41689583

The Melodramatic Neorealism of Luchino ViscontiAuthor(s): Martha P. NochimsonSource: Cinaste, Vol. 28, No. 2 (SPRING 2003), pp. 45-48Published by: Cineaste Publishers, IncStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/41689583 .Accessed: 22/04/2014 21:27

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HOMEVIDEO

The Melodramatic

Neorealism of

Luchino Visconti

by Martha P. Nochimson

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the DVDs recently released by Image Entertainment of three of Luchino

Visconti's greatest films -Ossessioney La Terra Trema , and Rocco and His Brothers. The same can be said for a DVD release of a documentary called Luchino Visconti A Portrait. None of these disks contain any 'extras,' no commentary track by an appropriate critic or knowledgeable fellow artist, no trailers, no enlightening interviews. Happily, the Visconti films are beautifully restored, and made accessible by useful chapter selection features. Unfortunately, the documentary is sloppy, facile, and reluctant to approach any of the controversial aspects of Visconti's col- orful career and life.

The new DVDs of Visconti's under- exposed films offer important opportunities to both dyed in the wool Visconti addicts and the uninitiated wanting to know what the fuss is all about. Luchino Visconti is woefully underrepresented in revival houses and retrospectives, and the availability of Ossessione , La Terra Tremay and Rocco and His Brothers on DVD may be of some help in alleviating this unfortunate situation. Ossessione , considered the earliest of the neorealist Italian films, was made under the Fascist regime, and has major political and historical implications that would have ben- efited from a knowledgeable commentary track, but in so many ways it speaks for itself. It is a film that changed the history of Italian movies, making a breathtaking leap from the pseudograndeur of the preferred fascist sagas of the rich and beautiful into the gritty lives of working people. It is a beautiful and powerful operatic, neorealist melodrama. Not a fully evolved neorealist work, it uses professional actors and is only partly shot on location away from the artifi- cialities of studio manipulations.

Part of the transformations it effected was to present stars associated with escapist entertainment in ways that were new and shocking to the Italian audience. Casting against type, Visconti used Clara Calamai, known for her portraits of society women, as Giovanna, the discontented wife of a seedy rural innkeeper; and Massimo Girotti, previously seen only in light romantic and comic roles, as Gino, an Adonis-like drifter. Extracting these actors from the drawing rooms and musical comedy uniforms of

their previous films, Visconti employs them to draw a tragic sublimity out of the dust of the countryside and the sweaty confinement of the claustrophobic rooms of the dispos- sessed.

The narrative of the film is based on The Postman Always Rings Twice , written by the American novelist James M. Cain. It con- cerns the desperation of beautiful, young, sensual Giovanna to escape her loveless marriage to an overbearing man many years her senior. When, in one of the best early POV zoom shots in cinema, the equally beautiful and sensual Gino appears to her suddenly, like a burst of sun in the grimy kitchen of the inn in which she is reduced to servitude, the fate of three people is sealed. An impulsive affair leads to the collusion between Gino and Giovanna to murder her husband, Giuseppi (Juan de Landa), and ultimately to Giovanna's death and Gino's arrest and certain execution.

This plot is pure melodrama, an element of Visconti's work which runs with more consistency through his films than does neorealism. The aspects of this film which raise it beyond pathos and differentiate it from the film noir treatment of Cain's story in Tay Garnets film, The Postman Always Rings Twice , and from Billy Wilder's Double Indemnity (cowritten by Cain), which revolves around the same plot, are Visconti's neorealist sensitivity to the material and class circumstances of the lives of Gino, Gio- vanna, and Giuseppi, and his complex insights into the humanity of their longings. The films made by Garnett and Wilder,

Fisherman 'Ntoni Valastro in Luchino Visconti's La Terra Trema (1948) (photo courtesy of Photofest).

which each have their own remarkable qual- ities, both turn the three members of the erotic triangle into stereotypes. The hus- bands are repulsive, the women murderous temptresses, and the lovers lambs before the slaughter of irresistible passion.

