italy

Fire at Sea [Fuocoammare]

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(Italy 2016)

“It is the duty of every human, if you’re human, to help these people.”

—Dr. Pietro Bartolo

Gianfranco Rosi’s Fire at Sea is inconsistent. On the plus side, it’s a beautifully shot film that recalls Italian neorealism with its ordinary characters, setting, and action. He follows a few different narratives, including a doctor, Pietro Bartolo; a pubescent boy, Samuele Pucillo; an old lady; and throngs of refugees mostly from Africa and the Middle East who arrive by boat to the sleepy Mediterranean island of Lampedusa, where these fishing townsfolk live. Using a kind of day-in-the-life approach, Rosi contrasts the lives of those who have all one way or another ended up on this island. Dr. Bartolo’s job is to examine the refugees as they arrive, and his commentary on what he’s seen is sad. Pucillo is a fisherman’s kid who’s nursing a lazy eye. The old lady (who’s name I didn’t catch and I’m not going to find it now) listens to the radio in her kitchen and requests songs for her son, who’s away at sea. I think. The refugees are something else altogether, and a few get camera time to tell their stories. There’s a great scene where a bunch of them sing a haunting African chant/rap about their persecutors. There’s another where a group of men divides up to play soccer, and we get insight into their allegiances.

On the negative side, Fire at Sea meanders. A lot. Rosi doesn’t exactly connect the refugee crisis to the islanders, so Pucillo and the old lady seem superfluous; their stories actually interfere with what I was far more interested in: the refugees. It’s a pretty and non-judgmental film, but it doesn’t take a stand. I sense a point about loss in here somewhere, but it doesn’t quite get there. I was bored during most of it, I’m sorry to say.

114 minutes
Not rated

(AMC River East) C

Chicago International Film Festival

https://www.kinolorber.com/film/view/id/2363

Like Crazy [La pazza gioia]

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(Italy 2016)

The festival program called Paolo Virzì’s Like Crazy a “hysterical, edgy comedy,” which is not entirely accurate (http://www.chicagofilmfestival.com/film/like-crazy/). For sure, the premise is fun: two female mental patients escape on a city bus and head for an adventure that includes shopping, stealing cars, gambling, clubbing, and getting a sort of revenge on some of those who did them wrong. Plus, the patient who instigates the caper, MILFy Beatrice (Valeria Bruni Tedeschi), is a hilarious character: an imperious namedropping motormouth who fabricates lie upon lie to get herself into (and out of) one shady shenanigan after another, she steamrolls everyone in her path for frivolity—more medication, booze, food, attention—and then condescends to them like they’re peons. Think of an Italian version of Patsy, Eddie, and Newhart‘s Stephanie rolled into one. Beatrice’s mere presence puts everyone on edge, not the least of whom are the nuns who run Villa Biondi, the mental hospital where she’s admitted indefinitely. The film is loaded with funny moments that poke fun at sex, religion, family, age, society, and status. There’s also a clever reference to Thelma and Louise.

For all its humor, though, Like Crazy has a sad underlying story: Donatella (Micaela Ramazzotti), a fragile wounded bird whom Beatrice drafts into her escapade, has a terribly dark past that includes trying to kill her infant son. The film takes a serious turn when Beatrice sets out to reunite him with Donatella. The two women become a support system, with the former serving as the latter’s rock until she discovers that she’s stronger than she thought even with her imperfections. Bruni Tedeschi and Ramazzotti are equally strong, and they operate with a nicely calibrated balance of outrageous and desperate. Aside from a rather random interlude with Beatrice’s ex-husband (Bob Messini), the story plays out damn near perfectly. Like Crazy is a joy but also very touching. My eyes were moist by the end—that caught me off guard, in a good way.

Side note: Vladan Radovic’s cinematography is gorgeously warm, bright, and summery throughout the film—a contrast that becomes more apparent as the mood here gets heavier. It’s a very nice touch.

116 minutes
Not rated

(AMC River East) B+

Chicago International Film Festival

Volcano [Vulcano]

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(Italy 1950)

Vulcano, we’re informed at the end of the film, is not a story about Maddalene (Anna Magnani) or her younger sister, Maria (Geraldine Brooks); it’s about the volcano, which never changes.

I can’t resist a good Italian melodrama, especially a neorealist one. Although not a major work or a prime example of the movement, Vulcano doesn’t disappoint even with its numerous flaws. For reasons not immediately revealed, Maddalene returns to her girlhood home on a Sicilian island that she left for Naples some 18 years before. A far cry from the rough and dreary yokels who inhabit the island, Maddalene is elegant, urbane, alluring, and much better dressed. She’s also got a not-so-secret career as a prostitute back in Naples.

The women shun Maddalene, interfere with her options for legitimate work on the island, and block her from entering church to attend Mass. One crazy bitch goes so far as to kill Maddalene’s dog in a quarry. All of this confuses innocent Maria, who is unaware of her sister’s, um, vocation. Enter sexy scammer Donato (Rossano Brazzi), a sponge diver after a sunken trunk. After a few demonstrative rebukes, Maria gives in and falls in love with him. Maddalene realizes Donato is also a recruiter for a sex slave ring—and he’s got his sights set on Maria. How far will she go to protect her little sister?

