neo-realism films).

The film itself speaks as a politically-charged piece on how Italians resisted against the Nazi forces but speaks to its countrymen as a film about identity – creating a new Italy away from the Fascism and Communism that divided so many politically, socially and economically. It’s impossible to talk about Open City without mentioning its most poignant and unexpected scene – Pina’s death. It stands as one of the most iconic in cinema history not only as a produced moment but as a message of humanity. The heroine of the film is a sympathetic but unconventional woman (she’s having a kid before marriage!) and although one of Rossellini’s constructed stereotypes, acts as the moral example. When she runs for Francesco past the Nazis we see the resistance – her eyes are only for her love; a metaphor for Italy resisting outside forces and yearning for societal change. Rossellini’s ‘ellipsis’ technique sees a distortion of the on-screen space to create closeness and here serves to inform the viewer of what Open City represents.

Winning the inaugural Palme d’Or at Cannes and the Foreign Film Oscar in 1946, Open City made a star out of Anna Magnani (Pina) and was a box office hit. The same can’t be said for later neo-realist films as Italians turned to Hollywood escapism amid censorship enforced by the Christian Democrats. What resounds with this film is that there is a defined good and evil within the story and the characters, presented in such a way that Italians could indirectly have a feel of the era. Rossellini shaped a form of filmmaking with Open City and helped international audiences as well as his own to see how Italy dealt with the WWII occupation and how it saw itself as a country at the time – divided and broken, but with hope. It is open about its ‘stained’ reality and is striking in its sense of a fragmented society – Rossellini couldn’t have done a more intriguing job.

Italian Retrospective #4: La Finestra di Fronte (Facing Windows)

Italian Retrospective #1: Il Gattopardo (The Leopard)

Italian Retrospective #6: La Stanza Del Figlio (The Son’s Room)

Italian Retrospective #5: Io Non Ho Paura (I’m Not Scared)

Italian Retrospective #2: I Cento Passi (The Hundred Steps)

It must first be said that the term ‘Mafia’ is used quite broadly – it specifically refers to the organizations within Sicily alone. So in The Hundred Steps we see the ‘real’ Mafia and their influence (for we are again looking at Sicilian life), as we are led through Peppino’s childhood in the 1950’s to adulthood in the 70’s. It’s important to know that 1970’s Italy was filled with terrorism, ‘The Leaden Years’ a volatile time after the re-consolidation of Mafia group Cosa Nostra. Peppino’s story is just one of many, with student protests at the time gathering Communist support to fight organised crime.

Affected by the death of his Uncle Cesare as a boy, Peppino is intrigued by local artist/activist Stefano Venuti about Communist ideals; the movement was still a force at the time post-WWII. He eventually sets up Radio AUT to promote change and resistance, which reaches across hometown Cinisi (just outside Palermo). The message hits hardest at home, where Peppino’s father Luigi must deal with his son’s consequences. His journey is just as fascinating as his son’s, dealing with an outspoken child who happens to be offending those he works for – ‘Uncle’ Tano Badalamenti. As the middle man, The Hundred Steps shows Luigi’s slow emasculation – he loses his sense of control as a patriarchal figure; of both the family and the mafia, and that is seen at its best during a struggle with Peppino that seemingly foreshadows the doom to come. His death (for there are many in this film) is the most surprising, but the most important – who can protect Peppino from the powers that be if his father can’t?

Even the worst things, once they’re done, find a logic for the mere fact of existing

Death is a prevalent and important part of Sicilian culture. In The Hundred Steps, death is what shapes Peppino to become who he is, and shapes his questions about his morals and his family. Throughout the film we learn of his frustrations – he literally walks circles around brother Giovanni (after ‘the hundred steps’ from their house to Uncle Tano’s) in a striking scene that reveals his inner tension. The close proximity was a major blockade that Peppino unsuccessfully tried to distance himself from. Buonamico Buffalmacco’s fresco painting Death’s triumph over living suggests to some that death does triumph over those having too good a time in life, even with their ‘faults’ of wealth (those not necessarily of their choice). During Peppino’s life there were good times – he was worshipped by those who believed his views.

Within the film adaptation, Marco Tullio Giordana (director of 6-hour epic The Best of Youth) turns to subtle Christ imagery to reveal the religious undertone of Italy’s history as well as the theme of death. Peppino is shown as gaunt and unshaven during a more difficult time, while the only violent image we are shown is that of his bloodied, beaten face before we see his trussed body. The deaths in The Hundred Steps are not glorified, but Giordana instead uses blinding white light to segue into the next scene (presenting obvious connotations). Lighting in the film is important, and viewers should note the use of red light on the characters in key scenes. Music plays an even bigger part, used to get not just local, but international audiences to take interest. Reflecting young Italians’ music taste today (so I’m told), Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin and Procul Harum are contributors towards what’s quite possibly the most effective soundtrack ever put to film – a big call, yes, but it’s definitely up there. Giordana uses the music to stir up such a range of emotions, from tension and youthfulness (with Sweet’s great Ballroom Blitz) to a final feeling of melancholy put with a montage featuring the real Peppino.

