|
Modern Times is the basis of the anecdote, and along the way Umberto D. is sent up. The little barber (Totò) goes to jail for a crime of passion, parole comes two decades later to his discontent, life was so much simpler inside. "It's essential for him to become part of the social fabric again." The old Roman haunts have been demolished, he missed the war but feels the aftermath. A dance marathon with the strapping streetwalker (Nyta Dover), the producer absconds with the prize money, whistling replaces the departing orchestra. A landscape of swindlers, down to the former comrade who cons him into passing out counterfeit money. The running of the bulls is really a procession to the slaughterhouse, the welcoming family home turns out to be a nest of vultures. "I must feel the pain or it's useless." "Shall I bite your hands?" Quite the caustic Roberto Rossellini view, filmed with all the anxiety expected of a comedy shoehorned between Europa '51 and Viaggio in Italia. (Monicelli, Fellini and Fulci pitched in to complete it after the filmmaker lost interest.) The sanctified wife was a perfidious Fascist schemer, the in-laws are even worse, remorseless profiteers who attempt to manipulate him into finishing off an Auschwitz survivor (Leopoldo Trieste). Amid this venality, the beacons of purity (Franca Faldini, Vera Molnar) are especially bogus. "My ideals collapsed one right after the other." What's left to do but sneak back to the stability of his cell? A fascinating bitterness, directed less at a shifting world than at the protagonist who'd rather escape than engage with it. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |