Reality follows Luciano, a fishmonger running a pescetaria in the heart of small Neapolitan village. Despite owning his store, along with brother Michele, money is tight. To make ends meet, the brothers scam locals by renting out an all-in-one pasta robot, provided by Maria, Luciano’s wife. While the trick adds the much needed lira in the family bank account, the constant anxiety is no way to live. But Luciano has a plan.

During a family wedding, Luciano encounters the popular (and lavishly attractive) Enzo, the reality-tv star of Big Brother (Grande Fratello). The fish-monger projects his dreams onto the celebrity saying if I could only have this, it would be la dolce vita. So, when the local mall is holding tryouts for the reality show, Luciano auditions, despite doubts of being picked. But when his telephone rings to inform him he’s advancing to the next round, how far will Luciano go to ensure a place in the world of reality TV?

Aniello Arena (in his debut) is engaging as the hopeful Luciano, believing that enough good deeds will be noticed by the executives of Big Brother – who are apparently watching his every  move to bring him TV fame. The aspiring “reality” star is admirable and flawed, thus believable – making his inevitable descent much more heartbreaking. Yet, at the end of Reality, Mr. Arena is successful at playing a bluff, convincing his family and audience that he holds a flush.

In 2007, Quentin Tarantino chided contemporary Italian cinema, calling it “depressing” and “all the same.” After the height of cinema Italiano in the 60′s-70′s, the industry surely plateaued, much like their neighbors in France. The films being exported lacked the enthusiasm of their predecessors, preferring a nostalgic thermidor. While this period provided outstanding achievements – Beningi’s Life is Beautiful and Tornatore’s Cinema Paradiso - the directors lacked the consistency and ambition of their forebearers.  Lucky for us, Garrone strikes a powerful chord in Italian cinema, one that rings an echo of the old, and that should appease Mr. Tarantino.

Reality is Italian fable with a soft surface and serious consequences. One gleans from the font used in promotions the narrative will be a skewed reality –  but one that isn’t hard to imagine.  At moments we live vicariously in Luciano and Maria’s household, seeing the slow destruction of the family, while others we observe as if it were reality television, with aesthetically pleasing horror – yet we’re always engrossed. Though the ending may not be conclusive, it is certainly satisfying.

Reality is now playing in NY and LA.

Three years later, Derek Cianfrance, director of Blue Valentine, returns with The Place Beyond the Pines, a crime drama-turned-thriller, with Gosling again in lead role. With a running time of two hours and twenty minutes, I was hesitant walking into the theater.  Will this be another dud or something to tell friends about?

The Place Beyond the Pines centers around two stories connected by a common moral thread: doing the right thing. We open with Luke (Gosling), a motocycle stunt rider who decides his talents would be well-suited for robbing banks. While the means may be sordid, the purpose is just – the economic security required to support his son and girlfriend, Romina(Mendes).  Though, as all crooks know, each crime they commit is like playing with fire – eventually you’re going to get burnt.

Enter Avery Cross, a new recruit to the local police force, still brimming with honest impetus. Despite having a father as District Attorney (who pressured him to follow his path, of course), Avery feels his talent should strive to rid crime at the source: on the streets. And like Luke, Avery also has a young boy.

Through chance these two men meet (obviously), in an encounter that sends shockwaves not only through their lives, but the children as well.

Neither Gosling nor Cooper stray far from their typical nature, which was detrimental to the former in Blue Valentine while obviously advantageous to the latter in the (justly) venerated Silver Linings Playbook. Though Pines certainly favors Gosling, the portrayal is oddly similar to a role from a Nicholas Refn film in 2012. Cooper strays a few steps behind, playing the naive young recruit, yet lacking the apparent ethical impulse that drives him. Audiences understand that Avery is uncomfortable, yes, but lacks the necessary empathy the film requires when the actor playing him does as well.

What is so tedious about Blue Valentine is the obvious outcome, despite boasting a crisp, intriguing style. The Place Beyond the Pines has the maturity to bypass such alluring ennui. Thankfully, Cianfrance has evidently grown enough to transcend convention while keeping style. The film’s running time begets an epic, yet such goals are not strived for. Pines is certainly not lacking, though. Cianfrance isn’t committed to such lofty moral conundrums as Paul Thomas Anderson, but does warrant the excitement of Freideken classics like The French Connection and The Exorcist. Additionally, much of this steller suspense is thanks to composer Mike Patton, whose soundtracks always stand out even if the film doesn’t.

While you may not mull over a moral lesson from Place Beyond the Pines, you’ll certainly want to tell your friends about it.

Life is always better when you’re winning.

Less than a month ago I found myself watching Showgirls, Paul Verhoevan’s effusively sexual story about a young girl learning the ins & outs of pole dancing in Las Vegas. What was so troubling about the production of the film, released in 1995, was not so much the big budget irresponsibility shown by the studio, but the misunderstanding of Las Vegas (and the rest of the US) from the Dutch director. Eventually my opinion softened, thinking he wrote Showgirls as a clumsy mistake rather than ill-conceived international misconception. Until Lay the Favorite, a film by British native Stephen Frears, proved my gut feeling.

Lay the Favorite is based on the memoirs of Beth Raymer, a stripper turned betting-wiz under the hot sun of Las Vegas. There she meets Dink (Willis), who runs Dink Inc., the modern high court of sports betting. Excited by her new job (and the fact she can keep her clothes on), Beth finds herself feeling more than friendly with Dink. This would be fine except for the boss’s wife, Tulip, a high class shrew that keeps her husband on a short lease. What results is the feeling that gambling doesn’t always have money on the line.

Not that Willis was outstanding support. Clad in loose fitting bada-bing shirts, and a morosely excitable nature, Dink, the ace of betting, would seem limp even if he found a veritable talisman. When moments of anger take hold, (seemingly out of nowhere), we question the impetus of the character rather than understand dire consequences. One would think Willis’ performance is less a loss in technique than the effects of a filled calendar, having starred in Moonrise Kingdom, Expendables 2, Looper in 2012, and the release of yet another Die Hard sequel this year; (the word “backburner” comes to mind.)

Catherine Zeta Jones stands out like a femme fatale, excessively glossed up (which may have been a joke) to stand out in each scene. The script allows too brief speaking lines or screen presence, but her role makes up for the lack romance in the film, at least more than Joshua Jackson. The Dawson’s Creek star is too belated in his introduction as a more suitable and sensible partner for Beth. His performance is sturdy, but lacks lasting value due a shallow screenplay. And, for his part, Vince Vaughn shines in stifling his typical over-the-top demeanor to portray a supporting splinter in the narrative.

Real blame can only be attributed to Mr. Frears and DeVincentis. The team collaborated previously for High Fidelity, a sentimental (and satisfying) adaption of the Nick Hornby novel of the same name. Ironically, Frears moved the UK based story to Chicago, Illinois, smack dab in the American Midwest. It appears that the farther the Dangerous Liaisons director moves from home the less success his work permeates – a sad truth. Frears’ previous efforts, in particular, The Queen and Dirty Pretty Things are steller, while dusty life in Nevada feels harshly foreign.

I didn’t feel as if my time was wasted with Lay the Favorite, but rather left curious: what is the movie about? If it is a comedy, one can count the amount of laughter on one hand. Drama?  That category would have one believe there are emotionally compelling moments, (despite occasionally brimming on the threshold of intriguing). The film dances on the precipice between trust and camaraderie  but certainly not casinos or gambling, as one would think from the poster. Learning for the sordid in Vegas are what audiences look for, like being privy in Casino or living dangerously in Fear and Loathing. While Lay the Favorite is certainly light-hearted and “fun”, and (probably) better than Showgirls,  both productions are undoubtedly lost in translation.

There is always a story to tell from the Holocaust. Whether it be survival or sacrifice, viewers are always thankful such horrific times are over.  Always a fan of French cinema, I was eager to review La Rafle or The Round Up.   And with French greats Melanie Laurent and Jean Reno in lead roles, how could I go wrong?

La Rafle follows a community of imprisoned Parisian Jews in the middle of World War II.  Rounded up from their homes by decree of the French government, collaborating with the Nazis of course, thousands of Jewish citizens were forced into a stadium.  With little food or water, the captured feared the future.  David, a Jewish doctor, and Annette, a nurse from the Red Cross, attempt to help, but to no avail.  When the Jews are moved to a hard labor camp they decide to follow.

Behind barbed wire fences the abuse only gets worse.  There is even less to eat or drink and no room to sleep.  To make matters worse David is now imprisoned with the Jews and Annette is overwhelmed by patients. Uncertainty and fear cause public beatings at the camp.  To add insult to injury, the French government decides to separate the children from their parents.

At the children’s camp, Annette knows time is of the essence.   With no one to help, she alone must stand up against the oppressors.  Annette ambushes the hospital warden for help and food for the children, but is brushed off.  Overworked, the nurse collapses while helping one of the children; her health is failing. With the prospect of an uncertain future, Annette knows dangerous tactics are the only means for survival.

Reno plays David, the stoic Jewish doctor.   As with all of his performances, the actor carries himself with an aggressive French grace.  Though little screen time, his parts are memorable.  Reno’s calm demeanor balances well with his counterpart’s theatrics.  Laurent is the sacrificing Red Cross nurse, Annette.  With a cloaked head resembling the strong female teacher character, the actress reminds us why she could be a star, even if only in appearance.  Throughout the film, Laurent becomes excessively exhausting to watch, ultimately resulting in soap opera.  This is less to blame on her and more director/writer Rose Bosch.

Everyone involved in the making of a film should ask,  ”What story are we trying to tell?”  The French collaboration with the Nazis has long been a sore spot in the country and cinematic subject for masters like Claude Chabrol and Marcel Ophlus, son of acclaimed director Max Ophlus.  What differs with La Rafle is the lack of depth.  Holocaust films should reminds viewers why such a time should never be repeated-not techniques & tales we’ve seen over and over again.

The Tempest is my favorite Shakespeare play. The ambiguous plot allows it to be a range of different genres and one of Shakespeare’s best. Having only seen Richard Burton’s stage-to-screen Hamlet and Royal Shakespeare televised productions, I was curious to see an updated film transfer. My decision was even easier knowing Christopher Plummer was playing the part of Prospero.

The Tempest focuses on a shipwreck conjured up by the magical Prospero. Once a king, Prospero was supplanted by his brother and exiled to a cell on an island. Seeing a ship bound for Naples, he seeks revenge by wrecking the vessel and taking the crew captive. Spread across the island, the scattered sailors fear the missing members of the crew have drowned.

The story is primarily centered on the estranged King Aloso and his son Ferdinand re-uniting.  Shipwrecked near the Cell, young Prince Ferdinand falls for Prospero’s daughter, Miranda. Having only seen her father and the half-fish half man, Caliban, the woman returns the romance. With a father’s watchful eye, Prospero sentences Ferdinand to hard labor to prove his love.

On the other side of the island, the King and his servants wash up on shore. Arielle, the fairy of Prospero, goes to investigate. She puts a sleeping curse on all but Sebastian and Antonio, Prospero’s power-hungry brother. Antonio convinces Sebastian of his ability to take the crown of Naples if only he were to take initiative.  The two plot to murder King Alonso only to be caught with swords drawn when Arielle breaks the curse. The two convince the party wild animals are near and they had better be prepared. They all move on to search for others.

From start to finish Plummer proves a true Shakespearean actor. His command of the Shakespearean dialogue puts us in a trance as only such words from the playwright could do. Trish Lindstrom and Julyana Soelistyo also stand out as Miranda and Ariel. Peter Hutt, the King saddened by the believed loss of his son, is the only visible misstep. His overbearing somber character casts a bleak opinion on his acting rather than our hearts.

The Tempest is one of the theatrical productions that shows in movie houses. While it’s a worthy screen transfer and outstanding production, I wouldn’t drop the $13 to see it. Though to see the live performance, I wouldn’t mind putting a dent in my wallet.

For Whom the Bell Tolls tells the story of Robert Jordan (Gary Cooper), an American teacher turned soldier during the Spanish Civl War. Assigned to blow up a Fascist controlled bridge, Jordan and a group of Republican guerilla fighters prepare themselves for a virtual suicide mission. Considered an outsider at first, the American eventually wins over the Spanish revolutionaries with his passion to save the Republic.

That is, everyone except Pablo (Akim Tamiroff). As the head of the vigilante group, Pablo distrusts the suicide mission Jordan thrust upon them. Having seen the true brutality of the Fascist agitators, the weary fighter fears less of being killed and more of being captured. Seeing that he is alone in his opposition to the mission, including by his boisterous wife Pilar (Katina Paxinou), Pablo decides to take matters into his own hands.

Though some members of the guerilla group like Jordan more than just a comrade. Maria (Ingrid Bergman), a survivor from the recent Fascist purge of her city, falls for the American. A love blossoms between the two that cast doubt over Jordan’s commitment to the mission. Does a mission, destined for almost certain death, override love?

For those who have read the novel, the language is one to admire or abhor. Hemingway uses transliteration-”thees” and “thous”- when he translates Spanish to English. Screenwriter Dudley Nichols decided to stay true to this method. With less than fantastic results. Clocking in at 170 minutes, the film is muddled by staying too true to the novel.

We can’t put all the blame on the stilted script, Gary Cooper is also at fault. Having only seen High Noon, the actor seems better fitted to slow talking Westerns rather than the contemplative Robert Jordan. Cooper mumbles through his lines and, even worse, lacks the allure of the iconic Hemingway character. Regardless of my opinion, the author apparently penned the novel’s character after Cooper and Maria after Ingrid Bergman.

Bergman would be finishing Casablanca when she got the call from Paramount to star in For Whom the Bell Tolls. The long locks that became so iconic in the black-and-white film would be substituted for the nearly buzzed head of Maria in the Technicolor latter. Despite her beauty, Bergman smiles her way through the two-and-a-half hour film, playing the subservient character with ease. Once again, despite my personal opinion, both Bergman and Cooper would be nominated for their performances in the film.

The biggest blame goes to director Sam Wood. Release in the middle of World War II, the adaptation of For Whom the Bell Tolls lacks the Communist leaning sympathies from the novel. We can only point to Cooper and Wood’s later membership to the Motion Picture Alliance for the Preservation of American Ideals, a group formed to “refusing to permit the infiltration of Communist, Fascist, and other totalitarian groups…for the dissemination of American ideals.” Though the anti-Communist alliance was formed a year after the film’s release, it’s tendencies filtered into the film and history.*

Thankfully Katina Paixnou is a shining light in this dark film. Known as the first lady of the Greek stage, the actress was stuck in the U.S. when her country was attacked by the Nazis. In her debut film, the actress brings to life the boisterous and mystical Pilar with grace. If it wasn’t apparent in the film, it was on Oscar night when she was awarded Best Supporting Actress. Though she would later go on to star in Rocco and his Brothers and Mourning Become Electra (Dudley Nichol’s adaption of Eugene O’Neil), nothing tops her dedication to the stage in her Academy acceptance speech, “I hope they are still alive, but I doubt it.”

*Wood’s conservative American ideals were present before and after For Whom the Bell Tolls in 1943. During the filming of A Day at the Races, Groucho Marx once called Wood a Fascist. Later, in one of American history blackest eyes, Wood’s Alliance of American Ideals presented much of the ‘friendly witnesses’ that testified against some of Hollywood’s best stars.

After recently reviewing Pier Paolo Pasolini’s Ragazzi di Vita, the poet/writer/director’s first novel, on my blog, I decided to dust off (and polish) this essay I wrote on Pasolini some time ago. In “Io Racconto,” I examine the dense Trilogy of Life– ‘The Decameron’, ‘Canterbury Tales’, and ‘Arabian Nights’– as the literary vehicles Pasolini uses for his criticism. 

Embarking on the works of Pier Paolo Pasolini is committing oneself to the study of intelligent insanity. A man who constantly threw  himself into controversy. Starting with the thunderous publication of his first novel, Ragazzi di Vita (Rent Boys, 1955), which enacted a lawsuit from the Italian government against Pasolini and his editor, to his still mysterious death in 1975 , where the famed director was run over by his own car several times. So what gives, Pasolini? Regarded as too excessive for some viewers, Pasolini’s work is one not easily understood or forgotten.

