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Emotion and Cognition in the Films of Bernardo Bertolucci
Silvana SERRA
Ph.D. Thesis 2011

Emotion and Cognition in the Films of Bernardo Bertolucci
Silvana SERRA
School of Humanities, Languages and Social Sciences
University of Salford, Salford, UK
Submitted in Partial Fulfilment of the Requirements of
the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy, March 2011

Contents
Acknowledgements 1
Abstract 2
Introduction 3
Literature Review j j
Theoretical Framework: 28
Cognitive/Affective Theory 28
Cognitive Theory 37
Brecht 43
Godard 46
Affective Theory 49
Section 1- Pessimism and Melancholia 55
La commare secca I The Grim Reaper: An Exercise in Style 57
Prima della rivoluzione I Before the Revolution: Aesthetics,
Politics, and the Nouvelle Vague 72
La strategia del ragno I The Spider's Stratagem: Political and
Cinematic Liberation 87
La tragedia di nn uomo ridicolo I The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man:
A Requiem for the Left 105
Section 2 - The Sensitizing of the Viewer; Cognitive and Intellectual Reflection 124
Partner: Social Discontent and Artistic Purity 128
Ultimo tango a Parigi I Last Tango in Paris: Bertolucci's Cinematic
Manifesto 144
Isognatori I Tlie Dreamers: 1968 Revisited: Replacing the Political
with a Cinematic Education 162

Section 3 - Between History and Nostalgia 179
// Conformista I The Conformist: The Foundation of Bertolucci's Theoretical
Third Way' 181
Novecento 11900: Reflection and Nostalgia 202
Section 4 - The Pinnacle of the 'film spettacolo' 220
L 'ultimo imperatore I The Last Emperor: Wonder and Disenchantment 223
II te nel deserto I The Sheltering Sky: Time and Memory 240
Piccolo Buddha I Little Buddha: A Journey into the Ethical through
the Marvellous 257
Section 5 - Women at the Forefront 270
La lima I Luna: Stylistic Incoherence and Affective/Cognitive
Incongruence 272
lo ballo da sola I Stealing Beauty: A Contemporary Gaze on Women 294
L 'assedio I Besieged: A Cognitive Approach to On-Screen Emotion 311
Conclusion 329
Glossary 336
Bibliography 338
Filmography of Bernardo Bertolucci's Films 346
Select Filmography 3 51

Acknowledgements
I am very grateful to the European Studies Research Institute at the University of Salford for
offering me the possibility of accomplishing this project. ESRI's assistance has been
invaluable and has constantly given me a sense of reassurance and support. I would like to
thank my supervisor Dr. William Hope, whose academic rigour has helped to clarify certain
aspects of the thesis. I would like to extend my thanks to the staff at the University for the
valuable and timely assistance I have received at every stage of this research. Special thanks
go to my daughter Lorenza for her constant encouragement.

Emotion and Cognition in the Films of Bernardo Bertolucci
ABSTRACT
Bernardo Bertolucci continues to be regarded as one of the most talented Italian filmmakers,
and although his work has provoked controversy, his films have allowed him to enjoy an
international reputation as a cinematic auteur. Critical assessments of his cinematic oenvre
have tended to centre on two main perspectives: political readings of the content and style of
his films which characterizes much Italian scholarship and the psychoanalytical
interpretations of his work that have emerged from American academia since the 1970s. The
present study proposes a different approach to Bertolucci's films, partly in terms of its scope
- analysing each of the director's full-length fiction releases up to / sognatorilThe Dreamers
(2003) - and partly in terms of its theoretical viewpoint, which is based on affective and
cognitive theory, a transnational branch of film studies that has become influential since the
mid-1990s. The project focuses on identifiable uses of the camera, music, mise-en-scene and
narrative structure in his films, tracing common denominators and evolutions in his work
since the early 1960s, and contexrualizing these filmic mechanisms within affective and
cognitive theory. In particular this study outlines the way in which the earlier phase of
Bertolucci's film-making is not bereft of emotional tonalities, whereas his later work, which
is increasingly tailored to a viewing public wanting to be captivated by the filmic spectacle,
still preserves certain aesthetic and intellectual elements of art cinema. These are identified in
the presence of complex narrations demanding an active cognitive involvement on the part of
viewers, and in films with emotion structures which, rather than being predicated on close
viewer identification with characters, privilege the creation of moods ranging from
melancholy to estrangement.

INTRODUCTION
Over the past five decades, assessments of Bernardo Bertolucci's work have tended to centre
on two purported career phases: an early period influenced by the French Nouvelle Vague and
particularly by the work of Jean-Luc Godard, and a later phase characterized by a shift of
orientation towards more mainstream film-making. Inevitably, the critical reception of
Bertolucci's films at given stages of his career has been determined by the prevailing
theoretical frameworks espoused by scholars who have published in those particular periods.
These have ranged from the politicized evaluations of the style and content of Bertolucci's
films which characterize much Italian scholarship, to the psychoanalytical interpretations of
his work that have emerged from American academia since the 1970s. The present study
differs from its predecessors in its approach to Bertolucci's films, partly in terms of its scope
- analysing each of the director's full-length fiction releases up to / sognatorilTlie Dreamers
(2003) and partly in terms of its theoretical approach, which is based on affective and
cognitive theory, a transnational branch of film studies that has acquired momentum since the
mid-1990s. This study is a departure from existing scholarship on Bertolucci, as it identifies
how, through aesthetics, film technique and narrative construction, the director's films are
primed to elicit intense emotional and cognitive viewing experiences from spectators. The
project focuses on identifiable uses of the camera, music, mise-en-scene and narrative
structure in his films, tracing common denominators and evolutions in his work since the
early 1960s, and contextualizing these filmic mechanisms within affective and cognitive
theory, a branch of scholarship based on scientifically verified research into human responses
to emotional and intellectual stimuli.
Bertolucci's individual films and their aesthetic and narratological features therefore
constitute the focus of this study, differentiating it from existing politicized and
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psychoanalytical scholarship. The Literature Review will outline the perspectives of the
existing literature on Bertolucci and will engage briefly with the findings of scholars such as
Robert Kolker and Yosefa Loshitzky, but the thesis will then use different critical tools to
analyse the viewing experiences that Bertolucci's films elicit. While paying due attention to
the scholarship that has preceded this project, the present study is not concerned with the
application of psychoanalytical theories to Bertolucci's films. Similarly, the thesis
contexrualizes Bertolucci's work and certain socio-political themes that emerge from it
within Italy's political cinema of the 1960s and early 1970s (the difference in terminology is
important here), but it does so to clarify the nature of the cognitive and intellectual experience
of viewing his full-length fiction films, both at the time and from modern day perspectives.
The political aspects of certain of Bertolucci's films are herein discussed only as a tangential
element, useful to cast light on some directorial choices both in terms of themes and style.
Bertolucci has followed an individual, creative path which is not characterized by
mainstays of the cinematic mainstream such as close viewer/protagonist identification; yet, at
the same time, his re-elaborations of phenomena such as film noir like // confomustalTlie
Conformist (1970), indicate an affinity with the aesthetics and storytelling of classic cinema.
What emerges from films as diverse as La commare seccalThe Grim Reaper (1962) and /
sognatori/The Dreamers is their rich emotional textures and refined narrative structures
through which viewers are engaged cognitively and affectively. As regards the viewer's
affective engagement with Bertolucci's films, the study will describe the way in which the
emotional resonance of his work progressively increases, often deriving from depictions of
natural and artistic beauty. By contrast, processes of viewer identification with Bertolucci's
screen protagonists are less instrumental in conditioning the emotional texture of his work
and such processes undergo negligible change throughout his career; close viewer
identification with characters is frequently inhibited and replaced by the creation of shifting

moods punctuated by emotional phenomena ranging from brief empathy to estrangement.
Often, the moods of individual films are closely related to their particular narrative structures,
and my study will outline how Bertolucci creates intricate narratives which induce cognitive
forms of hypothesis-making, a mode of engagement frequently strengthened by the viewer's
awareness of the director's stylized, self-conscious use of the cinematic medium. This
volume stems from a desire to re-examine Bertolucci's feature films away from the
parameters of established critical canons, to delineate the fascinating fusion of the emotional
and the intellectual that has positioned him at a point between the cinematic mainstream and
art cinema. This is a position from which he continues to be regarded worldwide as one of
Italy's most talented filmmakers, a reputation that has survived mixed reactions to his work.
The modes of viewer engagement envisaged by this study are largely predicated on
the director's two distinct career phases outlined on the first page of this introduction - the
period of experimentalism up to the release of Partner during which a sophisticated,
cinephile viewer was envisaged, while subsequently, with Bertolucci moving more towards
the cinematic mainstream, his films appear to cater for two distinct audiences, those with
cinematic expertise as well as those viewers primarily seeking to be captivated by the
cinematic spectacle. Regarding the kind of audience he was pursuing, Bertolucci asserted: 'In
the 60s, film-making focused on expressivity and on language; however at a certain point I
discovered that I needed to communicate, to privilege communication. In fact with Stratagem
and Conformist I started making films which had a wider circulation' (Ungari, 1982: 230). A
closer examination of this issue will occur in the subsequent analysis of individual films, as
the interplay between the cognitive and affective structures of each work often displays a
refined cinematic and intellectual sensibility as well as a profound appeal to the senses.
A further aim of this study of Bertolucci's films is that re-establishing a sense of
proportion with regard to the psychoanalytical interpretations of his work on which much

esearch has been based; in particular, the omnipresence of the Oedipus complex and the
consequent proliferation of perceived father and mother figures. Much psycholanalytical
research on his films arguably stemmed from the director's period under analysis, and was
fostered by his tendency to accept Freudian interpretations of his films. However, by
investigating the form and structures of Bertolucci's films, and also certain of his declarations
after the negative critical response to his first three films, this study has matured the
conviction that Bertolucci's work can often be more revelatory than his verbal declarations in
interview situations. The director has himself admitted: 'I think that I am a repressed person.
I think I can express my energy, my libido, my aggression, only in my work' (Quinn, 1977:
102). hi particular, the view expressed in this study is that a common critical focus for
interpretations of Bertolucci's films - that of attritional father-son relationships - should pay
closer attention to the director s professional life and his struggle for artistic recognition in
the early part of his career. This emphasis on the professional, rather than the personal, is
corroborated by the importance of Godard's influence within Bertolucci's work, whereas
biographical information about Bertolucci's relationship with his biological father repeatedly
points to a harmonious rapport.
With regard to Bertolucci's artistic decisions and career orientation, this volume
emphasizes two key factors. The first relates to his acknowledgment after the critical and
economic failure of Prima della rivoluzionelBefore the Revolution (1964) and Partner (1968)
- of the difficulty in introducing new modes of film-making to Italy, a position explained in
his interview with Maurizio Fantoni Minnella, Conversazione con Bemardo Bertolucci
(Fantoni Minnella, 2004: 230), which will be discussed in the chapters related to the two
films, hi this context, Bertolucci notes how even Pasolini was initially unimpressed by
Godard's work, by relating his comment on A bout de souffle - 'an intellectualist film,
ridiculous and with no natural qualities' (Ungari, 1982: 29). Objectively speaking, it is

comprehensible why a nation that developed one of the most significant modes of film-
making - Neorealism - and which was still anchored to mimetic forms of representation, had
difficulty embracing the Nouvelle Vague''s innovations. During that period of his career, the
disillusionment caused by this rejection affected Bertolucci's artistic self-confidence. Talking
about the failure of Partner, he asserted: "This film caused me a tremendous psychological
trauma, because nobody, almost nobody, accepted it' (Bachmann, 1973: 96).
The second factor prompting him to re-evaluate his work was that both films also
received a negative response for their thematic content. This reaction was caused by the
sensitivity of intellectuals connected to the PCI (Italian Communist Party) regarding internal
dissent, since the two films exposed a lack of, and a need for, collective action. The
combination of these factors, resulting in the excruciating experience of getting no funding
for his projects, drove Bertolucci to distance himself from avant-garde cinema and to develop
a disapproval of the PCI's hypocritical attitude towards dissent. While the political content
within Bertolucci's films only constitutes a tangential element within this study, occasionally
illuminating choices of themes and style in the film-maker's work, his search for an artistic
identity will be traced in his growing interest for certain genres and styles, and their adroit
incorporation in his personal cinematic discourse will be closely examined.
Although aware of the problematic connotations that the issue of authorial 'control* of
films has assumed in recent times, particularly in an age in which projects are shaped by
transnational funding arrangements and by the input of high profile technicians, designers
and composers, this study is centred on an auteurist discourse. This approach is based
primarily on the empirical evidence contained throughout Bertolucci's output but also on his
assessments of his predominant position in every phase of a film's development. Talking
about the creative limits that he imposes on his collaborators, even those of the calibre of
Vittorio Storaro as director of photography, Bertolucci has affirmed: 'I am very jealous of my
7

camera. I have a very exclusive and demanding relationship with it' (Ungari, 1982:117).(1)
Nevertheless the key contribution that Storaro made to the ambience and aesthetics of several
films - from The Spider's Stratagem onwards - will be discussed in the relevant chapters,
together with the strategic input that Franco Arcalli, Mark Peploe and Ferdinando Scarfiotti
also gave to Bertolucci's film-making. This study focuses on all Bertolucci's feature films,
from The Grim Reaper to The Dreamers. The documentaries that the director made will be
mentioned only in the filmography, due to notable differences in their construction and the
different mode of reception intended, compared with feature-length fiction films. Agonia
(1967-69) - a short film which the director contributed to the collective work Vangelo 70,
and later distributed with the title Amore e rabbia seems to have a marginal relation with
Bertolucci's production, although it will be discussed on account of the influence that the
encounter between Bertolucci and The Living Theatre had on the making of Partner.
Bertolucci's later short film, Histoire d'eaux, for the collective film Ten Minutes Older
(2002), will be discussed in the Conclusion. It is appropriate at this point to include a brief
overview of cognitive/affective approaches to film viewing in order to outline, at this point of
the introduction, how this volume differs from existing scholarship on Bertolucci; a more
detailed discussion of the applications of cognitive and affective theory will form the basis of
the theoretical framework later in this study.
Cognitive/affective approaches to film posit that viewers watch films in a conscious
state, actively evaluating characters and situations with the help of emotional reactions to
what they see, and then elaborating hypotheses about the actions that characters will take and
expectations regarding plot development. In this context, psychoanalytical notions such as
unconscious drives recede in importance; cognitive/affective theory privileges the viewer's
conscious engagement with presentations of character and situation, and with elements of the
mise-en-scene. The theories of Torben Grodal underpin this study, concepts which

foreground a reception process in which cognition and emotion interact. His concepts are
central to this volume's purpose of tracing how Bertolucci's films create viewing experiences
where emotional, cognitive and intellectual components overlap, each conditioning the
others. Similarly, Murray Smith's work on the different degrees of viewer identification with
characters in fiction films - attachments which also involve a cognitive/affective process -
sheds light on how viewers (fail to) form attachments to Bertolucci's characters. Noel
Carroll's writings on how emotional states in films are governed by cognitive assessments of
given situations, such as the way a person's/viewer's evaluation of situational elements
implying danger will trigger fear, are significant for Bertolucci's work; similarly, his
discussion of the kpre-digested' quality of emotions in some fiction films, where certain
scenes are served up to viewers as emotional 'set pieces' with a directorial expectancy (which
is sometimes mistaken) that they will trigger certain reactions from viewers, sheds further
light on the difficulty of viewers in developing compassion towards some of Bertolucci's
protagonists.
A further component of the affective element of the director's films, the importance of
mood in film structures, will draw on studies by Greg Smith; similarly, the volume will also
reference Berys Gaut and Carl Plantinga with regard to the use of bodily posture, facial close-
ups and facial reaction shots of characters to create empathy. The study's exploration of the
ways in which Bertolucci's films elicit cognitive forms of engagement from viewers by
manipulating narrative components such as a film's temporal structure or by unconventional
use of elements of the mise-en-scene will draw on the work of scholars such as David
Bordwell and Edward Branigan. Therefore, in order to examine the engaging, absorbing and
sometimes disconcerting viewing experiences elicited by Bertolucci's films, the present study
adopts theoretical approaches that have not previously been applied to the director's output

while also engaging with, and sometimes questioning, the findings of prior scholarship on
Bertolucci's life and work.
Notes
Ungari, E. (1982), Scene Madri di Bemardo Bertolucci, Milan: Ubulibri. Regarding his rapport with
Grimaldi during the filming of 1900 Bertolucci asserted: 'Things were easy, the producer was a devil's
advocate whom I could summon when I needed him and silence when I was tired of listening to him'
(p.128). Regarding the close rapport with Clare Peploe while filming La luna he affirmed: 'I tend to eat my
collaborators, after having nurtured them pretty well... [with her] I start to think that, for once, I was the
one who was eaten up' (p.195). In this volume, the translations of all quotations from original Italian texts
are my own.
References
Bachmann, G. (1973) 'Every Sexual Relationship Is Condemned: An Interview with
Beraardo Bertolucci', in Gerard, F.S., Kline, TJ. and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000)
Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.
Fantoni Minnella, M. (2004) Non riconciliati, Turin: UTET Diffusione S.r.l.
Mirabella, J.C. and Pitiot, P. (1991) Intennsta a Bernardo Bertolucci, Rome: Gremese
Editore.
Quinn, S. (1977) '1900 Has Taken Its Toll on Bernardo Bertolucci', in Gerard, F.S., Kline,
TJ. and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000) Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University
Press of Mississippi.
Ungari, E. (1982) Scene madri di Bemardo Bertolucci, Milan: Ubulibri.
10

LITERATURE REVIEW
While this study will approach Bertolucci's films using a conceptual framework that has been
developed in film studies over the past fifteen years, it will also reference significant
publications dating back to earlier phases of his career, studies which drew on the prevalent
theoretical perspectives of the time. It is therefore opportune to present a chronological
overview of key monographs and essays on Bertolucci. Bernardo Bertolucci by Francesco
Casetti (1978) includes films from Tlie Grim Reaper to 1900, and covers aspects of
Bertolucci's life and work, dedicating considerable space to biographical material on the
director, his shift in film-making orientation towards the mainstream, and his politics. Casetti
expresses reservations about the tendency of critics to interpret recurrent themes in
Bertolucci's films as indicators of his obsessions and personal complexes. Casetti's view -
shared by the writer of this volume - was that 'through retrospective psychoanalysis [...] they
have carried out a somewhat gratuitous juxtaposition between real biography and symbolic
transformation' (Casetti, 1978: 17). In order to go 'beyond this rather facile juxtaposition
between the real biography and the imaginary one', Casetti identified three key themes in the
director's work: that of journeys, ambiguity often connected to a sense of generational
unease, and that of death, connected to father/son relationships (Casetti, 1978: 17). Analysing
Bertolucci's work as a whole, my study considers that the journey theme is significant to
specific films such as The Sheltering Sky and Little Buddha in which journeys generate a
change in characters or situations; as regards ambiguity, I would add that this is arguably also
a manifestation of Bertolucci's reluctance to delineate a political position or philosophy in
clear terms. Casetti's definition of Bertolucci's work using the term 'ambiguity' is valid even
now; he argues that Bertolucci's films are shaped by a dual value system: on the one hand,
the director seeks to ascertain and preserve the functions of classical cinema, offering his
11

work to unrestricted international audiences and taking into consideration their expections; on
the other, there is an openness towards different forms and styles generated by cinematic
innovation (Casetti, 1978:24-25).
This conviction informs the critic's discussion of the complexity of Bertolucci's
position in respect to the means of production for his films in the late 1960s and 1970s.
Partner was financed by the State company Italnoleggio; The Spider's Stratagem was funded
by RAI, the Italian state television network; Tlie Conformist by the private company
Paramount-Universal; the documentary La salute e malata by the election campaign of the
Italian Communist Party in Rome, while another (unfinished) documentary about the
exploitation of workers was commissioned by the CGIL, a Communist trade union. In this
economic context, Casetti sees an intention on Bertolucci's part to avoid 'linking his own role
to the destiny of a cinema produced by the State 1 , deciding, instead, to explore different
options, adapting his film-making according to different financial circumstances (Casetti,
1978: 71). For Casetti, Tlie Conformist is the statement of a 'new work plan', which manages
to maintain an auteurial imprint despite the more commercial aims of the project (Casetti,
1978:71). For the critic, it is - in effect - Bertolucci choosing Renoir over Godard (Casetti,
1978:77). In response to this reasoned assessment, I would suggest that the negative response
to Bertolucci's first three films, combined with their economic failure and the director's
subsequent, forced inactivity, should be given more prominence in critical assessments of
Bertolucci's consequent career decisions. On a similar point, it is noteworthy how Casetti
emphasizes the 'paradox' of Before the Revolution representing Italy at the Cannes Film
Festival in 1964, being awarded the Jeune Critique prize, receiving high praise in an
Entretien in 1965 by Cahiers du Cinema, but being either negatively reviewed or ignored by
Italian critics. Casetti's comment about Before the Revolution remaining a semi-underground
12

film for 'jealous cinephiles or, more rarely, film reviewers feeling guilty' is also significant
(Casetti, 1978:39-40).
Casetti warns against the facile temptation to evoke the Oedipus complex and attempt
to endow it with real biographical substance, while suggesting that the rapport between death
and the paternal presence is connected to Bertolucci's relationship with his cinematic
'parents', identified in realism, Neorealism, and classic American cinema. He says that in
Bertolucci's work 'All classic cinema is revisited, rechecked, abused, re-proposed, etc., in an
unremitting tension between an insane love and a distancing hatred' (Casetti, 1978: 28-29).
To these cinematic 'parents' Godard should certainly be added, and my study also posits that
a more objective awareness of the true relationship between Bertolucci and his father Attilio
would benefit future scholarship on the director's work. Another idea elaborated in my study
is that the troubled rapport between Bertolucci and the Italian Communist Party which can
be envisaged as a father figure - plays a role in films such as The Spider's Stratagem and Tfie
Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man, and this interpretation correlates with Casetti's indication that
the director's modifications to Borges' novel for Tfie Spider's Stratagem made the film
definitively Italian, aiming for a 'direct and precise foregrounding of a political theme: the
theme of the Resistance and its legacy' (Casetti, 1978: 62). With regard to Tfie Grim Reaper,
Casetti dissociates himself from his contemporaries who dismissed the film as a 'Pasolinism
without Pasolini", a perspective which he attributes to a superficial and episodic reading of
the film (Casetti, 1978: 35). The differences that Casetti recognizes in both the social
perspective and the style of the film become the subject of a detailed investigation in my own
volume.
Enzo Ungari, author of Scene madri di Bernardo Bertolucci (1982), was one of
Bertolucci's friends and collaborators (Ranvaud, 1987: 265). The volume's second edition
(1987) includes an interview by Donald Ranvaud regarding Tiie Last Emperor (by then
13

Ungari had sadly passed away). The English translation of the volume - by the same
publisher - was entitled Bertolucci by Bertolucci. My study utilizes the Italian version of the
book and I have preferred to translate original quotations into English myself (this applies to
all quotations cited from Italian texts in this volume), since certain nuances in the original
volume appear to have been lost in translation. Although the book is structured like a long
interview, Ungari's utterances are rarely phrased as direct questions, and seldom query
Bertolucci's cinematic choices and decisions. Ungari's input provides a platform for
Bertolucci to narrate himself in respect to his films and his idea of cinema. The book presents
a series of subheadings, two of which are particularly significant. One is entitled Coda
Iniziale/Opening Tail, an oxymoron that arguably hints at the dual nature of the following
sequence and acts as a caveat regarding the nature of Bertolucci's answers. Remembering
how the director Raoul Walsh's approach to a two hour interview was that of telling
anecdotes, Bertolucci expresses his desire to do the same, to be allowed to speak in the 'first
person', with no shyness and with a lot of affection towards 'some nonsense' that was dear to
him (Ungari, 1982: 9). Bertolucci declares his admiration for other director s way of
discussing their own work, [...] comparing their reflections to 'liquid words that rinse the
bodies of the films'. He concludes by stating: 'for me, however, cinema is a life or death
issue' (Ungari, 1982: 9). I believe that this sort of incipit reflects the essence of Bertolucci's
interview answers, which are often framed in poetic or epic terms, and whose emphatic
language contrasts with the elusiveness of the responses.
Another example of this attitude can be found in Bertolucci's answer to Ungari's
question about writing his first 'mainstream' film Once Upon a Time in the West. Bertolucci
merely recalls a telephone conversation with Sergio Leone about The Good, the Bad and the
Ugly, in which he praised Leone for being the only European director to frame horses from
behind. Apparently, the comment startled Leone and prompted him to say 'We must do a film
14

together' (Ungari, 1982: 51). This recollection may be considered interesting and perhaps
amusing, but it is not particularly relevant to the crux of the question. Fortunately, in other
contexts Bertolucci is more open, and the book represents a source of declarations about his
life, his films, and about his relationships with collaborators and producers. On this issue, a
substantial section articulates Bertolucci's views on the distribution battle for his film 1900 -
(Ungari, 1982: 128-132) and on different shifts of orientation in his film-making, such as in
his attitude towards editing (Ungari, 1982: 71-73). Several of these declarations will be
referred to in this study, sometimes in parallel with statements on the same topics given by
Bertolucci to other interviewers, in an attempt to clarify his artistic discourse.
The second section of significance for my study of Bertolucci's films is entitled
'Hollywood versus Eisenstein versus Renoir versus Godard', because it reflects the
ambiguities and contradictions of Bertolucci's entire output. The director asserts that his idea
of cinema is that of a lengthy film whose sequences bear the hallmarks of many directors in a
complex game of cross-references, quotations, influences and so on. But this imaginary film
also includes turning points that break the continuity, as exemplified by Godard's A bout de
souffle. Bertolucci also clarifies that for the notion of a 'cinema of seduction' he intends the
cinema of Max Ophuls, Orson Welles and Joseph von Sternberg and their use of the camera;
the work of Yosujiro Ozu and John Ford, and their portrayal of lived experience; and the
films of Jean Renoir, whose work combines both of the above qualities (Ungari, 1982: 177).
On the one hand, this statement reflects the sophisticated influences on Bertolucci's film-
making, and also, therefore, his ambition to address audiences able to appreciate them; on the
other, it is revealing in terms of the light it sheds on the 'accumulation factor' of influences
that are traceable in his films, which, when incorporated into a coherent filmic vision or
structure, result in effective cinematic art, but which, when applied to Bertolucci's later work
such as Hie Dreamers, create a detrimental, overloaded effect. Ranvaud's interview with
15

Bertolucci about the imminent shooting of The Last Emperor contains a discussion about the
film-maker's perceptions of China. The essence of these comments reflect the mixed
sentiments that my study identifies within the film, consisting of Bertolucci's fascination for
China's millenary culture and revolutionary period, and his sense of unease at the 'absence of
the ghost of freedom" in contemporary times (Ranvaud, 1987: 237).
Peter Bondanella's Italian Cinema: From Neorealism to the Present (1983) is a
critical overview of Italian cinema from the silent era to the films of the 80s. In line with
other scholarship on Bertolucci, he emphasizes the influence of Pasolini and Godard on the
young film-maker, and focuses on the implications of what he perceives as Marxist and
Freudian perspectives within the director's films. Bondanella also provides information
regarding Bertolucci's involvement in the screenplay of Sergio Leone's Once Upon a Time in
the West, affirming that although it was rejected (together with Dario Argento, Bertolucci
was only credited for the theme or 'treatment') because it was full of references to famous
Hollywood westerns, 'the film remains the most deeply indebted of all Leone's Westerns to
the classic Westerns' (Bondanella, 1997: 261).
The volume Art Politics Cinema: Tlie Cineaste Inten'iews (1984) is a collection of
conversations between film-makers and scholars, which includes two interviews with
Bertolucci on The Conformist and 1900 respectively, to which this study will refer in
subsequent chapters. It also includes an interview with The Times' film critic Vincent Canby,
an interview prompted by Bertolucci's complaint about the 'arrogant' attitude and also the
influence of the newspaper's critics who were unable to appreciate films from foreign lands
which employed non-traditional forms (Georgakas and Rubenstein, 1984: 282). Recognizing
that Bertolucci's statement had a significance beyond that of personal recrimination (La lima
having been 'solidly panned' by the The Times' critics) Cineaste decided to question Canby
about the issue in general (Georgakas and Rubenstein, 1984: 282). After an initial denial,
16

Canby implicitly agrees with Cineaste's observation about the impact that critics' reviews
had on distributors' decisions, given that the cultural taste and awareness of the newspaper's
readership made them part of the potential audience for European art cinema (Georgakas and
Rubenstein, 1984: 283). Moreover, during the interview, Canby reveals his scorn for 'avant-
garde', 'abstract' films, (Georgakas and Rubenstein, 1984: 289-290) an attitude which is,
perhaps surprisingly, supported by Cineaste in its affirmation that 'there really isn't an
audience for those films', because if you take away other film-makers or filmmakers-to-be,
the only audience left is 'a few people from the Council on the Arts who think they have to
do something for artists' (Georgakas and Rubenstein, 1984: 290). These assertions, coming
from sources with a certain cultural sensitivity and open-mindedness, give an insight into the
sort of reception that would be given to work such as La luna in countries such as America,
and Bertolucci's complaint seems to have some basis to it.
hi his volume Bernardo Bertohicci, Robert Kolker (1985) analyses the film-maker's
work from The Grim Reaper to The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man. But his interesting premise
concerning the importance of going beyond 'author theory' to embrace the more complex
idea of investigating 'how the film text operates, how meanings are generated by all the
elements of the film within the context of all the other films that make up cinema' (Kolker,
1985: 2) appears conditioned by Kolker's recognition that it is difficult 'to separate the
personality of the creator from the creation of that personality' given the 'score of interviews
in which he [Bertolucci] enjoys inserting and asserting his own personality' (Kolker, 1985:
3). Consequently, Kolker's actual investigation of the films as texts focuses on small portions
of each film, with biographical elements regarding the director often overshadowing the
discussion. Kolker's perspective revolves fundamentally around two points: the influence of
other directors, such as Pasolini and Godard, who are seen as father figures within the
17

Freudian theory of the Oedipus complex, and Bertolucci's shift of orientation towards
mainstream film-making.
Kolker expresses his views with an initial incisiveness, stating arguments which,
however, are sometimes reversed by the author himself. For instance, after positing that
Partner was an 'imitation" of Godard in order to 'absorb and expel the father', he affirms that
'there are explanations other than the psychological' which 'clarify the film as Bertolucci's
attempt to position himself within contemporary cinema" (Kolker, 1985: 30). He dismisses
Bertolucci's earlier work, that of the early to mid 1960s, stating that while 'the young film-
makers of France were establishing their own styles' Bertolucci 'lurched about' (Kolker,
1985: 38-39), yet ultimately, returning to Before the Revolution, he recognizes that 'on closer
examination there are major elements in the film that set it off from contemporary French and
Italian influences, [...] a complexity of intellectual struggle [...] within the film's formal
apparatus that goes beyond the mere imitation of Bertolucci's cinematic contemporaries'
(Kolker, 1985: 40). The author's observation that with 1900 Bertolucci embraced 'traditional
cinematic forms' is reversed by the assertion that the film 'subverts' 'its ostensible use of the
classical codes', thereby positioning the film within the realm of 'meta-realism' (Kolker,
1985: 81-82). Kolker's assessment of Partner as 'a strange attempt to end the relationship
[with Godard] by turning influence into imitation" (Kolker, 1985: 15) seems abrupt and
chronologically simplistic. My study will suggest that Partner exemplifies Bertolucci's
attempt to diffuse within Italian cinema 'that rupture of the cinematic grammar' that he
praised Godard for, (Ungari, 1982: 177) and that the film also constitutes the peak of his
admiration for the French director given its references to Godard's approach to film, while
demonstrating Bertolucci's own ability to create an original mise-en-scene. With regard to a
particular film that foregrounds the end of the relationship with Godard, my study posits that
18

it is Last Tango in Paris, and in the relevant chapter I will also explain my reservations about
some interpretations that condition Kolker's analysis.
As regards the use of Verdi's music in The Spider's Stratagem, Kolker's view that it
contributes to intensify Bertolucci's way of displaying the 'spectacle of fascism and the
spectacle of Athos's production of history' is persuasive, (Kolker, 1985: 124) but less
convincing is the connection that he makes between the characters of Verdi's opera Rigoletto
and those of Stratagem, notably Rigoletto/Athos senior and Gilda/Athos junior. Rigoletto is a
despicable personality, whose ill fate - that of suffering the same abuse that he has helped the
Duke to inflict upon courtiers - appears deserved. The eventual pity elicited towards his
character derives from the high price he pays, that of the killing of his young, innocent
daughter.(l) The case of Athos senior is different, not only because he ultimately offers his
own life for the benefit of a cause, but also because the film's ending does not solve the
riddle of his actions or establish whether his behaviour betrays the expectations of his
offspring, Athos junior; instead it remains shrouded in ambiguity. For the same reason I do
not think that TJre Spider's Stratagem features 'in a reverse of the events of the opera, a son
who mistakes the identity of his father' (Kolker, 1985: 123). Finally, with regard to Kolker's
view that in The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man terrorism is merely 'the initiating element of
the film's discourse' as 'it remains, by and large, outside of that discourse - or buried deep
within it' (Kolker, 1985: 166), I will counterpoint that terrorism is the focus of the whole
film. However, there is a closer convergence between this volume and Kolker s consideration
of La luna more as 'an indication of Bertolucci's momentary loss of formal and narrative
control [...] - possibly in reaction to the debacle of 1900 - than as a Freudian exercise'
(Kolker, 1985:8).
In this context, Kolker's observation that the potential of Bertolucci's work for
Freudian interpretation 'has been of great interest to American critics' (Kolker, 1985: 8)
19

anticipates T. Jefferson Kline's Bertolucci 's Dream Loom: A Psychoanalytic Study of Cinema
(1987), as it typifies the way Bertolucci's interviews fuelled the psychoanalytical readings
that were prevalent in contemporary film scholarship. Kline introduces his work by asserting
that "given the implications of the Orpheus myth for Last Tango in Paris and the director's
own tendency to speak of his work in relation to his own analysis, a psychoanalytical
approach virtually imposed itself on this critical undertaking' (Kline, 1987: ix). By referring
to Bertolucci's assertion that: 'the Greek concept of fate is the unconscious. My unconscious
is the fate of my movies', Kline sees in the character of Paul and his behaviour the Greek
myth of Orpheus (Kline, 1987: 107). The critic perceives Paul as being set on 'rescuing' the
deceased character of Rosa through Jeanne - who is seen as Rosa's double - and both are
interpreted as mother figures; Paul's interdiction of the use of names in his encounters with
Jeanne embodies 'the divine command not to look back', and therefore when he later states
his name as 'Orpheus disobedience', this 'coincides precisely with Paul's ultimate failure at
recovery of his maternal figure' (Kline, 1987: 112). It is difficult to debate this very personal
interpretation of the film, since the fact that Rosa is dead and that Paul has a robust sexual
relationship with Jeanne makes problematic the concept of any 'rescue' of Rosa on Paul's
part, whose conduct is of his own volition and is not dependant on any other entity whether
real or metaphorical. However, even if Rosa - from a psychoanalytical perspective - can be
assimilated into a maternal figure, since she has taken care of Paul and his needs, it is
difficult to envisage Jeanne in the same role. If a parallel with classical literature has to be
drawn, there is more potential in evoking Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy, in the context of
which Jeanne might be envisaged as Virgil guiding Paul/Dante - lost in a existential midlife
crisis - through his personal inferno, with Bertolucci ultimately preventing them from
eventually coming forth 'to rebehold the stars'.(2) hi my analysis of the film, I will posit that
Paul's behaviour is generated by social discontent, and therefore a different motivation will
20

e attributed to Paul's abolition of names, a perspective which I will discuss in the relevant
chapter.
With regard to Kline's interpretation of Bertolucci's oeuvre as a struggle to liberate
himself from paternal figures, (Kline, 1987: 7) some misinterpretations in his study are
symptomatic of an eagerness to derive Freudian readings of Bertolucci's work. In particular,
reflecting on Bertolucci's assertion about using psychoanalysis as another lens on his camera,
Kline asserts that 'this particular metaphor derives of course from Bertolucci's own
experience of analysis over the period in which he created his first five films' (Kline, 1987:
8), whereas Bertolucci actually started analysis a few weeks before shooting The Spider's
Stratagem (Socci 1996: 7). Also, Kline bases another line of psychoanalytical reasoning on a
link between the name Attila (a character in 1900) and that of Attilio, Bertolucci's father's
name, the critic mistakenly attributing the character's first name to Bertolucci's father; this
erroneous premise leads him to envisage another manifestation of the Oedipus complex,
namely an "ongoing struggle for/with author-ity" between Bertolucci and his father within
what, objectively, is a screen character who represents reactionary social, economic and
political forces in 1920s Italy and who embodies the violent forces at the service of the
landowners (Kline, 1987: 138). More generally, while Kline's notion of the dark cinema
auditorium functioning as an area within which the viewer's role resembles that of a dreamer,
is evocative (Kline, 1987: 13), my study articulates a different notion of viewer engagement
with screen fiction based on cognitive-affective theory, and its basis is that viewers are fully
cognisant during the viewing experience, constantly evaluating and reacting to what is seen.
In her anthology Italian Film in the Light of Neorealism (1986), Millicent Marcus
includes an essay on The Conformist stressing how Bertolucci's intention 'to force his
viewers to confront their Fascist past and to rethink their relationship to it, constitutes a plea
for moral responsibility akin to the early Neorealists' (Marcus, 1986: 286). The significance
21

placed by Marcus on Bertolucci's shift away from the sense of 'inexorable fate' in Moravia's
original novel in favour of a greater emphasis on 'Marcello's sovereign free will' and the
moral consequences of this, is supported in my own study (Marcus, 1986: 296). Nevertheless,
having outlined this assumption, there is a contradiction when Marcus indicates that where
Marcello Clerici is concerned, the film's cinematic devices 'all suggest an abnormal, chaotic
mental state' (Marcus, 1986: 296). While the notion of abnormality can be defended, that of
mental chaos is less tenable; my analysis will identify a cold determination in Clerici ? s
pursuit of conformism and a lucid awareness of Fascism's threatening and repressive nature.
Yosefa Loshitzky, in The Radical Faces of Godard and Bertolucci (1995), analyses in
parallel the career of the two directors. Her analysis of Bertolucci's films generally mirrors
other scholarly analysis, in terms of reaffirming Godard's influence on Bertolucci, the
implication of an Oedipus complex in their relationship, and Bertolucci's departure from
Godard's avant-garde view on cinema. On the latter point, and without any intention of
mounting a defence or criticism of the decision that led to this different strand of film-
making, I believe that more consideration should be given to the question of cinema and
elitism that troubled Bertolucci and other directors in the early 1970s, film-makers such as
Elio Petri, as both Bertolucci and Petri added their own reflections to the debate. In 1973,
while discussing politically committed films, Bertolucci asserted: 'The great problem of the
political film is very difficult. I see a great contradiction in my work when I do political films
like Before the Revolution and Partner, because political films must be popular films, and
Partner, for example, was anything but popular' (Georgakas, Rubenstein, 1984: 38). hi
commenting on Solanas's regret at having been unable to show his film Hour of the Furnaces
(1973) to the people he would have liked to, Bertolucci affirmed that a revolutionary film
'never goes into a revolutionary space' but 'into festivals. So you do revolutionary films for
the cinephiles' (Georgakas, Rubenstein, 1984: 38-39). This was a preoccupation shared by
22

Petri, who - in 1972 - talking about Godard's work, asserted: 'I still like his work, although I
think that his efforts are useless. I don't believe one can make a revolution with cinema. To
speak to an elite of intellectuals is like speaking to nobody' (Georgakas, Rubenstein, 1984:
60). Petri also adds that within the strategy of initiating a dialectical process 'involving the
great masses', 'Godard's films are important, especially when they are clear. Unfortunately,
when you appeal to an elite, you fall into the trap of intellectualism' (Georgakas, Rubenstein,
1984: 60). Significantly, there is a reference in Loshitzky's book to Godard confronting the
issue himself, Loshitzky affirming: 'Reflecting on this rather sharp transition from voluntary
seclusion to the big capitalist market he [Godard] said: 'My Grenoble experience has been
fascinating. But I realize now that it was too abstract, lacking in contact and means. I cut
myself off from certain subjects and from a certain public. Whereas we must base our aims
on the public's desire and prolong them 7 (Loshitzky, 1995: 83). At this point in the
introductory sections to my own study I have referred to this issue because of its importance
not just to Bertolucci's career but also to film-making nowadays.
With regard to the analysis Loshitzky makes of individual films, several elements will
be debated in the relevant chapters in this volume. These include her use of Marcuse's
reading of Freud in his Eros and Civilization which will be examined in my discussion of
Last Tango in Paris in the context of the implied social perspectives in the way the
Paul/Jeanne relationship is narrated. This will lead to a different contextualization both of the
representation of sexuality in the film and of the function of the apartment in the film's mise-
en-scene. As regards Loshitzky's interpretation that in Bertolucci's film-making, at a certain
point, 'the East became, in opposition to West, a Utopia' (Loshitsky, 1995: 89) this study will
contend that Bertolucci did not see the East as a Utopia, but as a means of warning Western
contemporary society about the degradation of human relationships. Finally, although this
project does not pursue a feminist critique of Bertolucci's work, I will contrast Loshitzky's
23

negative evaluation of the representations of women in his films (Loshitzky, 1995: 186) by
arguing that although female characters rarely share the pivotal importance of their male
counterparts in the development of both the filmic story and the making of History in general,
they are depicted as intellectually equal, if not superior, and often endowed with a stronger
existential determination than male characters, as in the case of The Conformist and The Last
Emperor.
InBernardo Bertolucci (1996), Stefano Socci provides information about Bertolucci's
documentaries, and analyses his fiction films from The Grim Reaper to Stealing Beauty,
while the book's second edition of 2003 also includes Besieged. Socci skims through all the
director's films, his examination dense with references to, and subjective evocations of,
Italian and international literature, paintings, and films. This profusion of cross-references is
sometimes accompanied by dismissive comments about individual films, which, in the case
of The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man and The Sheltering Sky will be discussed in the chapters
relevant to the films. Socci's analysis also follows the dual optic of Marxist and Freudian
perspectives, with a stern leftist evaluation of the political perspective of Bertolucci's films,
which in the case of 1900 leads him to criticize a supposedly unconfrontational political
attitude on Bertolucci's part. My analysis of the film, drawing partly on Bertolucci's
declarations about wanting to diffuse the idea of Communism amongst American audiences
in a different climate from that of the usual anti-communist hysteria, suggests that this was
never intended (Socci, 1995: 61). Socci often praises the aesthetic aspects of the director's
films, as well as his tendency to weave the viewer into webs of intertextual references. In
this respect, Socci's closing reflection that Bertolucci's films are able 'to charm us with all
the fascination of the seventh art [...] but remain 'slightly indecipherable' (Socci, 1995: 100)
corroborates this volume's view that Bertolucci's entire output is characterized by the
24

twofold aim of offering viewers sophisticated aesthetic experiences that are embedded in
complex narrations.
In the year 2000, a set of interviews with Bertolucci edited by Fabien S. Gerard, T.
Jefferson Klein, and Bruce Sklarew was published as Bemardo Bertolucci: Interviews. The
interviews cover the film-maker's work from Before the Revolution to Stealing Beauty, and
they will be considered in the relevant chapters of this volume where appropriate. However,
the interview 'Who Were You?' (1973) by Dacia Maraini - a well-known writer - contains
two noteworthy elements: Bertolucci's blissful early life comes across in its entirety, the
director declaring: 'I discovered the word aggressiveness only after I was twenty. Up until
then all the hard edges were softened by my father' (Maraini, 1973: 89). Coupled with
Bertolucci's awareness that he had grown up 'in an earthly paradise where poetic and natural
realities were one',(Maraini, 1973: 81) this invites, at the very least, some caution regarding
the notion of an allegedly troubled relationship between Attilio and Bemardo Bertolucci
which seems to underpin some of the psychoanalytical scholarship on the director's work.
The relationship with his father seems closer to that of an over-protected experience that
prevented him from developing a more realistic view of life with its setbacks and failures;
this inability to cope with the negative responses to his early films may therefore account for
some of Bertolucci's changes in career direction. The second significant element from the
Maraini interview regards the director's recollection of the first memory of his mother, while
sitting in the wicker basket of her bicycle, Bertolucci linking this image to the form of the
moon. In later years he indicated that this memory was a recurring dream that inspired the
making of La luna (Maraini, 1973: 82; Ungari, 1982: 127).
In general, as regards the use of Bertolucci's declarations within academic writing on
his work, I would point out that I share Roger Ebert's wariness concerning the nature and
effect of interviews: 'I suspect that with all good directors, the spirit of the artist dominates
25

on the location, and the philosopher emerges only in the post-mortem interview' (Ebert,
1985: ix). I would not go as far as saying that sometimes Bertolucci 'speaks arrant nonsense'
(Kolker, 1985: 7), but I will highlight what I believe are discrepancies between Bertolucci's
verbal declarations and cinematic articulations.
Notes
1. The jester Rigoletto mocks the courtiers cuckolded by the Duke, who takes advantage of their wives
and daughters. So when Rigoletto mocks Count Monterone's appeal to the Duke for the return of his
dishonoured daughter, Rigoletto is cursed by Monterone to suffer the same fatherly pain. And
circumstances bring Rigoletto's daughter - Gilda - to become the Duke's lover. The jester's plan to
murder the Duke is overheard by Gilda who resolves to die in the place of the man she loves. So when
Rigoletto is delivered a sack supposedly containing the dead Duke and is about to dispose of it, he
hears a female voice. Desperately he opens it to find his dying daughter, and he recalls Monterone's
curse. Rigoletto, G. Verdi (1850).
2. The Divine Comedy, (1308-1321). The last verse of Inferno reads: 'Thence we came forth to rebehold
the stars'. Available at www.readprint.com/chapter 189/Inferno-Dante-Alighieri [Accessed on
15/06/10].
References
Alighieri D., (1308-1321) Divine Comedy, [Online] available:
www.readprint.com/chapter 189/Inferno-Dante-Alighieri
Bondanella, P. (1997) Italian Cinema From Neorealism to the Present. (New Ed.) New York:
The Continuum Publishing Company
Casetti, F. (1978) Bemardo Bertolucci, Florence: "La Nuova Italia" Editrice
Ebert, R. (1985) 'Foreword', in Georgakas, D. and Rubenstein, L. (ed.) (1985) Art Politics
Cinema: Tlie Cineaste Interviews, London and Sydney: Pluto Press
Georgakas, D., and Rubenstein, L. (ed.) (1985) Art Politics Cinema: The Cineaste Interviews,
London and Sydney: Pluto Press
Kline, TJ. (1987) Bertolucci's Dream Loom: A Psychoanalytic Study of Cinema, Amherst:
The University of Massachusetts Press
Kolker, R. P. (1985) Bernardo Bertolucci, London: BFI Publishing
Loshitzky, Y. (1995) The Radical Faces of Godard and Bertolucci, Detroit: Wayne State
University Press
26

Maraini, D. (1973) 'Who were you?', in Gerard, F.S., Kline, TJ. and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000)
Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University Press of Mississippi
Marcus, M. (1986) Italian Film in the Light of Neorealism, Princeton: Princeton University
Press
Ranvaud, D. (1987) 'L'Ultimo Imperatore di Bernardo Bertolucci', in Ungari, E. (1982)
Scene Madri di Bernardo Bertolucci, 2nd Ed., Milan: Ubulibri
Socci S., (1996) Bernardo Bertolucci, Milan: II Castoro Cinema
Ungari, E. (1982) Scene madri di Bernardo Bertolucci, (2nd Ed. 1987), Milan: Ubulibri
27

Cognitive/Affective Theory
THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK
This study is based on the notion of interaction between the viewer's cognitive and affective
faculties while engaging with screen fiction. Where psychoanalytical methodologies
conceptualize humanity as 'torn [...] between principles of pleasure and principles of reality',
with principles of reality and 'reason' considered as 'secondary processes', Torben Grodal
attributes greater importance to ecological/evolutionary theories according to which humans
have developed cognitive skills, not 'in opposition to their emotions and their bodies' but 'to
carry out the preferences of the body-mind totality' (Grodal, 1997: 5). In other words, it is
easier to obtain sustenance, preserve one's safety, and thereby experience pleasurable
emotions if we are aware of the nature of worldly phenomena. In the context of the reception
of film, Grodal's starting point is that 'visual fiction is viewed in a conscious state and it is
mostly about human beings perceiving, acting and feeling [...] in relation to a visible and
audible world' (Grodal, 1997: 6). In his view, individuals evaluate and process human
behaviour 'by making mental models of act-schemata and motive schemata (Grodal 1997: 8)
in other words, by using acquired experience to deduce the reasons behind a person's conduct
or a given event and then to formulate hypotheses about the person's future actions or about
possible developments in the light of an event that has occurred. There are similarities
between this process and that of the progression of 'a classical and a canonical narrative",
given that both occur in a 'coherent and consistent time and space"; Grodal therefore
identifies the potential for visual fiction to be formally analysed (for example in ideological
or stylistic terms) and related to 'fundamental formulas of consciousness' because it is
motivated by 'fundamental aspects of the mental architecture of humans' (Grodal, 1997: 8).
28

In discussing different narrative theories, Grodal asserts that all aspects of the viewing
experience, such as the perceptual, the cognitive, the emotional, the temporal and the spatial,
are equally important; therefore he rejects the notion of 'hierarchies of mental functions',
since they interact with one another. For example, an individual's perception of real-life or
screen events provides information that is 'analyzed cognitively and evaluated emotionally',
and therefore a film's narrative structure is conceptualized as the 'framework within which
[the functions] interact' (Grodal, 1997: 9-10). hi this context, Grodal indicates the key
function of cognitive evaluations of the 'reality status' of a given narrative event, and because
the process involves emotions, he stresses the importance of analysing the reality status 'cued
by a given sequence', as its cinematic manipulation 'can be used for evoking emotions and
feelings'(Grodal, 1997: 28). On the basis of an individual's holistic experience of reality,
which is composed of many visual and aural components, Grodal provides the example of
how the removal of sound from a dramatic scene 'is often done to produce an 'unreal' and
'subjective effect' (Grodal, 1997: 29). This aesthetic device - as Grodal terms it - is a feature
of Jean-Luc Godard's mode of film-making, for example.
Grodal discusses the findings of scientific research into the ways in which higher
animals and humans react to their surroundings, and to 'purposive', 'goal-oriented' acts
within them, the critic referencing experiments on monkeys who were monitored as they
observed a person moving around a room; increased neuronal activity was detected in the
primates 'when the person moved toward a door leading out of the laboratory" (Grodal, 1997:
86). Grodal argues that such cognitive processes are 'based on innate circuits and is not a
result of a cultural process', and on a comprehension of an individual's movements and
objectives, and he suggests that 'when people are "fascinated" by films, this may be an effect
of the number of movements and purposive acts represented in them' (Grodal, 1997: 87).
Hence, he posits that in cinematic contexts a viewer participates in constructed fiction by
29

'cognitively identifying himself with the agents of fictions', which also involves a simulation
of the emotions generated by such identification. He asserts that 'cognition is intimately
linked to emotions' and that 'the superior connection between cognition and emotion is that
of motivation' based on the recognition of the basic human preferences underpinning the
screen actant's situation, in spheres such as 'food, security, erotic gratification, and social
acceptance' (Grodal, 1997: 87). hi the light of this theory, Grodal explains why- in watching
a film about Gandhi - a European 'can easily make a cognitive identification with him' by
recognizing general patterns based on, for example, 'the opposition between social
humiliation and social acceptance" (Grodal, 1997: 92).
According to Grodal, viewing screen fiction initiates a mental flow that he terms the
downstream, beginning with the perception of images and sounds on screen which induce
affective reactions within viewers, possibly based on personal memories and associations,
and these then 'activate representations of possible actions, and perhaps induce muscle
tension' (Grodal, 1999: 132). The way viewers experience the downstream can be
categorized in three modes: 'telic (Ideological), paratelic, and autonomic' (Grodal, 1999:
133-34). The telic mode relates to 'voluntary goal-directed actions and thoughts', Grodal
exemplifying this with Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) and individual scenes featuring the
protagonist pursuing and taking possession of the ark. The paratelic mode relates to actions
that 'take place without an explicit goal, in relation to the protagonist's moment-to-moment
experiences', typified by the first shots of E.T. (1982), a perception-based sequence where no
telic framework' or narrative goal is provided (Grodal, 1999: 134). Other examples of the
paratelic mode of viewer experience can be traced in many sequences of Fellini's Amarcord
(1973) in which the evocation of bizarre characters and situations is again bereft of any telos,
or goal-orientation. Finally the third mode, the autonomic, 'is activated when characters
become victims of exterior forces, such as history, nature or fate and are unable to affect
30

outcomes. The viewer and character react to such situations with tears, shudders or laughter'
(Grodal, 1999: 134); this is exemplified by the sequence in Raiders of the Lost Ark when
Indiana Jones initially 'experiences fearful despair in the snakepit' before switching to a more
goal-directed response to solve the situation (Grodal, 1999: 132-134).
Using some of the sequences mentioned before as test cases, Grodal shows how the
mental flow can also have four modal qualities experienced by viewers in the following
forms: 'intense' (the film activates vivid perception, as in the opening sequence of E.T.);
'saturated' (the film activates memory associations charged with emotion; I would indicate
the scene in Giuseppe Tornatore's Cinema Paradiso (1988), when the adult Toto revisits the
now derelict cinema in his home town, as an example of this); 'tense' (here, the film activates
action-readiness, such as muscular tension, as a boulder thunders towards Indiana Jones), and
'emotive 5 (activating autonomic outlets such as tears, laughter or shivers) (Grodal, 1999:
136). By contrast, an alternative viewing process may occur when films interrupt this mental
flow from perception to reaction; Grodal likens this to looking 'upstream', against the normal
experiential flow. This occurs when a film blurs or blocks the viewers' perception of forms,
Grodal's example being the first flashback to Harmonica's past in Once Upon a Time in the
West (1968), which is shot completely out-of-focus. Another form of blocking may occur
when action is halted 'as in a freeze-frame', which halts the completion of an action (Grodal,
1999: 136), one example of this being the ending to Once Upon a Time in America (1984).
In many narratives, the subject-actant on screen and the viewer-persona merge as a
consequence of close emotional and cognitive identification between the two, but more
complicated narrative forms can create distance between viewers and screen actants. One
device to reduce the immediacy of a viewer's emotional and physiological reactions to what
is perceived on screen, and to distance the viewer from the fictive world is the creation of
'contextual frames and embeddings that force the spectator to double his position of
31

eception, by creating an awareness of the reception situation' (Grodal, 1997: 178). Viewers,
in effect, engage with the screen action, while being simultaneously aware of an implied role
that the film intends them to play while viewing; contextual frames can, for example, take the
form of conspicuous, characteristic elements of film genre, as a dark, rainy urban street
illuminated by neon signs might signpost noir and put the viewer into the role of a knowing
cinephile. A spectator, for example, might identify himself 'with a viewer of art film or a
scientifically detached observer of the sordidness of human nature" (Grodal, 1997: 178). The
viewer's shifts of attention from the diegetic action to a film's 'special frames' will create the
effect of 'an emotional buffer or filter' distancing the viewer from the screen action (Grodal,
1997:178). Consequently, the viewer's affective and physiological reactions to such films
may be conditioned by the viewer's awareness of the implied role that s/he is occupying
(Grodal, 1997: 180).
The second theoretical cornerstone of this study is constituted by Murray Smith's
writings on the viewer's imaginative engagement with fictional narratives; Smith also
envisages an interaction between the cognitive and the affective, and divides the notion of the
viewer's engagement with screen characters into three concepts, or phases: recognition,
alignment, and allegiance, which constitute a 'structure of sympathy" involving 'empathic
phenomena' that are exemplified by viewers sharing and simulating the emotions of
characters at given moments in films (Smith, 1995: 73). He asserts that the film narration, 'as
the ultimate "organizer" of the text', is the force which generates the processes of
recognition, alignment and allegiance (Smith, 1995: 75). More in detail, recognition is the
process by which viewers recognize and construct the screen character's traits according to
analogical characteristics found in real human behaviour. Alignment is the process by which
viewers are placed in relation to characters, through 'two interlocking functions: spatio-
temporal attachment and subjective access'; viewers effectively share the visual and aural
32

information to which the character has access (Smith, 1995: 82-83). Allegiance, however, is
the process by which viewers develop a moral evaluation of characters, who are thus 'ranked
in a system of preference'. For Smith, such an evaluation 'has both cognitive and affective
dimensions' since it involves categorizing the conduct of a character and being 'affectively
aroused by this categorization', this leading to a 'sympathetic' or 'antipathetic' response
(Smith, 1995: 84-85). In a film such as Vincenzo Marra's L'ora di pimta (2007) viewers
recognize the character traits of the protagonist, the ambitious police officer Filippo, as
reflecting the value system and amoral careerism typified by entrepreneurs such as Silvio
Berlusconi, and they assess Filippo's transformation into a ruthless property developer as
being harmful to his trusting partner Caterina. From this assessment develops an evaluation
which leads to an antipathetic response towards the character, and the likelihood of a sense of
allegiance towards Caterina.
Smith asserts that as a consequence of close alignment with a screen character - even
without full allegiance forming - empathic phenomena may evolve between viewers and
certain characters, due to the fact that empathy is connected to the 'cognitive ability to
perspective-take [...] to imagine being in the situation of the perceived subject' (Smith, 1995:
96). The notion of empathy can split into 'further mechanisms' which can be voluntary, like
the 'emotional simulation' of a character's reactions or involuntary, such as replicating gasps
of horror - 'affective mimicry and autonomic reactions' in Smith's terminology (Smith,
1995: 96). hi the context of L'ora di pimta and its protagonist Filippo, transient empathic
phenomena may develop in situations of tension when Filippo's property empire risks
collapse. Here, Grodal's notion of the importance of purposive, goal-oriented actions also
comes into play; viewers may not share the character's values, but they have a cognitive
awareness of the serious implications of Filippo's situation, and are drawn into the action
accordingly. The tight camera close-ups of the protagonist's tense features are an example of
33

the film's narration eliciting affective and cognitive responses towards the character. The
importance of Smith's delineation of concepts such as alignment and allegiance should not be
underestimated, as they enable film studies to move away from the nebulous notion of viewer
'identification' with characters. In the context of my study, Smith's concepts, when applied to
Bertolucci's films, are invaluable in terms of the light they shed on the viewer's difficult
engagement with protagonists such as Marcello Clerici in TJw Conformist.
Noel Carroll's articulation of the relation between fiction films and emotions stems
again from a cognitive-affective methodology. The symptoms of anger at a lover's betrayal
may be a sense of 'inner bodily turmoil' and stomach churning, and the link between these
bodily sensations and one's lover is the cognition of a situation of betrayal, either real or
imagined (Carroll, 1999: 25). Emotions are therefore more than just bodily feelings, because
cognitions are 'necessary constituents' of the process of most emotions, apart from
autonomic responses such as startled reactions to horrific scenes. In this way cognition not
only causes the feeling, but it also allows the identification of the emotional state that we are
in, since it involves a categorization of the cause of the emotion, in this case, a sense of
wrongfulness (Carroll, 1999: 25-26). Carroll's view is that the emotional states 'are governed
cognitively by criteria of appropriateness'; for example, situations that are cognitively
assessed as harmful or dangerous lead to fear (Carroll, 1999: 27). hi cinematic contexts, an
example of this governing criterion might be found in Deliverance, (1972) in which suspense
and fear originate from the harmful/threatening presence of the three strangers accompanying
the friends on their trip.
Carroll asserts that once the objects or stimuli for emotional states are detected, such
as a source of danger to trigger fear, emotional states are episodic and 'endure over time
intervals' (Carroll, 1999: 27); the individual's emotions guide his/her perceptions to further
elements in the scenario (whether real or fictitious, on screen) that are relevant to the
34

emotional state that the individual is in. Carroll uses a real-life example to illustrate this:
'Alerted by fear to the potential that there is someone or something prowling around our
campsite, we scope out the scene in search of further signs of threat which, if found, reinforce
both the state we are in and its related feedback processes. In this way the emotions manage
attention over time' (Carroll, 1999: 28). Whether occurring in real-life or on screen, our
emotions enable us to identify the significant details we see and organize them into a
plausible whole; subsequently, the presiding emotion prompts us 'to form expectations about
the kinds of things that we should watch for as the situation evolves' (Carroll, 1999: 28). In
the case of Bertolucci's films, one of this study's lines of enquiry focuses on how the
emotional moods of key sequences are sustained by cognitive prompts and by film technique
and mise-en-scene , rather than by close alignment and allegiance to characters.
Carroll stresses, however, that with respect to fiction films, the events 'have been
emotionally pre-digested for us by filmmakers' through elements of the mise-en-scene and
narrative structure (Carroll, 1999: 29). He observes that this process does not guarantee a set
emotional response, in that the film structure also needs to generate in viewers a concern or
'pro-attitude' towards what is happening in the story; while this process can be
straightforward in films such as CarrolFs example of Battleship Potemkin (1925) which
'enlists a pro-attitude in the audience toward the crew of the battle cruiser", (Carroll, 1999:
31-32) the critic also acknowledges that the emotional address in certain films 'may be
designedly ambiguous' (Carroll, 1999: 34). While he does not offer textual examples to
illustrate this premise, this volume will posit that several of Bertolucci's films, such as La
luna, exemplify this phenomenon, and may even unwittingly induce the inverse of the 'pro-
attitudes" envisaged by the film-maker. Carroll's examination of film genres in the context of
their dominant emotion focuses results in a taxonomy that also helps to shed light on the
ways in which Bertolucci's manipulations of cinematic codes condition the viewer s
35

emotional engagement with his films (Carroll, 1999: 34-46).
The importance of music in Bertolucci's films deserves a study of its own, although
this volume will limit itself to an analysis of key examples of how the director uses diegetic
and non-diegetic music to amplify or condition the emotion structure within individual films.
Consideration will also be given to the use of non-diegetic music to orient viewers between
different segments of certain narratives, as in the case of The Grim Reaper and Last Tango in
Paris. To shed light on such processes, concepts by Claudia Gorbman will be incorporated
into discussions of Bertolucci's use of music. In her study on the function of music in films,
Gorbman indicates how, on the basis of 'Wagnerian principles of motifs and leitmotifs',
music in film often 'becomes associated with a character, a place, a situation, or an emotion'
(Gorbman, 1987: 3). In general, music is used to create 'rhythm, atmosphere, cinematic
space, spectatorial distance, and point of view', by being either expressive or informative
(Gorbman, 1987: 16). In analysing Stagecoach (1939), she indicates how rhythmic music can
be used 'as a denotative tag' (Gorbman, 1987: 28) to indicate menace when it is associated
with the same narrative reference, the Indians. She states that music has a range of
connotative values, such as the seduction/sophistication of jazz, and these qualities are
instrumental in establishing a film's emotional tone, notably its mood, and this element, in
particular, reflects the way Bertolucci deploys music in his films.
Gorbman's discussion of the specific case of songs with lyrics and their impact on
cinematic narratives is especially interesting in the context of Bertolucci's films. When these
songs are diegetic, being sung within the world of the film, Gorbman suggests that these
songs 'require narrative to cede to spectacle' and that they seem to freeze the action for their
duration (Gorbman, 1987: 20). However, if they are heard non-diegetically, 'over the film's
images', they can function as a non-diegetic commentary of the images being viewed. An
example of the first effect can be found in The Last Emperor, whereas the sequences within
36

opera houses in Before the Revolution and The Spider's Stratagem reflect the second
phenomenon (Gorbman, 1987: 20). Gorbman also discusses the ways in which background
music can be an accessory to the 'subjective positioning" that a film viewer undergoes, and
she identifies the different roles of 'intimate "identification" music 5 and 'epic "spectacle"
music (Gorbman, 1987: 68). Identification music draws spectators into the narrative and its
scenarios as experienced by characters, whereas spectacle music 'places us in contemplation'
of the narrative, lending 'an epic quality to the diegetic events', precisely by making a
spectacle of them as in Star Wars (1977) (Gorbman, 1987: 68). These two types of music, the
first facilitating an intimate, emotional form of engagement from spectators, and the second
privileging a more distanced, rational perspective on the cinematic spectacle, reflect the
affective/cognitive theoretical approach of this study towards Bertolucci's films, as both
types of music are used by him.
Cognitive Theory
David Bordwell's theory of film reception is based on 'a perceptual-cognitive approach' that
'treats narration as a process' by which films are grasped by viewers 'as more or less
coherent wholes' (Bordwell, 1995: 49). He identifies three schemata upon which the viewer
reconstructs the fabula (story): 'prototype schemata' which are intended as the identification
of characters, actions and locales; 'template schemata' consisting of 'principally the
"canonic" story' which is intended as a chain of cause and effect; and 'procedural schemata'
which are elaborated by 'a search for appropriate motivations and relations of causality, time,
space' (Bordwell, 1995: 49). He dedicates particular attention to the procedural schemata for
its importance in eliciting spectatorial analyses of films during the viewing experience; in
films whose narratives are structured around processes of detection or variants of this, the
'search' for motivations and causes naturally constitutes a primary mode of viewer
engagement, and this volume will outline how a range of Bertolucci's films activate such
37

processes, even those such as The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man which are not ostensibly
categorizable as detective fiction.
With regard to causality, Bordwell notes that film-makers can condition the ability of
viewers to formulate hypotheses and narrative expectations by using a suppressive narrative,
or by using stories characterized by a persistence of causal gaps. He terms 'retardation' the
principle by which a narrative delays 'the revelation of some information', (Bordwell, 1995:
54-56). Bordwell categorizes narrative expositions into different types: preliminary
expositions can occur at the beginning of films, Bordwell citing Hitchcock's Rear Window
(1954) as an example; delayed expositions, which occur later in films; or concentrated
expositions may be deployed within a detailed self-contained summary at a certain point in
the film, (Bordwell, 1995: 56). Each exposition triggers 'different inferential activities on the
part of the spectator'; for example, a delayed exposition arouses curiosity about prior events
and can lead spectators to suspend their hypotheses about the prior and future developments
of events (Bordwell, 1995: 56). This occurs in The Spider's Stratagem and Last Tango in
Paris, given the lack of biographical information about the protagonists for viewers to digest.
Bordwell examines how suppressive narratives can be obtained by manipulating time,
space, and narrative logic, and in particular how the manipulation of time plays a crucial role
in this process, He indicates the use of flashback, flash-forward, dilatation and reduction -
either via compression or ellipsis as devices that are used to manipulate and re-arrange the
fabula (Bordwell, 1995: 77). In tandem with other cognitive film research, for example
scholarship such as Grodal's which also considers the emotional implications of different
narrative structures, further light can be shed on the viewing experience elicited by films such
as Bertolucci's The Conformist with their proliferation of flashbacks, an effect which reduces
the future goal-orientation of the narrative and also conditions the viewer's
affective/cognitive engagement with the developing action. As an example of time
38

manipulation, Bordwell analyses the peculiar temporal construction of Bertolucci's The
Spider's Stratagem, illustrating how this is achieved by the aesthetic construction of its
flashbacks, whereas the narrative structure of Stratagem is an example of a suppressive
narrative with its foregrounding of a permanent causal gap within the events of the story.
Having discussed different modes of cinematic narration and established a distinction
between the classical narration typical of Hollywood films and that of art cinema, Bordwell
assesses how art cinema deviates from canonical narrative conventions such as linear chains
of cause and effect, noting that its narratives tend to be less plot-driven and goal-oriented than
Hollywood releases, the art film protagonist being 'presented as sliding passively from one
situation to another' and following 'an itinerary which surveys the film's social world'
(Bordwell, 1995: 207). Art films 'sharpen character delineation by impelling us to compare
agents, attitudes and situations' and consequently the art film s attempt 'to pronounce
judgments upon modern life and la condition humaine, depends upon its formal organization'
(Bordwell, 1995: 207). Contemporary Italian cinema provides numerous examples of this
form of narrative organization; the existential perspective of Ernesto, the artist protagonist of
Marco Bellocchio's L 'ora di religione/T)ie Religion Hour (2002) is repeatedly juxtaposed
and contrasted with his relations' cynical attempts to obtain the beatification of Ernesto's late
mother; his resistance to the sanctification process remains inevitably passive given that the
institutional weight of the Catholic Church is pitted against him, manipulating his life path
and, indeed, the entire telos of the film, with only Ernesto's subjectivity occasionally shaping
the film's aesthetics and structure such as in the slowed down sequences in which he
witnesses examples of the Church's anachronistic influence in 21 st century Rome.
This study will explore the position occupied by Bertolucci's work towards the
boundary between Hollywood-influenced styles of film-making and art cinema, examining
the structures and aesthetics of art cinema which shape the viewer's emotional and cognitive
39

engagement with the director's work. What Bordwell describes as 'the marked self-
consciousness of art cinema narration', featuring moments 'in which the narrational act
interrupts the transmission of fabula information and highlights its own role', in other words,
moments 'that announce the power of the author to control what we know" mirrors
Bertolucci's mode of film-making and the way it creates shifts between affective forms of
viewer engagement and a more distanced, intellectual form of reception during the director's
more stylized moments (Bordwell, 1995: 209). Bertolucci's familiarity with canonical
cinematic conventions and his ability to manipulate and subvert them is typified in films such
as Tlie Spider's Stratagem, and this is a quality which emerges in much of his work; the
application of suppressive narratives, the retardation of the disclosure of narrative
information, and a recurring self-consciousness recur from his earliest work up to Jlie
Dreamers.
This study also draws on Edward Branigan's theories of narrative comprehension and
reception, work which is based on cognitive psychology, narratology and linguistics
(Branigan, 1992: xiii). Branigan describes the way our mental processes register sensory
information from the world around us, recognizing and classifying this information for future
use by organizing it into patterns, or schema, based on what we already know. (Branigan,
1992: 13) He notes that 'a schema assigns probabilities to events and to parts of events. It
may be thought of as a graded set of expectations about experience in a given domain',
(Branigan, 1992: 13) and he asserts that a schema is used in our mental processes in order to
recognize narrative patterns, such as in films. Again, a fusion of the affective and the
cognitive emerges in the format that Branigan envisages for a standard narrative schema, with
features such as an 'explanation of a state of affairs' early on, followed by an 'emotional
response or statement of a goal by the protagonist', and finally an outcome plus 'reactions to
the outcome' (Branigan, 1992: 14). However, Branigan admits that while the notion of a
40

narrative schema clarifies how we organize information, it 'does not directly address such
problems as a perceiver's fascination, emotional reaction or participation in a story'
(Branigan, 1992:16). One of the objectives of this study is to investigate how emotional
responses are occasionally derived - indirectly - from the frustration of the viewers'
attempted schematization of Bertolucci's narratives, and also from a systematic analysis of
the aesthetics and visual techniques used by the director to engender emotional responses.
Branigan also links narrative causality to human mental schemata, individuals
evaluating the causes behind sequences of events in real life and those in fictional narratives
on the basis of the 'relative likelihood 7 of particular events appearing together (Branigan,
1992: 26). He argues that viewers perceive narrative events not only 'as a chain of causes and
effects' linked together and triggered by local determinants, but viewers also draw upon their
cultural knowledge in evaluating which actions are plausibly compatible with each other,
given 'our general knowledge of social interaction' (Branigan, 1992: 27). Branigan uses a
cognitive psychological distinction to differentiate the way we perceive what occurs on
screen; one process, functioning in a 'bottom-up s direction, is centred on the data seen on
screen, whose features are perceived and organized in terms of colour, motion, aural pitch,
and other qualities, with the viewer 'utilizing little or no associated memory' during this
process (Branigan, 1992: 37). By contrast, what he terms 'top-down' perceptual processes are
based on the spectators acquired knowledge and mental schemas, and these work 'top-down'
upon the screen data, using the spectator's expectations and goals as a way of organizing and
making sense of what is seen; this leads to the making of hypotheses and the creation of
narrative expectations (Branigan, 1992: 37). The top-down process is facilitated or hindered
by the way the story is presented - its 'narration'; certain forms of narration can complicate
the procedure of 'acquiring knowledge' about the story (Branigan, 1992: 65).
41

Branigan identifies several elements that manipulate the viewer's access to
knowledge, notably the position of the camera, (Branigan, 1992: 67) the presence of a
narrator whose knowledge of story events conditions the viewer's own acquisition of
knowledge, or the presence of an implied narrator, 'such as the implied author', who
regulates the disclosure of story information (Branigan, 1992: 75). The film's style can also
be important: 'In what ways do the stylistic devices [...] open up or constrain our abilities to
acquire knowledge?' (Branigan, 1992: 76). Bertolucci's films consistently place constraints
on the viewer's ability to fully reconstruct the stories, and the elements listed above can be
traced in most of their styles and structures, with the exception of Little Buddha and Besieged
where the linearity and unrestricted quality of the narration is accompanied by the marked
presence of the director as an implicit narrator.
By drawing on narratological concepts, Branigan also distinguishes between 'non-
focalization' when an event's narration is limited to depict the action itself, and
'internal/external focalization' when the narration includes a character's experience or
thoughts; internal focalization occurs when a scene unfolds through a character's subjectivity,
thought processes, and perceptions (Branigan, 1992: 102). During external focalization,
viewers may still see what a character looks at, for example, but from a spatial position away
from the character and outside the character's consciousness. Essentially, the character's
subjectivity is integrated by another subjectivity; for example, the camera follows the
character or waits for him, or the presence of the implied author may be tangible when higher
implied levels of narration are in place (Branigan, 1992: 102-104). Branigan analyses Tfie
Wrong Man by Alfred Hitchcock to illustrate how images and even music can belong to
different levels of narration, (Branigan, 1992: 102-104) and a film such as Bertolucci's Last
Tango in Paris, also features a musical score - featuring effects such as discordant string-
based 'stingers' that are characteristic of thrillers or horror films - that is often conspicuous
42

to the point of drawing the spectator's attention out of the diegetic film world, and creating a
distanced engagement with the film as a constructed art form. This project will consider the
ways in which, through visual and aural means, the viewer's engagement with Bertolucci's
films shifts from a predominantly intra-diegetic emotional focus, fuelled by elements such as
colour schemes and mise-en-scem, to more intellectual forms of engagement caused by
moments when the director's presence is almost palpable.
Brecht
Another theoretical source used in this study to illuminate the cognitive and intellectual
thought processes that are prompted during the viewing experience of Bertolucci's films, is
Bertolt Brecht. Brecht considered the dramaturgy that derived from the Aristotelian theory of
catharsis 'the purging of the emotions through identification with the destiny which rules
the hero's life' - (Benjamin, 1973:18) as politically repressive, because the process clouded a
viewer's critical faculties. To overcome this phenomenon, he developed a theory of theatre
that centred on removing the audience's identification with the characters, changing the
relationship between the audience and the stage. He aimed to give theatre a pedagogical
function, that of provoking self-reflection, and this would lead to a desire for social
improvement by the acquisition of political awareness. Brecht called this 'epic theatre", and
its approach was to interrupt the on-stage action by laying bare theatrical techniques and
devices, including slogans in the stage decor, and projecting films on to the stage backdrop,
for example. These interventions disrupted the illusion of the theatrical spectacle, and obliged
the audience to adopt critical attitudes (Benjamin, 1973: 38). Having observed elements of
Chinese theatre, Brecht developed a technique which came to be known as the
Verfremdungseffekt, that of aiming 'to make the incidents represented appear strange to the
public', particularly through modes of stage acting (Willett, 1992: 136-37). The
Verfremdungseffekt - a term translated as alienation effect, distancing effect or
43

defamiliarization effect - was achieved in different ways: viewers could be addressed directly
by actors, the third person could be used in dialogue, and settings could be stylized to remind
viewers of the constructed nature of theatre, so that their attention would repeatedly shift
from the fictional world towards more critical analyses of what was occurring on stage.
Nevertheless, Brecht noted how, in Piscator's production of The Good Soldier
Schweik, 'the spectator's empathy was not entirely rejected. The audience identifies itself
with the actor as being an observer and accordingly develops his attitude of observing or
looking on' (Willett, 1992: 91-93). Emotions in general were not discarded from Brecht's
work, and music sometimes introduced a controlled form of affect that might lead reflection
on the viewer's part. In the essay On the Use of Music in an Epic Theatre Brecht asserts that
music 'made possible [...] "poetic theatre" ', emphasizing how, in The Threepenny Opera,
'the musical items, which had the immediacy of a ballad, were of a reflective and moralizing
nature', the criminal characters showing 'sometimes through the music itself, that their
sensations, feelings and prejudices were the same as those of the average citizen' (Willett,
1992: 84-85). Brecht warned against the mistake of supposing that epic theatre was bereft of
emotions; he asserted that emotions can be clarified during the course of performances, as
long as the elicited emotions are not the sort that carry spectators away (Willett, 1992: 88).
Having always been suspicious of theatrical productions based on audiences passively
empathizing with a character's emotions, an aversion that was heightened by the hypnotic
forms of theatre prevalent during Nazism, towards the end of his career, in the appendices to
the 'Short Organum' (1954), Brecht showed an awareness of the way his theatre had thrived
on interplay between the eliciting of an empathic understanding of a character s socio-
economic circumstances and his work's more didactic elements (Mumford, 2009: 63). In the
appendices, he reflects on many elements of epic theatre, noting that it had been 'too
inflexibly opposed to the concept of the dramatic', and that its proponents had always taken it
44

for granted, in a 'slightly hazardous way' that it would not turn 'into a scientific
demonstration' (Willett, 1992: 276).
In her study on Brecht, Meg Mumford adopts 'defamiliarization' as her preferred
translation of the term Verfremdung, in relation to Brecht using the effect as a form of
political intervention against 'the familiar', in order to free socially conditioned phenomena
from 'that stamp of familiarity which protects them against our grasp' and to elicit a more
questioning attitude from spectators towards these social, economic and political 'givens'
(Mumford, 2009: 61). Although recognizing the appropriateness of this terminology, my
study will use the term 'distanciation', since - in a cinematic context - it appears more
suitable to express the effect created by the devices that can be adopted to break viewers'
absorption in stories and reawaken their awareness of the cinematic medium. Bertolucci
transposed into some of his films Godard's configuration of the distanciation effect, which
consisted of strategies such as the use of unconventional editing and techniques through
which the cinematic illusion was broken, hi Partner Bertolucci incorporated an overt form of
Brechtian didacticism, whereas with regard to the directors work as a whole, this study
illustrates how other elements in his films also retain a Brechtian influence, such as the lack
of viewer identification with characters, the paratelic forms of narration that rarely centre on
the defining of, and achievement of, a character's goals, the conspicuous presence of the
camera, and the way that empathic phenomena rarely possess a cathartic function. It might be
suggested that by essentially positioning the viewer in the role of observer, Bertolucci fulfils
- in his own way - Brecht's instruction that 'acceptance or rejection of their [the characters']
actions and utterances was meant to take place on a conscious plane, instead of, as hitherto, in
the audience's subconscious' (Willett, 1992: 91). Moreover, the paradox that some of
Bertolucci's distancing devices arguably generate emotion in terms of aesthetic fascination,
or by intensifying a film's mood, will also be discussed.
45

Godard
A link connecting Bertolucci's early work to the particular aesthetic of the Nouvelle Vague in
general, and to Godard's work in particular, has been firmly established. This volume will
examine the way Bertolucci incorporates this aesthetic in constructing the cognitive
structures of his films. It will also differentiate between the approaches of the two film-
makers, paying attention to the cultural situation in Italy while evaluating the significance of
the shifts of orientation in Bertolucci's artistic trajectory. In addition, by exploring a number
of references, both explicit and implicit, to Godard's work in Bertolucci's later films - such
as The Dreamers - it will be suggested that Bertolucci's admiration for his French mentor
never ended. A brief initial overview of Godard's cinematic career will serve to clarify later
in the study the extent of his influence on Bertolucci. As recounted in the book Godard on
Godard, (Tom Milne, 1986) in the late 1950s, Godard was part of a group of intellectuals
writing for the journal Cahiers du cinema who asserted that a director's ability to embrace
and exploit the increasing sophistication of film technique was as important as social and
artistic realism within a narrative (Michelson, 1986: vii-ix). hi 1956 Godard published an
article, 'Montage, mon beau souci/Montage My Fine Care', in which he declared his
fascination with the art of editing, and later he decided to engage with actual film-making,
which he considered to be a continuation of his critical work in a different form (Roud, 1986:
7-9). This was a perspective shared by other critics within the group, who, in 1959, released
films that marked the beginning of the Nouvelle Vague.(I)
Regarding Godard's film techniques, David Sterritt asserts that one of his hallmarks is
the strategy of combining 'real images with eccentric editing strategies', of which 'the most
widely noted was his use of jump cuts that catapult the action from one image to another
without the smooth transitions'; this technique was deployed to disturb viewers, as Godard
sought 'to portray our world in unfamiliar ways that stimulate active thought rather than
46

passive emotionalism' (Sterritt, 1999: 12). Godard's intention to subvert traditional cinema is
generally believed to be the stylistic mode through which he articulated his political intention
to criticize modern society and its mass media 7 (Sterritt, 1999: 20-21). For Douglas Morrey,
the most important vehicle of Godard's criticism of society is represented by dialogue, the
recurrent use of the interview format, and voiceover commentaries which often become meta-
commentaries performed by Godard himself. (2) This verbal component can be read as the
most prominent element of the Brechtian lesson that Godard transposes into cinema. Morrey
argues that Brecht's distanciation techniques are deployed in Vivre sa vie (1962) in the format
of twelve tableaux, an approach confirmed by Godard himself (Morrey, 2005: 39), and
further examples of such techniques are found in 2 on 3 choses que je sais d'elle, (1967) for
example, when characters directly address the camera, and when unusual frame compositions
accompanied by commentaries draw attention to the artifice of the film-making process.
The educational function that Godard wanted for his cinema reached its peak in the
collective films in which he participated, films which also exemplified an orthodox Marxist-
Leninist approach. Critical responses to Godard's voiceover commentaries were mixed,
Morrey referencing and implicitly endorsing Sterritt's view regarding the scene in Week-end
(1967) where 'the extraordinarily long and didactic political speeches delivered by two
garbage men' arguably marks the point 'where the spectator's patience runs out' (Sterritt in
Morrey, 2005: 76). As regards Godard's involvement in collective film-making with the
Dziga Vertov Group, and the project's aims and implied audiences, Morrey asserts that while
it is understandable that films like Pravda (1970) with their 'relentless onslaught of Marxist-
Leninist analysis' were aimed 'at specific groups of committed militant activists', it is also
true that they 'missed a crucial political opportunity' to address a wider audience in the
vibrant political ambience of post-1968 France (Morrey, 2005: 94-95). The notion of
producing films for an extremely narrow implied audience - for an elite political vanguard in
47

essence, and failing to sensitize larger cross-sections of the population - was a problem that
eventually forced Godard to reconsider his position regarding emotions in cinema.
In discussing the inclusion, for the first time in Godard's work, of extended depictions
of landscapes - namely those of Switzerland - Morrey draws attention to Godard's own
affirmations which suggest that 'his new appreciation for nature need by no means exclude
analytical or political thinking', the director using landscapes in Sauve qui pent (le vie) to
create stark contrasts and juxtapositions between Nature and the 'contaminating influence of
capital" (Morrey, 2005: 137). This mode of film-making, drawing on aesthetics, affect, and
notions of the sensual as a means of sensitizing viewers to the socio-political questions
underpinning a film, is an approach that Bertolucci had been using since TJie Spider's
Strategem (and arguably earlier) and this particular use of landscapes re-emerges in other
films such as The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man and Stealing Beauty. My study will explore
how landscapes and other facets of the mise-en-scene of Bertolucci's films are designed to
elicit an affective engagement from spectators that almost always goes beyond the purely
sensory in order to engage the intellect.
Godard's ten year project, Histoire(s) du cinema (1988-1998). which 'seeks to tell the
(hi)story of cinema by editing together hundred of images from film history' (Morrey, 2005:
220) arguably constitutes another parallel with Bertolucci's own career trajectory, casting
light on Bertolucci's incorporation of classic film clips in TJie Dreamers and this, it will be
argued, is the basis of the sort of cognitive engagement that the film is designed to elicit from
viewers. In conclusion, Godard's status of being highly regarded critically but remaining the
preserve of relatively narrow cross-sections of cinephiles, is encapsulated in Morrey's final
assertion that Godard's cinema 'is cinema as philosophy', and that he uses cinema as 'a
machine for thinking, for propelling thought' (Morrey, 2005: 242). In my opinion, this
definition serves to establish a distinction between Godard and Bertolucci, separating
48

Godard's approach from Bertolucci's career trajectory not just in terms of Bertolucci's shift
in cinematic orientation in the late 1960s which derived from his eagerness for broader
professional and artistic recognition, but also through the director's fascination with the
notion of the cinematic "spectacle', particularly after the international success of Last Tango
in Paris. This approach to cinema ensured that Bertolucci's films explored and exploited
cinema's aesthetic and formal potential while never losing sight of the pressing social,
political and personal issues affecting the Western world in the late 20th century.
Affective Theory
This volume will outline how Bertolucci's films possess a notable affective resonance, but
that the kinds of emotions likely to be experienced by viewers are rarely elicited via
traditional means such as close visual and psychological attachments to sympathetic
protagonists or by the use of music to 'amplify' the emotions of characters. Grodal's
reference to the importance of body posture, body language and the facial expressions of
characters as 'innate and therefore transcultural" means of cueing emotions from viewers,
(Grodal, 1997: 90) is echoed in essays by Berys Gaut and Carl Plantinga. Gaut outlines two
modes of viewer attachment to screen characters:
Imaginative identification (imaginarily putting oneself in another's position), which is in turn
subdivided into perceptual, affective, motivational, epistemic, and perhaps other forms of
identification; and on the other hand, empathic identification, which requires one actually to share the
character's (fictional) emotions because of one's imaginarily projecting oneself into the character's
situation (Gaut, 1999:208).
Gaut's discussion of techniques such as the use of POV shots to facilitate perceptual and
epistemic (an awareness/knowledge of the extent of events in the world of the film)
identification sheds light, for example, on the nature of the viewing experience generated by
the voyeuristic POV sequence towards the beginning of Bertolucci's Stealing Beauty (Gaut,
49

1999: 208-209). The critic's analyses of the impact of facial reaction shots in terms of
triggering empathic identification in The Silence of the Lambs are also a valid starting point
for this study's examination of the uncomfortable emotional engagement induced by reaction
shots in films such as The Conformist and 1900.
Carl Plantinga argues that facial expressions 'not only communicate emotion, but also
elicit, clarify, and strengthen affective response - especially empathetic response' because
viewing human faces can 'elicit response through the processes of affective mimicry, facial
feedback and emotional contagion' (Plantinga, 1999: 240). Emotional contagion might be
found in Giuseppe Tornatore's Cinema Paradiso (1988) in the scenes set in a cinema in the
1940s; it occurs both intra-diegetically as the spectators weep with the protagonists of the
melodramas they watch, and also possibly - extra-diegetically, as viewers will find it
difficult not to respond to the close-ups of the screen protagonists in the melodrama and of
the tearful cinema audience.(3) Plantinga also observes that 'many films feature a kind of
scene in which the pace of the narrative momentarily slows and the interior emotional
experience of a favoured character becomes the locus of attention'; he terms this 'the scene of
empathy' which, unlike simple reaction shots, can feature the character's face in close-up
'either for a single shot of long duration or as an element of a point-of-view structure
alternating between shots of the character's face and shots of what she or he sees' (Plantinga,
1999: 239). Such longer, nuanced sequences clearly condition the emotional ambience of a
film, as can be discerned in the sequence of Professor Quadri's murder in Tlie Confonnist.
Greg M. Smith has also examined the nature of film emotions, and he accepts the
cognitivist approach that emotions are a 'structured complement to cognitive processes', and
that emotions motivate people to realize their objectives, providing individuals with an
impetus to act that rational reflection also does not generate (Smith G., 1999: 103). However,
he indicates limits in the way cognitive theories - with their mechanisms that centre on
50

characters being stimulated into taking action to achieve goals - overlook subtle yet
important elements of the emotion system such as moods: 'These less intense states are as
vital to understanding filmic emotion as are more prototypical emotions' (Smith G., 1999:
104). He proposes a theory that takes into account the function of film style and aesthetics in
generating filmic emotion, an approach that differs from that of Grodal and Carroll who
imply 1 that filmic emotions are principally based around characters establishing goals and
trying to achieve them. Smith asserts that filmic emotion is not necessarily goal/action
oriented:
Emotion states can have nondirected expression (like depression) and can be elicited by extremely
diffUse stimuli (like a sunny day). If I feel happy because it is a sunny day, my emotion has a cause, but
the 'object' (everything surrounding me) is too diffuse to be an object in any strongly meaningful sense
(Smith G., 1999: 106).
It follows that a cognitivist approach to the generation of emotion in real life and on screen is
less convincing in explaining states of melancholy and depression; 'If I am so depressed that
I am immobile, it is difficult to view such an emotional, self-perpetuating state as being an
"action tendency" toward a goal' (Smith G., 1999: 106). Because moods are 'a longer-lasting
but less forceful emotion' within a film, their 'longevity helps make them a crucial part of the
emotion system' (Smith G., 1999: 113) as they 'prepare us to express and experience
emotion' (Smith G., 1999: 115).
Smith adds that once a mood has been developed it is often 'bolstered by occasional
bursts of emotion' that he labels 'emotion markers', the critic illustrating his theory by
discussing sequences from Raiders of the Lost Ark where a mood of apprehensive suspense is
periodically reinforced by visual and aural cues such as facial close-ups of fearful expressions
and musical 'stingers' (Smith G., 1999: 117-118). The notion is also relevant to the more
nuanced approaches of art cinema, examples of which can be seen within contemporary
Italian film-making. Cipri and Maresco's Toto che visse due voltelToto Who Lived Twice
51

(1998) articulates its discourse of the Italian state's socio-economic abandonment of Sicily's
most deprived areas by developing a mood of desolation that emanates from the directors'
decision to film in black and white, from their extended duration extreme long shots of
isolated, ragged individuals standing in wasteland, and from an absence of soundtrack music.
Cipri and Maresco's 'emotion markers' are often predicated on the comic grotesque, in
particular on the cruelty inflicted on vulnerable individuals, and this reinforces the film's
mood of wretched hopelessness.
Smith's view that film style is fundamental for creating mood is significant for my
study, since it will identify how elements of Bertolucci's mises-en-scene, particularly his
colour schemes and lighting, are designed to engender moods reflecting either a character's
predominant emotion or the director's implied perspective. This aesthetic approach to
producing a somewhat distanced form of emotion, rather than using mechanisms to elicit
strong attachments from viewers towards characters, is the key to understanding the peculiar
nature of the affective charge to be found in Bertolucci's films. Often, the 'emotion markers'
that sustain and intensify the moods of his films do not engender increased concern from
viewers for the protagonist's welfare. This is because the sense of 'subjectivity' that emerges
in Bertolucci's work is often that of Bertolucci himself as the implied author - a constant
presence towards which the viewer's own subjectivity and self-awareness as an individual
engaging with pieces of cinematic artifice, gravitates.
Notes
1. On p. 106 of his book Godard on Godard, Tom Milne lists the films released - or still being worked on
- in 1959 by the Cahiers group: Godard's A bout de souffle: Truffaut's Les quatre cents coups;
Rohmer s Le sign du lion; Rivette's Paris nous apartient; Chabrol's A double tour; Franju's La tete
contre les murs; Resnais's Hiroshima man amour.
2. Morrey discusses Godard's use of this element in exploring questions such as reality and language in
Le petit soldat (p. 33); words and their meanings in Vivre sa vie (p .44); 'the conditions of possibility of
52

apolitical art' in La Chinoise (p. 56); consumer capitalism in 2 on 3 chases gueje sais d'elle (pp. 69-
70); the 'disgust at industrial Capitalism' in Weekend (p. 76). In the collective film Pravda, made
under the name of the Dziga Vertov Group, the voiceover commentaries, both by characters and
Godard himself, are one of the main devices to elicit reflection on socio-political issues (pp. 91-95).
3. See the analysis in William Hope, Giuseppe Tornatore: Emotion, Cognition, Cinema (2006),
Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Press, p. 53.
References
Benjamin, W. (1966) Understanding Brecht, translated from German by Bostock, A., (ed.
1973), London: NLB
Bordwell, D. (1995) Narration in the Fiction Film, London: Routledge
Branigan, E. (1992) Narrative Comprehension and Film, London and New York: Routledge
Carroll, N. (1999) 'Film, Emotion and Genre', in Plantinga, C. and Smith, G. (ed.)
Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press
Gaut, B. (1999) 'Identification and Emotion in Narrative Film 7 , in Plantinga, C. and Smith,
G. (ed.) Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press
Gorbman, C. (1987) Unheard Melodies, London: BFI Publishing
Grodal, T. (1997) Moving Pictures, Oxford: Oxford University Press
Grodal, T. (1999) 'Emotions, Cognitions, and Narrative Patterns in Film', in Plantinga, C.
and Smith, G. (ed.) Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press
Michelson, A. (1986) 'Foreword', in Tom Milne, Godard on Godard, New York: Da Capo
Press
Milne, T. (ed.) (1986) Godard on Godard, translation from French by Milne, T., New York:
Da Capo Press
Morrey, D. (2005) Jean-Luc Godard, Manchester: Manchester University Press
Mumford, M. (2009) Bertolt Brecht, London and New York: Routledge
Plantinga, C. (1999) 'The Scene of Empathy and the Human Face on Film", in Plantinga, C.
and Smith, G. (ed.) Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press
Roud, R. (1986) 'Introduction', in Tom Milne Godard on Godard, New York: Da Capo Press
Smith, G. M. (1999) 'Local Emotions, Global Mood, and Film Structure', in Plantinga, C.
and Smith, G. (ed.) Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press
Smith, M. (1995) Engaging Characters, Oxford: Oxford University Press
Sterritt, D. (1999) The Films of Jean-Luc Godard: Seeing the Invisible, Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press
53

Willett, J. (ed.) Brecht on Theatre, translation from German by Willett, J., (ed. 1992) London:
Methuen Drama
54

SECTION 1; Pessimism and Melancholia
The Grim Reaper (1962), Before the Revolution (1964), Tlw Spider's Stratagem (1970), The
Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man (1981).
These four films are linked by their cognitive and affective structures and by a similar socio­
political remit. With their fragmented - and sometimes cryptic - narratives, startling visuals,
and socio-political sensitivity, the films were intentionally addressed to an implied audience
who were arguably well versed in the aesthetics of cinema and in leftist political ideology.
The films' cognitive structures are based on paratelic narrations, including Stratagem, whose
initial telic strand focusing on the quest to identify Athos Senior's murderer, is soon
overtaken by the more paratelic, process-oriented facets of the narration. All the films draw
on detective movie conventions, in particular by featuring suppressive and distributed
narrations which obstruct the viewers' activities of hypothesis making and of creating
expectations, hi this context, the use of noir conventions, such as starting a film from a point
close to its narrative conclusion, or with a past tense narration, serves to establish a
deterministic narrative quality and imply a descriptive mode of representation. The
flashbacks in The Grim Reaper and in Stratagem often have the function of manipulating the
reality status of the sequences by blurring the contours between subjectivity and objectivity,
thus giving the narratives an oneiric quality, hi addition, Tlte Grim Reaper and Before the
Revolution are characterized by elements of the Nouvelle Vague style, which expose elements
of the cinematic process. All the films feature techniques, such as Bertolucci's conspicuous
use of the camera as an extra-diegetic narrator, unnatural lighting, calculatedly stylized
sequences, and non-mimetic editing, which aim to create an ongoing awareness on the
spectator's part of the cinematic medium and of the author's presence, thereby privileging
cognitive and intellectual modes of viewer engagement.
55

In terms of the affective engagement that is elicited from spectators, the films are
notable for a probable lack of viewer allegiance towards characters, with only occasional and
transient empathic phenomena occurring towards protagonists. By contrast, the films' mises-
en-scene create a mood of melancholia connected to the pessimistic worldview underpinning
their narratives. The films express a sense of disillusionment towards the state of Italy's
political left, whose leaders were guilty of a reformism that had sidetracked people's
aspirations for a different social order. In this context, a number of stylistic and thematic
analogies between The Grim Reaper and Salvatore Giuliano by Francesco Rosi, and between
Before the Revolution and the films Red Desert by Michelangelo Antonioni, and Fists in the
Pockets/Ipugni in tasca by Marco Bellocchio, will be discussed.
56

La commare secca/The Grim Reaper: An Exercise in Style
During a period of their lives, the families of Bernardo Bertolucci and Pier Paolo Pasolini
lived in the same building in Rome and established a friendship that extended to professional
collaborations. Pasolini invited Bertolucci to participate in his first cinematic work Accattone
(1961) as assistant director (Gili, 1978: 109) and in 1962, Bertolucci released his debut film
La commare secca/The Grim Reaper, it was based on a story by Pasolini, and Bertolucci and
Pasolini wrote the screenplay with Sergio Citti who had been Pasolini's main collaborator for
Accattone. These elements, combined with the fact that Pasolini was such an acclaimed
intellectual, led to The Grim Reaper being categorized as a variation of Accattone with little
distinctive input from Bertolucci. Francesco Casetti's review represents an exception to this
dismissive response, as he recognizes differences in both the film's social approach and style
(Casetti, 1978: 35). His evaluation is shared by this chapter which outlines the way in which
Tlie Grim Reaper, although overlapping with Pasolini's work, presents a different socio­
political perspective within a style blending neorealist aesthetics, Nouvelle Vague
conventions, and structures and visual traits from detective movies and film noir. These
influences are framed within the director's idiosyncratic use of the camera and editing, all of
which make the film a stylistic exercise which has maintained an aura of originality.
The elements of Accattone that emerge in The Grim Reaper range from the
underlying question of the struggle of marginalized individuals to survive, to three narrative
details depicting violence towards a prostitute, the organization of a group meal, and a thief s
death during an attempted escape. By contrast, Tlie Grim Reaper is not centred on a specific
character, and does not have a linear narrative. Additionally, it cannot convincingly be
categorized as a choral film in the sense of a substantial number of characters interacting
within the same environment, their interaction generating narrative momentum. The
57

connection between the characters in The Grim Reaper is limited to their presence in a park
around the time of a prostitute's murder, the narrative returning to square one each time a
new character is introduced. In addition, the depiction of each character's life (apart from
Francolicchio) is so transitory that they resemble fragments of humanity who are sporadically
highlighted before sinking back into social oblivion. Hence the film's difference from
Accattone lies in its implied socio-political orientation, a perspective that dispassionately
depicts the socio-culrural alienation caused by the Italian post-war economic boom, and
which distances The Grim Reaper from Pasolini's compassion towards the 'sub-proletariat'.
In The Grim Reaper, the landscape also seems bereft of any synergy with the characters who
inhabit it, Bertolucci preferring a more distant and stylized representation that directs the
visual experience towards a more descriptive mode.
Plot summary
From The Grim Reaper onwards, Bertolucci established the custom of giving viewers clues
about a film's topics - and thereby setting in motion cognitive forms of viewer engagement -
by presenting key information within its opening credits. In Tlte Grim Reaper this consists of
images of a distant, unwelcoming city situated beyond a huge bridge at the forefront of the
frame, filmed from a low angle. Torn newspaper pages float down towards an eroded river
bank, where a woman's corpse - identifiable as a prostitute by a 1960s audience - lies. The
film starts with the interrogation of the first of five suspects, whose explanations about their
circumstances differ from the visual re-enactment of them, constructed through flashbacks.
The detective is heard in voiceover and never shown. Each re-enactment is introduced by
repeated images of the prostitute's daily routine as she gets ready for work. Within this
framework, the murder merely functions as a mechanism to depict the lives of marginalized
people living in Rome's anonymous outskirts, so that the re-enactments form the real body of
58

the film. Several of the suspects are youngsters: Canticchia is part of a gang of thieves;
Cosentino is a simple southerner, doing his military service in Rome where he naively tries to
approach local girls, before being overwhelmed by Rome's architecture. There are Pipito and
Francolicchio, who steal from a homosexual man whom they encounter in a park to buy food
for a meal that they have organized with two girls. But in attempting to escape the police
Francolicchio dives into a stretch of water and drowns. Two older men are also questioned.
Bustelli is a known thief-turned-gigolo, and is currently 'kept' by Esperia, an aggressive loan
shark. The other man comes from Friuli (Pasolinrs native region of north-east Italy) and the
noise of his wooden clogs had caught Cosentino's attention, the youngster recalling the way
he ran suspiciously out of the park; the noise is also recalled by the homosexual man who
happened to witness the murder. The film ends with the man helping the police to arrest the
murderer, the Friulian betrayed again by the sound of his clogs.
Adherence to and divergence from Neorealism
Mark Shiel's study of Italian Neorealism shed lights on its legacy in The Grim Reaper and
also on how the film moves away from this influence. He discusses Neorealism's stylistic
elements like location filming, 'where the camera could fully engage with physical and social
reality', and its 'documentary-like objectivity which derived mainly from an adherence to
the real-time duration of actions (Shiel, 2006: 1-10). These hallmarks generally characterize
Bertolucci's film, although there are exceptions. One regards the location filming used in the
sequence of Cosentino roaming the streets of Rome, as the scene takes on Nouvelle Vague
characteristics such as jolting the narrative's realism by accentuating the camera's presence,
and featuring unusual editing patterns. In particular, the sequence's combination of speeded-
up images, silent, and linked by rapid, repeated cuts, recalls the visuals of Godard's A bout de
souffle (1959).(1) Another exception regards temporal realism, this undergoing an alteration
through frequent flashbacks which condition the narrative structure after each suspect's
59

statement and its visual re-enactment. This sends the viewer's attention back to the start of
the main sequence of narrative events which is represented by images depicting the rain seen
from inside the prostitute's room as she goes about her daily routine. As a consequence,
while viewers are cognitively stimulated by the film's ongoing cinematic techniques, their
impression of the real-time duration of the film is disrupted and a dreamlike sensation is
cued, an effect resembling the strategy adopted by Akira Kurosawa for Rashomon (1951).(2)
However, this cinematic device is inserted within a broader form of cognitive
engagement elicited from viewers towards the film, this being achieved through the noir
strategies of creating a strong deterministic narration by showing the prostitute's corpse at the
beginning of the film, by using flashbacks that mainly evoke particular environments rather
than being purpose-oriented towards the identification of the murderer, and by using the
detective's voiceover to link the sequences. All these elements in The Grim Reaper reflect the
classic noir narrative structure of retracing the events leading up to a protagonist's undoing,
and they replicate the emotional sense of doomed inevitability that permeates such narratives.
Consequently, the viewers' mental formulation of narrative hypotheses concerning the story's
development and outcome are significantly curtailed. A similar strategy characterizes
Francesco Rosi's Salvatore Giuliano from the same year. The first sequence also shows a
corpse, that of the bandit; the narration follows a non-linear structure with long evocative
flashbacks, and the narrative links are similarly assigned to a narrator's voiceover, in this case
Rosi himself. In Rosi's film, after Giuliano's body is featured at the outset, the film is then
structured around Rosi's firm, guiding voiceover; the story's key elements are well known to
Italian audiences, and the use of a realist style and documentary images add a concrete
factuality to the film that leaves viewers little freedom to mentally reconstruct the story on
their own terms.
By contrast, the style used in The Grim Reaper makes greater use of noir conventions
60

to reduce realism in favour of an ambiguous, dreamlike atmosphere. These characteristics are
visible in the mise-en-scene of the police interrogation, for which the set is reduced to two
bare walls, only partially framed, to indicate an unadorned room. The decor is limited to a
single chair which is filmed with the suspects already seated; the back wall is behind them,
which, being at a short distance from the camera, cues a sense of constriction. The suspects
occasionally look towards the wall on the left side of the screen, inducing viewers to locate
the detective's presence within this offscreen space; his voice represents the only link
between the different stories, thus functioning as a voiceover commentary. The suspects are
illuminated by low key lighting that makes
them emerge from the room's semi-darkness,
and emphasizes their uneasy isolation (see
image).(3) These visual restrictions cast a
notably subjective quality onto the images
(Branigan, 1992: 76). At the same time the mise-en-scene''s incomplete frame composition
(concerning where and how the detective is positioned) immediately sensitizes viewers to the
visual selection process in Bertolucci's film-making. The repetitive frontal framing scheme
for each passive suspect cancels any expectation of diegetic action, and reinforces the role of
viewers as observers; the overall effect is one of stylization, of cinema articulated through a
conspicuous directorial presence, an approach which establishes a tendency in Bertolucci's
films to distance viewers emotionally from diegetic events.
Another of the devices designed to reduce the quotient of realism in Tlie Grim Reaper
and elicit a more distanced engagement with the onscreen events is the ingenious exploitation
of natural light which is visible in the depictions of the city's built-up areas. This is achieved
by filming buildings while they are frontally illuminated, with the result that shadows are
eliminated; often, the light's intensity is such that it blurs the edges of the buildings, making
61

them seem weightless. This technique is applied whenever the urban landscape is framed in
the background, at a distance from the diegetic action. In these sequences the frame
composition has three horizontal planes: the blurred skyline of the urban landscape in the
background, the river in the middle ground, and, in focus in the foreground, the urban
neighbourhood near the river bank where the socially excluded try to make ends meet.
Therefore, the lighting not only marks a physical distance between the city, with its potential
for individuals to improve their lives, and the peripheries with their hopeless decay and
neglect, but it also endows the images with symbolic meaning, implying that the illuminated
city is an unreachable mirage for the sub-proletariat. With regard to Rome's historical
landscape, intense natural light is featured during the Cosentino episode, during which
buildings, walls, and fields emerge as fragmented impressions that evoke Cosentino's
unfamiliarity with the environment, as well as reinforcing a sense of loneliness. In both
situations the use of light cues a form of intellectual compassion towards the characters
because it emphasizes their fragility in the midst of an indifferent society; however, a more
intimate emotional attachment from viewers to characters is not elicited.
The plight of such individuals, although represented by Bertolucci more subtly than
by his predecessors, links Tlie Grim Reaper to what might be termed the second stream of
neorealist cinema, which - as Shiel explains - saw a 'shift of emphasis from solidarity to
disconnection in the relationship between the protagonist of the neorealist film and his urban
milieu' due to changes in the economic climate which transformed Italian society from one
'in which austerity breeds community' into one in which 'increased affluence breaks it down*
(Shiel, 2006: 78). The symbolism inherent in two other scenes reinforces this impression; an
argument breaks out between the gigolo, Bustelli, and his partner about her financial
difficulties, a sequence that is endowed with visual irony on account of its background - a
wall plastered with magazine covers celebrating the lives of the nouveaux riches. Similarly, a
62

giant publicity poster for the aperitif Cinzano, another symbol of this new lifestyle, is
conspicuous at the roadside where the prostitute works. These self-conscious directorial
insertions underline the characters' total non-involvement in the country's new economic
wealth and urban lifestyle, in which consumerism was becoming prevalent.
The insertion of cinematic innovation
Bertolucci's divergence from other stylistic elements of neorealism, such as its 'free moving
documentary style of photography', its 'non-interventionist approach to film directing' and an
'avoiding of complex editing', (Shiel, 2006: 1-2) reflects the director's eagerness to
experiment with the modes of film-making emerging from France, techniques that privileged
the visibility of cinematic devices. This tendency emerges from Bertolucci's idiosyncratic
camera use and from forms of editing based on space-time ellipses, which, besides sustaining
a predominantly descriptive aesthetic, ensure that viewers are constantly aware of the artifice
of the cinematic medium. This process is exemplified in several sequences; unconventional
camera movement and editing occur in the scene where Francolicchio gives his comb to the
homosexual park visitor. The camera position is frontal and the action of the movement is
from right to the left, so when the man returns the comb, a reverse movement would be
expected; instead, the movement is again from right to left. The aim of this technique is
clearly to startle viewers and disrupt the staged fiction.
There are frequent graphic clashes as cuts alternate landscapes and interiors, and
heads and bodies (such as the cut replacing the horizontal line of the close-up of Canticchia's
head with the vertical lines of the close-up of Bustelli's crossed legs). In other cases, the
montage produces moments of time-space discontinuity, by skipping entire stages of Bustelli
and Esperia's journey around the city outskirts to collect money; this is typified by a sudden
jarring cut from a close-up of Bustelli and Esperia in a car to a longer shot of him pursuing
63

Esperia on foot off screen. But a more radical ellipsis is deployed in scenes in which self-
contained, dramatic episodes are hinted at but never developed. An example of this is the
outcome of Canticchia's encounter with a group of skinheads, whose threatening faces are
abruptly replaced by a diagonal tracking shot towards a basilica. Eventually Canticchia does
enter the frame, his dejected appearance implying an unpleasant outcome. Again, without
ever activating genuine emotional concern or tension from viewers towards Canticchia, the
sequence's elliptical editing elicits a cognitive response from spectators since it fosters an
active evaluation of the filmic content. The episode involving Canticchia is one of several
instances in the film when the narrative alludes to the strain of daily existence for the sub-
proletariat but without articulating it explicitly and without exploiting the dramatic, affective
potential of such situations.
Bertoluccrs use of stylized camera angles also exemplifies how foregrounded visual
devices contribute to the viewers' acquisition of socio-environmental narrative knowledge.
For instance, the striking diagonal low angle used for the images of the bridge at the start of
the film is a perspective which stops short of portraying what is happening on the structure
and in the urban areas beyond. It is a shot which, by lingering under the arches of the bridge -
the habitat of vagrants and prostitutes - represents the physical displacement of the
marginalized, and the composition is re-used in the initial images of Last Tango in Paris to
evoke the alienation of the protagonist Paul. In a later scene, stylization is also instantiated by
the high angle used to film the youngsters preparing a shopping list for their meal. The
camera perspective originates from near the ceiling light in an empty room with a circular
table at its centre. Then Mariella, one of the girls, enters the frame and sits at the table
followed by other characters - one at a time and in silence - until there is a cut to a view of
their heads above the shopping list (see image on following page). Again, in this case, the
stylized visuals are not used to add dramatic emphasis to an evolving narrative situation or to
64

mark out the sequence as significant within the
film's overall scheme, but they imply the
exceptional experience of planning - let alone
consuming - an elaborate meal for people
from the youngsters' social class in the early
1960s.
The implied author as the film's narrator
The film's format appears characterized by what William Rothman has termed the
'relationship between the camera and the author, the "I" of the camera', (Rothman, 1988: x) a
close rapport that would emerge again in Stealing Beauty. Indeed, the lack of a protagonist in
The Grim Reaper to propel the story forward, together with the disconnected nature of the
characters' lives, gives a greater emphasis to the fact that it is the camera, and the director's
presence behind it, that controls the narrative temporally and spatially. This is confirmed by
the extent of the use of the camera as an external narrator, through positioning that is
predominantly unattached to any of the characters' visual fields. This makes it evident that
the perspective guiding the film's scenes is that of an omniscient observer, the implied
author. This strategy distances viewers from the limitations of character subjectivity to
encourage reflection on the film's portrayal of Italian society, adds intellectual fascination
through the deployment of sophisticated cinematic techniques, and occasionally reinforces
the film's emotional charge when necessary,
for example by using brief viewer-character
alignment to elicit compassion as characters
are humiliated or abused, the nadir of this
being the murder of the terrified prostitute (see
image). Hence, Bertolucci's pervasive presence, combined with the film's fragmentary
65

epresentation of its characters, implies the avoidance of mechanisms that could cue strong
identification, or allegiance in Murray Smith's terms (Smith, 1995: 84-85), between viewers
and characters; in affective terms, the techniques used by Bertolucci appear designed to elicit
only transitory responses from viewers ranging from sympathy to estrangement.
The cognitive and affective function of the music
Instrumental in eliciting this measured reaction from viewers is the non-diegetic music
accompanying each character. At times it is expressive to give viewers a momentary
awareness of the characters' state of mind, by reflecting their mood; at other times the music
takes on a more metadiegetic function, aiming to distance viewers from the narrative events.
Similarly, music is also used simply as a 'denotative tag' (Gorbman, 1987: 28) to create
associational recognition on the viewer's part. The music from the four sequences set in the
narrative nucleus of the prostitute's room covers all three functions. It is a medieval theme
which, at a surface level, blends with the rain outside and the woman's solitude to cue
melancholy, but the refrain also evokes a sense of the ancient, emphasizing elements such as
the outdated decor of her home (another instance of Italy's economic miracle bypassing the
sub-proletariat), and the sense of drudgery emanated by the prostitute herself, who has none
of the post-war vitality with which certain films (including Fellini's Le notti di CabirialTlie
Nights ofCabiria, 1957) depicted such characters, and who seems trapped within the eternal
subjugation of her 'profession'. The refrain, when heard, also creates an immediate diegetic
association in the viewers' mind, therefore it can be said to fulfil functions that are primarily
intellectual and structural, rather than emotional.
The episode featuring Canticchia is complemented by two motifs, the first punctuating
the beginning and end of the episode as he leaves and later returns to his house, and it is
designed to emphasize narrative mood. It is a lyrical melody using a flute, which initially
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emphasizes his youth and simple nature, while at the end, used in the context of the dramatic
events of the day, and of the character's sombre expression and bodily movement, it assumes
a bleak quality to cue compassion. The second motif accompanies Canticchia and his
acquaintances as they seek objects to steal; in this case the music transcends the story world
to alert viewers to the images' real meaning. A rapid drumbeat reflects the kind of music
heard in documentaries about hunter-gatherer societies or jungle adventures, thereby
conveying the implied author's enunciation that the thieves' predatory movements within the
greenery of the park, searching for prey - the valuables of courting couples in the bushes -
reflect the fight for survival within both the natural world and the periphery of industrialized
society.
In the episode featuring Cosentino, three motifs differentiate his state of mind: a
drumbeat emerges again, this time resembling a beating heart as he pursues the local girls. As
he walks around Rome's historical sites, the music evolves into a flute refrain conveying his
enchantment; his wanderings around the city's outskirts and towards the park are
accompanied by more modern, less harmonious music that represents his troubled,
disoriented state of mind, another form of 'identification' music (Gorbman, 1987: 68). In
these situations the music contributes with the camerawork to create a transient alignment
with the character, but this is not sustained and a sense of wry detachment ultimately prevails,
an approach which also characterizes the depictions of Bustelli and Esperia who are
frequently accompanied by a vibrant, latino cumparsita piece which creates an ironic contrast
with their mercenary ruthlessness.
Pasolini and Bertolucci: different social perspectives
When the musical score of The Grim Reaper is compared with the solemnity conferred upon
Accattone by the Bach repertoire, the presence in The Grim Reaper of music based around
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drums, the cumparsita, popular songs such as Come nasce un amore, Addio Addio and the
fragment of the Fascist song Faccetta Nera,(4) exemplifies the conceptual differences
between the two films. These centre on the directors' attitudes towards the characters, whose
social marginalization and lack of self-awareness are explored with differing forms of
directorial engagement. In this regard, Adams Sitney observes that Pasolini's fascination for
filmic elaborations of the via crucis led him to adapt the genre of spiritual biography. He
attempted to fuse it with the 'ethos of the criminal sub-proletariat' of the 1960s, managing
this by placing 'more emphasis on the moment of death than on the concept of sin.' (Adams
Sitney, 1994: 171-173). Hence, Pasolini tended to justify a character's criminal actions from
a film's outset, and to elicit a sense of pity towards the hopeless destiny of his protagonists.
By contrast, Bertolucci's portrayals of the marginalized have no sense of the sacred, and are
based on a secular desire to awaken within viewers an awareness of Italy's social situation.
One sequence typifies this position, the scene following Francolicchio's drowning. It might
be expected that this dramatic episode would close with a close-up of Pipito's bewildered
face to create strong emotional empathy with the youngster, but instead the take continues
with a full-length shot of his silent, motionless figure followed by a backward tracking shot
and a diagonal pan that extend the visual field
to take in the background where several
recently constructed apartment blocks are
visible (see image). Bertolucci's 2003
interview for a DVD extra to The Grim Reaper
explains the use of camera movement in the
film.
I had a very clear idea of how to shoot the film. [For Accattone] Pier Paolo had made great use of
close-ups and frontal framing, following the pattern of Tuscan paintings on religious themes. Well, my
cinema would be in full movement, all the time [...] The camera moved continuously [...] also in
reaction to the immobility of what should have been the blueprint. (Bertolucci, 2003)
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The camera movement and the frame composition in the above sequence have a twofold
effect: they allow time for viewers to realize the absurdity of Francolicchio's death and they
imply social indifference towards the marginalized. This indifference is also portrayed in the
scene of the murderer's eventual arrest which takes place during a social dancing event, with
the new middle class eager to resume the party as soon as the 'disruption' is over. Also
significant in this respect is the closing sequence of the film, in which the murderer shouts in
self-justification: 'She was only a whore'. With these devices, Bertolucci indirectly indicates
that by the early 1960s and the advent of materialism, times had dramatically changed in
Italy, but his approach is not one of overt political didacticism or of strong emotional
manipulation of the viewer despite the screenplay's potential for this.
Conclusion
The film's denouement confirms the pessimism of a narrative that envisages little change in
the socio-economic position of those sections of society left behind by the political and
economic order of post-war Italy. The perception of this lack of future prospects enhances the
film's wistful, lyrical moments, and gives rise to the compassion that is occasionally elicited
from viewers by the vicissitudes of certain characters. These factors, in tandem with technical
elements such as the film's music, mise-en-scene, and other subtle 'emotion markers' (Smith
G., 1999: 117-118) create a pervading mood of melancholy, without, however, there being
any sustained bursts of emotion. The embryonic, self-conscious experimentations with film
style that emerge in The Grim Reaper gained momentum in Bertolucci"s later projects,
notably noir aesthetics in Tlie Conformist, detective movie conventions in Tlie Spider's
Stratagem, and Nouvelle Vague visuals in Before the Revolution, Partner, and Last Tango in
Paris. His sophisticated film technique came to characterize many of his films, generating a
viewing experience which, while not entirely lacking devices to elicit emotional forms of
engagement between viewers and characters and to engender a sense of aesthetic
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sensuousness (a trait that characterizes Bertolucci's work from the mid-1980s onwards), was
more visibly based on the viewer's cognitive and intellectual interest towards his refined
mode of film-making.
Notes
1. Godard's influence on Bertolucci's work will be discussed in the chapters related to Before the
Revolution and Partner.
2. Inspired by Luigi Pirandello's concept of the impossibility of having definitive truths, Kurosawa
elaborates a plot of rape and murder recounted in flashback by the protagonists and witnesses, who
give different versions of the events. The narrative link is constituted by two witnesses who tell the
story to a third character as they shelter under the roof of a ruined temple and wait for rain to stop. In
visual terms the narrative sends viewers back to this set of images every time a different character starts
recollecting events. The narrative is complemented by overexposed lighting that casts a dreamlike
atmosphere over the story.
3. The legacy of Hollywood noir style in Bertolucci's work is explored in the chapter covering The
Conformist.
4. In the context of the film's music, the fact that the homosexual park visitor whistles the Fascist tune
Faccetta Nera is intriguing, especially since he bears a physical resemblance to Pasolini and uses
Pasolini's renowned pick-up techniques in public parks. The choice of music doubtless constitutes an
in-joke whose significance is difficult to ascertain.
References
Adams Sitney, P. (1994) 'Accattone and Mamma Roma', in Rumble, P. and Testa, B. Pier
Paolo Pasolini: Contemporary Perspectives, Toronto: University of Toronto Press.
Branigan, E. (1992) Narrative Comprehension and Film, London and New York: Routledge
Casetti, F. (1978) Bemardo Bertolucci, Firenze: 'LaNuova Italia' Editrice.
Gili, J.A. (1978) 'Bernardo Bertolucci', in Gerard, F.S., Kline, T.J. and Sklarew, B. (ed.)
(2000) Bernardo Bertolucci Inteniews, Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.
Gorbman, C. (1987) Unheard Melodies, London: BFI Publishing
Rothman, W. (1988) Tlie "I" of the Camera, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Shiel, M. (2006) Italian Neorealism: Rebuilding the Cinematic City, London: Wallflower
Press.
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Smith, G. M. (1999) 'Local Emotions, Global Mood, and Film Structure', in Plantinga, C.
and Smith, G. (ed.) Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press
Smith, M. (1995) Engaging Characters, Oxford: Oxford University Press
71

Prima delta Rivoluuone/Before the Revolution: Aesthetics, Politics, and the Nouvelle
Vasue
In 1964, Bertolucci released Before the Revolution, which - despite being preceded by The
Grim Reaper - is generally considered the director's true opera prima. The script - entirely
credited to Bertolucci - articulates his disillusionment over Italy's socio-political situation in
the 1960s. The autobiographical nature of the film was implied by Bertolucci in describing
the protagonist, Fabrizio, as a bourgeois youth who is critical of the Communist Party during
the Sixties, which was guilty of being 'dozy 7 and 'reformist 7 ; in pointing out that Fabrizio's
criticisms were voiced in real life by the students during the 1968 riots, Bertolucci remarks
how he had felt that unease five years earlier. (Leoni, 1995) (1) The film condemns the hold
that the Catholic Church and capitalist values had on society, despite the hopes for a new
social order that had emerged at the end of World War Two. In comparing, later in the
chapter, Before the Revolution with Antonioni's // deserto rosso I TJie Red Desert (1964)
from the same year, and with Bellocchio's Ipugni in tasca I Fists in the Pocket (1965) from a
year later, the extent to which this socio-political unease was shared by other film-makers and
intellectuals of that time becomes clear. The other autobiographical aspect that emerges from
the film regards Bertolucci "s delineation of his artistic orientation through a discourse about
cinematic form and style within the film's dialogue which privileges the innovations of Jean-
Luc Godard. In artistic terms, Before the Revolution is essentially a visual document of the
way Bertolucci freely experimented with the sort of cinematic innovation that had been less
authoritatively deployed in The Grim Reaper.
Plot summary
The film portrays a period in the life of Fabrizio, a young intellectual living in Parma and
engaged to Clelia, who conies from the same bourgeois milieu and has a strict Catholic sense
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of respectability. Inspired by Cesare, who acts as his political mentor, Fabrizio embraces
leftist politics, and breaks up with Clelia in his desire to reject the social status quo.
Fascinated by Gina - his mothers emancipated younger sister who lives in Milan - the two
become intimate, but the rapport is conditioned by Gina's awareness that it has no future.
Fabrizio shows insensitivity towards his best friend Agostino, who is uncomfortable with the
materialism of his parents, and has difficulty in adjusting to a lifestyle split between the
modem cosmopolitanism of Switzerland and Parma's provincialism. The news that Agostino
has drowned hits Fabrizio, because it is suspected to be suicide, and also Gina, as it
exacerbates her neurosis and solitude. The poetic goodbye that Gina's friend Puck addresses
to the family estate he can no longer afford comes to represent a metaphorical form of closure
for Gina who returns to Milan, and for Fabrizio who realizes that his bourgeois destiny is
inescapable. During a Communist Party festival, Fabrizio declares his disillusionment and
sense of failure to Cesare, who instead reaffirms his political credo. The film's ending shows
how all three main characters settle for unfulfilling existential compromises. Cesare takes the
soft option of teaching in a school, since he thinks that revolutionary ideals are likelier to
germinate within children. Fabrizio marries Clelia as an act of individual resignation and
failure, whereas Gina's tears during the wedding reveal her unhappiness.
Political disillusionment, pessimism and melancholy
The film s first images are accompanied by Fabrizio reciting in voiceover Pasolini's poem La
religione del mio tempo, which immediately establishes the intellectual remit of Before the
Revolution and its pessimistic mood, the poem criticizing Italian society and accusing
Catholicism of accepting and perpetuating socio-economic injustice, and of being the
merciless heart of the State itself.(2) By the early 1960s, the hopes of Italy's progressive
political parties, such as the Partito Comunista Italiano (PCI), for a better and fairer world
had receded, having been dashed by defeat in the 1948 general election which saw the
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Catholic Christian Democrats establish their grip on political power while promoting the
advance of neo-capitalism. In this ideological context, the film narrative indicates how -
through the characters of Fabrizio, Agostino and Cesare - the director aims to portray the
atmosphere of pessimism and unease within the contemporary Italian Left. Agostino, with his
sense of maladjustment, embodies the extreme consequences of social disorientation upon the
individual. Cesare personifies both Pasolini's idea of changing the Communist Parry's
theoretical agenda from the inside, remaining faithful to Marxist ideology, and Pasolini's
sense of the intellectual's pedagogical role. Fabrizio reflects the pessimism and frustration of
the younger generations within Italy's established class system, symbolically represented by
two annual events that had become rituals through which two social strata, the workers and
the bourgeoisie, reconfirmed the durability and distinctiveness of their own demarcated
sections of society.
In fact, Fabrizio airs his criticisms during the festival of the Communist Party (La
festa dell'Unita), an event characterized by an empty rituality as the participants' main topic
of conversation seems to be the death of Marilyn Monroe rather than the planned debate on
Fidel Castro. Subsequently. Fabrizio's return to his bourgeois milieu is marked by attending -
with his fiancee - the bourgeoisie's ritual of the opening night at the Opera; the importance of
this symbolism was confirmed by Bertolucci himself, when in an interview he declared The
long scene in the Parma Opera House [...] is really there to display this grandiose and
ridiculous bourgeois temple' (Fieschi, 1968: 36). Historically, the emblematic importance of
opera was subsequently confirmed years later when it became a target of the 1968 students'
revolt.(3) Therefore, the existences of Fabrizio and Agostino are pervaded by a sense of
alienation and gloom which permeates the filrrfs intellectual and emotional resonances,
affecting the viewing experience. This also extends to the cognitive engagement that the film
elicits; regardless of the political orientation and age of viewers and of the period when the
74

film is/was viewed, the goal orientation or telos of the narrative in terms of Fabrizio's and
Agostino's aspirations, and also those of Cesare and Gina, is frustrated or at least
compromised. As Grodal argues, humans recognize and engage with well defined, goal-
oriented actions whether activated in screen fiction or enacted in real life (Grodal, 1997: 118).
hi Before the Revolution, the socio-political structure of Italian society as described in the
film thwarts the hopes and desires of both male and female characters.
Cognitive and affective functions of literary references
The pessimism pervading the film is also elegiac and poetic; there are conspicuous references
to literary works and these engage the viewer's cognitive faculties in deciphering their
significance in the film text. Emotionally, these references enhance the sense of melancholy
and nostalgia that the film is constructed to elicit; but intellectually they also bring
gratification through the identification of the sources by viewers with such expertise. The
recital of La religione del mio tempo implies the emergence of Fabrizio's social conscience
and his desire to change the socio-political situation, whereas Gina's disenchantment over the
possibility of creating a better future through politics is articulated as she mocks Cesare and
Fabrizio's projects for a new social order by reading aloud Oscar Wilde's famous aphorism,
'The only person who has more illusions than a dreamer is a man of action', and by narrating
an apologue in the style of Hesse's Siddhartha. Puck's poignant farewell to his estate
symbolizes the sombre return to a reality in which all higher hopes have vanished.
Stylistically it echoes the lyricism of Lucia's forced farewell to Lake Como - her native
region - in Manzoni's / promessi sposi. The fact that the character's name references
Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream is arguably motivated by an intention to evoke
the spirit's idyllic forest life and create a stark contrast with the socio-economic constraints
faced by his namesake in the film. The stylization and multi-faceted significance of Puck's
address (both to the land and to the essence of his life as it ebbs away) possess an affective
75

charge, as do the other literary allusions in the film, creating a sense of melancholy which is
intensified by the awareness that life will never be the same again.
This bleak impression is cued by the film even before the opening credits, with
Fabrizio referring in voiceover - on a darkened screen - to his current dismal state of mind,
before reciting Talleyrand's aphorism 'Those who did not live through the period before the
revolution cannot understand what the sweetness of life is' which appears at the end of the
opening credits. In 1965 Bertolucci clarified that he used it as an 'epigraph to the film'; by
articulating it at the beginning and not at the end of the film, he wanted to give the aphorism a
more complex, different meaning: 'He who lives before the revolution doesn't feel, in my
view, the sweetness, but the anguish of life' (Marcorelle and Bontemps, 1965: 16). However,
this technique evokes an observation by Morrey about the self-conscious opening line of
Godard's Le petit soldat (1960) (4) whose positioning he finds to be incongruous as 'it would
seem more appropriate at the end'. In Before the Revolution it could also be said, as Morrey
indicates, that this incongruity emphasizes the film's reflexivity (Morrey 2005: 31). While
this analogy implies that the device might have derived from the Godardian ideas inspiring
Bertolucci, the significance of the technique for this study, with its affective/cognitive
framework, resides in the way that the sense of emotion generated by the enunciation is
mediated by the device's self-conscious, declamatory essence. The possible affective
resonance within Fabrizio's words is muted by the cerebral and self-aware manner in which
the words are said, an effect that reflects the way emotion is expressed in Bertolucci's early
work, its spontaneity frequently attenuated by its stylized, self-conscious articulation.
What links the film s literary references is that the emotions, such as melancholy, that
may be experienced by viewers are filtered through an initial, intellectual awareness of their
origins in other art forms. This phenomenon is explained by Grodal through the concept of a
motivational link between cognition and emotion; he argues that, in counter-cinema, when
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viewers identify complicated intertextual references, this 'is felt to be an active, voluntary
activity' on the viewer's part; this 'overwhelming richness is positively experienced as a
response to one's own associations, albeit cued by the film' (Grodal, 1997: 213). Grodal
asserts that the cognitive activity which derives from a viewer's awareness of a film's
'complex web of associations' creates emotional pleasure because 'the text is experienced as
the addressee's own work' (Grodal, 1997: 213). This exemplies the distanced, attenuated
emotional resonances elicited in Bertolucci's work.
Lighting and focus as structural elements
In the emotion structure of Before the Revolution, the technical quality of the images
intensifies the ambience of melancholy, as well as conditioning the film's overall aesthetic. In
the monochrome scheme, pale, luminous tones are predominant, with many frame
compositions featuring only one or two dark elements
such as Gina's hair, Fabrizio's trousers and tie, or the
structure that emerges from the river where Agostino
drowns (see image). The tonal whiteness is
accentuated by lighting that reduces the contrast
between light and shade by creating more diffusion. This effect also characterizes the
depiction of the liaison between Fabrizio and Gina, as its incestuous nature is represented in a
soft and subtle way, with no intention of shocking viewers, to ensure that the scene blends
with the film's general mood. This interpretation is confirmed by Bertolucci who affirmed
that for him, the scene 'was just a way, not too unusual but instead a fairly classic way, to
present a relationship where the man is younger, less experienced than the woman, [...] a
neutral convention, full of literary precedents' (Ungari, 1982: 35). The result is a sense of the
unreal that enhances the film's mood and also conditions the viewer's affective participation
within it.
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The overexposed quality of film images can be obtained by manipulating film stock,
either before or after shooting sequences, and examples of this can be seen in the dream
sequence at the beginning of Bergman's Wild Strawberries and in the effect of old war
footage in Godard's Les Carabiniers (Bordwell and Thompson, 1997: 211-212). hi Before
the Revolution, the image manipulation bears a closer resemblance to that carried out by
Bergman as it creates a haziness rather than tonal contrasts and it endows the film's sense of
temporal remoteness with a lyrical quality rather than with a dramatic effect. This peculiar
lighting is used to depict bleak, misty landscapes which are often populated only by one or
two characters; therefore, the impression of solitude is reinforced, as is the film's melancholy
mood. This interpretation reflects Grodal's assertion that these types of photographic
manipulation, by diminishing the presence of'enactive agents and defined objects', produce a
lyrical form that engenders a feeling of melancholy, and that the lyrical form is 'mostly used
as a device embedded as a mood in narrative fiction' (Grodal, 1997: 166). In a 1968
interview, Bertolucci seemed satisfied with these lighting effects, which he associated with
film history's most innovative examples, such as Renoir's La regie du jeu / The Rules of the
Game, Rossellini's Viaggio in Italia I The Lonely Woman, and Godard's A bout de souffle I
Breathless. 'Now', Bertolucci said, 'maybe there is a Before the Revolution lighting' (Fieschi,
1968: 36).
Moreover, Bertolucci sometimes combines this
technique with framings where the character/object is
sharply defined in the forefront of the frame while the
background is out of focus (see image). This evokes a
dreamlike sensation and creates a disjunction between
individuals and environments; the sense of a
'connection' between characters and settings is further weakened by a substantial erasing of
78

diegetic sound, since, except for the occasional sound of bicycle bells, no urban or
environmental noise is discernible on the soundtrack. Grodal maintains that out-of-focus
visual representations constitute an early but important stage in the viewer's processing and
recognition of an image; the use of out-of-focus visuals that 'blur the delimitation of objects
and put emphasis on fluctuations of intensities', serves to 'short-circuit' the process of visual
input (Grodal, 1997: 54). In Before the Revolution, the technique achieves an aesthetic effect,
in terms of casting a subjective, artistic quality over the visual input, and also a concrete
meaning by symbolizing the protagonists' existential morass and lack of confidence in their
future.
It is worth noting that Antonioni's // deserto rosso I Red Desert, released in the same
year, presents similar elements - blurred images, misty atmospheres, characters swallowed up
by overexposed lighting - which cue a similar affective impact, as the existential
disorientation depicted by Antonioni is also marked by perspectives of pessimism and
renunciation. Antonioni also portrays a bourgeoisie unable to react, turning in on itself rather
than engaging constructively with the outside world, trapped in its own unhappiness. In both
films the female protagonists" neuroticism is exacerbated by encounters with sensitive
partners whose disillusionment regarding the ideal of a better world is also similar. In Red
Desert, after Giuliana's straight question 'But are you right-wing or left-wing?', Corrado
gives an impersonal, poignant answer: 'It is like asking what one believes in. One believes in
humanity, less injustice, a bit more in progress. One believes in Socialism... perhaps". Like
Fabrizio and Gina in Before the Revolution, Corrado and Giulia also opt for an unfulfilling
final life choice: Corrado moves to Patagonia to bring technological progress there, and
Giulia accepts existential dissatisfaction as part of her life.
A year after Before the Revolution, Marco Bellocchio released Ipugni in tasca I Fists
in the Pocket, and there are further analogies between this film and Before the Revolution.
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Emphasis is placed on Catholicism's responsibility in oppressing the existences of the
individual and of society; a young provincial intellectual, Alessandro, voices his existential
reflections by reciting poetry; an incestuous relationship is implied between him and his sister
Giulia; and the completion of Alessandro's destiny - his death - is marked aurally by the
playing of a recording of an opera, La Traviata, and visually by out-of-focus images.
Stylistically, the film is shot in black and white, and the tonal qualities of certain sequences
evoke the aesthetic and metaphorical impact of Before the Revolution. Luminous tones are
used in the bathroom where Alessandro murders his brother and in the bedroom where he
attempts to murder Giulia, with its white walls, bed linen and the pillow with which he tries
to suffocate her. The intensity of the whiteness absorbs everything in it, and metaphorically
conveys the protagonist's distorted perception of an undesired reality. Given the similarities
in the three films, the pessimism and melancholy pervading Before the Revolution clearly
expressing the unease and alienation affecting sections of leftist intellectuals in Italy at that
time.
Temporal distance created by aural and visual effects
Cognitively, Before the Revolution is characterized by subjective representations, these
originating from the strongly biographical quality of the narrative that makes both its internal
focalization and external focalization (Branigan, 1992: 102) referable to the film's author,
Bertolucci. Nevertheless, although the film's internal focalization is attached to the thoughts
and actions of both Fabrizio and Gina, a process supported by the recurrent use of their
voiceovers, this becomes a mediated effect that divests the action of much of its spontaneity,
even when it gives insights into their intimacy. The voiceover conditions the viewing
experience from the beginning of the film by establishing a perception of time on the part of
viewers which inhibits their hypotheses about the development of narrative events, hi fact the
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audiovisual construction of the opening sequence - as already mentioned - consists of a
darkened screen accompanied by Fabrizio's voiceover: 'Now that I lead a quiet life, I feel I
do not exist any longer, which appears designed to create a perception among viewers that
the following narrative is a series of recollections, in effect an extended flashback that
positions the film's events even further back within the time/space continuum and drains
them of goal-oriented impetus. Commenting on this sort of narrative voiceover at the
beginning of films, Grodal suggests that the subsequent images appear 'dead' and 'saturated',
and that viewers 'can no longer mobilize a simulation of voluntary possibilities of
interference, change, and undecidedness'; therefore such films elicit 'the same saturated,
fatalistic feeling that we experience when we look at old news or at homemade videos of our
private lives' (Grodal, 1997: 120-121). The film's images also evoke the effect of old,
overexposed photographs, an impression which induces viewers - regardless of when the
film is/was viewed - to perceive its events as occurring at a distant point in time and space,
thereby reducing its already limited narrative momentum and creating a sense of stasis. These
techniques, together with the film's slow pace, cue a perception of the diegesis as an
environment in which any change or evolution is unlikely.
The Nouvelle Vague influence in cognitive and intellectual terms
While Bertolucci had political reservations about the present, he embraced it stylistically by
drawing on the innovations of the Nouvelle Vague; he was particularly enthusiastic about
Godard's work, from which the Italian director drew inspiration. Godard's conceptual
influence on Before the Revolution is instantiated by the use of voiceover commentaries and
dialogue containing philosophical reflections on the human condition in contemporary
society; stylistically, his influence emerges in conspicuous visual constructions that
foreground the viewer's awareness of the camera and the act of film-making. These include
Godardian devices ranging from jump cuts to location filming via a hand-held camera; the
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self-conscious, studied, left to right camera pans framing one character at a time; the frequent
removal of sound from the soundtrack; the technique of editing together several identical
takes which are then screened in a consecutive sequence. One innovative scene breaks the
film's black and white scheme by depicting Gina inside the chamber of an old monastery
where, by means of mirrors, it is possible to see what is happening outside in the street; the
images of Fabrizio that she sees are in colour. The images evoke Godard's tendency to
increase the viewer's awareness of the process of watching a film, almost a film within a film
in this case, privileging a distanced, somewhat cerebral mode of engagement with Before the
Revolution.
Direct references to Godard's work are also conspicuous: Fabrizio's idiosyncratic,
clownish performance outside the monastery evokes the antics of Michel Poiccard, the
protagonist of A bout de souffle; Fabrizio and Gina s walk around Parma^s city centre evokes
that of Poiccard and Patricia, again in A bout de souffle, and also that of Angela and Emile in
Une femme est line femme; Gina's metaphysical monologues and her conversations with
Fabrizio and Cesare echo those of Nana, the protagonist of Vivre sa vie. The references in
Before the Revolution both to Godard and to the process of creating and consuming movies
has a central role in eliciting a intellectual form of engagement with the film by establishing a
tacit, cinephile complicity between director and viewer. However, some elements distinguish
Before the Revolution from Godard's work, notably certain differences in directorial
perspective and also the affective responses occasionally elicited by Bertolucci. While
Godard had a coherent and rigorous politico-cultural standpoint, Bertolucci's world view
appears more uncertain and permeated by tones of romanticism; Godard's characters are
often subversive in terms of their disposition or narrative function, while Bertolucci's
characters personify an inner fragility deriving from a sense of disorientation. This engages
viewers affectively, as does the aesthetic of films like Before the Revolution, mainly through
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evocative representations of landscapes. However, in Before the Revolution, viewers are
never induced to feel allegiance towards any of the characters, despite the alignment that the
narration creates with Fabrizio.
The double function of distanciation effects
With regard to distanciation effects in cinema, Grodal suggests that self-consciousness in
films - usually by foregrounding the director's presence - may produce a lyrical effect.
Through analysing Godard's Pierrot le Fou (1965), Grodal recognizes that it foregrounds
cultural and cinematic schemata linked to romantic love stories in an arch, self-conscious
way, but he argues that the rupturing of the narrative illusion does not necessarily deconstruct
viewer emotions; the narrative of Pierrot le Fou is canonical, and emotions are certainly cued
at a microlevel as viewers respond to character's facial expressions, and they also absorb the
lush extra-diegetic music and the visual descriptions of nature (Grodal, 1997: 216-217).
Although the film's emotions are 'moulded by popular genres, such as crime fiction, the
romantic chanson, slapstick and film noir [...] the sheer presence of humans in basic
situations (such as love, loss of beloved, jealousy, and fear of opponent) activates basic
affective reactions in the viewer' (Grodal, 1997: 217-218). Although there is little tension
connected to the achievement of narrative goals in Godard's film, there will still be affective
reactions from viewers in the form of 'intensity, saturation and autonomic response', these
supporting lyrical and passive romantic effects; these effects are experienced when viewers
watch an opera aria or ballet, which, although not a direct mimesis of everyday life, contain
expressive mimesis, evoking psychologically motivated emotions such as passion at key
moments in the performance, sentiments that are recognized and experienced as such by
viewers (Grodal, 1997: 218). These emotions are in effect reconstructed by the viewer,
subjectively, existing in her consciousness but not necessarily in the diegetic world of the art
form, whether ballet or film. Films may break their own semblance of reality, but every
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distanciation effect or conspicuous instance of intertextuality activates the viewer's
subjectivity and personal networks of associations. Consequently, the world of a film like
Pierrot lefou 'is not primarily represented as a source of perceptions and a goal for acts, but
as "a state of consciousness" and should therefore be approached in a lyrical-associative way.
It further activates the viewer's proximal or proprioceptive "feeling of himself during
viewing' (Grodal 1997: 219).
This different application of Brecht's established notion of Verfremdung may appear
problematic by adding emotion into the equation, but my study will suggest that Bertolucci's
use of the camera and editing sometimes produces the interruption of the illusion prefigured
by Brecht, while also triggering emotion within viewers. In this volume it will sometimes be
observed how, in Bertolucci's films - even in Partner, his most 'Brechtian' film, where the
viewer's emotional engagement with the film is limited - specific sequences that increase the
viewer's awareness of the cinematic medium coincide
with the activation of affective responses. In Before the
Revolution one example of this is the jagged editing
that characterizes the sequence of Agostino's bizarre
performance on a bicycle in front of Fabrizio;
Fabrizio's POV is slowly replaced by a neutral camera
perspective which highlights how Agostino's antics
escalate from showing off into a disturbing episode of
self-harm, caused by the youth repeatedly falling off
the bicycle (see images). The technique gradually
raises viewers" awareness of the camera's presence and
of the editing pattern that has been adopted, reducing the film's reality status while cueing an
increasing sense of discomfort - within the viewer's own consciousness - at what is seen.
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Another example of this phenomenon occurs when the same shots are screened several times
in sequence. Bertolucci uses the technique during the Fabrizio/Gina liaison; the pair exchange
amorous glances as they approach each other (a sequence screened three times), and a young
woman scrutinizes Fabrizio as he wanders the streets (screened twice). The repeated
screening serves to jolt viewers, but at the same time, the slow pace and the mute soundtrack
that characterize both sequences divert part of the viewer's attention to the characters'
glances and body language, thereby inviting viewers to interpret and respond to this subtle
non-verbal emotional communication.
Conclusion
hi 1964, it was the French public and critics who acknowledged the innovative way in which
Before the Revolution explored the nature of individual and social discontent by awarding
Bertolucci the 'Prix Max Ophuls' and the 'Prix de la Jeune Critique'. Years later, Bertolucci
still proudly recalls how, at the end of the Cannes screening, Godard had publically praised
the film (Bertolucci, 2001:147). With regard to its political theme, according to Bertolucci,
the film was praised 'precisely because it was seen as a criticism of the PCI from the Left";
(Maraini, 1973: 86). But in Italy the film was not well received (Casetti 1978: 39-40),(5)
despite Bertolucci explaining that Fabrizio^s cowardice was a way to exorcise his own fear
about being sucked back into his bourgeois milieu, (Marcorelles and Bontemps, 1965: 15)
and he defended the film by saying that it referred to 'a generational question' in the sense
that his generation 'discovered politics at the end of the period of commitment. It was an
empty, really hollow moment and that explains the ambiguity of my film' (Fieschi, 1968: 34).
The contrasting reactions from foreign critics and those from Italy established a pattern for
the reception of Bertolucci's work for the rest of his career.
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Notes
1. D. Leoni, Parlcmdo di cinema e altro con Bernardo Bertolucci, 12/01/95:
hnp://web.tiscali.it/donatellaleoni/cinema.htm See also Ungari, 1982: 35; Fantoni Minnella, 2004: 229.
2. P. P. Pasolini, La religione del mio tempo Milan: Aldo Garzanti Editore, 1961. 1961 was also the year
of his directorial debut with Accattone.
3. As a sign of rebellion against the Establishment, on the 7 th of December 1968 Mario Capanna, a student
leader, organized an assault on La Scala opera theatre in Milan by bombarding the participants with
eggs. As the opening night used to be broadcast live on television, the gesture's rebelliousness had an
immediate, national resonance.
4. 'For me the time of action is over, I have grown up; the time of reflection is beginning'
5. The contrasting reactions are reported by Casetti, who asserts that while the film received awards at
Cannes, Italian journalists either gave it bad reviews or ignored it. Later, on its release in Italy, it was a
box office flop, whereas in France, in Cahiers du cinema, Bertolucci was honoured with an entretien
(1965).
References
Bertolucci, B. (2001) 'Mi sarei fatto uccidere per una inquadratura di Godard', in Francione,
F. and Spila, P. (ed) (2010) Bernardo Bertolucci La mia magnifica ossessione,
Milan: Garzanti.
Bordwell, D. and Thompson, K. (1997) Film Art, An Introduction, 5th ed., University of
Wisconsin: The McGraw-Hill Companies.
Fieschi, J. A. (1968) 'Bernardo Bertolucci: Before the Revolution, Parma, Poetry and
Ideology', in Gerard, F.S., Kline, T.J. and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000) Bemardo
Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.
Fantoni Minnella, M. (2004) Non riconciliati, Turin: UTET Diffusione S.r.l.
Grodal, T. (1997) Moving Pictures, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Leoni, D. (1995) Parlando di cinema e altro con Bemardo Bertolucci, [Online] Available at
http://web.tiscali.it/donatellaleoni/cinema.htm (2004).
Morrey, D. (2005) Jean-Luc Godard, Manchester: Manchester University Press.
Pasolini, P.P. (1961) La religione del mio tempo, Milan: Garzanti Editore.
Socci, S. (1996) Bemardo Bertolucci, Milan: II Castoro Cinema.
Ungari, E. (1982) Scene Madri di Bernardo Bertolucci (2nd Ed. 1987), Milan: Ubulibri.
86

La stratesia del raeno/The Spider's Stratagem: Political and Cinematic Liberation
The release in 1970 of La strategia del ragno/Tlie Spider's Stratagem and // conformista/The
Conformist constitutes a significant example of cinematic experimentation in Bertolucci's
career. These films - partially financed by Bertolucci's cousin Giovanni - came after the
failure of Partner (entirely financed by Giovanni Bertolucci) two years earlier, which in turn
had been shot after four years of inactivity following the failure of Before the Revolution. As
a consequence of this difficult situation Bertolucci began psychoanalysis a few weeks after he
started filming Stratagem (Socci, 1996: 7): 'At a certain point I needed to understand better,
and to try to see inside myself better' (Chaluja, Chadhauser and Mingrone, 1970: 58). This
circumstance, together with his declaration that he stopped writing poetry to differentiate
himself from his father (Fieschi, 1968: 37; Ungari, 1982: 12) paved the way for many
psychoanalytical readings of his works, often under the Freudian lens of the Oedipus
complex. Kline has tried to link the father figures in Bertolucci's films with the director's
biological father and with Pasolini, (Kline, 1987: 6-7) while other scholars have extended
father figure status to Godard.
On Bertolucci's cessation of writing poetry, it is significant that he gave other
plausible motivations which do not relate to father-son rivalry. One concerns his lack of time:
'Unfortunately, making films completely takes over my life. It's something so invasive that it
makes it difficult to succeed at two occupations at once.' (Marcorelles and Bontemps, 1965:
12). Elsewhere he asserts that he had stopped writing poetry because he would have said 'the
same things in poetry and in films' and therefore 'it would have been a repetition' (Bragin,
1966: 23). On re-examining the films and also Bertolucci's statements regarding the negative
response to his earlier work,(l) my study suggests that more prominence should be given to
the impact of the rejection of his first three films on the director's self-confidence, which had
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een boosted during his formative years by supportive family circumstances which emerge in
several interviews with him. For instance, Bertolucci's father Artilio appears as a caring
father and the person who introduced Bernardo to cinema, (Fieschi, 1968: 37) sharing with
him his passion and expertise. (Ungari, 1982: 11) He was the person who - through his
friendship with Pasolini - had given young Bernardo a foothold in the film-making world
since The Grim Reaper was aired at the Venice Film Festival. Coupling these positive
formative events with Bertolucci's affirmations that his childhood was so happy that he
prolonged it as long as possible, and that he had paid and suffered for it, (Maraini, 1973: 88)
it might be argued more plausibly that psychoanalysis helped him to deal with the aftermath
of repeated professional failure,(2) as well as with the issue of what kind of film-maker he
wanted to be. This need for personal re-assessment is clearly implied in the above quotation
about the need to understand himself better, to see inside himself, and it is no coincidence
that, towards the end of the same decade, he distanced himself from the Nouvelle Vague:
In the 60s, filmmaking focused on expressivity and on language; however at a certain point I
discovered that I needed to communicate, to privilege communication. In fact with Stratagem and
Conformist I started making films which had a wider circulation (Ungari, 1982: 230).
Within this sequence of events, if Tlie Confonnist represents the first proof of
Bertolucci's stylistic change, Tlie Spider's Stratagem occupies the position of Janus, the
Roman god whose two faces traditionally presided over the end of old events and beginning
of new ones. The film constitutes a final link with Bertolucci's earlier mode of film-making
and the beginning of his establishing of a cinematic 'third way' that might combine auteurist
art cinema with films that would facilitate a broader understanding of his work. On the
position occupied by Stratagem in his career, Bertolucci unequivocally said to Mark Cousins
in a BBC interview: 'Stratagem marked the end of an era, the end of a phase for me.'
(Cousins, 1999). Regarding the problematic father/son relationship in the film, this chapter
will trace a political configuration through what can be seen as another example of the
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director launching 'a critique from the Left' towards the Italian Communist Party; but the
focus is not so much 'the theme of the Resistance and its legacy', (Casetti, 1978: 62) but the
issue of the Italian Communist Party's immobility and reticence about the dark side of its
history, namely phenomena like the Kremlin's repression of any dissent inside or outside the
Soviet Union. On this subject there is an explanation by Bertolucci himself:
The relationship between Athos the son and Athos the father is similar to the one I imagined between
Berlinguer and Togliatti [the two most admired secretaries of the ICP]: the son discovering the betrayal
of the heroic father is Berlinguer who discovers Togliatti's Stalinism. But both betrayal and Stalinism
were historically necessary (but is this nevertheless true?) (Ungari, 1982: 63).
Therefore a theme from Jorge Luis Borges' story Tema del traidor y del heroe is used to
explore the individual and political stagnation that develops when truth is repressed and it
becomes impossible to interpret objectively the actions of individuals and historical events.
This political cognizance is one of the elements that elicit a form of viewer engagement with
the film that is, again in Bertolucci's output, predominantly intellectual and cognitive, the
other elements being the film's complex narration and its stylized visuals.
Plot summary
The opening credits roll over Antonio Ligabue's vibrant paintings of a bestiary whose
contents range from farm animals to predators such as tigers. They function as a metaphor of
the menacing ambience and of the role of victim that will be assigned to the protagonists.
Athos, named after his father Athos Magnani - a local antifascist hero - is called to Tara, his
birthplace, by Draifa, his father's mistress, to investigate the murder of Athos senior decades
earlier. His arrival at a deserted train station establishes the sense of isolation and diffidence
that characterizes his return. As implied by the bestiary images, he finds himself in a climate
of deviousness and hostility, despite the civic symbols of respect towards his father such as a
commemorative bust in the main square. His father's friends Costa, Gaibazzi and Rasori tell
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him about the tentative plan Athos senior had made to assassinate Mussolini with their help,
and of his betrayal - without providing any reasons - of the conspiracy to the police. Athos
senior then organized his own murder to create the impression that it was perpetrated by the
Fascists, so that it might be useful to the Communist cause. However, suspicion is created
about the three friends' sincerity, and this is deepened by Draifa's undiminished resentment
against Athos senior for choosing his family over her. After Athos jr. secretly vandalizes his
fathers tomb, in public he delivers a speech befitting the umpteenth memorial dedicated to
Athos sr. These different attitudes are arguably depicted to question the importance of
perpetuating a positive collective memory if it is detrimental to the truth. The film's
denouement leaves the riddle of Athos sr.'s behaviour unsolved, although a closing shot of a
subtle smile on the face of his son implies that he - at least - has understood the truth.
Cognitive, affective, and intellectual functions of the theatrical mise-en-scene
While the film privileges socio-political reflection on the part of viewers as well as drawing
them cognitively into its detective narrative structure, the film's mood - emanating from its
disquieting visuals rather than from emotional resonances or alignment between viewers and
characters - underpins its intellectual implications. The early images of the deserted Tara are
of a place where time has been suspended, bringing life to a standstill. This emerges in the
long takes whose duration intensifies Tara's lifelessness, an effect reinforced by Bertolucci's
mise-en-scene, one feature of which is that every building's window shutters are permanently
closed. Tara is a setting designed to function as part of the unfolding drama that engulfs
Athos jr., and critical scholarship on theatrical drama shed lights, in the following sequence
of this chapter, on the affective resonances that Bertolucci creates with his theatrical staging
of the film's action and settings. The way Athos jr. enters the diegesis either facing empty
spaces or silently passing groups of anonymous, immobile elderly people, exemplifies Gay
McAuley's theory that by observing the interaction between the stage and the actors, it is
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possible to understand 'how the modalities of entering [...] the presentational space can be
used to make meaning', (McAuley, 1999: 103) in the sense that it is through the grouping and
movement of actors 'that the fictional world is mapped'. This is a process - termed
'blocking' - during which 'the absence of movement is as important as movement and the
utterly immobile body exerts its own fascination' (McAuley, 1999: 106).
Athos jr.'s repeated, solitary explorations of Tara, advancing into its empty spaces,
reflect the isolation of an individual floundering in an unfamiliar environment. Tara's silent
stillness emblemizes a taciturn diffidence and hostility towards its visitor, while
simultaneously emanating an air of intrigue surrounding its hidden truths. In this respect, the
significance of Athos jr. being recurrently filmed from the back is that it removes the
specificity of his identity, universalizing his role into that of a lone individual confronting an
unfathomable enigma. The shots also activate a twofold plane as forward perspectives,
symbolizing his obligation to confront the mystery, are reversed either by montage or by 180°
camera panning or tracking, techniques that transform Athos into an object encircled by the
mystery itself. This dual effect is exemplified by the sequence of the 'confrontation' between
Athos jr. and his father's bust in the town square, in which circular tracking shots represent
Athos" POV as he walks around the bust, staring at it, while identical reverse shots create the
impression of Athos being scrutinized by the bust itself. This sequence reflects the concept of
the stage and its objects being able 'to express emotion and convey complex interpersonal
relationships in ways that dialogue alone' could not (McAuley, 1999: 170).
This use of space and the lack of movement within the diegesis can be categorized as
'iconic', in accordance with Bernard Beckerman's distinction between iconic and dynamic
theatrical presentations. The iconic type privileges a demonstrative form in which events
transcend time and where the main purpose is to confirm established states, not challenge
them, so that the representation creates an illusion of stasis, of endless continuity
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(Beckerman, 1990: 50-61). Tara's stasis, the characters' unchanged lifestyles, and the
categorically conclusive language used in the epitaphs commemorating Athos Magnani sr.,
create a continuity that seals the past and present together in the same continuum. Therefore it
can be said that the mise-en-scene displays the story of Athos sr. rather than unfolding it,
since the tension characterizing Athos jr.'s visit is not alleviated, and the ambiguity
surrounding the events of thirty years before remains unresolved. This leads to the
consideration that the director aimed to elicit reflection on the timeless issue of the hidden
truths within politics and ideology, rather than directing the attention of viewers along
emotional lines, via a telic narrative. The preservation of the characters' modern day physical
appearance during the flashbacks of their past is another device that blends the present with
the past.
Cognitive and affective disorientation
These temporal and aesthetic effects also draw attention to Bertolucci's manipulation of the
conventions of Hollywood detective movies, and in this context, Bordwell's seminal analyses
of film narration work which continues to be cited and incorporated in more modern
research - shed light on the director's techniques. Besides identifying the implications of the
causal gaps in the narration of Strategem, which inhibit any hypothesis and expectation of
resolution on the viewer's part, Bordwell describes how the film's temporal structure is
achieved by the aesthetic construction of its flashbacks. They are characterized not only by
characters being portrayed as physically identical both in the flashbacks and in the sequences
set nearly three decades later, but also by the lack of a 'proper signalling of the transition into
or out of the flashback' (Bordwell, 1995: 90). hi this context, Bertolucci's decision to have
the same actor, Giulio Brogi, play the roles of Athos Magnani senior and junior, further
complicates the situation, because it serves to amalgamate subjectivity (from characters such
as Draifa) and objectivity to a point where a full integration of the two roles is implied.
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The peak of this integration is reached in two sequences, one being a flashback
portraying Draifa in a fit of jealousy. The scene takes place in her house with Athos jr.
deciding to quit the investigation and leave. The camera turns to frame Draifa's face as she
rebukes him, then - by taking her POV - it frames Athos who unexpectedly has become his
father, recognizable by his Saharan jacket and red scarf; the dialogue shifts from the present
day back to Draifa's resentment at Athos sr.'s intention to stop their relationship and return to
his family. The other sequence depicts a frightened Athos jr. as he runs across a crop field. It
features cross-cutting which alternates between Athos jr. and identical images of his father
running across the field thirty years earlier, father and son having both been intimidated by
the behaviour of Costa, Gaibazzi and Rasori. The montage erases the temporal distance
between the two scenes, cueing a sensation that Athos jr. has taken his father's place. These
chronological shifts render problematic the viewer's attempts to engage cognitively with, and
anticipate, the progression of the narration. Instead, the film's structure arguably lends itself
to forms of engagement based on the recognition, by perceptive viewers, of intellectual
parallels and associations.
The film's flashbacks or fantasies are formed when an absence of realism is combined
with a narrative perspective that is not attributable to any diegetic character (Bordwell, 1995:
92). Sequences such as the mocking funeral procession for a lion that had escaped from a
circus and which was subsequently killed, and the dinner that takes place at Draifa's home
with an ex-fascist as one of the guests, typify this ambience, as objective and subjective
perspectives are blurred. In this context, Bordwell estimates that there are 138 'elliptical and
ambiguous shot changes' as opposed to 137 continuity shots, (Bordwell, 1995: 95) and notes
how Bertolucci's considerable manipulation of the duration of the final scene at Tara's train
station emphasizes the film's inconclusive ending (Bordwell, 1995:97). Equally, the film s
mise-en-scem continues to mislead viewers' aesthetic expectations by alternating stylization
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and realism, without providing criteria to enable viewers to understand why specific scenes
are presented in certain forms; consequently, viewers can only evaluate the stylistic quality of
each take and try to ascertain the degree of subjectivity or objectivity that conditions it.
Such ambiguities indicate how the viewer's bottom-up and top-down processes of
narrative organization and interpretation on the basis of on-screen information (Branigan,
1992: 37) are continuously obstructed, blocking the solution of the riddle concerning whether
the 'betrayal' by Athos sr. was an altruistic act of self-sacrifice - aware that his three friends
were too naive for the assassination task - an act of duplicity, or an act to fulfil the need to
create a hero figure. On this issue, Bertolucci admitted: 'I don't give any explanation, but I
am always thinking within the film about the reason for the treason' (Georgakas and
Rubenstein, 1984: 39). The film's ambiguity concerning subjectivity and objectivity, and also
narrative chronology, prevent the traditional clarification of events via cognitive processes
that viewers would expect within detective movies, a process normally centred on the gradual
disclosure of information that is made sense of by the detective's thought processes and by
the viewer. But besides this cognitive obstruction, this approach also elicits an affective
response, generating a pervasive sense of disorientation punctuated by moments of tension
and suspense.
The sense of disorientation is intensified by the obsessive tone that the fragmented
narration assumes, as it transpires that Draifa is driven by a bitter vindictiveness about past
events. Also the fact that the actress playing Draifa - Alida Valli - was the memorable
protagonist of Visconti's Senso, may have been, and may continue to be, instrumental in
transfusing an obsessive ambience from one film to the other in the minds of Italian viewers.
Draifa 's state of mind drives her to try to reactivate her relationship with Athos sr. through
his son, and this is illustrated by her attempts to erase Athos jr.'s identity by pressuring him
to wear his father's safari jacket. Similarly, Athos jr.'s initial objectivity during the early
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phase of his inquiries becomes clouded as his detachment evolves into an unhealthy fixation
regarding his father's true nature. The consequence of these obsessive, morbid perspectives is
that the impetus to piece together rationally the events leading to the death of Athos sr.
recedes. The disturbing scene in which Athos destroys in desperation a plaque
commemorating his father, typifies the way in which obsessive variants of crime fiction, as
discussed by Grodal, lead to a predominance of symbolism within the narrative, diverting the
viewers' focus of attention from establishing concrete facts to deciphering emblematic
meanings. This narrative strategy reflects Grodal's view that obsessive crime fiction, by
manipulating the reality status of what is seen, transforms narratives into 'proto-lyrical,
symbolic and allegorical patterns' (Grodal, 1997: 168-169).
Webs of symbolism and metaphor
In The Spider's Stratagem, elements of the proto-lyrical, the symbolic, and the allegorical
mentioned by Grodal are easily identifiable; the proto-lyrical emerges when the landscape is
either shot in dazzling sunlight or in the bluish dusk of the summer evenings, the silence
broken only by the sound of crickets, and these sequences appear designed to mark moments
of natural harmony as opposed to the dissonant human relationships in the film. Taking
inspiration from Magritte's work, Bertolucci wanted to reproduce the painter's famous shade
of blue (Ungari, 1982:63). hi this context, the film represents the first collaboration between
Bertolucci and Vittorio Storaro, and appropriate consideration must be given to the effect of
Storaro's input in terms of shaping the film's aesthetics and consequently modifying its
affective impact. Tlie Spider's Stratagem marked the beginning of a visual approach that
might be best described as 'painterly', a perspective that arguably characterized all
subsequent films by Bertolucci which featured Storaro's involvement; significantly, this is an
aesthetic that does not emerge in the films made by Bertolucci without Storaro's input. While
it is difficult to establish the impact of specific collaborators on a director's work, particularly
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when directors learn from (and evolve through) working with individuals who bring new
expertise to given projects, the case of Storaro does shed light on Bertolucci's evaluations of
his own films and of the contributions made by others. In this context, a brief overview of the
aesthetic differences between films made by Bertolucci with and without Storaro, together
with reference to Storaro's own description of his working methods, is informative.
Storaro recounts how he applied himself 'to studying the works of great masters of
art' and asserts: 'For cinematographers like me painters are my direct inspiration' (Fisher,
2008). Asked about the painters who had influenced him most, Storaro mentioned
Caravaggio, whom, for the way he used light and dark, Storaro considered to be 'the only one
who had really visualized the journey of light' (Simon, 2008). I would suggest that this
declaration is helpful in terms of identifying the painterly origins behind the striking contrast
between light and shade that emerges in Stratagem, an aesthetic approach that manifests itself
in an arguably more refined form in Last Tango, In Stratagem, besides Magritte and
Caravaggio, other painterly aesthetics can be traced in the depiction of gardens and
woodland, as in the sequence depicting the meal that Athos jr. has in Draifa's house where
the table is framed within an open patio door overlooking a garden, and in the scene in which
Costa, Gaibazzi and Rasori are framed frontally as they sit on a low wall running along a
stretch of woodland. The natural features are beautifully illuminated with a technique that
evokes Impressionist paintings, the sunlight creating a vibrant surface within which different
shades of greenery blend together. Throughout the film the quality of the light, and the
artistic effect created, enchants the viewer s gaze and contributes in no small measure to the
film's affective impact.
In Scene Madri, there is a section dedicated to Storaro in which Bertolucci describes
how they met (Storaro was the assistant of Aldo Scavarda, the director of photography in
Before the Revolution} and their working methods, which involved studying paintings.
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Bertolucci praises Storaro's sensitive refinement, and this is discernible from the subheading:
'Un grande cacciatore di luce a cavallo' (A Great Hunter of Light on Horseback). Bertolucci
recalls how Storaro always found a format for his creativity within the requests outlined by
the director, and how this arrangement formed the basis for the photography of the films they
did together. To achieve the Magritte blue in Stratagem, several sequences were shot at
twilight, with Storaro finding appropriate lighting and colour schemes to reflect the outline
that had been agreed with Bertolucci. Nevertheless, Bertolucci specified that Storaro was
only responsible for lighting and colour, whereas camera movement and framing remained
his own prerogative (Ungari, 1982: 177). It is possible that this assertion was made not
necessarily to underplay Storaro's input within the film - given also their long-term
collaboration - but out of Bertolucci's desire to define their respective roles more precisely.
But it is generally accepted that a cinematographer's input involves more than the limited
functions that Bertolucci ascribed to Storaro's role in Stratagem, as Storaro himself indicates
in asserting that 'the cinematographer uses light, colour, composition and movement to
determine how the story will be visualized' (Fisher, 2008). Nevertheless, if one chooses to
analyse the aesthetic evolution of Bertolucci's films according to the limited criteria of
lighting and colour, the distinctiveness of Storaro's input remains conspicuous; light and
colour are deployed to create visual motifs and artistic continuity from scene to scene,
sometimes overwhelming the viewer's senses in films like Tlie Last Emperor and Tlie
Sheltering Sky. This effect is significantly absent in films such as Partner, Besieged, and TJie
Dreamers where the director of photography was not Storaro, films whose artistic
construction is based on a less subtle (in tonal terms), stylized and self-conscious cinematic
aesthetic, foregrounding the visual artifice of the films and the cinematic styles that they
overtly and playfully evoke.
Furthermore, Storaro"s photography undoubtedly reinforced the metaphorical
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significance of the films that he was involved with. Storaro affirms: 'I try to have a parallel
story to the actual one so that, through light and colour, you can feel and understand,
consciously or unconsciously, much more clearly what the story is about' (Schaefer and
Salvato, 1984: 220-221). The chapters related to films such as 1900, The Last Emperor and
The Sheltering Sky contain further explanations by Storaro about the way he conceived such
correlations between aesthetics and narrative content; in the particular context of The Spider's
Stratagem, the evocative, hazy luminosity created by Storaro to depict the town of Tara in
summer reinforces the sense of mental torpor in which the characters seem to be stuck, while
the protracted nocturnal sequences, often featuring Athos jr. battling to make sense of the
environment in which he finds himself, strengthen the perception of the reticence of the
inhabitants of Tara, and ultimately that of hidden truths. It is therefore fair to say that this
academic study, with its particular emphasis on how film aesthetics condition the viewing
experience in emotional and intellectual terms, ascribes a greater and a more precise
significance to the artistic input of Storaro than Bertolucci, although effusive in his general
praise of his collaborator, has tended to acknowledge in interview situations.
With regard to the symbolic and the allegorical, the film symbolism emerges in several
sequences: the red scarf placed around the bust of Athos sr. to signify the vivification of his
father's presence in the mind of Athos jr.; Athos sr. gazing sadly as the escaped lion is
encircled by circus workers, this functioning as a metaphor for his awareness of his own
helpless entrapment. Draifa's costumes - and parasols - recall the female protagonists of
Chekhovian drama who hold on to the memories of happy times that have passed, and their
evocation in the film symbolizes her obstinacy in clinging to a past that she will not discard.
Two sequences in the film function as allegory, implying both a transfiguration of the images
and the possibility that Athos sr. has been the sacrificial victim of personal and historical
circumstances. The first sequence depicts Gaibazzi, Costa and Rasori triumphantly carrying
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on their shoulders the head of the lion on a platter which they place ceremoniously in front of
Athos sr. The latter sits silently and pensively at the head of a table; like a premonition, this
scene reinforces the parallel between the destiny of the lion and that of Athos, implying a
tragic conclusion for his personal drama. Affectively, the scene is designed to elicit a general
sense of unease by contrasting the friends' boisterousness with Athos's melancholy.
Moreover, the fact that the event occurs in Draifa's house reinforces suspicions of her
complicity in a possible plot against Athos sr. A later sequence depicts Athos sr. in the centre
of a courtyard as he is beaten by his three acquaintances, whose lack of mercy is rendered
more unpleasant by Athos's silent submission. Here the allegory is laden with religious
influences, since the framing and the characters' behaviour evoke iconography representing
Christ being flogged by Roman soldiers. Despite the scene's insertion in a sequence implying
that Athos sr. has 'betrayed' his colleagues, the sequence cues compassion towards him, an
effect which also triggers a cognitive evaluation from viewers regarding the extent to which
the narrative has suppressed information relating to this dramatic sequence of events, and it
fosters doubts about possible distortions in the recounting of the episode.
Obstructing the identification process
A consequence of the film's fragmented narration is that viewer engagement with the film's
characters even at the basic level of the 'recognition' criterion (M. Smith, 1995: 75) is
uncertain since although the narrative features characters from identifiable socioeconomic
backgrounds and with distinctive regional accents and idiosyncratic behaviour, the lack of
individual information about them and their past makes it difficult for viewers to conceive of
them as fully rounded characters. Nevertheless, narrative access to the actions and feelings of
Athos jr. is sustained so that despite similar lacunae in his characterization, a degree of
viewer alignment is likely to occur; Athos jr. is the locus of diegetic action, and the
confrontation with the mystifying and threatening behaviour of Tara's inhabitants increases
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the viewer's psychological proximity to him. Yet the possibility of allegiance with Athos jr.
or other characters is arguably compromised by the obstacles preventing their complete
recognition as rounded, coherent characters, and by the fact that no character is central to the
mediation of the narrative, which remains ambiguous and partially unintelligible. In
particular, Athos jr.'s unresolved ambiguity prevents viewers from formulating a moral
evaluation of his behaviour, distancing them from the diegetic world.
Creating intense empathic phenomena
However, the proximity to Athos that the alignment allows is fostered by several scenes of
empathy, whose positions in the film reflect Plantinga's observation about powerful
emotional effects being achieved 'after a protagonist has undergone some kind of trial or
sacrifice', and by connecting such scenes with the 'moral and ideological project of the film'
(Plantinga, 1999: 253). In Stratagem the empathy scenes are linked to an awareness of Athos
jr.'s realization that his life will always be conditioned by a past that does not belong to him -
a melancholic state of mind whose exacerbation is displayed in the sequence that depicts him
in tears as he vandalizes his father's plaque. The viewer's affective closeness to Athos jr. is
enhanced by the way scenes of empathy are linked with those of compassion for his father, so
that their melancholy is juxtaposed. Consequently, the identification of Athos sr. with the
lion's destiny is emphasized by a combination of facial close-ups and POV structures, while
his passive submission to his colleagues' violence is highlighted by the repeated close-ups of
his bloody, grieving face. Similarly, Athos jr/s experiences in Tara are marked by countless
close-ups and POV shots that consolidate a sense of vulnerability up to the moment when his
emotion replicate his father's terror decades earlier, depicted in the sequence where
Bertolucci cross-cuts between images of father and son as they run across a crop field, thirty
years apart.
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The emotional quality of the musical score
Music is another element which provides an affective undercurrent and mood to a film whose
resonances are predominantly intellectual. Plantinga argues that music is fundamental in
creating 'affective congruence' between sound and image, and in encouraging 'emotional
contagion' between the viewer and screen characters when expressive soundtrack music is
allied with facial close-ups (Plantinga, 1999: 254). The film's orchestral soundtrack is
effective in cueing disquiet during the symbolic confrontation between Athos jr. and his
father's bust; similarly, the opera arias from Verdi's Rigoletto which resound from
loudspeakers in the streets of Tara and which emanate with live opera performances at the
local theatre, all characters listening motionless, evokes - as Gorbman notes - the effect of 'a
Greek chorus commenting on a narrative temporarily frozen into spectacle' (Gorbman, 1987:
20). The use of opera has elicited symbolic parallels and critical interpretation (Kolker, 1985:
123) yet Bertolucci has denied that there is any thematic relevance between the arias and the
film's plot, affirming that Verdi's music was an element that he wanted to use to create 'a
regional, artisan film', and that since Verdi's music possesses a mythical dimension, it would
correlate with the 'mythic stature of the father' (Goldin, 1972: 64). These two effects - the
mythical dimension and the narrative temporarily frozen into spectacle - are instrumental in
creating a sense of the unreal as Athos jr. is attracted back towards Tara from the station after
having told Draifa that he was leaving.
Conclusion
As previously stated, since the film s emotional resonance remains muted, and since
cognitive engagement with, and resolution of, the enigmas in its narrative is problematic, the
significance of the film lies in its intellectual, real world implications. Stratagem may be read
as a sign of a more mature relationship between the director and the Italian Communist Party.
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Unlike Before the Revolution in which Fabrizio's criticisms are followed by a form of
individual political withdrawal, here Bertolucci stimulates reflection on the political
perspectives implied in the film, that of Italy's political Left being trapped by its past, without
any fissure being created, this being signified by Athos jr. s participation in the umpteenth
memorial ceremony for his father. The film's viewpoint still resonates in Bertolucci's recent
affirmation about the necessity of superseding the word 'communism' because 'it has kept
the political movement at a standstill for many years' and also because it 'made many people
suffer and perhaps we didn't want to see what was happening on the other side' (Fantoni
Minnella, 2004: 233).
With regard to the film's style, Stratagem maintains the essence of Bertolucci's
earlier work, through the cryptic, symbolic form of the narration; but it also opens up a
strategy aiming for a slightly increased degree of affective engagement and greater thematic
intelligibility. On this point, Bertolucci's revelation that he felt the need to return to the film
after six months, (in the meantime he had finished Tlie Conformist, the making of which - as
is discussed in a later chapter - had been marked by changes in the director's editing
techniques under Franco Arcalli's influence) because he was dissatisfied "with the initial
montage' (Chalujia, Schadhauser and Mingrone, 1970: 59) is significant. Bertolucci recalls
how, although he sensed the risk of didacticism, he considered the insertion of images of key
earlier scenes from the film in the sequence of the memorial speech, as 'a generous gesture to
the TV audience, which wasn't used to seeing a film as elliptical as this one' (Chalujia,
Schadhauser and Mingrone, 1970: 59). This broadening of his audience was something that
Bertolucci developed further with the release of The Confonnist; but in 1981 he returned to
the moods and resonances evoked in Stratagem with T)je Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man,
which again features sombre, pessimistic perspectives on the Italian Communist Party's
politics during the period of Red Brigade terrorism.
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Notes
References
Regarding the failure of Partner Bertolucci said 'It is a film in which you see above all this desire to be
[...] "revolutionary" at a cinematic level. And just for this reason, it is a film that had no distribution at
all, because nobody wanted to see it, it interested nobody' (Fantoni Minnella, 2004: 230). As regards
his subsequent period of forced inactivity he recalls: 'It was difficult for me, if not impossible, to find
financing', and about his unrealized projects he states: 'it has always caused me pain and frustration'
(Ungari, 1982: 43).
The impact of this professional disappointment was still dramatically visible in 1973, as, in comparing
Bertolucci's appearance with that of their first meeting ten years earlier, Gideon Bachmann couldn't
help remarking: 'The changes in the man are notable. The few years of inactivity and analysis seem to
have left a mark' (Bachmann, 1973: 92).
Bachmann, G. (1973) "Every Sexual Relationship Is Condemned: An Interview with
Bernardo Bertolucci', in Gerard, F.S., Kline, T.J., and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000)
Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.
Beckerman, B. (1990) Tlie Tlieatrical Presentation, Performer, Audience and Act, ed. by
Beckerman G.B., and Coco W., New York and London: Routledge.
Bordwell, D. (1995) Narration in the Fiction Film, London: Routledge.
Bragin, J. (1966) 'A Conversation with Bernardo Bertolucci", in Gerard, F.S., Kline, T.J., and
Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000) Beniardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University Press of
Mississippi.
Casetti, F. (1978) Bernardo Bertolucci, Florence: "La Nuova Italia" Editrice.
Chaluiaja, E., Schadhauser, S. and Mingrone, G. (1970) 'A Conversation with Bertolucci'. in
Gerard, F.S., Kline, T.J., and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000) Bernardo Bertolucci
Interviews, Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.
Cousins, M. (1999) Scene by Scene with Bemardo Bertolucci, BBC Scotland.
Fisher, B. 'Vittorio Storaro Maestro of Light' in Scribd., September 26th 2008, [Online]
available: http://www.scribd.corn/doc/6233739/Maestro-of-Light-Vittorio-Storaro
[July 2011].
Georgakas, D. and Rubenstein, L. (ed.) (1985) Art Politics Cinema: Tlie Cineaste Interviews,
London and Sydney: Pluto Press.
Goldin, M (1972) 'Bertolucci on The Conformist', in Gerard, F.S., Kline, T.J., and Sklarew,
B. (ed.) (2000) Bemardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University Press of
Mississippi.
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Gorbman, C. (1987) Unheard Melodies, London: BFI Publishing.
Grodal, T. (1997) Moving Pictures, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Kline, T.J. (1987) Bertolucci's Dream Loom: A Psychoanalytic Study of Cinema, Amherst:
The University of Massachusetts Press.
Maraini, D. (1973) 'Who were you?', in Gerard, F.S., Kline, T.J., and Sklarew B., (ed.)
(2000) Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.
Marcorelles, L. and Bontemps J., (1965) 'Interview with Bernardo Bertolucci', in Gerard,
F.S., Kline, T.J., and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000) Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews,
Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.
McAuley, G. (1999) Space in Performance: Making Meaning in Theatre, Michigan: The
University of Michigan Press.
Plantinga, C. (1999) 'The Scene of Empathy and the Human Face on Film 7 , in Plantinga, C.
and Smith, G. (ed.) Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.
Schaefer, D. and Salvato, L. (1984) Masters of Light, London: University of California
Press.
Simon, A. 'Vittorio Storaro: Writing with light' in The Hollywood Inten'iew, February 9
2008,[Online] available: http://thehollvwoodinterview.blogspot.com/2008/02/vittorio-
storaro-hollvwood-interview.html [July 2011]. This internet reference specifies, in an
editor's note, that this article originally appeared in the February 1999 issue of Venice
Magazine.
Smith, M. (1995) Engaging Characters, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Socci, S. (1996) Bemardo Bertolucci, Milan: II Castoro Cinema.
Ungari, E. (1982) Scene Madri di Bernardo Bertolucci (2nd Ed. 1987), Milan: Ubulibri.
104

La trasedia di un uomo ridicolo / The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Mam A Requiem for the
Left
In 1981, La tragedia di un uomo ridicolo / The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man explored the
implosion of the Italian Left under the impact of Red Brigade terrorism. The film marked the
final breakdown in relations between Bertolucci and Italian film critics, and was instrumental
in the director's decision to leave his native country. Those critics who were leftist
intellectuals accused Bertolucci of indifference towards the problem of terrorism; (Socci
1996: 70) by contrast, he once again felt misunderstood. The following analysis of the film
will suggest that the film-maker, far from being indifferent to this complex situation, posited
two issues; that the birth of terrorism was a consequence of political disillusionment towards
the Communist Party and its politics; and that the terrorists' political praxis, once separated
from the official workers' movements, would lead to a fragmentation and dispersion of leftist
ideology in Italy. Hence the following analysis will explore how these two concepts are
embedded in a narrative based on the unconventional decision - given the film's theme - of
placing a capitalist entrepreneur, Primo Spaggiari (Ugo Tognazzi), in the role of a victim. It
will also highlight how The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man, filmed after the stylistic allure of
1900 and La luna, represented a return to Bertolucci's earlier style of film-making, in its
evocation of the pensive, sombre atmospheres developed in Before the Revolution and Tlie
Spider's Stratagem. Beyond its politico-intellectual resonances, the film is also demanding
cognitively, requiring considerable engagement from the viewer to link the actions of its
enigmatic characters to its unfolding, cryptic narrative. The film also possesses a strong
emotional charge, and this chapter will outline how a profound sense of melancholy is
generated through the director's use of landscapes, music, and unusually for Bertolucci's
films, a process of close viewer alignment and allegiance with the character of Primo
Spaggiari.
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Plot summary
The opening credits roll over images - shot in a realist style - that set the story in hard­
working, rural Italy. Primo Spaggiari, the owner of a factory-farm, has just celebrated his
birthday when his son Giovanni is kidnapped. This crisis gradually unveils the contempt that
his wife Barbara, a well educated French woman, and Giovanni - studying at university -
have for Primo's humble origins and lack of formal education. His strong bond with the
factory makes Primo reluctant to sell it to raise the necessary ransom money; his standpoint is
reinforced by his suspicions that the kidnapping has been organized by Giovanni himself to
raise funds for the terrorists with whom he associates. Two terrorist sympathizers enter the
scene: Giovanni's girlfriend Laura and his best friend Adelfo who are both part-time students
(Adelfo is also a prete operaio I priest-labourer) and work at the factory-farm. Primo's
unawareness of their existence reveals the superficiality of his declarations that he considers
his workforce to be a family, and his ignorance about his son's life. When it is feared that
Giovanni is dead, Primo's despair is brief, as he decides to keep the news secret and continue
collecting money to alleviate temporarily the factory's debts. He justifies this disquieting
response with a biblical notion, that of his son's blood fertilizing the field. Two sensual
moments occur between Primo and Laura, whom he involves with Adelfo in an illicit plan;
they will collect the ransom money from an arranged place and return it to him. But,
unexpectedly, Giovanni returns safely, and his accusing gaze betrays his knowledge of
Primo's deception, while implying that he and the terrorists have got the money. Primo~s
bewilderment rums into a resolution not to ascertain the facts and to leave it to the viewers to
solve the riddle if they wish to.
The characters' intellectual and political significance
To understand the film's intellectual and political implications, it is important to break down
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the socio-political composition of the Spaggiari family, since it is not the Marxist terrorist
Giovanni who is posited as being closest to the working classes, but his father, the supposed
capitalist. Primo is a self-made man proud of his working-class origins and hard work; he
expresses this to Laura ('I used to stand proudly among the milk tubs like a socialist hero'),
and considers his employees his companions. By contrast, the portrayal of Barbara -
rational and intellectual - is more typical of the ruling class, and her distance from the plight
of the labouring classes is underlined by her sangfroid in blandly announcing the sale of the
factory. Giovanni's insensitivity towards the consequences of this on the workers' fate also
makes him appear disconnected from the real world. This unconventional delineation of the
characters, in the delicate political context of terrorism connected with Marxist ideology, is
deliberately provocative. The film is a non-conformist challenge to the Communist Party
regarding the situation created by the terrorists, individuals that the Party used to call
'misguided brothers', and this approach is reminiscent of the position that Pasolini took with
regard to the student riots of the 1 st of March 1968 at the University of Rome, in which he
supported the proletariat who unwittingly found themselves in the firing line the police. On
that occasion, Pasolini wrote a poem, // PCI ai giovani, (Pasolini 1968) in which he stated his
sympathy for the police, who - he emphasized - were the real proletariat, financially unable
to enrol at university, hi the poem the students were referred to as 'daddy's boys\ rebelling
against their fathers, a bourgeois gesture from a new bourgeoisie. This unorthodox analysis
drew controversy, since the Left generally praised the younger generation for fighting for
new rights. Nonetheless, the implications of Pasolini's comments were clear, namely that the
event's novelty lay in the fact that for the first time, extreme left-wing activism appeared to
be the preserve of the privileged classes.(l) Bertolucci adopts a similar line of reasoning in
his disquieting portrayal of the younger generation - embodied by Giovanni - who despite
having never participated in the concrete, daily lives of the working classes, is willing to
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destroy the structures of production out of contempt at the older generation whom he believes
is guilty of amalgamating itself with the bourgeois system. By making a capitalist
entrepreneur like Primo Spaggiari, and particularly his factory, the victims of terrorism,
Bertolucci emulates Pasolini in highlighting the paradox characterizing extreme left-wing
activism in the 1970s - an elite incapable of linking their abstract ideology with the real
needs of the working classes.
However, Bertolucci implies that the social unrest of the 1970s is generated by a
widespread, growing disappointment at the post-war political orientation of the Communist
Party, which had gradually sidelined the priority of changing society's power base in favour
of attaining the limited goal of securing power at local government level, while, however,
continuing to campaign for social justice. Tragedy foregrounds these issues by questioning
the social state of affairs in the Emilia Romagna region which had been governed by a
Communist administration since 1945. Three elements serve to illustrate the socio-political
situation at a microcosmic level: the entrepreneur Primo Spaggiari, with his ambiguous mix
of idealism and self-centredness; the working class with its eternal troubles, and still some
distance from improving its social status (symbolized by the student workers Laura and
Adelfo); and the misplaced far-left idealism of the younger generation, with its devastating
effect on all society. To complete the gloomy picture, the film portrays groups of local
dignitaries whose hypocritical and unethical behaviour during the critical period after
Giovanni's kidnapping implies that there is little difference between their values and those of
the more unrestrained forms of capitalism that were thriving in other Italian regions.
Theoretical origins of the film's political resonances
This interpretation of the film is echoed by elements in Giorgio Bocca's 1978 analysis of
Italian terrorism. Above all, the Communist Party's deficiencies, denounced by the film,
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emerge in Bocca's reconstruction of the foundation of the Red Brigade. Bocca traces this
moment back to 1970, through the merging of a Catholic section set up by the social studies
students Renato Curcio and Mara Cagol, and a Communist section set up by Alberto
Franceschini around whom many students at Reggio Emilia University gathered, students
disillusioned with the Communist Party. The Catholic component, aiming to realize the New
Testament concepts of pure brotherhood, joined the Italian Marxist Leninist Party based in
Milan, which seemed to espouse genuine human egalitarianism (in this regard, the character
of Adelfo, a priest-labourer who supports the terrorists, arguably refers to this Catholic
grouping) (Bocca, 1978: 10-11). In Bocca's view, the Communist Party was to blame for the
political deviation of the young, because it had changed from being a vehicle for ideological
innovation to one of administration (Bocca, 1978: 13). Bocca also uses the kidnapping of the
entrepreneur Angelo Costa in Genoa for a huge ransom (Bocca, 1978: 100) to illustrate how
the Red Brigade's ideology was unrealistic and how outdated their conception of society was.
By identifying the manager/owner as a physical target, the group seemed unaware that where
large companies were concerned, any ransom would be recovered either from a company
shake-up to the detriment of workers - or from government credit, which, in Italy, would
mean taxpayers (Bocca, 1978: 114-115).
If Bocca was a committed, free-speaking intellectual from the Resistance generation,
Antonio Negri was a young philosopher and the leader of two radical movements: Workers'
Power, and upon its dissolution, Workers' Autonomy. Yet their analysis of the issues
affecting Italian society is similar. In the period 1971-1977 Negri wrote five pamphlets which
analysed Italy's socio-political situation and European capitalism; he outlined a hypothesis
and a political project for a movement which disavowed the reformist politics of the Official
Labour Movement (to be intended as both the PCI and the Communist trade union). These
writings caused Negri to be accused of being the clandestine leader of the Red Brigade, 'a
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group whose elitist, ahistorical Leninism' he had 'thoroughly criticized from the standpoint
of the mass organizations' new class composition' (Murphy, 2005: xii). (2) Negri sees
Communist reformism, in its 1970s embodiment of the Historic Compromise (a term coined
to represent the imminent coalition between the Christian Democrat Party and the Communist
Party) as capitalism's attempt to dismember the class movement by absorbing workers and
their movements into the capitalist process via the incorporation of the PCI into government.
Negri envisaged in the Historic Compromise 'a purely reactionary essence' (Negri, 1975:
147).
To oppose this scenario, Negri elaborated a strategy to subvert the social order by
creating the theory of worker self-valorization (Negri, 1977: 236) with the aim of opposing
the mainstays of capitalism, such as the ideology of work and consumerism, and paying
greater heed to the real needs and desires of the workers (Negri, 1977: 282-285). He is aware
that violence may be unavoidable in the process, and justifies it by reminding everyone of the
violence inherent in capitalism's exploitative nature. But he draws a line between violence
within a dialectic determination, and terrorism. Negri views the terrorist groups as dissipating
'the function of power, the mass character of the vanguard or the working-class specificity of
its political need'; he accuses them of being 'unable to grasp an organic relation between the
subjectivity of workers" power and the subjectivism of the use of violence' (Negri, 1973: 91).
With regard to isolated terrorist actions, he is explicit: 'It is obvious that proletarian violence
has no need to exhibit itself in an exemplary manner, nor to choose [...] exemplary
objectives' (Negri, 1977: 282). On the contrary, for his political project to succeed, Negri
considered it 'fundamental' to draw the support of factory workers to the cause (Negri, 1977:
251).
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Elitism, ascetism and emotional repression
hi The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man, the political distance between the terrorists and the
working classes emerges in the sequence depicting the workers commenting indignantly
about the ransom that will cause the factory's sale, and they angrily conclude that they are
always the ones having to pay. The film's depiction of the terrorists as a self-referential group
proud to be on their own, perceiving themselves as underground heroes, reflects Bocca's
assertion that the terrorists viewed the proletariat as a spiritual category, a sublimation of
humanity rather than a complex reality in constant evolution (Bocca, 1978: 11-12). At one
point in the film, Laura expresses this concept when, answering Primo's terse question 'Who
are you?' she declares, entirely straight-faced, 'We are proletarians, holding our breath, and
diving beneath the liquid surface of History". Similarly, the ambivalence and secrecy of the
terrorists' lifestyle in the film reflects Bocca's view that the Red Brigade's strategy
resembled that of a secret society rather than that of a revolutionary group who needed the
people in order to succeed. He adds that the terrorists were unaware of the elitism of this
attitude, and this ultimately evolved into contempt for the entire nation (Bocca, 1978: 11-12).
This last statement is particularly relevant because Giovanni's attitude towards Primo,
depicted through his letters, is exactly that of contempt, hi the first letter accompanying a
birthday present to his father. Giovanni scorns Primo's lifetime achievements, whereas in the
two letters written during his real or supposed captivity, he ignores his father. To emphasize
this detail, one sequence features Primo reading Giovanni's second letter aloud; he ends by
saying 'Give Dad a big hug", but as Barbara takes the letter to read it, he adds wistfully: 'I
made up the last line'.
The terrorists' detachment from people's daily lives is articulated in two sensual
sequences that need to be contexrualized within contemporary history and politics to be
understood. While the scenes have an emotional resonance, this is muted by Bertolucci's
111

