Italian Neorealism was my next cinema-under-quarantine exploration. Neorealism focused on the pain, poverty and pride of everyday life at the end of the Nazi occupation of Italy in World War II and in the war’s aftermath. My line-up over recent weeks included Rossellini’s “Rome, Open City” (1945) as well De Sica’s “Shoeshine” (1946) and “The Bicycle Thief” (1948). I added Antonioni’s “L’Avventura" (1960) to the mix, as well, although this Italian post-war entry wasn’t part of the Neorealism movement.
Unlike my recent foray into French New Wave cinema (Anatomy of a Movie #7), I recall actually appreciating Italian Neorealism in college film studies. Neorealism produced highly relatable characters - real people with real problems and small, cherished joys - with whom an audience could empathize, not the idle poseurs of some (certainly not all) of the French New Wave films.
Rome in ruins often served as the gritty backdrop for these character-driven films that marked Italy’s Golden Age of filmmaking. These works didn’t need much by way of intricate plots to have considerable impact. Their simplicity was their strength. French New Wave worked best for what it contributed to the craft of filmmaking. That’s good, since it often lacked in storytelling and character development. On the other hand, the heart of Italian Neorealism is its character-driven storytelling power.
The desperation of Lamberto Maggiorani’s character Antonio in “The Bicycle Thief” comes to mind. He pawns the family bed clothes to obtain a bicycle essential for a menial job in a city crushed by poverty and unemployment. The bike is immediately stolen. The despair and helplessness he and his son Bruno, played by Enzo Staiola, portray in their anguished and relentless search for the bike is as captivating as it is gut-wrenching.
De Sica focused on children with “Shoeshine,” too. Here the lives of two shoeshine boys, Giuseppe and Pasquale, played by Rinaldo Smordoni and Franco Interlenghi, spiral down from working the streets to shine the boots of U.S. GIs to prison and accidental death. Tough stuff, but compelling. Few movie scenes were ever tougher than watching Pina (Anna Magnani) gunned down by Nazi goons in “Rome, Open City.” She was chasing the truck taking her beloved fiancé (and fellow Resistance fighter) Francesco away to certain execution.
Most of these films are bleak and they don’t often end well. They’re redemptive and inspiring, nonetheless, in their portrayal of what people do to survive, how they fight for their lives, livelihoods and dignity. In this sense, Italian Neorealism is noble.
L’Avventura was released 10-15 years after these films. It has little of their emotional and empathetic resonance. In what was surely a sign of the times by 1960, akin to the contemporaneous French New Wave, Antonioni’s entry produced exquisite visual composition and almost-hypnotic pacing. It did so, however, with characters about whom audiences could only feel indifference - at best.
Italian Neorealism was a stark reaction to war and its aftermath. With the passage of more than a decade of relative peace and prosperity, however, French New Wave and similar films such as Antonioni's “L’Avventura” portrayed a younger generation searching for something and seemingly unaccustomed to hard work and sacrifice.
Unlike my recent foray into French New Wave cinema (Anatomy of a Movie #7), I recall actually appreciating Italian Neorealism in college film studies. Neorealism produced highly relatable characters - real people with real problems and small, cherished joys - with whom an audience could empathize, not the idle poseurs of some (certainly not all) of the French New Wave films.
Rome in ruins often served as the gritty backdrop for these character-driven films that marked Italy’s Golden Age of filmmaking. These works didn’t need much by way of intricate plots to have considerable impact. Their simplicity was their strength. French New Wave worked best for what it contributed to the craft of filmmaking. That’s good, since it often lacked in storytelling and character development. On the other hand, the heart of Italian Neorealism is its character-driven storytelling power.
The desperation of Lamberto Maggiorani’s character Antonio in “The Bicycle Thief” comes to mind. He pawns the family bed clothes to obtain a bicycle essential for a menial job in a city crushed by poverty and unemployment. The bike is immediately stolen. The despair and helplessness he and his son Bruno, played by Enzo Staiola, portray in their anguished and relentless search for the bike is as captivating as it is gut-wrenching.
De Sica focused on children with “Shoeshine,” too. Here the lives of two shoeshine boys, Giuseppe and Pasquale, played by Rinaldo Smordoni and Franco Interlenghi, spiral down from working the streets to shine the boots of U.S. GIs to prison and accidental death. Tough stuff, but compelling. Few movie scenes were ever tougher than watching Pina (Anna Magnani) gunned down by Nazi goons in “Rome, Open City.” She was chasing the truck taking her beloved fiancé (and fellow Resistance fighter) Francesco away to certain execution.
Most of these films are bleak and they don’t often end well. They’re redemptive and inspiring, nonetheless, in their portrayal of what people do to survive, how they fight for their lives, livelihoods and dignity. In this sense, Italian Neorealism is noble.
L’Avventura was released 10-15 years after these films. It has little of their emotional and empathetic resonance. In what was surely a sign of the times by 1960, akin to the contemporaneous French New Wave, Antonioni’s entry produced exquisite visual composition and almost-hypnotic pacing. It did so, however, with characters about whom audiences could only feel indifference - at best.
Italian Neorealism was a stark reaction to war and its aftermath. With the passage of more than a decade of relative peace and prosperity, however, French New Wave and similar films such as Antonioni's “L’Avventura” portrayed a younger generation searching for something and seemingly unaccustomed to hard work and sacrifice.
Image courtesy of YouTube Film Histories.