In contrast, Visconti envisions not only Giuseppi's autocratic ways and his antierot- ic, middle-aged pot belly, but also the charm of his fatherly warmth. Early in the film, as Giuseppi asks Gino for help fixing his truck, he displays a sweet playfulness as he jokingly chastises the roosters pecking at the truck's tires, cuddling the symbol of his imminent cuckolding. Later, at a fair he displays a beautiful voice and an appealing passion for music as he participates in a singing contest. He is a complex of elements, organically grown from the circumstances of class and region, not the one-dimensional allegorical bourgeois obstacle to passion that confront- ed Wilder's and Garnets lovers.

The same may be said for Gino and Gio- vanna. She responds instinctively to Gino's sensuality that rises unbidden from her sen- sory core; he is never the pure means to freedom and wealth that set in motion the cold calculations of Phyllis Dietrichson (Barbara Stanwyck) in Double Indemnity and Cora Smith (Lana Turner) in Postman. He is healthily instinctual in his reaction to her, not (despite the film's title) a cousin to the neurotic obsessives that we find in the Walter Neff of Fred MacMurray or the Frank Chambers of John Garfield. Gino and Giovanna don't even have the kind of care- fully articulated plan to murder Giuseppi that is such a prominent part of the narrative progression of the two other films. Locked into her situation by the destitute condition from which Giuseppi rescued her and to which she will return if she leaves him by herself, Giovanna seems to stumble blindly toward erotic satisfaction, impelled by larger forces than she can name or control. As in Theodore Dreiser's A Place in the Suny the crime of passion is not even clearly a crime, but rather a confused confluence of means and motive. We never see the actual logistics of the car crash that kills Giuseppi, but only the befuddled agitation on the faces of the lovers afterward.

Giovanna has no other choices than Gino; however Gino has another option, a character that failed to appear at all in Gar- nets adaption of Cain, an itinerant idealist Visconti names Spagnolo (Elio Marcuzzo), who in Cain's novel offered the male ingenue alternate life choices as a Commu- nist and as a homosexual. In Ossessione the homoerotic bond between Spagnolo and Gino is never explicitly spelled out. Instead, it is reserved purely for the frame composi-

CINEASTE, Spring 2003 45


tion, which articulates the idealist's never voiced longing and Gino's passive obliviousness in images of male-on-male longing. The political circumstances of Visconti and Gar- nett, the fascist regime and the Pro- duction Code Administration re- spectively, explain the reasons why this character either appeared in muted form or disappeared alto- gether in the translations from page to screen. But even though Visconti gives Gino 'the Spagnolo option/ he raises the possibility only to destroy it. In fact, Ossessione suggests that no power on earth could have kept Gino from his fatal destiny with Gio- vanna. No matter how happy Gino may be with Spagnolo, he is always relentlessly drawn back to her sensuality and passion. It is Spagnolo's despair over this situation that seals Gino's fate. Out of jeal- ousy, he provides the evidence the police need to convict Gino.

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life lived in the lower depths but evaded the political consciousness that per- vaded the work of fellow neorealists De Sica and Rossellini, and that would never, with one stellar exception, be central to this aris- tocratic director's work. The one exception was a film that, ironically, may be the purest example of neorealism created in the Italian postwar period, La Terra Trema. Originally, Visconti had plans for a three-part project that would detail the exploitation of fisher- men, miners, and farmers, those who work the means of production but don't own them. But only the first segment was ever completed, bearing the full title of La Terra Trema: Episodio Del Mare.

La Terra Tremay considered by some afi- cionados of the neorealist movement the most sublime film ever shot, is narrated by Visconti as if it were a documentary film. It uses no professional actors; the Sicilian fish- ermen who play the roles in the film speak in Sicilian dialect - the language of the poor as the title card tells us at the beginning of the film - and it is shot entirely on location in Sicily, far from the Cinecitt sound stages. It is not a documentary, however, but a fictional account of one family, the Valastros, who live in the tiny coastal, Sicilian town of Aci Trezza, and who, led by the oldest son, 'Ntoni, attempt to wrest economic control from the wholesalers and owners through an experiment in communism. The experiment fails miserably and the Valastro family is all but destroyed, its members barely surviving in the aftermath of their experiment, by means of stratagems more desperate than

Giovanna (Clara Calamai) and Gino (Massimo Girotti) are lovers in Visconti's Ossessione (1942) (photo courtesy of Photofest).

those to which they were forced at the beginning of the film.

