Bernardo Bertolucci’s epic historical melodrama of family and political ideas has had a difficult time reaching audiences in the form that the director intended. In April 2016 the excellent Masters of Cinema label released a 2 disc Blu-ray package offering the full version in the correct ratio and with supporting materials. Now seems a good time to try to revise ideas about a major film from the 1970s.
Bertolucci moved into production of Novecento (see below on titles) in 1974/5 at a time when his stock was high, especially after the great international commercial success of Last Tango in Paris in 1972. Because of this potential ‘bankability’, producer Alberto Grimaldi was able raise a budget equivalent to $9 million – a very large budget for an Italian film at this time. However, Grimaldi’s deal with Hollywood distributors demanded a film of 195 minutes and the cut that Bertolucci showed at Cannes in 1975 ran to 317 minutes. Forced to cut, Bertolucci managed to come up with a single film lasting 247 minutes with an English dub. This was eventually released in many territories (it reached the UK at the turn of 1977/78). Meanwhile a two-part film comprising all the material was released in Italy, France and other European territories in Italian/French/German dubbed versions in 1976. All Italian films were routinely post-dubbed at this time. Novecento has an international cast but the subtitled version of the Italian dub on the new discs didn’t present me with any problems. IMDB lists the film as 1:1.66, the ratio common in Europe post the adoption of widescreen in the 1950s. The MoC discs offer a 1:1.85 version. I’m guessing that this was a condition of the film’s international release.
The Hollywood distributors also seem to have chosen the ‘1900’ title. This is misleading. ‘Novecento’ doesn’t translate directly but Bertolucci’s intention was to suggest the ‘new century’ and its history – the ‘1900s’ perhaps. He thought about a second production (“a third act”) which would follow the story after 1945. He discusses this in an interview on the MoC disc of Part One (the same interview that appeared on a Paramount DVD in 2006). The film narrative begins on the day in 1901 when two male births bring grandsons to the landowner (padrone) of a large estate in Emilia-Romagna and to the patriarch of the large extended family of paesani who live and work on the estate. The padrone is played by Burt Lancaster and the paesano Leo Dalcò by Sterling Hayden. Lancaster reportedly worked for no fee because he liked the script (he was working on Visconti’s Conversation Piece (1974) when Bertolucci approached him – he had played a similar role as an aristocratic landowner in Visconti’s The Leopard in 1963). I think Bertolucci and his scriptwriters introduced the traditional patriarchs and then skipped a generation to introduce two characters who in some way represent the ‘modernity’ of the early 20th century.
Olmo (‘Elm’) is the paesano as played by Gerard Depardieu. Alfredo is the future padrone played by Robert De Niro. Olmo’s father is ‘unknown’. Alfredo’s father Giovanni is a new style capitalist and a bad father – forcing Alfredo into the company of his uncle Ottavio (who should have inherited the estate but instead has become an aesthete). It is Giovanni who hires the foreman Attila – who later joins the new Fascist Party in the 1920s and becomes the third major figure in the narrative played by Donald Sutherland. Attila appears along with a threshing machine in 1918 just as Olmo returns from the war and begins to move into working for the new communist party of Italy – marking the beginning of the struggle between landowners and agricultural workers. This aspect of the story reminded me of the (slightly earlier) stories featuring agricultural workers in the novels of Thomas Hardy and their filmic adaptations.
Bertolucci in his interview speaks about himself being a ‘country boy’ from Emilia and that this history is essentially about an agricultural community. Certainly the great events of the period are ‘off-screen’ – we only see what happens on the estate and in the neighbouring town (apart from the trip ‘away’ when Alfredo visits Ottavio and meets his future wife Ada (Dominique Sanda)). I enjoyed the whole film but the two aspects I enjoyed most were the presentation of the landscape and the collective actions of the agricultural workers. The film was photographed by Vittorio Storaro, Bertolucci’s regular collaborator. I was surprised to read a comment in Pierre Sorlin’s Italian National Cinema 1896-1996 in which the author compares Antonioni’s and Bertolucci’s use of the same landscapes in the Po valley. Sorlin suggests Bertolucci’s rural landscapes (he is referring to 1900 and Before the Revolution) offer “a countryside without workers, a land where crops seemed to grow by themselves”. But this seems to me to be totally inaccurate in relation to Novecento. There are several important scenes related directly to groups of agricultural workers busy in the fields, socialising in the woods and working in the farmyard. The entire last sequence of the film depicts the workers occupying the estate and cornering the fascists alongside the resigned Alfredo as padrone. It is the collectivism of these scenes which stands out – whether it is the women with their giant red flag or the men standing up to the fascists.