propensity towards a calculated, visual self-consciousness in the framing and mise-en-scene
of sexual situations in his films, a tendency recurring in work such as The Sheltering Sky and
The Dreamers. Central to the first sequence is an intense kiss between Laura and Primo,
followed by a tender moment during which Laura confesses that she rarely has sexual
intimacy with Giovanni because they attach little importance to it; besides, they are always
busy and together with fellow terrorists. In the second sequence, Laura's restlessness and
sexual disquiet at spending long periods of time with Primo eventually culminates in her
removing her jumper to expose her breasts and release her tension, Laura confessing that with
Giovanni she never expresses her femininity. Her words reflect the concept that an ascetic
lifestyle is necessary in order to dedicate oneself to a 'superior' mission.
This theme emerges in Alberto Moravia's 1971 novel lo e lui/Him and me, which,
although full of sarcastic wit, warns against the terrorists' abstract intellectualization,
implying that at its end there can be only death (Moravia, 1990: 387). The novel recounts the
experiences of Riccardo, a screenwriter who frequents a terrorist couple, Maurizio and
Flavia, planning to make a film about their group, and it features similarities with Tlie
Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man. First, there is a strong attitudinal contrast between the
characters; like Primo, Riccardo is attracted to life's pleasures such as food and sex, whereas
Maurizio and Flavia mirror Giovanni and Laura in being always in control because they are
detached from worldly indulgences. Another similarity consists in the use of almost identical
phrasing to describe the terrorists' sex life or lack of it. Maurizio declares that the couple
attach little importance to sex, but Flavia responds to Riccardo's sexual approaches with an
attitude that reveals her curiosity and repressed excitement (Moravia, 1990: 306-307). The
two sequences, in the film and in Moravia's novel, question the supposed higher morality and
asceticism of the terrorists by presenting their behaviour as a form of rational denial
(Giovanni/Maurizio) and a repression (Laura/Flavia) of human impulses which leads to a
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dangerous estrangement from the real world.
Political and generational contrasts
However, the question of sexual expression has a further significance as it is another example
of Primo's total ignorance about his son's personality and the aspirations he harbours. This
lack of knowledge is systematically revealed by the narrative, and as the scale of his
ignorance is exposed, Primo becomes aware of the estrangement that has developed between
Giovanni and himself, which, in conceptual terms, he extends to their respective
generations.(3) In this light, Bertolucci's decision to create clashes between the categories of
'the idealistic capitalist' and 'the terrorist', and between father and son is significant, for it
indicates the younger generation's resolve to disown both their individual and political
fathers. The film's juxtaposition of the figures of 'the idealistic capitalist' and 'the father'
embodies Bertolucci's political pessimism, emphasizing that the political rupture affecting
Italian society was also generational, a phenomenon leaving little hope for the future since
neither generational grouping intended to clarify their political ambiguities. This detection of
a serious generational fissure turned out to be a prescient interpretation of the tumultuous
events of those years, since it is confirmed by an autobiographical book written many years
after The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man by a young protagonist at that time. Lucia
Annunziata, today an influential journalist, was active in the mass political movement which
rebelled against the PCI, although she never supported terrorism.
The first chapter of her book is in fact entitled 'Parricide' and it begins with a stark
declaration: 'In 1977 the Left family murdered their own father, the Communist Party. A
murder that had been on the cards for some time', (Annunziata, 2007: 3) especially after the
Communist Party's decision to join the Christian Democrats in government. Annunziata has
collected testimonies posted on the internet by participants in the radical movements, and
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they confirm how the prevalent memory of that period emerges as 'a generational revolution
against fathers who do not understand'; one statement was particularly explicit: '...with the
PCI it was the same sort of confrontation you were having with your own father. In short,
finally the time had arrived when you could slap each other's faces' (Annunziata, 2007: 9-
10). In the film, the depiction of Primo's humiliation as a result of Giovanni's decision to
deprive him of his socioeconomic authority can be considered a metaphorical representation
of the new relationship between the PCI and the radical political movement. The motivation
provided by Annunziata for the rebellion against patriarchy within the family, mirrors the
perspective outlined in the film: 'We hated the communists [...] for having taken up the
values of the bourgeoisie and redeemed them through a sort of new, communist, intellectual
crossbreeding' (Annunziata, 2007: 15). This fusion of values within the film can be identified
in Primo's lifestyle - his human attachment to his work, but also the way he embraces a
bourgeois mentality and habits.
Annunziata's perspective that the parricide was a destructive act whose reverberations
are still being felt within leftist politics and culture (Annunziata, 2007: 4) corroborates this
chapter's view that Bertolucci's film depicted leftist politics as having reached the point of no
return. Since the terrorist period, in fact, the Communist Party has declined to the point where
its reformist wing has merged into the centre-left Partito Democratico, and the radical wing
has split into numerous, tiny Marxist-Leninist parties without parliamentary representation.
The impression of a 'requiem' for Italian leftist politics that the film develops and eventually
ratifies in the last sequence, featuring the entire family lined up on opposite sides of the
frame, with Primo left on his own, reflects another of Annunziata's assertions; '30 years later,
1977 can be taken as the death of politics. As the last time that the whole of the Left, from the
PCI to the radical movement, were together as if in a final family portrait, before imploding
before the power of the gun' (Annunziata, 2007: 53). Finally, the way in which Primo
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abandons any attempt to understand the true course of events, arguably to avoid assuming his
share of responsibility, conveniently leaving the viewers to ascertain the truth, points
symbolically to the PCI's similar attitude, since it was left to the courts and the media to trace
the causes of the political protest that resulted in the birth of the Red Brigade.
Suppressive narration combined with protagonist alignment
The preceding section of this chapter, outlining the significance of the film's intellectual
resonances, is necessary in order to clarify the particular climate pervading sections of Italian
society and also the world of the film. The nature of the political problems discussed earlier
remains a constant undercurrent during a politically aware spectator's viewing experience,
regardless of the era in which the film is viewed; it also conditions the reception of the film's
cognitive and affective components. The viewer's cognitive skills are activated from the
film's earliest sequences, as fragments of visual and aural information emerge that have to be
pieced together in order to clarify the implicit meaning of scenes, and the same process is
used as a means of constructing future events. For instance, the first sequence showing the
aftermath of a birthday celebration at the factory, together with the unpleasant content of
Giovanni's birthday card, are narrative fragments, which, although indicating a high degree
of story omission, are designed to bring an understanding of the contrasting nature of Prime's
relationships (positive in a professional context, but negative with his son), as well as to elicit
speculation about a possible family confrontation.
In the sequence following Giovanni's kidnap in which Barbara appears for the first
time, the silence and physical distance between her and Primo inhibit any understanding of
her role. Any hypothesis about Barbara being Primo's wife is confirmed only after a delay of
several minutes; in the subsequent take inside the factory, viewers observe how the duo's
sense of physical distance extends into the psychological sphere, emerging from the dialogue
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which emphasizes how Primo's work is founded on an existential premise - he talks of the
produce as if it were part of an extended family - whereas for Barbara its importance is
merely economic. Because the narrative continues to be suppressive in nature, using
retardation principles to withhold a proper introduction of the characters, (Bordwell, 1995:
54-56) and providing no direct information about the narrative context, its structure is little
more than a framework around which viewers have to assemble the narrative fragments to
infer the state of things.
In several sequences these narrative gaps combine with a close alignment with Primo,
to induce viewers into a process of hypothesis-making and anticipation of his reactions. The
most emblematic is the scene portraying the first disquieting encounter between Primo and
Adelfo. It develops as Primo walks disconsolately around a city; suddenly the camera frames
him from the back, at the centre of two loudspeakers mounted on the roof of a van that draws
ever closer. The peculiar frame composition evokes a target entering the sights of a gun, and
the prolonged mystery concerning the identity of the people in the van endows the sequence
with a menacing quality. For several minutes the narrative has the dual function of inducing
hypotheses about Primo's life being in danger, and of eliciting emotional anxiety on account
of his unawareness of the threat. The take evolves with Primo eventually mirroring the
viewer's thoughts and emotions; he starts running as soon as he realizes that he is being
stalked. The tension is held a little longer until it is dissipated by the driver introducing
himself as Laura's friend.
The degree of narrative limitation and the incongruity between the value systems of
protagonists such as Primo and Barbara make it difficult for viewers to establish any narrative
schema based on cultural knowledge or plausible social interaction (Branigan, 1992: 27) and
so every new piece of information has revelatory quality. One example occurs when Primo
discovers Barbara's initiative to sell their property to a group of dignitaries. Returning home
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with Adelfo and Laura, Primo is surprised to see the driveway full of cars. Entering the
house, the camera adopts a POV shot to reflect the three characters' puzzlement as it pans
over piles of expensive overcoats. The evolving hypothesis both from characters and viewers
regarding an impromptu gathering is confirmed by images of a lively party that
simultaneously startle characters and viewers; but the event's significance is gradually
revealed as Barbara enters the diegesis, graciously accepting the offers that the guests, like
usurers, make for the family's goods. In these situations, viewers are induced to replicate
Primo's mental processes, while also experiencing his sense of dismay. Besides, Bertolucci
increases viewers' cognitive engagement by keeping one character - Barbara - in the dark
about the developments in the kidnap saga. This puts viewers in a position of omniscience
with respect to her situation, thus inducing further hypothesis-making regarding the possible
point at which she will be told the truth, and her possible reaction.
The affective and intellectual impact of the mise-en-scene
The melancholic mood pervading the film is largely attributable to its structure and mise-en-
scene. The dreamlike representation of the landscape, Primo's voiceover narration which
elicits a sense of irreparability and inevitability, and the sombre music score which cues a
sense of irrecoverable loss, are all 'emotion markers' (Smith G., 1999: 117-118). These
elements are combined with a slow narrative pace and soundless images. The construction of
Tragedy echoes that of Tlie Spider's Stratagem, in that the clear knowledge of the
protagonist's feelings, combined with a correspondingly bleak ambience in the film's audio­
visual style, feed into the narrative as they represent the mental state - in this case
sombreness and defeat - experienced by Primo and the viewers. With Tragedy Bertolucci
seemed to have sidelined the virtuosismi of his previous films (1900 and La lima) in favour of
a restrained mise-en-scene. This factor can be read as a sign of his preoccupation with making
stylistic choices that corresponded to the film's difficult socio-political issues. More
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specifically, the depiction of the landscape through blurred and sepia coloured images
diffuses a sense of melancholic unreality, the frequent panoramic framings subtly inducing
sadness as viewers perceive the landscape's harmony being dissolved by the absurd hostility
between factions of humankind.
This conflict's absurdity is made explicit by the stark, lifeless images of the factory in
a sequence designed to indicate the implications of the proposed sale. In a nocturnal
sequence, long shots emphasize the factory's vast, empty spaces, while a metallic lighting
illuminates with a limited palette of greyish-blue hues the spotless work benches and the rows
of Parmesan cheeses on the shelves. The impression of lifelessness created by the visuals is
emphasized by the disquieting echo of Barbara and Primo's footsteps. By engaging viewers
affectively, the mise-en-scene strengthens the film's intellectual contention that the
destruction of a communal productive reality signifies the death of part of society. A similar
concept underpins the later sequence portraying the workers" discussions, where, however, a
different aesthetic is used. The action is depicted in a realist style, which, by breaking the
spell of the voiceover narration and the sophisticated visual description, allows viewers to
temporarily re-emerge from the story's symbolic density and focus on an unambiguous
narrative strand. The sequence highlights the impact of the terrorists' abstract political
notions upon the workers as they curse the terrorists' actions and complain that the workers
always pay in such situations. The adoption of dialect gives immediacy to the action, the
colour scheme and lighting are plain and unembellished, and the depiction of working life
unrhetorical. This simple but effective strategy elicits understanding of the workers'
extraneousness from the abstract, convoluted praxis of the Red Brigade.
Viewer alignment and allegiance
However, the film's affective component is principally conditioned by the narrative's firm
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spatio-temporal attachment to Primo and his thoughts, which elicit frequent and intense
moments of empathy when, for example, his awareness of being perceived as a ridiculous
man turns into a sombre realization that his family do not love him. Throughout the ensuing
narrative, repeated reaction shots align viewers with Primo's deepening misery, which is
amplified by the music score. The strongest moment of empathy towards Primo centres on
his disillusionment when he learns that a plan to kidnap him had been aborted by his son only
thanks to Laura. This dramatic sequence starts by showing Primo being startled by the brutal
revelation. The camera follows him as he moves away from Laura and stops in a doorway: he
is framed from the back as if to evoke the weight of the news on his shoulders. This shot is
alternated with close-ups of Adelfo's uneasy expression, a reaction which appears designed
to mirror the viewers' own response and increase the scene's affective charge; where viewers
are concerned, facial close-ups can 'elicit response through the processes of affective
mimicry, facial feedback and emotional contagion' (Plantinga, 1999: 240). Finally, the
camera shows a close-up of Primo's anguished face as he swigs a bottle of whisky before
fainting , and the take ends with a high-angle framing of Laura and Adelfo kneeling over him.
Given Bertolucci's tendency to distance viewers from his protagonists, the alignment
strategies in Tragedy represent a novel, one-off experience. The consideration shown to
Primo might be attributed - without undue speculation - to Bertolucci enunciating a fondness
for something - the PCI - which had once been great (this being symbolized by Primo's
enthusiasm in remembering the sense of hope and opportunity that characterized his youth),
and melancholy at its inglorious end in terms of the younger generations" disowning the Party
as an authoritative influence. This is reflected in the contempt shown by Giovanni and Laura
in depriving Primo of any decision-making authority over the factory's future, and ultimately
over their lives.
The compassion elicited towards Primo and the viewer's engagement with the
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character, through the strategies outlined in this chapter, was arguably instrumental in the
way the character was received. Ugo Tognazzi, in fact, received the award of best protagonist
at the 1981 Cannes Festival, recognition that had eluded higher profile actors such as Marion
Brando despite his performance in Last Tango in Paris. The casting of Tognazzi as the film's
protagonist arguably undermines Socci's dismissive contention that the socio-political
perspective in Tragedy was little more than a framing mechanism, and that Primo's
enunciations reflected Bertolucci's desire 'to communicate his indifference towards the years
of terrorism' by stating 'how much better a good meal, a snooze, and vigorous sex are'
(Socci, 1996: 70). It is well documented that Tognazzi belonged to the school of actors who
put into practice their philosophy on life both on and off set. Politically, he was considered
intelligent and uncompromising, notable for supporting the Left but also for articulating
criticism when appropriate. In his private life, he struggled to combine a father's
responsibilities with a lifestyle which was always open to life's pleasures. Therefore his
casting for Tragedy appears intended to transfuse these qualities into a fictional protagonist,
Primo Spaggiari, who himself embodied many of these values, and to elicit an immediate
recognition of Primo's flawed but genuine humanity. These aspects of Tognazzi's personality
had previously been transferred into characters in films by acclaimed, politically committed
directors such as Ettore Scola, Marco Ferreri, and Luigi Comencini.(4)
What Socci interprets as disenchantment or acquired wisdom on Bertolucci's part -
namely the lines Primo utters while carrying the kidnap ransom through a wood ('I used to go
to the wood in search of mushrooms or to make love, now it is completely normal to walk
through the trees with a billion in cash') (Socci, 1996: 70) - is, on the contrary, perhaps
another hint to make viewers reflect on how dramatically things had changed; society had
definitively lost its innocence. Socci also overlooks the film's complexity, as the only
technical input to draw praise is that of Ennio Morricone, since the music 'miraculously
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manages to expand the flimsy substance of the apologue' (Socci, 1996: 67). Socci understates
the film's whole framework by stating that it synthesized key themes in Dashiell Hammett's
novel Red Han>est, an adaptation of which had supposedly been Bertolucci's original and
more ambitious project (Socci, 1996: 67). The first assertion does no justice to the film's
stratified structure in terms of the technique and content traced in this chapter, whereas the
reference to Hammett's novel is not substantiated by any link between its fundamental
themes and those implied by Tragedy. The novel in question is a story of political corruption
which generates a series of murders; it is set in the USA in the pre-Second World War period,
and rigorously adheres to noir conventions.
Conclusion
The fact that The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man uses intimate perspectives to portray the
dramatic events of the late 1970s in Italy does not diminish the political validity the film had
and still has for present day audiences, especially regarding the symbolic representation of
the political inadequacy of both the PCI and the Red Brigade. In this context it is interesting
that in his survey of Italian films on terrorism, Maurizio Fantoni Minnella praises Colpire al
cuore (1983) by Gianni Amelio amid many other films that he criticizes for their lack of
complexity. Fantoni Minnella asserts that although Amelio is 'not interested in an analysis of
the phenomenon but in the consequences within an intellectual, bourgeois context' he
strengthens the film by operating 'a dialectical reverse of the generational contrast. It is the
apolitical son of the 1980s who judges the politically committed father of the 70s as nothing
more than a murderer" (Fantoni Minnella 2004: 119). Amelio's film echoes Bertolucci's
Tragedy, not only for its use of a father/son dichotomy to articulate political difference, but
also for the way it also implicitly addresses the inadequacy of terrorism and also of the
parliamentary Left as a whole; in the case of Amelio's film, this is represented by the Italian
Left failing to provide a guiding role for the younger generations to contrast the gradual
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disintegration of ideologies such as Communism in the 1980s. Therefore it might be
suggested that Bertolucci's way of depicting Italy's political situation through the filter of the
personal (an approach deployed, significantly, to great acclaim by Marco Bellocchio decades
later in Buongiorno, notte / Good Morning Night, 2004) should not lead to a misinterpretation
of this artistic approach as somehow overshadowing or rendering superficial the interest that
Bertolucci had for the issue, since it undoubtedly lies at the centre of the film.
Notes
References
1. The Italian magazine L 'Espresso accompanied the publication of the poem // PCI ai giovani with a
forum between Vittorio Foa (leader of the Communist trade union), Claudio Petruccioli (secretary of
the Communist youth), and two delegates representing the rebellious students.
2. In the introduction to Books for Burning, Timothy Murphy describes the criminalization process of
both the movement and Negri.
3. The shift from the personal to the general level of fathers and sons is achieved through Primo using
the plural form for his utterances: 'They are no longer able to manage a laugh, and above all they do
not talk any more. From their gaze it is impossible to understand whether they are asking for help or if
they are ready to kill you'
4. Around the time of the film, Tognazzi was the acclaimed protagonist of the following films: La
terrazza (1980) by the Communist director Ettore Scola (United Artists - France/Italy); Break-up
(1979) by the leftist director Marco Ferreri (Carlo Ponti - France/Italy); L'ingorgo: una storia
impossibile (1979) by Luigi Comencini, well known for his criticism of contemporary Italian
capitalism (RFT- Italy/Spain/France).
Annunziata, L. (2007) 7977, Ultima foto difamiglia, Turin: Giulio Einaudi Editore.
Bocca, G. (1978) // terrorismo italiano 1970-1978, Milan: Rizzoli Editore.
Bordwell, D. (1995) Narration in the Fiction Film, London: Routledge.
Branigan, E. (1992) Narrative Comprehension and Film, London and New York: Routledge.
Fantoni Minnella, M. (2004) Non riconciliati, Turin: UTET Diffusione S.r.l.
Hammett, D. (1929) 'Raccolto rosso", in Franco Minganti (ed.) (2004) Romanzi e racconti,
Milan: Mondadori.
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Moravia, A. (1971) lo e lui, (1990) VIII Edizione, Milan: Tascabili Bompiani.
Murphy, T.S. (2005) Books for Burning, London and New York: Verso.
Negri, A. (1973) 'Workers' Party Against Work', in Murphy T.S., (2005) Books for Burning,
London and New York: Verso.
Negri, A. (1975) 'Proletarians and the State: Towards a Discussion of Workers 1 Autonomy
and the Historic Compomise", in Murphy T.S., (2005) Books for Burning, London and
New York: Verso.
Negri, A. (1977) 'Domination and Sabotage: On the Marxist Method of Social
Transformation', in Murphy T.S., (2005) Books for Burning, London and New York:
Verso.
Pasolini, P.P. (1968) 'II PCI ai giovani', in L'Espresso, 16 June 1968, Rome: Gruppo
Editoriale L'Espresso.
Plantinga, C. (1999) 'The Scene of Empathy and the Human Face on Film', in Plantinga C.
and Smith, G. (ed.) Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.
Smith, G. M. (1999) 'Local Emotions, Global Mood, and Film Structure', in Plantinga C. and
Smith G. (ed.) Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.
Socci, S. (1996) Bemardo Bertolucci, Milan: II Castoro Cinema.
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Section Two; The Sensitizing of the Viewer; Cognitive and Intellectual Reflection
Partner (1968); Ultimo Tango a Parigi/Last Tango in Paris (1972); / sognatori/The
Dreamers (2003).
These films can be considered as paradigmatic of the artistic course taken by Bertolucci
during his career. They articulate his intention to question the socio-cultural reality of the
societies depicted in the films and to experiment with cinematic form. In Partner, reflections
on the nature of the existence of the individual and on societal conditions are elicited through
a political discourse drawing on the work of Artaud, Brecht, and Godard, and which
primarily addresses politically committed viewers and cinephiles. In Last Tango in Paris an
intimate love triangle is used to question the repressive role that social constraints played in
the development of authentic interpersonal relationships, the concept being expressed through
contrasting forms of artistic representation. These elicit two types of viewer engagement;
occasional sensual abandonment to the cinematic illusion but also an intellectual awareness
of the director's use of different cinematic forms. This approach indicates Bertoluccfs
willingness to open up his work to a broader audience - through aesthetic refinement and a
greater emphasis on affective engagement - while preserving an authorial aura through
complex narrations whose intellectual resonances require reflection, hi Tire Dreamers the
evocation of a period of collective aspiration for a better world, intertwined with the notion of
cinema's pedagogical role, indicates a directorial desire to shake the political and cultural
apathy that seemingly envelops the new generations. The twofold discourse is expressed
when the narrative is juxtaposed with moments when the cinematic medium is rendered overt
through the insertion of archive clips. This strategy suggests that Bertolucci aimed to address
both mainstream audiences and cinemagoers with expertise, thereby replicating the approach
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established in Tango. Yet the analysis of The Dreamers in this section will highlight how its
content arguably leaves the expectations of both kinds of audience unfulfilled, whereas its
theoretical standpoint - both politically and culturally - is undermined by a praxis privileging
cinematic spectacle.
In cognitive terms, Godard's influence informs all three films. In Partner the
references to Godard's film-making techniques represent a built-in feature, La Chinoise
(1967) being mirrored in the sequences depicting the students' revolutionary project; in
Tango the narrative strand related to the protagonists Jeanne and Tom merges elements of
Nouvelle Vague style and mainstream Hollywood cinema, and - as such - shapes the
viewer's experience of the film. In The Dreamers, where Godard is the object of overt
homage, influences from La Chinoise again emerge in the theme of youngsters secluding
themselves in their bourgeois parents' apartment while articulating and accustoming
themselves to political discourse, and in the way the narrative is cross cut with archive
images. An evocation of Godard's Histoire(s) du cinema (1988-98) is also perceptible in the
philosophical/intellectual use of clips from classic black and white films from European and
American cinema. In addition, there are grounds for inferring that in the sequences depicting
the protagonists Matthew and Theo debating politics and cinema, the characters are cyphers
for the theoretical perspectives of Bertolucci and Godard. The Nouvelle Vague legacy is
visible in the films, from the exposition of cinematic techniques in Partner and Tango, to the
self-conscious reflections about film-making in The Dreamers - which, stylistically, also
constitutes a return to jump cuts and discontinuity editing. This represents an important focus
of attention for viewers, inviting a playful, cognitive anticipation, for example, of the way
archive clips will be incorporated into the evolving narrative of The Dreamers and
intellectual reflection on the range of artistic and political issues articulated in Partner.
Nevertheless, this section will also illustrate how such distancing devices often
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simultaneously elicit affective responses, for example by using film technique and aesthetics
to beguile the spectator's senses, or by enhancing the emotion cued by characters or
situations.
The foregrounded presence of the cinematic medium increases the viewer's awareness
that each film's fictive world is linked to the reality of the director's enunciation which is
often conveyed conceptually by dialogue, and by shooting techniques which, regardless of
the sort of narrative focalization that is initially employed in given sequences, invariably give
way to an extra-diegetic viewpoint, that of the director via the camera. In terms of narrative
development, the viewer's cognitive activity of formulating hypotheses and expectations is
rendered problematic in all three films, exemplified by the constraints that the style of
Partner puts on Branigan's notion of the bottom up process - the viewers' mental
organization and interpretation of what occurs on screen, a process centred on the senses with
'little or no associated memory' being involved (Branigan, 1992: 37). The viewer's cognitive
engagement is also rendered difficult by devices such as the suppressive narration in Tango,
and by the peripheral position assigned to Matthew's character to whom viewers form an
attachment in The Dreamers.
In all three films, the use of frame composition, colour and lighting create - together
with the music - a mood of fascination and unease which is enhanced by the way the
narrations cue a perception of the protagonists (Giacobbe's double in Partner, Paul in Tango,
and the unpredictable twins in The Dreamers) as disturbing. However - compared with
Partner - Tango and The Dreamers present visual approaches characterized by a greater
emphasis on sensuous, refined aesthetics, although their narratives rarely feature sustained
sequences of clear-cut emotions. Like Partner, their viewing experiences are characterized by
the intense and saturated modal qualities described by Grodal, as intellectual and stylistic
cross-references are evoked. The depiction of sexuality in Tango and The Dreamers was
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evidently designed to push the boundaries of cinematic representations of eroticism in art
cinema, but in affective, cognitive and intellectual terms, any viewer arousal may be
accompanied by unease. In Tango, this is quite intentional, whereas in The Dreamers the
sensation is generated by a perception that the articulation of the eroticism is more
attributable to directorial self-indulgence than to the youngsters' supposed aspiration to
sexual liberation. This defect in the film's structure can also be traced to an insufficient
development of the notion of the viewers' 'pro-attitude' towards the characters (Carroll,
1999: 31-32). In general, despite the repeated use of shots in The Dreamers that accentuate
facial feedback and bodily posture, techniques that generate some viewer attachment to the
protagonists, no allegiance is ultimately elicited; in the case of Partner and Tango even the
level of recognition outlined by Murray Smith, the phase during which viewers identify
plausible human behavioural traits in screen characters, is inhibited (M. Smith, 1995: 82-83).
In Partner the nature of character representation is too abstract, and in Tango, the
bewildering nature of Paul's personality makes any viewer engagement with the character
virtually impossible.
References
Branigan, E. (1992) Narrative Comprehension and Film, London and New York: Routledge.
Carroll, N. (1999) 'Film, Emotion and Genre', in Plantinga, C. and Smith, G. (ed.)
Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press
Smith, M. (1995) Engaging Characters, Oxford: Oxford University Press
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Partner: Social Discontent and Artistic Purity
Four years after Before the Revolution which, stylistically, placed Bertolucci in the orbit of
the Nouvelle Vague, the director released Partner (1968) - a film so connected to Godard's
film-making that Kolker considers it 'a strange attempt to end the relationship [with Godard]
by turning influence into imitation" (Kolker 1985: 15). By contrast, this chapter's view is that
Partner embodies Bertolucci's unrelinquished enthusiasm for Godard's cinema,(l) despite
the critical and commercial failure of Before the Revolution and the years of inactivity that
followed. His determination to embrace the new mode of film-making emerges from several
declarations. In a 1966 interview, Bertolucci talks about the necessity for a film-maker 'to
take a position [...] also in confronting the art he creates', something he said - that he had
done in previous films and something which he would do 'above all' in his future work
(Bragin, 1966: 23). One implication of this approach was that, due to the difficulties of
financing his films, he agreed to make documentaries to avoid compromising his ideas on
how cinema should be (Bragin, 1966: 26). hi 1967 Bertolucci indicated that his decision to
work with the Living Theatre was motivated by his aspirations towards 'a kind of "rigor",
which ultimately 'prevented [him] from working for several years' (Morandini, 1967: 31). On
the fortieth anniversary of the release of Marco Bellocchio's seminal Fists in the Pocket,
Bertolucci recalls how, when viewing it, he commented: 'between this film and my film
[Before the Revolution] a kind of new Italian cinema was born'; in comparing the cinematic
ideas expressed by the two films, Bertolucci asserts that he was 'completely for the French
Nouvelle Vague\ whereas Bellocchio was 'very much for the English Free Cinema like
Lindsay Anderson' (Bertolucci, 2008). These comments support this study's evaluation of
Partner as Bertolucci's attempt to introduce to Italy a mode of film-making that he
considered new; in addition, the film criticized the transformation that consumerism was
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inging to contemporary Italian society.
Given the film's dense theoretical basis - which includes Godard, Artaud, Brecht,
and the Expressionist Theatre - Partner can be viewed as an essay on all the issues that
interested Bertolucci in that period, questions such as the language of cinema and the role of
cinema in contemporary society. The film, inspired by Dostoevsky's novel Tiie Double, deals
with the dualities of realism and anti-realism in cinematic representation, and with the
dualism between submission and rebellion within human nature. The two discourses are
merged mainly through style, creating a result that no other Bertolucci film emulates in terms
of self-conscious artificiality. Within this study's parameters, one could suggest that Partner
mainly focuses on cognitive and intellectual forms of viewer engagement; while this is true,
this chapter also shows how the film's intellectual orientation informs its emotional structure
in generating a viewing experience typified by what Grodal terms intense and saturated
modal qualities (Grodal, 1999: 136). The construction of disconcerting emotional
associations by means of decor, colour, lighting, sound and music, like the dissonant violin
score that dominates the soundtrack when violence is initiated, create a mood of angst
punctuated by moments of empathy or of disorientation and estrangement.
Plot summary
In the style of cinema verite a cafe is shown where a man (later recognizable as Giacobbe's
double) is reading a book about the film Nosferatu (1922) and he replicates the vampire's
idiosyncratic movements by mimicking his hunched back and claw-like hands. Outside, men
put up posters extolling freedom for Vietnam. In the next sequence, shot in theatrical style,
the man shoots a youth playing a piano, while caressing his head; the youth seems to submit
voluntarily to death. The soundtrack is filled with melancholy noise, produced by a spinning
chandelier of which only a shadow is visible. The screen fades to black to end of what is a
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prologue to the film's narration. The protagonist - Giacobbe - is a docile and frustrated man
living in a claustrophobic flat, whose only company is his servant Petruschka (the same name
as his counterpart in Dostoevsky's novel arguably facilitates the viewer's recollection of the
story's Russian origins). Giacobbe, a drama teacher in Rome, suffers continuous
humiliations, especially regarding his love for the shallow Clara, since her family considers
him inadequate because of his lower social class. His vengeful intentions remain at a useless
declamatory level until the mysterious appearance of his double. Here the analogies with
Dostoevsky's novel end, because while in the book the double is depicted contemptuously
because he adheres to the hypocrisy of bourgeois society, in the film he organizes violent
responses to Giacobbe w s private and social situations. As the film unfolds, the double kills
Clara and an attractive saleswoman; the drama students first embrace but eventually
withdraw from the double's revolutionary project. After this failure, Giacobbe and the double
disappear to continue their existentialist conversations.
Using avant-garde theatre to create intense and saturated modal qualities
The sequence which begins the narrative of Partner shows Giacobbe reading aloud, in a
declamatory style, from Artaud's Le theatre et son double. This quotation and its delivery
signal Bertolucci's intention to translate into cinematic form the European quest to give the
performing arts a pedagogical role in society. A link between Partner and Artaud's work was
recognized by critics, who traced Bertolucci's first articulation of the French dramatist's
theories to the short film Agonia, which he shot in 1967 for the collective film Vangelo 70,
and which was distributed in 1969 under the title Amore e Rabbia (Socci 1996: 34). The short
is constructed around a long take showing people at the bedside of a dying cardinal. The
performance is highly gestural; figures emerge from the floor or from elsewhere in the room,
try to seize the cardinal, and then fall back again. Movement and words (never in form of
dialogues) evoke memories and thoughts from the cardinal's guilty conscience. Bertolucci
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said he was inspired by the Third Canto of Dante's Inferno - which describes punishments
for cowardice - and this made him think of Artaud's idea of 'the theatre of cruelty'. The
casting of New York's Living Theatre, led by Julian Beck who was a follower of Artaud's
concepts, followed from this (Morandini, 1967: 30). This encounter appears to have
influenced the making of Partner, rather than the short itself. Soon after the film's release,
Bertolucci declared that the rapport he established with the actor Pierre Clementi was
inspired by his 'formative experience with the Living Theatre'; he talked of the importance of
the 'sacredness of theatre and of theatrical recitation' that he had learned from them, this
being represented, for example, in dementi's monologue behind a wall of books (Apra-
Ponzi-Spila, 1968:48).
The pedagogical role assigned to theatre by Artaud comes from the connection he
established between the perverse mindset of a plague victim and the experience of theatre.
Both involve a revelatory process; the illness exteriorizes an undercurrent of savagery within
humanity while the theatrical process forces us to "see ourselves as we are, making the mask
fall and divulging our world's lies, aimlessness, meanness, and even two-facedness' (Artaud,
1938: 21-22). hi the film Giacobbe uses this concept to rebuff Catholicism's criticism of
theatre's potential for spreading supposedly poisonous ideas. He affirms, in fact, that the
theoretical 'poison' diffused by theatrical art shares similarities with the plague, and
conceives it as a scourge with purifying, vindictive characteristics. In general Giacobbe's