In the early 70’s, Pasolini created three films that have been aptly titled the “Trilogy of Life” (or “The Films that Came Before Salo (1975).”) In this trilogy, Pasolini adapted the medieval works of Boccaccio, Chaucer, and One Hundred and One Arabian Nights. The films that resulted in this adaptation are The Decameron (1971), The Canterbury Tales (1972), and Arabian Nights (1974). Pasolini coined these films as the “most ideological works I’ve ever made”(1). Judging from Pasolini’s previous comparable works, one can be very confused. The films themselves seem anything but a typical Pasolini with their overbearing sense of slapstick comedy and improvisation.

In his earlier works such as Mamma Roma (1962) and Teorema (1968), the infamous director is anything but funny. In the former, Pasolini extends the limits of Neo-Realism and criticizes Italian society through the adolescent Ettore and his prostitute mother, “Mamma Roma”.  In the latter film, an angel visits the home of an upper class family and seduces each member, even the help!  Despite the bleakly comic Hawks and Sparrows, the films that predate the Trilogy of Life are not made with laughter in mind.

Regardless, Pasolini stays true to these early works in the most subversive ways. The liberal minded adaptions, literally and figuratively, are apparent in the first shot of The Decameron. In Boccaccio’s original work, the group of men and women escaping the Plague are located in Florence, Pasolini disregards this completely by setting the film in Naples.(2) The stories are relocated to the south of Italy-an area known for it’s  lower working class-to structure his thesis. This, of course, pleases any Pasolini watcher. The intelligent jab at the bourgeois is much like Pasolini’s authorial voice in The Hawks and the Sparrow (1966). In the earlier film, the black crow, who we glean is the director’s mouthpiece, announces “That in his city he lives on Karl Mark Avenue. Number 70 x 7.”

The second half of the film contains a more structured narrative when Giotto, played by none other than Pasolini himself, arrives at Neapolitan church to paint a fresco. Pasolini leaves no doubt in our minds that he is director/painter in this film as he traverses around a local market “framing” picturesque portrayals of the locals  as a modern day film director would.  In this half, as Giotto paints, the stories unfold. Though the structure has changed, the bawdy stories have not.

In one of the adapted stories we see Giotto’s dream, a re-creation of the actual painter’s Last Judgment. Though instead of the original Christ figure, Pasolini inserts Silvana Mangano as The Madonna- another favorite of his. Mangano presides with a lack of emotion over her divine landscape as the Damned are tortured in Hell. The film ends with Giotto painting the stories that the film has told.  The film’s critique and thesis come through with the last shot of Giollo wondering “Why realize a work of art when it’s so much sweeter to dream it.”

Arabian Nights, the final film of the trilogy, is a synthesis of it’s predecessors. The film’s light hearted appearance is that of The Decameron, while the bleak stories are reminiscent of The Canterbury Tales. Neglecting typical story structure, as Pasolini had in the previous two films, typical  the director uses the lesser known stories of Nurd ed Din and Zummurud,  a young boy who has lost his newly purchased slave girl traverses through the desert to find her . While this story seems to have heavy implications,  it is actually the most lighthearted of the film.

The stories in The Arabian Nights unfold like that of a Chinese box, where unnamed narrators seemingly walk into the previous story. The tales unfold before our eyes, critiquing and glorifying  life all in one. Whenever the narrative becomes too serious, such as the bleak story of Azeez and Azeeza, where the former commits suicide because the latter has fallen for another woman, Pasolini returns to the light hearted story of Nurd ed Din and Zummurud.

The Arabian Nights strays away from Pasolini’s typical political satire and pertains specifically to the subject of sex. It’s even apparent in the Italian title, Il Fiore delle Mille une Notte,(The Flower of the Million and one Nights). Need we guess what il fiore is referring to?  This critique also shown best not by the stories told, but by the ones neglected. As mentioned previously, Pasolini chooses to bypass the popular “children stories” of One Hundred and One Nights and focus on the sexually charged fables. We never feel as if it were the characters final day’s as we do in The Canterbury Tales, but also never completely free like The Decameron. Pasolini’s tactic to implement traditional Eastern story telling makes this mix possible. By employing a strong female character and an emphasis on fate, the stories never truly end in tragedy or comedy.  The story’s simple existence is more important than it’s moral outcome.(5)

Pasolini’s Trilogy of Life is one that he sadly would disavow. After the commercial success and “realization” of art that he tried so hard to avoid, Pasolini denounced the the films in his last important essay,  “The beloved faces of yesterday are beginning to turn yellow. Here before me-slowly materializing without alternative-is the present.” Pasolini would elaborate this statement  in his final film, Salo.  A film that is the exact opposite of Trilogy of Life; it was the film of death. (6)

Regardless of Pasolini’s public renouncement of The Trilogy, the power of the work lives on. Pasolini’s ability to re-create a medieval world, filmed in documentary format, is astounding.  The use of slapstick humor, pervasiveness, and redemption tie together oddly, but organically at the end of each film. The apparent density of the Trilogy of Life is overlooked when you look as Pasolini embodying the authors he portrays, a man critiquing in the most entertainingly way possible.

-(For Peter Bondanella)

FOOT NOTES:

1. RUMBLE, PATRICK ALLEN, Pier Paolo Pasolini: Contemporary Perspectives, 211
2. BONDANELLA, PETER , Italian cinema, 287.
3. “” “” ,  291
4. MOLITERNO, GINA,  The Canterbury Tales, http://archive.sensesofcinema.com/contents/cteq/01/19/canterbury.html
5. HEILMAN, JEREMY, Arabian Nights, http://www.moviemartyr.com/1974/arabiannights.htm
6. BONDANELLA, PETER, Italian Cinema, 294

Visconti would stray from his iconic styles later, with films like The Damned and Ludwig, but not before Sandra in 1965. Made two years after The Leopard, the director combines his solemn black & white with his proclivity to critique Italy’s upper class. Visconti employs his cold style to view the decrepit aristocracy after World War II - techniques  usually reserved for  films like  La Terra Trema and Bellissima. As we watched the final twilight days of Italian ruling class with Don Fabirzio in The Leopard, we now experience the sad aftermath in Sandra.

When a memorial for her father’s efforts in World War II is erected, Sandra (Cardinale) and her American husband, Michael Dawson(Craig) return to Tuscany. Though, after only an evening in his wife’s childhood home, Michael notices an “odd” relationship between Sandra and her brother, Gianni (Sorel). The situation is further complicated by the sibling’s mother, who closes herself off in an adjacent wing of the worn-out palazzo. As you can imagine, when these cloistered relationships come into the light they cause quite a stir.

One of the most disquieting effects in Sandra, aside from the incestual narrative, is Visconti’s film style. There are countless  seemingly obnoxious (and vividly apparent) zooms juxtaposed with the same elegance that we enjoyed in The Leopard. Judging by the use of transistor radios, popular songs (which are credited in the opening)  and even a guerrilla POV of Andrew Dawson’s camera in the antiquated palazzo, Visconti is critiquing the world around him. Even in the opening of the film we find ourselves driving quickly down an Italian highway, making us stop and wonder which Visconti are we watching?  I also point to the use of a flashback during Sandra’s confrontation with her Mother.  Though the director would employ this technique later in his career, the choice feels uncanny surrounded by the aristocratic ruins. Godard, despite doing this in nearly every film, implements a similar modern satire in Vivre sa Vie.

Who does Cardinale work the best with? Fellini, Leone, or Visconti? (Or Monicelli’s ‘Big Deal on Madonna Street?) While I couldn’t personally pick, these directors know the actresses’s inherent charm and versatility. Notice the seductive nature in Fellini’s 8 1/2 and The Leopard to her tragic character in Sandra. She later proves herself as a heroine in Once Upon a Time in the West. Nevertheless, Cardinale isn’t perfect in her role as Sandra, but always entertaining to watch.

Renzo Ricci is my favorite character on screen. He emulates his role as the Italian lawyer with a sleazy sincerity – after spending a lifetime with a despondent and suicidal Gianni, we forgive whatever misgivings he committed to his father. Jean Sorel, remembered best for his work in Bunuel’s Belle du Jour, plays Gianni, the corrupted Italian debutante. Sorel only finds enthusiasm when someone mentions his lack of it or when Sandra is present. Contrary to the NY Time’s review, Sorel isn’t boring. His fragile characters cracks with every appearance, until he only exist in pieces.  Sorel also gives a hint of the theatrically reamed characters of Visconti’s later efforts – notice the emphasis on the actor’s eye make-up and abstract screen presence.

The only offense I can see, albeit a highfalutin one, is Visconti’s re-imagining the myth of Electra. While most of our minds wouldn’t entangle Electra and her brother Orestes with incest, the Italian director has. Fans of a more true (and better) version of the Greek tale will turn to the Oscar nominated Mihalis Kakogiannis’s 1952 adaptation, but no one can doubt Visconti’s spin.

As much as I loved Sandra it is surely only for seasoned fans of the director.  The film is very theatrical and requires a good deal of patience from the viewer. Even my friend and fellow Visconti fan, the great Jim Clark, views Sandra as a misstep. Despite the density and criticism,  Sandra goes hand-and-hand with Rocco.  Both films, with Visconti’s masterful eye, paint the picture by sucking us in. Notice how Visconti’s slight-of-hand consistently catches us off guard; a distant approach to the material, only to slyly entangle us with his close-ups.  My advice, enjoy Sandra, but know what you’re getting yourself into.

Visconti would stray from these styles later, with films like The Damned and Ludwig, but not before Sandra in 1965.Made two years after The Leopard, the director combines his solemn black & white and proclivity to critique Italy’s upper class.

So how did we get from the lush color palette of The Leopard to the dour Sandra? As mentioned before, Visconti employs his cold techniques, usually seen in films La Terra Trema and Bellissima, to the decrepit aristocracy in Sandra. As they’re driving tot he family’s palazzo, Sandra points out the Etruscan walls to her husband. The last remenants of exposed terracotta bricks and collapsed buildings serve as the perfect allegory for the rest of the film. As we watched the final twilight days of  Italian ruling class with Don Fabirzio in The Leopard, we now experience the sad aftermath in Sandra.

One of the most disquieting effects in Sandra, asides it’s incestual narrative, is Visconti’s film style. There are countless  seemingly obnoxious(and vividly apparent) zooms juxtaposed with the same elegance that we enjoyed in The Leopard. Judging by the use of transistor radios, popular songs(which are credited in the opening)  and even a guerrilla POV of Andrew Dawson’s camera in the antiquated palazzo, Visconti’s critiquing the world around him. Even the opening of the film we find ourselves driving quickly down an Italian highway, which Visconti are we watching here?   I also point to the use of a flashback to Sandra’s confrontation with her Mother, a technique that Visconti would employ later in his career, feels uncanny surrounded by aristocratic ruins.

While my friend who saw the film with me views Sandra as a misstep, I can’t disregard it…if that isn’t evident in this essay. In fact, despite my allusion to The Leopard, I see Sandra as the inverse of Rocco. Both films, with Visconti’s masterful eye, paint the picture by sucking us in. Notice how Visconti’s slight-of-hand consistently catches us off guard;  a distant approach, only to sylvy move in with his close-ups.

Renzo Ricci, is my favorite character on screen. He emulates his role as the Italian lawyer with a sleazy sincerity – after spending a lifetime with a despondent and suicidal Gianni, we forgive whatever misgivings he committed to his father. Jean Sorel, remembered best for his work in Belle du Jour, plays Gianni, the corrupted Italian debutante. Sorel only finds enthusiasm when someone mentions his lack of it or when Sandra is present. Contrary to the NY Time’s review, Sorel isn’t boring. His fragile characters cracks with every appearance, until he only exist in pieces.  Sorel also gives a hint of the theatrically reamed characters of Visconti’s later efforts-notice the emphasis on the actor’s eye make-up and abstract screen presence.

