Italian Film Festival 2018: Two women
After the Danish and German film festivals, the Italians followed suit with their own fest this month (Nov. 14-18). Italian cinema will always be associated with Neo-Realism, Federico Fellini, Michelangelo Antonioni, Luchino Visconti, Pier Paolo Pasolini, Marcello Mastroianni and Sophia Loren. Italy is also a host to one of the "Big Three" of international film festivals: the Venezia, some of whose films were featured in the 4-day event.
"Red Desert" (1964) by Michelangelo Antonioni:
Antonioni's first color film is one of the most studied and influential works in cinema history (see, for example, Todd Haynes' "Safe"). Even after repeated viewings, one feels that the film still hasn't revealed enough of itself. It's like the mysteries of the film are really as unfathomable as the deep blue ocean or the distant wide outer space. "Red Desert" marks the first collaboration between Antonioni and cinematographer Carlo Di Palma, and a major factor in the film's enigma is the latter's work in it. We already know Antonioni to be a master in conveying the psychological and emotional state of his characters through geography and spaces. With Di Palma's contribution in Antonioni's first color film, the hues now lend an added depth and subtlety to the entire narrative. One particular article that I read about "Red Desert" has an interesting observation: that three colors are prominent in the film. And that is, gray, blue and, of course, red. Each of the colors reflects Giuliana's (the main heroine, portrayed by Antonioni's muse Monica Vitti) inner state: gray expresses hopelessness, blue signifies uncertainty and red indicates freedom. The writer of the article also notes that the film couldn't be far from the Neo-Realist tradition as it evokes loss and confusion, the feelings dominant in that post-WW2 movement. But rather than rooting those feelings in the prevailing socioeconomic conditions, the feelings of loss and confusion that Antonioni charts for his heroine are more introspective. So what is it that ails Giuliana? She lives in an industrial wasteland (not entirely unrelated to the economic woes of post-WW2) with her husband and little son. She appears to be agitated, anxious, wary of something or, worst, on the verge of a nervous breakdown - a history of a vehicular accident mentioned by her husband seems to have fostered those emotional states. Giuliana believes that she's sick, though it's something that doctors would probably best describe as not really physical in nature. Could it be industrial malaise (the "gray" aspect)? Giuliana navigates an industrial landscape surrounded by a port (the "blue" aspect) whose constant thick fog makes it possible for ships to lose their way on the sea. There's really not much of a distinction between the surroundings being a reflection of Giuliana's internal state and the heroine being overwhelmed by the external reality, isn't it?
Giuliana is a prisoner of her own agitations and her surroundings make them even worst. Or so she thinks. Does her interaction with other people make things somewhat better? Giuliana seems to have felt freedom and happiness during a near-orgy (the "red" aspect) with husband and friends in a small dilapidated cottage by the sea. But in a sudden retreat from the "red" room, she comes face-to-face once again with the reality of her "own" situation: confusion and depression. The idea of an extramarital affair is toyed upon during the times spent with her husband's friend and fellow engineer (Richard Harris) and it's something that has provided Giuliana some kind of release. But after one stolen night of rendezvous, she leaves the man to confront once again her inner torment. The woman is forever living in a limbo - whether of her own making or brought about by her surroundings, it doesn't matter anymore. The lines are already blurred. Just before Lars von Trier's "Melancholia" gave us Kirsten Dunst's depressed beauty, Antonioni already did that in "Red Desert" in the person of Monica Vitti. The desert may have been red (freedom, joy, pleasure), but it's still a desert nonetheless: a vast area of uncertainty and abandonment.
That's Monica Vitti as Giuliana, a woman alone.
"Hannah" (2017) by Andrea Pallaoro:
The first image that we see in the film is that of the title-character (played to skin-deep perfection by Charlotte Rampling) grunting, as if at someone (because she's in close-up). It stays that way for a few minutes, until it's revealed that she's just taking part in an acting class. Yet, it may not really make any difference. As we're about to gradually learn in the course of the film, there's no dearth of reason for Hannah to not actually grunt. Though for most of the time, she chooses not to. But it's still not negating the possibility that, just like the heroine in "Red Desert," Hannah may just be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The second installment in what is a planned trilogy that features lead female characters, the director keeps as little information as possible from us about Hannah's backstory, her relationship with her husband and son, and with society in general. It's a storytelling as sparse as a four-leaf clover. The director gives his viewers the task of filling in the missing pieces of the puzzle, so to speak. And it's not one easy task. In immaculately-framed compositions, we almost always see the heroine engaged in seemingly trivial domesticity, those small moments that don't necessarily add up to one grand narrative. It's like life continues as it has always been for Hannah as if nothing disgraceful has happened to her family. We may then end up thinking the "wrong" way about Hannah. Those of us who were astounded by Chantal Akerman's "Jeanne Dielman," that nearly 4-hour epic of quotidian domestic existence, are likely to appreciate Pallaoro's a little over 90-minute intimate character study, which undoubtedly bears the influence of the former (just minus the shock ending). There are really no repetitive, obsessive patterns of behavior in "Hannah," but in its piercing attention to details of a seemingly mundane activity the film is in close affinity with Akerman's 1975 masterpiece.
Pallaoro's austere storytelling is matched by his leading lady's minimalist acting. In the kind of performance that very rarely reaches for emotional peaks (except for that scene in a public bathroom, the only time that we see her sobbing uncontrollably), Ms. Rampling keeps it all bottled up inside, etching a character who's silently suffering from anguish and loneliness. The actress by all means has already mastered the art of internal suffering (see, for example, François Ozon's "Under the Sand" and Andrew Haigh's "45 Years"), but in "Hannah" her emotional shell is harder to pierce more than ever. And it's even possible that it's all by design: Hannah welcomes no one to take part in her emotional crisis. The cross is all for her to bear. Just like Delphine Seyrig in Akerman's film, Ms. Rampling showcases an enigmatic and uncompromising performance. If we're even going to seek a meta-quality in the film, we can say that her fellow students in the acting classes are up against a storm with such a formidable actress as Ms. Rampling. Pity the poor souls. The somewhat ironic thing is that, in an article written about the film, the director mentions that, though the world seems to be turning against Hannah (her husband is imprisoned for reasons that are barely spelled out; her only son wants nothing to do with her anymore; her membership in a health club has been suddenly revoked; even her only animal companion appears to go on a hunger strike), we shouldn't forget that here is one character that we should take notice of, if not care for. Hannah's life may have been slowly falling apart, but that doesn't mean that we should let her experience the full crash-landing. Yet again, the final minutes that we see of Hannah in the film may suggest that the drift from reality may have already begun in full swing.
That's Charlotte Rampling as Hannah, a woman alone.
"Red Desert" (1964) by Michelangelo Antonioni:
Antonioni's first color film is one of the most studied and influential works in cinema history (see, for example, Todd Haynes' "Safe"). Even after repeated viewings, one feels that the film still hasn't revealed enough of itself. It's like the mysteries of the film are really as unfathomable as the deep blue ocean or the distant wide outer space. "Red Desert" marks the first collaboration between Antonioni and cinematographer Carlo Di Palma, and a major factor in the film's enigma is the latter's work in it. We already know Antonioni to be a master in conveying the psychological and emotional state of his characters through geography and spaces. With Di Palma's contribution in Antonioni's first color film, the hues now lend an added depth and subtlety to the entire narrative. One particular article that I read about "Red Desert" has an interesting observation: that three colors are prominent in the film. And that is, gray, blue and, of course, red. Each of the colors reflects Giuliana's (the main heroine, portrayed by Antonioni's muse Monica Vitti) inner state: gray expresses hopelessness, blue signifies uncertainty and red indicates freedom. The writer of the article also notes that the film couldn't be far from the Neo-Realist tradition as it evokes loss and confusion, the feelings dominant in that post-WW2 movement. But rather than rooting those feelings in the prevailing socioeconomic conditions, the feelings of loss and confusion that Antonioni charts for his heroine are more introspective. So what is it that ails Giuliana? She lives in an industrial wasteland (not entirely unrelated to the economic woes of post-WW2) with her husband and little son. She appears to be agitated, anxious, wary of something or, worst, on the verge of a nervous breakdown - a history of a vehicular accident mentioned by her husband seems to have fostered those emotional states. Giuliana believes that she's sick, though it's something that doctors would probably best describe as not really physical in nature. Could it be industrial malaise (the "gray" aspect)? Giuliana navigates an industrial landscape surrounded by a port (the "blue" aspect) whose constant thick fog makes it possible for ships to lose their way on the sea. There's really not much of a distinction between the surroundings being a reflection of Giuliana's internal state and the heroine being overwhelmed by the external reality, isn't it?