Watching the film more than 40 years after it was shot, it is still a surprise at how sex is represented on screen. So much was cut from the English dub that little was said about the displays of male genitalia which would have been a problem for a full length release in 1976. (There is, however, an unfortunate dialogue about this on the IMDB bulletin board.) The sex scenes seem to me to be open, ‘natural’ and part of the story, but I was shocked by the brutal violence perpetrated by Attila. The main players in the drama – the five international stars pictured above – are all male and the story is about the birth and subsequent lives of two men, but much of the political discourse in the film is presented through the actions of the female characters, especially Olmo’s partner Anita (Stefania Sandrelli), Laura Betti as Regina on the fascist side, and in smaller roles, but equally important, the women of the Dalcò clan led by Maria Monti as Olmo’s mother. Dominique Sanda as Ada, Alfredo’s wife, is the top-billed female star but hers is an important role in the drama of Alfredo’s life away from politics – though it is Alfredo’s failure to act when Olmo is threatened by Attila that causes a rift between the padrone and his wife. Finally, Stefania Casini as a young woman in the town has two important sequences in the narrative – one in a sex scene. Bertolucci was a controversial figure after Last Tango in Paris – especially after the revelations about his treatment of his young star Maria Schneider. Because of that the role of the women and their representations on screen in Novecento might have attracted more attention and perhaps obscured some of the political discourse. It’s interesting to read contemporary reviews.
In Monthly Film Bulletin (January 1978) Jill Forbes finds herself in the odd position of reviewing the English dub of the cut version of the film but also acknowledging that having seen the Italian version she can recognise that most of what she sees as responsible for the failure of the film is not present in the full version. She recognises that Bertolucci is able to combine different elements – conventions from bourgeois literature alongside folktales, farce, Italian comedy etc. – and to place them in context with the gradual unfolding of historical progress in the countryside. Forbes sees exactly the kind of damage Hollywood did to Bertolucci’s great work. In Sight and Sound (Spring 1978) Italian film specialist Geoffrey Nowell-Smith takes a similar line but spends much longer discussing the dub. He makes interesting points about UK vs US vs Italian audiences and I think it is true that for a UK audience subtitling makes a big difference for films which are dubbed automatically in Italian. Certainly I don’t miss the local language inflections when reading the subtitles. Nowell-Smith is less explicit than Forbes about which version he is critiquing, though he seems to share her analysis. He ends by suggesting that “the film’s eccentricity and its incorporation into the staid format of the historical spectacular, proves to be its redemption”.
My feeling is that the film does work – as a saga of two characters and two families – and as a statement about Italian social, economic and political history in one location during the first half of the 20th century. I enjoyed the performances, the cinematography and the music (by Morricone) and I was impressed by the sense of community and collective struggle. I’m also struck by how beautiful and impressive Gerard Depardieu was as a young man.
The crisis in UK distribution is such that a hugely enjoyable and accomplished genre film like Suburra played for just one week at HOME in Manchester and was hard to find on other screens in the North of England. It is showing, if only for two or three screenings, at various venues in July (see this website for details) and it is currently available on VOD, but it won’t generate the same buzz that might have come from a 70 screen release. Presumably small distributor Kaleidoscope has been more focused on DVD/online. It’s a long film (132 mins) but I never felt the pace flagging. It’s epic in scale, has wonderful settings, terrific performances and superb cinematography plus great editing and a stunning electronic score by French duo M83. It’s far better than most Hollywood crime films and I’m sure that subtitles wouldn’t get in the way for most audiences. See it on the biggest screen you can find – we watched it on Screen 1 at HOME, an unexpected treat.
‘Suburra’ or ‘Subura’ was the name given to a district of Rome in antiquity – a ‘red light district’, home to a criminal underworld. Stefano Sollima (director of the Romanzo Criminale and Gomorra TV series) uses the title to set up his contemporary mixture of crime and political thriller. The narrative is presented in a series of chapters based on the days leading up to the ‘apocalypse’ in 2011. Later we realise that this ‘catastrophe’ will be the end point of a complex network of conflicts and inter-relationships involving Italian politics, leading criminal families and the Vatican. The ‘inciting incident’ is the action of a senior politician with unforeseen consequences which gradually unravel the ‘stability’ created by the criminal fixer known as ‘the Samurai’ – who has previously kept warring families apart. As an early symbol of what is to follow, Sollima shows the naked politician literally pissing on the city of Rome from a balcony in the city centre during a torrential downpour. This extraordinary image is the first of several scenes which delight the eye while leading us deeper into the corruption at the heart of the city.
The narrative offers us five major characters. As well as the politician we meet the heads of two criminal families plus the pimp Sebastiano and the Samurai. This latter is a man who at first appears like a retired middle manager before we see the steel in his gaze and realise the intelligence in his strategies. By contrast, Sebastiano first appears as a weak man who might easily break and his little moustache made me think of the fascisti. The two heads of the criminal families are very different and though both are stereotypical in appearance, they are also distinctive. The interior décor of the houses occupied by the Anacleti family will stay with me I’m sure. The Anacletis appear to be Roma – the subtitles refer to gypsies but at least on one occasion they are abused as ‘Jewish’. Any help with this identification is appreciated. The second ‘family’ is represented by ‘Number 8’, who has taken over from his father, and his partner Viola, a drug addict – who turns out like many of the other characters to be not what we might have expected at first sight. The casting of the film is terrific. I often find it difficult to distinguish individual characters in crime genre films, but not in this film.
The narrative is adapted from a novel by Giancarlo De Cataldo and Carlo Bonini, who were also involved in writing the script with Sandro Petraglia and Stefano Rulli. The story appears to use elements from a major criminal investigation which was reported in 2014 in Rome involving leading politicians and organised crime and seen as part of ‘Mafia Capital’ – a longer investigation into organised crime in Rome (see this news article). The most obvious element used in the film is the ‘zoning’ application for a ‘change of use’ in the run-down seaside town of Ostia where Romans have traditionally taken holidays. Silvio Berlusconi resigned as Italy’s Prime Minister in October 2011 and Pope Benedict abdicated in February 2013 – two other events which may have been influences in constructing the fictional narrative.
Stefano Sollima is best known for his television work and it is perhaps not surprising that Netflix, looking to expand in Italy, have already commissioned a series based on the same material. (Netflix is also distributing this film in the US.) It is interesting to reflect on whether Suburra is in any way ‘televisual’ as a film. There have always been two perceived major differences between ‘cinema films’ and TV films/series – at least in the US and UK. (In smaller language film cultures such as Sweden the distinction is less clear with some projects switching easily between the two.) One difference focuses on aesthetics – cinema films have been argued to be more ‘cinematic’ because of better colour definition (and therefore more scope to create lighting and tonal effects) as well as a greater range of compositions with more long shots and shooting with depth of field etc. The second difference concerns narrative complexity, the ‘richness’ of the themes and the artistic integrity of the direction. Up until relatively recently, television drama was often criticised because of its association with ‘soap opera’ or its propensity for sensationalised ‘real-life’ social dramas – the ‘TV movie of the week’ syndrome. Both these criticisms also included the prosaic camerawork, editing, set design etc. But now the argument seems to have reversed and cable television productions in the US have now attained a new level of ‘quality’. The questions of aesthetics have gone thanks to similar digital production methods in cinema and TV (and new standards for ‘home viewing’) and the acceptance of ‘long-form narratives’ on TV has meant that narrative complexity, richness of theme and artistry now resides with TV productions. Suburra is an Italian-French co-production with independent Italian production company Cattleya and Italian PSB TV company RAI joined by French independent La Chauve Souris.
After a single viewing, I’m not sure I’m able to comment on the aesthetics of Suburra. I can only say that I did notice the use of close-ups (of fascinating faces) more here than I usually do in modern films (and this was in 2.35:1). Mostly, however, I noted the camerawork and direction and editing which presented not only marvellously choreographed crowd scenes but the highly stylised scenes noted above. This is a complex narrative but I think it would feel very different seen in weekly episodes. I’ve never ‘binge-watched’ more than two or three episodes of any serial and perhaps if that’s what you do with boxed sets, the narrative will be similar. The film is only 130 minutes – presumably the Netflix version will be 360 minutes or more? Personally, I prefer films in cinemas. My viewing partner was equally taken with Suburra. We both breathed out a ‘Wow!’ at the end of the film and we agreed that this is a very dark film but with a satisfying twist at the end which perhaps offers some kind of moral commentary. ‘Nuff said, I think.
UK Official trailer (it reveals some of the major incidents):
I’m glad I finally got to see Youth. When I came out of a virtually empty cinema, I wasn’t sure exactly what I thought of the film. Later I looked back at what I’d written about Paulo Sorrentino’s previous film The Great Beauty (2013), which won so many awards, and realised that I’d felt more or less the same about that film. Both films are very beautiful with stunning cinematography by Luca Bigazzi, carefully chosen music and strong performances. Both also seem to be referencing Fellini and other art cinema directors in some way but, as I begin to reflect, the films are also significantly different.
I’m not sure about the technical reasons for this, but shooting in Switzerland creates incredibly clean and sharp images – is it a function of the light? Much of Youth is shot in an alpine resort and in the surrounding valleys. The location and several other shared elements made me think of Clouds of Sils Maria (France-Switzerland 2014). Both films feature older performers faced with younger counterparts and both in some way counterpose American and European culture. Interestingly (in the context of Brexit), the ultimate British actor, Michael Caine, does very well in this Italian film and is quite believable as a composer/conductor who has lived in Venice. He also looks remarkably like Tony Servillo, Sorrentino’s lead from The Great Beauty with his glasses and swept back grey hair. While I’m not very keen on Caine’s politics (as he espouses them) I’ve always been impressed by his acting skills (and despaired of his penchant for accepting parts in terrible movies). Play your cards right Michael and you could have a late career like Dirk Bogarde in interesting European films.
I suppose that Youth is indeed about the concept of youth – perhaps that notion that not until you are really old do you fully understand what youth might mean and what you can do with it. I enjoyed Paul Dano’s performance as a young actor who seems to be getting somewhere near the understanding that Caine’s character finally achieves. The Harvey Keitel character, Mick Boyle has rather more problems – including the heavily disguised Jane Fonda. It took me a while to recognise Fonda. What’s also different about this film is the reference to ‘real’ characters including the pop star Paloma Faith (playing herself) and actors representing the Queen and Prince Philip (referred to bizarrely by someone from the royal household as “the Prince Philip”) and Diego Maradona. Whether the actor playing Maradona (as immensely fat) is really playing ‘keepy-uppy’ with a tennis ball or whether it is CGI, I don’t know but it is a terrifying commentary on ageing and skill/talent.
Youth will stay with me in some form. At the very least it is good to have a reminder that films don’t need strong narratives to say something or simply to entertain. It may well be that it will repay a second viewing.
This is already a contender for ‘canine film of the year’. In fact the dog in the film is a wax model later transformed into a bronze sculpture. But the recumbent body reminded me of mine own Oscar [not the uncle], especially when at one point the wax sculpture was placed on its back, just as he reclines on our sofa. The film was screened in the Hyde Park Picture House ‘Tuesday Wonder’ slot [supported by the Henry Moore Institute], so unfortunately there was only one screening.
The film follows the process of making a bronze sculpture at the Fonderia Artistica Battaglia in Milan. The foundry uses the age old techniques of ‘lost wax’ casting: a process little changed from the bronze age though now they use modern technology including plastic piping. The film opens with the almost complete wax model, which then has a ceramic shell constructed in a series of stages before the molten metal is poured into the cast to form the bronze copy. The final stages are a series of scaling and polishing and then – this glowing metal sculpture.
The film opens with a series of brief onscreen titles which provide basic information. The rest of the film relies on limited dialogue but no commentary. The process is filmed in a series of discrete shots, showing the craftsmen and the object as the process develops. The angles of the shots are carefully chosen to display the craft, how the workers stand, use the wax or the clays, how they move and handle the sculpture. There are constant ellipsis as the process carries on, only one of which is signalled. I think the process takes quite a number of days but the duration is not clear in the film. The film also uses footage shot at the foundry in 1967 [on 16mm] and in 1974 together with stills of the foundry and its workers from earlier periods.
After the screening a friend commented that the film was a little like “watching paint dry”. The S&S review uses the phrase ‘slow cinema’ and also ‘fly-on-the-wall’. Neither was really my sense of the film. In some ways it parallels the earlier Italian documentary Le quattro volte (2010, also referred to in S&S). But there is a vastly different tone to this film. It is careful and loving documentation of a particular artistic process. The process is fascinating, and the stages in the development of this work of art do suggest the wonder that accompanies the process whilst displaying the work-a-day labour which achieves it. At the end the new bronze dog is placed among a litter of similar sculptures, but all with their distinctive characteristics.
The title of the film comes from a quotation by the Italian sculptor Giacomo Manzoni, comparing sculptures to a series of ‘hand gestures’. The film only lasts 75 minutes. it combines colour and black and white film. It was directed by Francesco Clerici and written by Francesco Clerici with Martina De Santis
I had two reservations during the screenings, both examples of the problems with digital cinema. The earlier film footage has been reframed to fit the widescreen image: though the stills were in their correct ratio as was the film [with the only accompanying music] in the end credits. And the subtitles in English were right on the bottom line of the frame: this seems in part because the DCP is in 1.78:1, presumably for television usage. One of the staff advised me that the distributors frequently fail to provide exact detail of these aspects: which dismays me but does not surprise me.