Who does Cardinale work the best with, Fellini, Leone, or Visconti? (Or Monicelli’s ‘Big Deal on Madonna Street) Why I couldn’t personally, there is a trait that runs through

A: I’m always attracted to stories of  powerful and complex women. I’ve worked on two projects about giant female political personalities of the U.K. – Elizabeth 1 (in opera) and Mary Queen of Scots (Broadway Theatre), so Thatcher is the third in the sequence. Thatcher was the most loathed and worshiped figure during the 1980s in the U.K. and still rouses the most extreme passions in people who lived through that era. There are many people who have saved up money to party at her death and others who regard her as single handedly having rescued Britain from its post war decline.  Whatever you thought of her, she was a figure of gigantic proportions. On another level what attracted me to the film was it’s universal theme. What goes through the head of someone who once had immense power and now has virtually none. It’s our lives writ large.

Q: Though having worked with Meryl Streep in ‘Mamma Mia’, why the choice of her to voice the Iron Lady rather than British actress? Furthermore, can we officially declare her your muse?

A: People ask, “Why Meryl for the role?” Look at it the other way round,  if you could find a project that would attract Meryl, would you not pursue it!? Thatcher was something of a global superstar and we all agreed you needed a star of similar proportions to play her, someone of matching charisma, fearlessness and intellectual power. There was something fitting about Meryl being an outsider on the set. Thatcher always felt like an outsider in her party and had to work super hard at her presentation to dominate firstly her inner circle of men and then to command authority on the world stage. The tension that was created by Meryl being there was a mirror of the tension in the story. And is she my muse? Well let’s say if she needs a chain gang to break stones for her, I’m happy to sign up!

Q: Throughout the film, we are trying to get a pulse from the Iron Lady. In fact, I don’t believe we see MT in any exterior shots at all. How did you go about bringing a heartbeat to such a cloistered politician?

A: I think you don’t have to look farther than Meryl. Meryl brings a massive inner life to every role she tackles. You see fragility and vulnerability in equal measure to power and certainty. That’s the essence of the story. However mighty we feel, or allow ourselves to feel, we are all going to face that diminishing of power.  Look at the scene in which she makes mincemeat of the young doctor – he asks her if she is experiencing hallucinations and although she dismisses it with a ‘no’, you can see with the minutest flicker of Meryl’s eyes that she is lying.

Q: During the scenes of political unrest, which usually included actual footage, was this a mirror of how you remembered the turbulent times during Thatcher’s time in office?

A: It’s Thatcher’s memory of a series of battles she fought. A kind of collage. Not literal, not documentary but expressionistic. Its fragments of memory. Thatcher had a strong island mentality and her political life was fought against a series of enemies in a series of battles. She’s like a military general. The rise to Ten Downing Street footage – her triumph. The footage of industrial unrest and terrorist attacks – her embattled but holding the line. Then the Falklands war – embattled and victorious. Then the final battle with the Polltax rioters –  a kamikaze mission that destroyed her.

Q: Reconstructing Thatcher’s personal triumphs and trails, did you find yourself reliving old memories of her often unpopular politics?

A: All of us who lived through the 1980′s brought our stories to the movie. And we met many politicians and civil servants who were at the center of these events and gave us extraordinary insight into how they unfolded and Thatcher’s part in them. That said, what has excited us is how people all over the world, who did NOT live through this era have connected with the story on a personal level. We just traveled to Japan where this is received as a story of power, loss and bereavement as well as a women’s attempt to make her voice heard in a male world.

Q: One aspect I enjoyed in The Iron Lady was the creative shots-even a Dutch Angle or two. Were some of these angles derived from your theatrical and opera background or as a possible homage to fellow British director Carol Reed?

A: Several of Thatcher’s friends and enemies spoke of her life and particularly her downfall as having been ‘Shakespearean’, ‘like grand opera’ and herself as ‘a tragic heroine’. She herself in talking about her demise uses hyperbolic words such as ‘treachery’ as if she is a character in Julius Caesar. Since her memories of her political life, are seen entirely from her point of view and she is clinging, in her mental fragility, to that life, it seemed natural that it would be inflated, subjective, heightened, full of primary color and energy. This contrasts with the monochrome stillness of her present. Yes there is a strong vein of theatricality in earlier British cinema, but also in the work of Orson Welles and Fellini who I admire greatly.

Q: Finally, after two features, one being a musical and the other a moving political drama, what is next on your agenda, Ms. Lloyd?

A: I‘m sitting on the Moors in the west of England staring at the heather trying to work that out!