It could be argued with The Hundred Steps that Sicilians no longer see the more distant past as determining their history. However, to educate the audience, Giordana maximised the authenticity – using real transcripts from the Radio AUT broadcasts, using the music at the time and casting Luigi Lo Cascio as Peppino, who bears a remarkable resemblance to the real subject. The film was a huge box office hit during its 2000 release, resulting in more accessible information on the Mafia for the public. Italians embraced the chance to learn more about a modern hero of their country and it proved that problems still run deep – with not just organised crime but how it tears families apart. The Hundred Steps is a great example of political awareness in cinema that doesn’t try to saturate you with information, but gives a front-seat ride on the rollercoaster of an influential man’s life.

Italian Retrospective #3: Roma, Citta Aperta (Open City)

The Sicilian Girl (La siciliana ribelle) (Review)

Italian Retrospective #1: Il Gattopardo (The Leopard)

Italian Retrospective #5: Io Non Ho Paura (I’m Not Scared)

Gomorrah [Gomorra] (Review)

Visconti’s most famous film, winner of the 1963 Palme d’Or, is Italy’s answer to Gone with the Wind, a sweeping epic set in 1860 at the time of Italy’s unification. It tells the story of noble Prince Fabrizio (Burt Lancaster) and the Salina family; republican rulers in Sicily, and their struggles during the Garibaldi-led war. This time was very important to Italy as there were stark differences between the North and South of the country, and the States were in need of strong leadership. To this day there is still a divide between the prosperous traders of the North and the farmers/peasants of the South, and the resulting class divide is shown between the nobles and middle-class in The Leopard. The film details the rise of the middle-class through corruption, and we see this through Don Calogero (Paolo Stoppa). He handles the Prince’s money and affairs, and the burgeoning romance between his daughter Angelica (Claudia Cardinale) and the Prince’s nephew Tancredi (Alain Delon) will eventually assure him a prominent and safe standing.

For things to remain the same, everything must change.

The Prince is not immune to what is happening; on the contrary he understands the inevitability of the situation enormously. Burt Lancaster gives an absolute powerhouse performance of a man who knows he’s becoming irrelevant in a revolutionary society. He turns down an offer in the new Senate because his views are of the old era and wouldn’t serve the new society well, and so instead strives to see that his nephew will follow his ambitions and become an important figure in the new order. All the same, the Prince tries to keep his family together – there is still an obvious fear of change, and so the family holiday to Donnafugata goes ahead despite battles and the like. While he has no choice but to accept the change reluctantly, his daughter Concetta (Lucilla Morlacchi) is determined to uphold what was even when it can longer be. Sicilians were even then known as thinking themselves perfect!

We were the leopards, the lions, those who take our place will be jackals and sheep, and the whole lot of us – leopards, lions, jackals and sheep – will continue to think ourselves the salt of the earth.

Visconti was open about his Marxist views and capitalised on this with The Leopard, as Sicily was (and still is) a contested place. A key trading port and its strategic positioning was still relevant in 1963, 100 years after the setting, where Italy was in the midst of a late capitalist economy and consumerism was on the rise. While based on Giuseppe Tomasi Di Lampedusa’s book, The Leopard as a film gave Visconti the freedom to show audiences the nobles’ lavish lifestyle. As a director who insisted on maximising the mise-en-scene in every shot, the repeated motifs of mirrors and death are particularly notable (reflections of themselves? It is a contemplative film…), and no detail is lost through the ball scenes, comprising the last third of the film. Yes, that’s right, 45 minutes worth! Characters pose riddles and questions at every turn as their standing is compromised, but it’s the Prince that is affected the most, and it will move you.

The lavish setting may fool you, but The Leopard is anything but fluff. Everything in Visconti’s film is deliberately done to make you understand exactly what’s happening, regardless of your historical knowledge. Tancredi’s quote about change forms the crux of the film early on and the audience is made to think about class divides among the battles and the romance. That is what The Leopard serves up; it is epic on all counts, with romance and heartbreak among the politically charged content. How Italy’s unification affected this family is only one example, but it shaped the country, with many effects still felt today. Non-Italians viewing the film almost 50 years later proves its longevity as a masterpiece in cinema, not to mention supposedly one of the best book-to-film adaptations, and learning from it shows its relevance in teaching about not just history but the resulting society.

Just a warning: do NOT watch the American version! With badly dubbed English and over 20 (important) minutes cut, the best remaining version is the Italian 187m (the original 205m edit has never gained a wide release).

Italian Retrospective #3: Roma, Citta Aperta (Open City)

Italian Retrospective #5: Io Non Ho Paura (I’m Not Scared)

Italian Retrospective #2: I Cento Passi (The Hundred Steps)

Italian Retrospective #6: La Stanza Del Figlio (The Son’s Room)

Italian Retrospective #4: La Finestra di Fronte (Facing Windows)