Unlike Ossessione , La Terra Trema defies classification. It stands alone as a magisterial achievement that fits nowhere into the system of Hollywood genres. Full of political insight, it is not a completely ideological film either. It tears apart the mystique of the star system through its stunning array of performances by nonprofessionals; yet it contains a series of eminently recognizable melodramatic narrative strategies. La Terra Trema is composed of powerful tensions between irresolvable oppositions. On one hand, it narrates the implacability of the mechanics of economics and the intransi- gence of established power, which exults in its victories at the end of the film to the cheers of the very people on whose backs it has risen. On the other, it celebrates the immensities of the human spirit and its sheer joy in living and the intense pleasures of the natural. On one hand, there is 'Ntoni's courage and initiative that makes him a force in the community and, on the other, there is the dark side of his indomitability: a kind of hubris that clips his wings just as he is beginning to realize his goals for himself, his family, and his class.

Simone (Renato Salvatori, left) and Rocco (Alain Delon) in Luchino Visconti's Rocco and His Brothers (photo courtesy of Photofest).

The film is organized around the Marxist analysis of the inevitability of class warfare at this point in history, but it may well be almost impos- sible for most viewers to experience the Valastros as downtrodden and desperate despite all the signs of their poverty - patched clothing, the bare minimum in nourishment, a home stripped to the essentials, per- mitting little privacy and few ameni- ties. The reason for this is that Vis- conti plunges the audience into the ecstatic beauty of their unadorned faces and bodies, the textures of their poverty-line existence containing a richness unknown in the formica and steel of the zoysia grass sur- rounded bourgeois American home.

The rugged seacoast of Aci Trezza that takes the lives of its sons is shown by Visconti in all its heroic, stony outcroppings and undu- lant sea surges, pristine and removed from the oil spills of the Exxon Valdez. Even the heartbreaking descent of the Valastro chil- dren into crime and servitude stands in ten- sion with their enviable freedom of spirit and emotional openness. The community of Aci Trezza, for all its material deprivations, contains a freedom of emotional contact and sharing - an unaffected human brotherhood that seems to be available only under the most dire conditions that touch large masses - that cannot but compare favorably with the bloodless communion among iso- lated computer and cell-phone users that defines the contact of so many prosperous Americans today.

This is not to say that Visconti tries to sell the audience on a sentimental apology for capitalism, which permits its poor a large emotional range. At the end of the film, the victorious exploiters are compared with Mussolini. Over the head of the owner of the increasingly prosperous fishing fleet, in the upper-right-hand corner of the frame, the name of Mussolini appears painted on the wall, as this man attempts to humiliate 'Ntoni, who is now forced by starvation and

deprivation to ask humbly for his old job back. Nevertheless, 'Ntoni and what's left of his family show an unquenchable resilience and dig- nity. As at the end of Rossellini's Rome: Open City , in La Terra Tremay Visconti registers a faith and hope that the future belongs to the pure of purpose who can endure a temporary reign of darkness.

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twelve years later, in his last neorealist exploration of the underclass, he had abandoned any hope that the darkness would be temporary. The maimed spirits of working men and women are more unequivocal and more permanent in the urban

46 CINEASTE, Spring 2003


setting of Rocco , which tells the story of the Parondi family and their journey from the rural south to Milan. The Parondis are the Valastros bereft of their roots, eternally, but hopelessly, looking backward toward the golden age of their place in the rich soil of an agricultural community.

The film begins as the oldest, Vincenzo (Spiros Focas), is preparing to marry Ginet- ta (Claudia Cardinale), the daughter of a comfortable bourgeois family without much concern for his recently widowed mother and his four brothers, Simone (Renato Sal- vatori), Luca (Rocco Vidalazzi), Ciro (Max Cartier), and Rocco (Alain Delon). On the night they arrive in Milan by train from Lucania, their southern village, Vincenzo does not even bother to meet them at the station, leaving them to blunder their way toward the only address they know, that of his fiance's parents. In the darkly comic opening scene, the Parondi matriarch, Rosaria (Katina Paxinu), forces the issue by arriving unannounced at Vincenzo's en- gagement party and shaming him into leaving with his family when the family of his future bride disclaims all responsibility for the recent immigrants. Throughout the film, Rosaria continues, boisterously, through force of will to try to hold her family together and shepherd her boys to success in the northern city to which she has brought them so that they would not have the dirt-farmer destiny of their deceased father - nor she the destiny of a dirt-farmer's widow.

This is the Milan of the post-World War II boom, full of new construction, burgeon- ing industry, and upward mobility. An ugly landscape of poured concrete, it encloses the Parondis in claustrophobic, inorganic urban rooms or abandons them in barren waste- land lots for which there is no imaginable future but more inhospitable, proletarian dwellings. Exploitation and violence are unequivocally the pattern of human rela- tionships, a game the Parondis must join in order to survive. Rosaria's tendency toward managing people's lives turns her, in this urban environment, into an omnivorous, grasping mother who exploits her sons. Self- ish, overbearing Vincenzo, who takes a job in construction, constantly fights with Ginetta's family. Luca, the youngest brother, is on the mean streets as a delivery boy. The studious Ciro, a car mechanic, is above the petty larceny of the unskilled worker, but not out of his mother's reach. Self-indulgent Simone becomes a boxer, but wastes his tal- ents and his life, sometimes with Nadia (Annie Girardot), a cynical woman who has became a prostitute in despair of any better possibilities, sometimes with other women whom he thoughtlessly uses. Shy, gentle Rocco is pulled unwillingly into Simone's sordid schemes and finally into bitter com- petition with Simone for Nadia.

The city also makes Rosaria into a woman people call "Signora," a validation of which she has always dreamed. The economics of Milan offers all kinds of opportu-

nities for all kinds of ambitions. But the increased prosperity fractures family loyal- ties and crushes souls, leaving the distinct aroma of nostalgia for Lucania. The rootless affluence of the modern world sounds the death knell for the family and also for Vis- conti as a neorealist. At the film's closure, Rocco erupts with an emotional panegyric to the preindustrial earth, but his encomium is an epitaph spoken by an exile from Eden. Rocco is driven not by the purity of the humane values of La Terra Trema, but by a sense of the decadence that emerges from human nature under modern conditions.

Indeed, when Rocco, in trying to main- tain the old values of family loyalty by hon- oring Simone's attachment to Nadia, forces her to return to his brother, it turns out that old values may exacerbate pain and anguish in this new environment. Rocco's warmly well-intended sacrifice for his brother's sake only condemns him to a life of regret and Nadia to a loveless, depraved existence and a horrible death at Simone's hands; it condemns Simone, too, as he would rather kill her than live with the knowledge of her love for Rocco. So much for the brotherhood of humankind under Capitalism.

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Lizzani documentary is especially disap- pointing. It is not completely without merit, containing as it does some pretty footage of the manor houses in which Visconti spent his affluent childhood, some rare footage of a very young Marcello Mastroianni in Vis- conti's early stage productions, enigmatic black-and-white footage from Visconti's funeral, and a host of gorgeous contempo- rary Italian rooms in which Visconti's still living colleagues are interviewed. But in most of those interviews, the film fails to identify the onscreen face condemning the viewer to a position as silly and frustrating as thumbing through old photographs piled carelessly in an attic. One or two of the speakers are given a name, and Burt Lan- caster, Alain Delon, and Marcello Mas- troianni are, of course, immediately recognizable. But for the most part, the interested viewer is forced to refer to a large number of commentators in terms like "the man sitting with his two dogs" or "the portly gentleman with bad teeth."

The deficits of this 'technique' of carelessly strewn photographs are compounded by the film's lack of direction. It is not a portrait, as the title claims, but a potpourri, an unsatisfying do-it-yourself smorgasbord. The narrator asks the question, "Who is Vis- conti?," but never provides the means to answers it. In fits and starts, the film threat- ens to do so, for example when Burt Lan- caster tells us that Visconti changed his life as an actor and as a man relating to another man and his statement is echoed by Alain Delon minutes later. But that is all we get. Similarly, "the man settled between two

CINEASTE, Spring 2003 47


dogs" tells us that Visconti never paid the people who worked for him in La Terra Trema , though he gave lavish presents to working people who would have preferred money, and only seconds after that another unidentified person recounts how Visconti sold some family jewels so that he could pay the cast and crew of the film. This contra- diction also dissipates without further exploration.