Giuliana is a prisoner of her own agitations and her surroundings make them even worst. Or so she thinks. Does her interaction with other people make things somewhat better? Giuliana seems to have felt freedom and happiness during a near-orgy (the "red" aspect) with husband and friends in a small dilapidated cottage by the sea. But in a sudden retreat from the "red" room, she comes face-to-face once again with the reality of her "own" situation: confusion and depression. The idea of an extramarital affair is toyed upon during the times spent with her husband's friend and fellow engineer (Richard Harris) and it's something that has provided Giuliana some kind of release. But after one stolen night of rendezvous, she leaves the man to confront once again her inner torment. The woman is forever living in a limbo - whether of her own making or brought about by her surroundings, it doesn't matter anymore. The lines are already blurred. Just before Lars von Trier's "Melancholia" gave us Kirsten Dunst's depressed beauty, Antonioni already did that in "Red Desert" in the person of Monica Vitti. The desert may have been red (freedom, joy, pleasure), but it's still a desert nonetheless: a vast area of uncertainty and abandonment.
That's Monica Vitti as Giuliana, a woman alone.
"Hannah" (2017) by Andrea Pallaoro:
The first image that we see in the film is that of the title-character (played to skin-deep perfection by Charlotte Rampling) grunting, as if at someone (because she's in close-up). It stays that way for a few minutes, until it's revealed that she's just taking part in an acting class. Yet, it may not really make any difference. As we're about to gradually learn in the course of the film, there's no dearth of reason for Hannah to not actually grunt. Though for most of the time, she chooses not to. But it's still not negating the possibility that, just like the heroine in "Red Desert," Hannah may just be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The second installment in what is a planned trilogy that features lead female characters, the director keeps as little information as possible from us about Hannah's backstory, her relationship with her husband and son, and with society in general. It's a storytelling as sparse as a four-leaf clover. The director gives his viewers the task of filling in the missing pieces of the puzzle, so to speak. And it's not one easy task. In immaculately-framed compositions, we almost always see the heroine engaged in seemingly trivial domesticity, those small moments that don't necessarily add up to one grand narrative. It's like life continues as it has always been for Hannah as if nothing disgraceful has happened to her family. We may then end up thinking the "wrong" way about Hannah. Those of us who were astounded by Chantal Akerman's "Jeanne Dielman," that nearly 4-hour epic of quotidian domestic existence, are likely to appreciate Pallaoro's a little over 90-minute intimate character study, which undoubtedly bears the influence of the former (just minus the shock ending). There are really no repetitive, obsessive patterns of behavior in "Hannah," but in its piercing attention to details of a seemingly mundane activity the film is in close affinity with Akerman's 1975 masterpiece.
Pallaoro's austere storytelling is matched by his leading lady's minimalist acting. In the kind of performance that very rarely reaches for emotional peaks (except for that scene in a public bathroom, the only time that we see her sobbing uncontrollably), Ms. Rampling keeps it all bottled up inside, etching a character who's silently suffering from anguish and loneliness. The actress by all means has already mastered the art of internal suffering (see, for example, François Ozon's "Under the Sand" and Andrew Haigh's "45 Years"), but in "Hannah" her emotional shell is harder to pierce more than ever. And it's even possible that it's all by design: Hannah welcomes no one to take part in her emotional crisis. The cross is all for her to bear. Just like Delphine Seyrig in Akerman's film, Ms. Rampling showcases an enigmatic and uncompromising performance. If we're even going to seek a meta-quality in the film, we can say that her fellow students in the acting classes are up against a storm with such a formidable actress as Ms. Rampling. Pity the poor souls. The somewhat ironic thing is that, in an article written about the film, the director mentions that, though the world seems to be turning against Hannah (her husband is imprisoned for reasons that are barely spelled out; her only son wants nothing to do with her anymore; her membership in a health club has been suddenly revoked; even her only animal companion appears to go on a hunger strike), we shouldn't forget that here is one character that we should take notice of, if not care for. Hannah's life may have been slowly falling apart, but that doesn't mean that we should let her experience the full crash-landing. Yet again, the final minutes that we see of Hannah in the film may suggest that the drift from reality may have already begun in full swing.
That's Charlotte Rampling as Hannah, a woman alone.
(Monica Vitti and Charlotte Rampling are women at a certain period of crisis in their lives in "Red Desert" and "Hannah," respectively)
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