The melodrama here is wonderfully overdone (Vulcano is purportedly Magnani’s revenge film after her lover, director Roberto Rossellini, dumped her and replaced her with Ingrid Bergman in another film called Stromboli). The location looks like another planet; all dirty, dry, and deserted, it works well in illustrating the desolate, loneliness of the island and Maddalene’s situation. The narration, however, is cheesy and crudely executed. Director William Dieterle throws in a bunch of odd scenes on fishing boats and underwater that come off gratuitous and not quite natural. The ending is abrupt and silly—a volcanic eruption cuts everything off. Qualunque cosa.

106 minutes
Not rated

(Gene Siskel Film Center) B-

The Bicyle Thief [Ladri di biciclette]

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(Italy 1948)

I didn’t expect much from a film approaching 70 years old, but I was wrong. So wrong. Deceptively simple, beautiful, and easy, The Bicycle Thief strikes a universal chord that resonates today as much as it must have when it was originally released. Bravo!

The plot is practically nothing: a down-and-out bricklayer (Lamberto Maggiorani) gets lucky and snags a job hanging posters advertising movies (Rita Hayworth, specifically) in Rome. He needs a bicycle to do the job, and his bike is stolen on his first day of work. The impact is devastating: he can’t do the job without a bike, which means his family goes hungry. So, he enlists his son (Enzo Staiola) and neighbors to track it down. His desperation is palpable, and it gets all the more intense with each unsuccessful attempt at finding his bike. A series of events leads him to the thief (Vittorio Antonucci), culminating in a confrontation that does not go as expected. There’s a moral to the story, and it hits hard.

I’m blown away by the psychology here: Vittorio de Sica’s statement on human nature is simple yet eloquent and totally spot on. The Bicycle Thief is a fine example of cinema, Italian or otherwise, at its best.

(Gene Siskel Film Center) A

Mia Madre

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(Italy 2015)

Mia Madre is Nanni Moretti’s semi-autobiographic story of a director (Margherita Buy) in the midst of shooting a heavy film about labor relations at a factory while dealing with the impending death of her mother (Giulia Lazzarini), who grows more frail by the day. A quiet, contemplative film loaded with tender moments, it’s a weird mix of drama and humor– I can’t call it comedy.

Plagued by a sense of distance, I found Mia Madre tough to get into. It could have been more moving had the characters been brought closer to the audience. As it is, Mia Madre lacks intimacy. The relationships, especially between the female characters of the family, are underdeveloped and beg for more information. Too many scenes, especially those at the hospital, fail to realize their dramatic potential and end up a snooze because I’m not sure who these people are. Perhaps that was strategic with a character like Margherite, but being removed and kept outside proved to be an obstacle in fully enjoying this film. I did not get involved or invested.

On a positive note, John Turturro, as usual, is great: his take on a narcissistic, loose cannon American actor who makes up shit about his credentials and seems incapable of remembering his lines adds much needed relief. I didn’t hate Mia Madre, but I didn’t find it all that interesting. It is not a film I would peg as the opener to a festival.

(Auditorium Theater) C-

Chicago International Film Festival

http://www.palacefilms.com.au/miamadre/

The Passionate Thief [Risate di gioia]

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(Italy 1960)

A quirky trio—Tortorella (Anna Magnani), an aging film extra; her buddy, professional fraudulent claimant Umberto (Toto); and his partner in petty theft, Lello (Ben Gazzara)—converge through a series of mishaps on New Year’s Eve. Their conflicting agendas become clear as they move from one crazy character and mad caper to the next, ultimately ending up in church.

A decidedly unglamorous take on Roman life reminiscent of Hollywood “screwball comedies” of the Thirties and Forties, Mario Monicelli’s The Passionate Thief is a lot of fun despite a couple of tiresome scenes I zoned out on. Fred Clark’s portrayal of “the American”—loud, rich, and unsophisticated yet likable—made me laugh out loud.

(Gene Siskel Film Center) B-

http://www.rialtopictures.com/passionatethief.html

Sandra [Vaghe stelle dell’orsa]

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(Italy 1965)

Sandra is Luchino Visconti’s scandalous, wonderfully melodramatic postwar reworking of the story of Elektra and her brother, Orestes. Here, Sandra (Claudia Cardinale) and her husband (Michael Craig), return to her girlhood family estate to dedicate property as a park in the name of her father, a victim of Auschwitz. To her surprise, her brother, Gianni (Jean Sorel), from whom she was “separated” years ago, shows up in the night, dragging skeletons out of the closet with him and his freshly penned novel.

Loaded with longing gazes, forlorn poses, dramatic sighs, and loud piano slams, Sandra plays out like an Italian soap opera. The big question involves incest: did Sandra and Gianni, or didn’t they? Cardinale and Sorel are both beautiful, contrasting nicely with the barren landscape and crumbling structures in Volterra, the Etruscan city where the story takes place. Visconti doesn’t answer the big question, but he offers evidence for us to draw our own conclusion. I sensed but didn’t quite grasp the significance of the siblings being half Jewish; I couldn’t tell whether this was intended to be antisemitic, but it added to the melodrama whatever it was about.

(Gene Siskel Film Center) B

https://youtu.be/0vR9LkLY6bM