Astonishingly, the documentary never goes beyond its few superficial statements identifying Visconti as a neorealist, although his role in the movement cries out for further discussion considering the shift he made midway in his career toward films like those in his German Trilogy - The Damned , Death in Venice , and Ludwig - that stand in direct opposition to his earlier aims. The term 'neorealist' is bandied about, but never does the voice-over narration pause to pon- der what it is or how it develops in Viscon- ti's films. A number of clips are shown from his major works, and, in the typically care- less style of this documentary, some of them are equipped with subtitles, others are not. Similarly, we are shown the outside, and only the outside, of the building in which Visconti worked down the hall from Vitto- rio Mussolini, the dictator's son, during World War II. But this relationship is never articulated. Indeed, none of Visconti's rela- tionships is ever excavated; the paucity of biographical information in this film is striking. The documentary, despite its rich visuals and haunting Bruckner and Verdi themes, fails to carry us very far beyond widely known truisms about this enigmatic director's position as a neorealist, his passion for music, or his complex personal involvements.

In sum, while Luchino Visconti, A Por- trait is, on balance, a waste of time, the DVD releases of Ossessione , La Terra Trema, and Rocco and his Brothers present Visconti's works in their pristine beauty. Together, the three films afford an overview of his progression into, through, and out of the neorealist movement.

Distribution Source: Ossessione (1942): Directed by Luchino Visconti; written by Luchino Visconti and Mario Alicato; DVD, B&W, 135 mins., Italian dialog with English subtitles. La Terra Trema (1948): Directed by Luchino Visconti; written by Luchino Visconti and Giovanni Verga; DVD, B&W, 154 mins., Italian dialog with English subtitles. Rocco and His Brothers (1960): Directed by Luchino Visconti; written by Luchino Visconti and Suso Cecchi D'Amico, Pasquale Festa Campanile, Massimo Franciosa and Enrico Mediolo; DVD, &W, 168 mins., Italian dialog with English subtitles. Luchino Visconti: A Portrait (1999): Directed by Carlo Lizzani; DVD, B&W and color, 61 mins., Italian dialog with English subtitles. All four DVDs released by Image Entertainment, 9333 Oso Avenue, Chatsworth, CA 91311, phone (818) 407-9100, www.image-entertainment.com.

Two Silent

Shakespeares: Richard III and Othello

by Russell Jackson

These films range

DVDs

available and quality

add

from

considerably of the

the Shakespeare silent

to

era.

the range and quality of the Shakespeare films available from the silent era.

James Keane's 1912 Richard III is presented in a restored print from the American Film Institute with a score (effectively a Richard III symphony) by Ennio Morricone. The disc includes a short documentary, Rediscov- ering Richard, which describes the film's sur- vival and identification. Dmitri Buchowets- ki's Othello (Germany, 1922) comes with four valuable rarities: a 1905 Duel Scene from ' Macbeth' from American Mutoscope and Biograph; D.W.Griffith's brief and boister- ous Taming of the Shrew (Biograph, 1908); Max Linder in Path's charming Romeo Turns Bandit (1910); and the extraordinary Desdemona (1911) - an early Danish version of the storyline in which a jealous actor attacks his wife as they play the final scene of Othello.

Keane's 1912 Richard III, which has a claim to be the first American 'feature,' joins the 1911 British film of the play, issued by the BFI on its Silent Shakespeare video (see review in Cineaste, Vol. XXV, No. 2). The British version is less accomplished as film- making, but records the work of a remarkable actor, Sir Frank Benson, and his company in a compressed adaptation of his stage production. Shot with a fixed camera on the stage of the old Shakespeare Memorial The- atre in Stratford-upon-Avon, it seems to have been designed to relay the Stratford experience to cinemagoers. The scenery is identifiably that owned by the theater, which burned down in 1926. The events of the play are preceded by scenes representing the aftermath of the battle of Tewkesbury and Richard of Gloucester's murder of the imprisoned Henry VI. (The latter had long been a common feature of stage versions.) Each scene is introduced by a brief descriptive title, with appropriate quotations from the play, although none is attached to the moment in the script when the lines might be uttered.

Benson's performance has an oddly manic quality, derived partly from the circumstances of production - the actors, unused to working for a film director, were disconcerted to be shouted at as they hurried from cue to cue - and partly from what was in some respects a manic inter- pretation of the part. Benson sometimes plays with a jaunty sense of humor, notably when he exults over the corpse of Henry, then hoists it onto his back by the ankles and lugs it offstage.

After commissioning the murder of Clarence from two suitably villainous char- acters (both films have fine examples of stock-murderer acting) he shrugs, grins, and stalks off as if he can't wait to go somewhere private to relish his wickedness. In a stage performance such moments may have sim- ply punctuated the more deliberate and seri- ous passages of the role: here, in a drastically foreshortened scenario, they seem absurd.

Although Benson's company is perform- ing in front of some fine painted stage scenery, the wings and drops remain just that, and settings that might be effective when well lit and seen in the perspective of the theater lose their charm. The Stratford film is a fascinating, if somewhat frustrating, document of the theaters of its time. James Keane, the American director, has by contrast what seems like a series of purpose- built film sets. There are several open-air locations, including those used for various processions, Richard's wooing of Lady Anne and Princess Elizabeth, and the climactic battle. In fact, many of the scenes are shot in the same corner of a park, with or without the aid of fairly unconvincing masonry flats, and the interiors are used with an economy that is admirable in intention but often dis- concerting in execution. The recurrent room in the palace also does duty as a cell in the Tower, which means that Richard's imprisoned victims have at their disposal a nice balcony commanding a view of the street.

Keane's account of the events leading up to the play's opening differs from the Ben- son film's. He shows the stabbing of Rutland at the battle of Tewkesbury, but then one of his exterior shots has Warde as Richard rid- ing towards London - and the camera - down an alley of trees. Once arrived at the Tower, Warde's Richard wastes little time in stabbing the praying king, then goes out onto the balcony to observe a passing pro- cession before going back inside and stabbing him a bit more. Like Benson, Warde then does the traditional business (accom- panying lines from 3 Henry VI) of watching Henry's blood drip from his sword, but he

Frederick Warde stars in James Keane's Richard III (1912).

48 CINEASTE, Spring 2003


Article Contentsp. 45p. 46p. 47p. 48

Issue Table of ContentsCinaste, Vol. 28, No. 2 (SPRING 2003), pp. 1-64Front MatterEDITORIAL [pp. 1-1]INTERVIEWSThe Spirit of Resistance: An Interview with Bertrand Tavernier [pp. 4-9]

Sex, Half-Truths and Videotape: Auto Focus and Confessions of a Dangerous Mind [pp. 10-13]INTERVIEWSFilming the Story of a Spy for God : An Interview with Costa-Gavras [pp. 14-20]

CAUTIONARY TALES: DOCUMENTARIES ON THE UN SANCTIONS AND WAR WITH IRAQ [pp. 21-23]Who Dat Man?: Shaft and the Blaxploitation Genre [pp. 24-29]Contributors [pp. 29-29]White Man's Burden: Eminem's Movie Debut in 8 Mile [pp. 30-35]FILM REVIEWSReview: untitled [pp. 36-38]Review: untitled [pp. 38-39]Review: untitled [pp. 39-41]Review: untitled [pp. 41-42]Review: untitled [pp. 43-44]

HOMEVIDEOThe Melodramatic Neorealism of Luchino Visconti [pp. 45-48]Two Silent Shakespeares: Richard III and Othello [pp. 48-51]Review: untitled [pp. 51-52]

BOOK REVIEWSReview: untitled [pp. 53-54]Review: untitled [pp. 54-56]Review: untitled [pp. 56-57]Review: untitled [pp. 57-58]Review: untitled [pp. 58-59]Review: untitled [pp. 60-61]Review: untitled [pp. 61-61]

SHORT TAKES [pp. 64-64]Back Matter

41689583

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