behaviour, resembling that of a delirious individual as he runs in and out of buildings and
wanders aimlessly around deserted urban streets, embodies a paroxystic and increasingly
disorganized societal situation.
The desire that audiences be provided with 'truthful distillations of dreams' (Artaud,
1938: 70) is fulfilled by Partner's mise-en-scene when situations are presented in a dreamlike
mode, such as the sequence in which Giacobbe's raving monologue about human liberation is
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accompanied by the thunder and lightning of an unreal storm which is complemented by
images of exploding molotov cocktails - desired by Giacobbe - which detonate around the
city and are intercut with images of students shouting. Certainly Giacobbe's incoherent
shouting is endowed with the 'vibrations and qualities' (Artaud, 1938: 70) that Artaud
considered necessary to allow screams to 'enter the spectator's breast rather than his ear'
(Artaud, 1938: 99-100). This is achieved by enhancing the disturbing nature of the emissions
with frontal filming of Giacobbe's upper body swaying, and by close-ups of his tense face
and throat. Through this reconfiguration of Artaudian aesthetics, the mise-en-scene comes
close to achieving the sensory bombardment to which Artaud aspired, thus establishing
intense viewer engagement both at a cognitive and affective level. Additionally, Giacobbe's
double embodies Artaud's concept that the 'hallucinatory and fearful aspect' of theatre, as re­
established by the 'metaphysical enactment' of Balinese theatre, could be re-enacted through
the Western theatrical feature of the double, since it maintains a disquieting impact as a
consequence of being a direct evocation of the 'other world' (Artaud, 1938: 35-37).
Giacobbe's double engenders this ambience of hallucination and disquiet; although the
character does not generate notions of another world, he manifests the forces that reside
within every human; more specifically, through him, the cruelty of the individual materializes
in response to that of society.
Partner's mise-en-scene presents stylistic elements and themes associated with
German Expressionist theatre that connect the film's contemporary malaise as expressed by
the 1968 student unrest (2) with that of a movement founded by young intellectuals at the
beginning of the 20 th century. According to D.F. Kuhns, that generation staged a rebellion
against 'Wilhelmine authoritarian social structures' moved by 'a strong need to declare, in
specifically emotional terms, their individual liberation from Wilhelmine patriarchal values'
(Kuhns 1997: 21). They rebelled by using the arts, and in 1914 they established rules for the
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creation of Expressionist theatre which centred on abstract or overtly theatrical
representations of social life; influenced by ancient Greek rhetoric, they adopted the decision
to produce art that was both symbolic and rhetorical. In Partner both aspects are present. The
mise-en-scene is overtly theatrical, a sense of the abstract emerging in Giacobbe's workplace
where the presence of a few chairs, a door frame standing in the centre of the room, and a
canvas evoking Mondrian's primary colours which dominates the background, are used
symbolically to represent the desire for a less conventional approach to art and ultimately to
life, hi another room the ceiling, decorated with a pattern resembling the American flag,
imposes itself sinisterly when framed in close-up and again when it is framed in the
background as it hangs over a gigantic black guillotine. The two features function as
metaphors for the violence generated by and derived from repressive power. The American
flag pattern implies an oppressive presence determined from above, an allusion to American
imperialism in Vietnam. By contrast, the guillotine emerging from the foot of the frame
alludes to the inevitable counter-violence produced by popular insurrections, a process fixed
in people's collective memories by the French Revolution. This exemplifies the way the
film's intellectual resonances are conveyed via visual and spatial arrangements that are
disturbing from a sensory perspective.
Other aspects of mise-en-scene replicate this effect of combining intellectual
articulations of the human condition with an affective charge; the set representing Giacobbe's
house evokes expressionist themes related to the human conditions of isolation and
precariousness, in which individuals act out their despair as a consequence of their lack of a
clear individual and collective identity. This is emphasized by the dusty piles of books which
symbolize how the culture of the older generations no longer has significance for the young.
The presence of two pictures highlights a metaphysical sense of loss; the painting on the left,
in a surrealist style, shows a girl walking in a deserted city, and it intensifies Giacobbe s
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sense of solitude and uselessness. The picture on the right evokes Cretacic Rocks in Riigen by
Caspar David Friederich; it shows a bleak seascape viewed through white rocks which form a
sort of eye, an effect which creates an impression of a two-way viewing process, the viewer's
eye being drawn towards the sea and also internally towards two small figures, one of them
kneeling, who seem to talk at a distance. The camera pans from the picture towards Giacobbe
and vice versa, as he - crouched childishly on the floor and against the wall - reflects on his
miserable condition, in dialogue with the double who is also crouched down, but in a
wardrobe. The scene creates an effect similar to the picture, in terms of positioning the
viewer as a beholder of both the diegetic world and the extra-diegetic world of the author's
expression.
In the performances of Giacobbe and the double, Expressionist rhetoric takes the form
of existentialist monologues punctuated by literary and poetic metaphors. The characters'
lines are full of peculiar utterances, notably a repetition of the words 'freedom', 'theatre' and
the phrase 'let's throw off the masks', shouted in different tones. The statement 'It is
forbidden to forbid, it is prohibited to prohibit' is recited like a litany. The image of Giacobbe
exhausting himself in screaming out his social discomfort - through a combination of
anguished outbursts and rhetorical language - is the result of Bertolucci's fusion of
Expressionist rhetoric with the disturbing qualities of Artaud's theatre. These two stylized
representational modes, which shape Partner in visual and narrative terms, demand
continuous mental associations and confer an emotional charge upon the film's intellectual
concerns regarding the troubled rapport between the individual and society. They establish a
desolate mood of angst throughout the film, and provide bursts of emotion during Giacobbe's
moments of despair.
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The Godardian scheme
Partner's debt to Godard's film-making resides in the constant distancing of viewers from
the ongoing action through different devices. One frequent effect is a stylized camera
perspective that cannot be attributed to a diegetic character's viewpoint; this is created by the
camera being positioned frontally and close to the diegesis, a perspective that erases spatial
depth and stresses the stylization of the performance. Additionally, throughout Partner,
viewers focus on deciphering the meaning of the viewed, but also on identifying the cross-
references and intellectual associations that are featured in the narration. Godard's location
shooting techniques, and his idiosyncratic dissections and insertions of Hollywood genres in
his work, (3) albeit in a more theatrical configuration, also occur in Partner. However, unlike
Godard's films, in which the subversion of traditional cinematic codes can militate against
emotional viewer engagement, Partner foregrounds the tendency of Bertolucci's work to
generate emotion during the viewing experience; indeed, even the way in which he exposes
the nature of cinematic devices cues emotional responses. Bertolucci himself recognized that
even in Partner there is a degree of abandonment to the magic of cinema, (Ungari 1982: 52)
and that it would have been impossible to create that 'distancing from emotion of the type
Godard does' given the film's emphasis on dementi's acting style which was classical and
'entirely against Brecht'(Apra-Ponzi-Spila,1968: 46).
Moreover, Bertolucci's manipulations of cinematic techniques feature a self-
consciousness that sometimes borders on the comic, and they invariably feature a fusion of
the emotional and the intellectual. One re-elaboration is of a scene from Murnau's Nosferatu
(1922), a film to which Bertolucci alludes in the prologue. A night sequence shows Giacobbe
wandering around the city; his shadow, thanks to the lighting and to the camera position -
which, from a straight-on angle moves to a high angle - gradually outgrows him in such a
way that it menacingly assumes a life of its own. The scene subsequently shifts towards the
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absurd as Giacobbe and the shadow petulantly kick each other. The scene's development
illustrates how Bertolucci's film-making simultaneously engages the emotions, through
disquieting then comic visuals, and the intellect - via the viewer's background awareness of
the elements of Expressionist cinema that are being cited. Classical Hollywood cinema is
referenced in the film, in the form of the much-desired nocturnal encounter between Clara
and the double, whom she believes to be Giacobbe, who are supposed to run away
romantically together. An amusing self-consciousness characterizes the mise-en-scene of the
encounter as, framed from a low-angle, the couple meet on an improbably long white bridge,
which is fully illuminated from across a dark forest. An overstated romantic theme forms the
backdrop for the pair's bliss, and classic Hollywood representations of romance from genres
such as the musical are therefore cited, creating a conspiratorial irony between director and
viewer. Surrounded by the woodland, the couple are subsequently filmed frontally as they sit
in a stationary sports car with Petruska at the wheel, who in contrast with the couple's
summer clothing, is wearing a fur coat and a bearskin. The scene's stillness is broken by
Petruska manoeuvring the steering wheel ostentatiously and mimicking the noise of the car
engine, bizarre conduct that continues throughout the scene. The mise-en-scene here refers to
the tendency in early Hollywood films to fake driving scenes when dialogues took place
inside a car. But the scene's intellectual impact, generated by the ironic reference, is soon
altered by an emotional unease cued by the double's aggressive behaviour towards Clara,
who is sexually assaulted, insulted and even spat on. Despite the surreality of the situation,
the viewer's response shifts from the intellectual to the emotional, as if the abuse was really
happening. This is achieved mainly by the alternation of frontal framing showing the
double's aggressive behaviour with close-ups of Clara s facial reactions, integrated with her
cries on the soundtrack.
The cinematic device of feigning the movement of vehicles is deployed again in the
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scene of Clara's murder by the double, during an encounter inside a bus. This time, the
sequence evokes Godard in mimicking the Hollywoodian mechanism of using projected
backdrops, as Bertolucci uses speeded-up city images that are visible from the bus windows.
The resulting artifice is enhanced by filming with a mute soundtrack, another Godardian
effect. Also, on this occasion, the viewer's awareness of the cinematic devices that are being
exposed does not prevent an emotional response to Clara's death. The scene featuring the
third murder by the double, that of a saleswoman, is inspired by Godard's Unefemme est une
femme (1961) with its meta-documentarial frontal shooting by a fixed camera, portraying,
with a mute soundtrack, the playful interaction between the protagonists. Gradually, as the
camera tracks backwards and roams the set to frame the two characters sensually playing
with the foam that overflows from a washing machine, the scene takes on a lyrical form,
before being unexpectedly interrupted by the double turning his caress into a stranglehold.
The mode of killing is the same as that used for Clara, but the doublets earlier attitude of
contempt is replaced here by tenderness towards the woman, whose job had previously been
likened to prostitution at the service of a police state that keeps society under control by
means of consumption - a theme of several films by Godard between 1962 and 1966 (Dixon
1997: 30). However, even the long take of the salesgirl's murder contains a wry self-
consciousness, the double being filmed from the back as he sits on a washing machine with
his raincoat open in front of the girl, thus evoking comic representations of male
exhibitionism.
Bertolucci "s use of Godard's mode of location filming with surreal insertions of staged
elements is visible in the sequences shot around Rome. Nonetheless in Partner the scenes'
metaphorical sense remains more attached to a narrative function, as their symbolic meaning
fills narrative omissions. An example of this occurs during a sequence featuring a student -
blindfolded with a red scarf - who tries to cross a busy road and is followed by others (this
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mirrors, in a condensed form, equivalent sequences in Godard's La Chinoise), the scene
implying the hazardous and unpredictable outcome of revolutionary activity. Similarly a later
emblematic sequence signifies the students backing out of the revolutionary project; it depicts
them being approached by the double one after the other. They stop at different street corners
in the city, and silently cover their faces with handkerchiefs. This kind of narration, based on
the contrast between realist visuals and the characters' theatrical performances, creates what
Grodal describes as a transposition of the representation into 'types and paradigms 1 ; the sense
of distance that is consequently created between spectators and screen events allows viewers
to identify the symbolic meaning implied by the actions being performed (Grodal 1999: 140).
The relevance of Brecht's distanciation effect
With regard to the forms of distanciation set up by the film narration, Partner also shows
how Bertolucci subscribed to Brecht's idea that viewer engagement could be interrupted to
prompt a broader awareness of the intellectual agenda underpinning a work. Brecht indicated
how viewers' attention would shift towards the device used to interrupt their affective
processes, thus awakening their critical faculties. To break Partners narrative illusion, the
filirf s camerawork and montage radically shift the viewer's attention both during scenes and
between scenes to reposition them in the role of observers, whilst increasing their awareness
of certain details of the mise-en-scene that might go unnoticed. The camera might move
arbitrarily away from the diegetic characters and towards an element of decor, lingering on it
to increase the viewer's awareness of the filmic medium. This is instantiated in the scene of a
drama class during which the double delivers a political speech to the students. The initial
framing includes the students filmed frontally as they sit listening, while the double is shot
from the back, sitting on the desk. Slowly, the frame narrows until only the lower part of his
back is visible, together with a close-up of the keyhole of the desk drawer, on which the
camera lingers. Such shots initially confuse the viewer's cognitive engagement with the
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scene, since objects indexed by the camera traditionally possess a narrative significance.
However, in Partner, these details have no narrative relevance, and the viewer's cognitive
confusion eventually recedes into a distanced consideration of the scene's possible
intellectual implications. Without emotional and cognitive significance, the framing
transports viewers away from the diegesis, and through the double's voiceover, an impression
is created that the external beliefs of the director are being articulated.
hi the case of the viewer s attention being shifted between scenes, this technique
occurs when tense sequences, such as those of the murders or of the double inciting the
students to riot, are followed by cuts to comic images of a very short man, framed frontally as
he snores while perched on a column of chair inside the cafe shown in the prologue, now
closed for the night, hi one scene, the double even wakes him by knocking on the window to
get him to adjust the pile of chairs. These insertions break the dark, affective intensity
generated by the preceding scenes, and they possess a similar, disruptive function to that of
the techniques which confound the viewer's cognitive schemata. Together, these affective
and cognitive devices are designed to reconnect viewers with the film's intellectual
framework, since their presence ultimately reveals the director's presence. Towards the end
of the film, in full Brechtian style, Giacobbe breaks the film's fragile narrative illusion by
turning to the camera and addressing viewers directly, warning them to check the presence of
their own double. He urges viewers to reflect on what they have seen, so that the 'beast'
inside them might be liberated to fight their enemies. This performance mode ratifies the
film's didactic intent, showing the negligible narrative relevance of solving the enigma of
who the double might ultimately be in the world of the film. This is confirmed by the closing
sequence which occurs after this address. With the duo off-screen and Giacobbe's voiceover
confessing to his double that he still has not understood whether they are one or two
individuals, Bertolucci again teases any viewers whose engagement with the film has been
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informed by canonical codifications of fiction.
Disrupting cognitive activity
Bertolucci's re-examination of cinematic language in the light of the methodologies of
Godard and, in a theatrical context, of Brecht, included a reconsideration of editing, an
interest which emerges in Bertolucci's analysis of Deux on trois choses que je sais d'elle
(1966) in the article Versus Godard. There he declares his fascination for Godard's
unconventional editing ideas, which posit that the order of images will evolve spontaneously
at the moment of placing one shot next to another, because if they possess a poetic charge, a
relationship between them will emerge regardless of anything else (Bertolucci, 1967: 140).
This interest matured over four years of inactivity during which he 'did almost nothing but
think about film, about cinematic style"; Bertolucci distinguishes between editing as a tool
used by auteurs and as a process used by studios during which 'every film loses its stylistic
violence' and is homogenized (Apra-Ponzi-Spila, 1968: 39-40). Hence, in making Partner,
Bertolucci admits to using editing as a form of authorial affirmation and self-contradiction,
deliberately interrupting shots to produce discontinuity either using by cuts or inserts (Apra-
Ponzi-Spila, 1968: 41). The combination of idiosyncratic editing, theatrical components, and
the distanciation schemata, generates a narration and style that enable Partner to be classified
as metafiction, particularly with regard to Grodal's definition of the term as 'fiction that lays
bare its devices and makes the relation between addressee and fiction visible in a critique of
cliches of representation 5 (Grodal 1997: 209).
In particular, Partner's, structure includes contextual frames where Bertolucci's
artistic and political perspectives form the meta-frame through which viewers follow the
film's events with an awareness of extradiegetic and metafictional intentions, which, in this
case, is an awareness of Bertolucci's articulation of three discourses: the obsolescence of
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conventional art, the injustices of the social class system, and the corrupting nature of
consumer society. The internal frame is constituted by Giacobbe's vicissitudes, but the action
remains substantially abstract since the narrative's suppressive and disorienting nature
prevents viewers even from 'recognizing', to use Murray Smith's term, Giacobbe as a
credible manifestation of humankind. By making it difficult to recognize Giacobbe as an
authentic screen embodiment of a real world person, viewers are led to perceive him as a
symbolic representation of the human condition in the context of the problems of
contemporary society, and to recognize him as a cypher through which the author-director
communicates his socio-political perspectives. The empathic phenomena elicited towards
Giacobbe's unease and frustration over the power held by capitalist values over humanity do
not result in an emotional attachment to the character, but reinforce the film's intellectual
agenda by adding a sense of urgency to the demanded socio-political changes.
Conclusion
The issues that the film articulates undoubtedly possess validity for the new millennium, and
Partner still elicits a fascinating intellectual and aesthetic experience. In 1996, Socci asserted:
'One thing is certain: once viewed, it is not easy to forget' (Socci 1996: 36). However the
film's failure at the time - the third in a row for Bertolucci - caused him such distress (4) that
it brought him to disown the film and distance himself from the avant-garde cinema of the
1960s. At Ungari's comment that Partner was the manifesto of a self-questioning cinema that
required the same attitude from viewers, denying them a sense of cinematic spectacle,
Bertolucci replied that in this kind of cinema there was the sadism of compelling viewers to
distance themselves from their emotions, and the masochism of making films that nobody
wanted. Significantly, he argued that it was the consequence of 'a bad reading of Brecht'
(Ungari 1982: 52). The director's bitterness at not having been understood still seems to be
present, since in 2004 he spoke of Partner as a film foregrounding a desire to be
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'revolutionary' in cinematic terms, and because of this, it had no circulation because 'nobody
wanted to see it, it interested nobody' (Fantoni Minnella 2004: 230). Therefore, it is
interesting to speculate regarding the type of film output that Bertolucci would have produced
- experimental or commercial - if there had been greater public and critical appreciation of
his earlier work, since this would arguably have enabled him, like Godard, to continue to
explore new forms of cinematic language.
Notes
1. Discussing his idea of cinema, Bertolucci praises A bout de souffle which he considered to be a film
that questioned everything and revolutionized cinematic language (Ungari, 1982: 177).
2. It should be reiterated that Partner was shot in the cultural milieu of the 1968 student demonstrations, a
context evoked by the title of the play that Giacobbe wants to stage - (The Power of the Imagination)
which re-arranges the words of a popular student slogan: 'Power to the Imagination' The social
context is also evoked by images of posters exhorting the liberation of Vietnam, which was the main
issue that catalyzed the students' political rebellion.
3. Godard's experimentation with Hollywood genres emerges in: A bout de souffle, a reworked love story;
Le petit soldat, which takes its stylistic cues from film noir; Unefemme est unefemme, a musical shot
in a studio; Les Carabiniers, which assimilates and elaborates the characteristics of war movies; Bande
a part - a reworking of classic crime capers; Alphaville - an idiosyncratic work of science fiction.
Also, for the later film Germany Year Nine Zero (1985), elements of Hollywood road movies have
been traced. D. Sterritt, The Films of Jean-Luc Godard: Seeing the Invisible (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1999), p. 13.
4. Bertolucci confessed: This film caused me a tremendous psychological trauma, because nobody,
almost nobody, accepted it' (Bachmann, 1973: 96).
References
Apra, A., Ponzi, M. and Spila, P. (1968), 'Bernardo Bertolucci: Partner', in Gerard, F.S.,
Kline, T.J. and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000) Bemardo Bertolucci Internets, Jackson:
University Press of Mississippi.
Artaud, A. (1938) The Theatre and its Double, translated from French by Corti, V., (ed.
2005), London: Calder Publications.
Bachmann, G., (1973) 'Every Sexual Relationship is Condemned: An Interview with
Bernardo Bertolucci', in Gerard, F.S., Kline, T.J. and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000)
Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.
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Bertolucci, B. (1967) 'Versus Godard', in Francione, F. and Spila, P. (ed.) (2010) Bernardo
Bertolucci: la mia magnified ossessione, Milan: Garzanti.
Bertolucci, B. (26/01/2008) '1 quarantanni de / pugni in tasca\ [Online] Available:
http://w.youtube.coin/watch?v=swDPnaTSUrI.
Bragin, J. (1966) 'A Conversation with Bernardo Bertolucci', in Gerard, F.S., Kline, T.J. and
Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000) Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University Press of
Mississippi.
Branigan, E. (1992) Narrative Comprehension and Film, London and New York: Routledge.
Dixon, W. (1997) The Films ofJean-Luc Godard, Albany: State University of New York.
Fantoni Minnella, M. (2004) Non riconciliati, Turin: UTET Diffusione S.r.l.
Grodal, T. (1999) 'Emotions, Cognitions, and Narrative Patterns in Film", in Plantinga, C.
and Smith, G. (ed.) Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.
Kolker, R. P. (1985) Bemardo Bertolucci, London: BFI Publishing.
Kuhns, D.F. (1997) German Expressionist Tlieatre: Tlie Actor and the Stage, Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Morandini, M. (1967) 'In Refusing to Make Westerns Bertolucci Has Come to the Gospel',
in Gerard, F.S., Kline T.J., and Sklarew, B., (ed.) (2000) Bernardo Bertolucci
Interviews, Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.
Socci, S. (1996) Bernardo Bertolucci, Milan: II Castoro Cinema.
Ungari, E. (1982) Scene madri di Bernardo Bertolucci (2nd Ed. 1987), Milan: Ubulibri.
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Ultimo tanso a Parisi/Last Tango in Paris: Bertolucci's Cinematic Manifesto
After the successful reception of The Conformist, Last Tango in Paris (1972) is arguably the
film with which Bertolucci heralded the new ideas about film-making that he had
investigated two years earlier. Hence the elements that contributed to the success of The
Conformist were transposed in the making of Tango: the editing was assigned to Franco
Arcalli, the man responsible for Bertolucci's u-turn regarding montage (see the 'Conclusion'
in the chapter on The Conformist}; the photography was again assigned to Vittorio Storaro;
Ferdinando Scarfiotti moved from costume design to production design; a famous actor -
Marion Brando - was cast as a protagonist; finance for the project came from a European
production company that had links with an American counterpart, in this case Italy's P.E.A.
(Produzione Europee Associate Rome), and France's Artistes Associes (Paris) linked with
the American United Artists. Because these companies exemplified the idea of private
production companies being open to politically committed films - for instance P.E.A.'s
production list included Pasolini's Said (1975) and Rosi's Illustrious Corpses (1976) - the
organizational ingredients of Tango convey Bertolucci's intention to construct another film
amalgamating auteurist elements with a Classical Hollywood legacy, a film appealing both to
the senses and the intellect. This was an artistic path virtually described by Bertolucci
himself:
Partner was entirely based on the contradiction between the 'spectacle' and "distanciation" [...] The
Conformist was my first film-spectacle, an exploration into the desire to create a spectacle. But it was
only with Last Tango in Paris that I stopped feeling that notions of experimentation and spectacle were
contradictory (Ungari, 1982: 89).
In Tango, Bertolucci explored contemporary social malaise, articulating the theme within a
Hollywood mode of film-making enriched by sophisticated camera movement and frame
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compositions; the outcome is a dense filmic style which engages viewers intellectually,
cognitively and affectively. The presence within the film of a parallel cinematic style,
pursued by Tom, a secondary character, is an expose of Nouvelle Vague conventions and
arguably designed to substantiate Bertolucci's decision to abandon the mode of film-making
that had characterized his early work. The film's portrayal of the existential unease and angst
in society is centred on the protagonist Paul, whose tormented journey towards self-
awareness draws on elements from literary and philosophical sources. The decision to depict
Paul's search for authenticity in a relationship based on uninhibited sexuality marked a real
cinematic innovation at the time of the film's release.
Plot summary
Again, as in films such as The Spider's Strategem, the film's opening credits draw a cognitive
engagement from viewers by foreshadowing its content; clues regarding this are conveyed via
two paintings by Francis Bacon: the image of a man lying bleeding on a red armchair is
replaced by that of a woman with a swollen face, sitting on a chair against a black backdrop
and a red floor. Eventually both pictures are shown together, but off-centre, hinting at the
excruciating liaison that is to follow. The film depicts the development of a love triangle as
two strangers, Paul and Jeanne, meet while viewing a Parisian apartment. In their subsequent
secret relationship, based on uninhibited sexual exploration, they follow a rule established by
Paul - who is contemptuous of social institutions and mores - to remain in the dark about
each other, even withholding their names. To portray their lives outside the apartment, the
film's narrative follows two parallel tracks that never merge. Paul is an unemployed
American drifter, married to the French proprietor of a hotel of ill repute, who has just
committed suicide. Jeanne is younger and is engaged to Tom, a tedious young director who is
using her as the subject of a TV film project entitled 'Portrait of a Young Woman'. She is
excited by Paul's uninhibited sexuality and fascinated by his subversive criticisms of society.
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Yet, ultimately disillusioned by Paul's self-centred nature and feeling threatened by his
aggressive attitude, she eventually kills him.
The rejection of social identity
Paul's depiction as an individual tormented by social constraints evokes the antiheroes
created by Luigi Pirandello, particularly Vitangelo Moscarda in Uno, nessuno e centomila
(1909) - and Mattia Pascal - the protagonist of II fu Mattia Pascal (1904). Paul suffers from
Moscarda's anguish at not being able to recognize his interior nature in the perception that
others have of him, and consequently rejects any personal attributes - especially names -
which are likened to cages that imprison the true self. Paul also shares Pascal's painful
awareness of an inescapable personal destiny which is mapped out by a person's miserable
origins. In particular, Paul abolishes the use of names to achieve maximum indeterminacy
between him and Jeanne, and when she later comments: 'I must invent a name for you', he
dryly replies: 'I've been called a million names all my life... I don't want any'. In another
scene, after narrating his miserable background, Paul leaves Jeanne (and the viewers) in
doubt about the authenticity of his story. Bertolucci's emphasis on the way names can be
instrumentalized as reductive labels, together with the ambiguous account that emerges of
Paul's past life, implies the difficulties in elaborating any reliable notion of an individual's
interior identity, a concept characterizing Pirandello's work. Two analogies further connect
Paul to the character of Moscarda; both are shot by the only person (a woman) with whom
they have been able to share fragments of their authentic selves, and with whom they wanted
to start everything again. The second parallel is that both women use guns that belonged to
their dead fathers. Therefore the film elicits an intellectual engagement that - despite
Bertolucci's movement towards the mainstream in terms of production and casting - has a
strong resonance for viewers familiar with European and particularly Italian literary history.
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Like Pirandello's protagonists, Paul estranges himself from his reality to achieve a
more authentic relationship with his inner self. For Moscarda, the countryside is an idyllic
place where he can abandon himself and his identity; a journey around Italy is, for Pascal, the
opportunity to reshape his life by adopting a new name and a distinguished past; a secret
rented apartment is Paul's retreat. This space, which critics have likened to a grave where
Paul buries himself and his disappointments, or to a womb where the couple (Paul and
Jeanne) undertake a Freudian process of regression,(l) embodies, in my view, a place where
Paul can distance himself from the world, and voice his existential unease. This interpretation
finds further correspondence in another existentialist influence on the film - a Sartrean one -
which is consistent with Pirandello's world view, as it shares the same impulse to withdraw
from the world and to explore an individual's needs and desires. Together with Heidegger,
Sartre is considered a key proponent of atheistic Existentialism (the other form, Christian
Existentialism, appears in the analysis of Besieged) which, by denying God's existence,
stresses humanity's solitude and fragility. Paul's tormented behaviour reflects Sartre's
description both of consciousness and of the painful process of awareness that comes with it.
According to Sartre, consciousness emerges when man becomes aware of his 'being-in-the-
world', by detaching himself from his reality and questioning it; this process generates
anxiety on account of the past that has entrapped an individual within a given identity, and
also as a consequence of the individual's awareness of his freedom to determine the future
(Sartre, 1943: 89-92). Such concepts strengthen the interpretation of the Parisian apartment as
a physical representation of Paul's conscious detachment, whereas his questioning of reality
leads him to undergo the process described by Sartre. This theoretical orientation is
manifested in the film narration as viewers witness Paul experiencing a form of anguish that
is generated by his unhappiness about the existing determination of his 'persona', and by his
awareness of the need to shape his future.
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As source of social constraint, the film specifically points to the concept of the
familial unit which is perceived as a means through which capitalism organizes socio­
political control and also develops global markets - a process that is evident in the publicity
posters that are visible on walls within the film's mise-en-scene, adverts which, to sell
products, initially portray smiling couples and then, ultimately, contented families. However,
Tango's attack on the concept of 'family' appears to be based on integrating Pasolini's
condemnation of Catholicism's repressive nature (foregrounded in Before the Revolution) and
Pirandello's perspective of the family as being responsible for untold misery, because of its
hypocrisy, artifice and propensity for generating psychological abuse. The denunciation
reaches its peak in the scene during which Paul, while sodomizing Jeanne, obliges her to
recite an indictment against the institution of the family.(2) As regards this sequence, my
analysis coincides with other critics' opinions (Socci, 1995: 54) that, rather than the sexual
act, it was the nature of the indictment, and above all its religious overtones through the use
of the adjective 'holy', which caused the film to be condemned and banned. However, the
likelihood of this condemnation of the familial institution striking a chord within viewers is
likely to be high, either at an intimate, emotional level as a consequence of personal exposure
to repressive upbringings or at a more objective, intellectual level based on an awareness of
the way an individual's self-realization is conditioned by domestic influences.
The ambiguity of a 'liberating' sexuality
It has been frequently observed that the film s sexual content represented a means of
highlighting and rupturing the lack of authenticity in human relationships that are conditioned
by social repression and inhibition. Yet the process appears flawed by a fundamental
ambiguity in the film's representation of these scenes. Bertolucci's idea of having the
protagonists use sex as 'a new kind of language' leading to liberation (Bachmann, 1973: 94)
has an antecedent in Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949) in which the protagonists
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Winston and Julia establish a loving, passionate relationship to rebel against the totalitarian
regime. But unlike Orwell's novel, in which the relationship is between equals, in Tango
Paul's dominance is established from the initial scene of instinctual sex; it remains as the
story unfolds, and even escalates towards the narrative's conclusion. In this context, ideas of
the apartment as a 'womblike' space where 'a remarkable representation of the un-conflicted
part of the ego' (Kline, 1987: 116) takes place, or as a place where fantasies come true,
imbued with a Marcusian 'political dimension' consisting of 'an urge to destroy the existing
order [...] and move to a new Utopian order based on the pleasure principle' (Loshitsky, 1995:
72-73) appear to be tenuous, given Jeanne's uncertain and submissive position in the
relationship. Her role makes her frustrated, anxious and even unhappy: 'Are you afraid? You
are always afraid' Paul whispers to her. Kline struggles to explain why 'Brando plays such an
impenetrably mercurial role throughout, moving from tenderness to sudden fits of sadistic
and punitive behaviour' (Kline, 1987: 115). Bertolucci, in comparing the eroticism in The
Dreamers and Tango, defines the latter as 'rather deathly' (Fantoni Minnella, 2004: 232). So
while the affirmation that 'the sexual in Bertolucci's Tango is fundamentally political'
(Loshitsky, 1995: 68) may be correct, Paul's dominance nevertheless undermines the political
impact the film intended to deliver. The unbalanced nature of the duo's rapport is made
evident by two sequences, perhaps revealing an awareness of the issue on Bertolucci's part.
In one scene, Jeanne leaves the apartment frustrated at Paul's latest manifestation of egoism;
she meets Tom in the subway and launches an angry tirade at him, accusing him of abusing
her. The outburst is motivated by Paul's behaviour, but the fact that Tom continues to regard
her as an actress, framing Jeanne within an imaginary viewfinder formed by his hands, invites
viewers to infer that Tom is also (ab)using her. Another sequence shows Jeanne's despair at
discovering that Paul has abandoned the apartment, his intention being to re-establish their
relationship on a more unconcealed basis, but without bothering to tell her.
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Bertolucci's affirmation that the encounter between Paul and Jeanne ultimately
embodies 'forces pulling in different directions' like the 'encounter offerees which exists at
the base of all political clashes', the director noting how Jeanne's bourgeois lifestyle is
'upset' (Bachmann, 1973: 93), is not entirely validated by the intellectual implications of
what appears on screen. The narration depicts the bourgeois Jeanne as the one who wants to
believe in Paul's vision of a new, unconventional relationship; it is she who highlights the
hypocrisy of her parents' relationship by questioning her mother about the photo of the
Algerian lover that her father kept in his wallet; it is Jeanne who likens love to 'two workers
who go to a secret apartment, take off their overalls, become man and woman again and make
love', and who seeks a more authentic existence through Tom. By contrast, the decision of
the proletarian Paul 'to re-enter the world' (Kolker, 1985: 138) is depicted as if his retreat
from the world, and the ideological implications of this, had not happened.
Arguably, opinions on the film's ending may differ depending on the gender of the
viewer or critic, since Kolker's affirmation that Jeanne's decision to choose Tom 'signifies
her ultimate betrayal of the passion Paul attempts finally, and too late, to offer to her'
(Kolker, 1985: 135) can be reversed by a female perspective that might view Paul's egoism in
inviting Jeanne to live at the hotel once owned by his wife and where she committed suicide
as a betrayal of Jeanne after she had embraced his idea of a more idealist, non-conformist
lifestyle. This reading of Jeanne's character implies a degree of coherence that is superior to
that of Paul and therefore her character cannot be considered as a representation of the 'hated
bourgeoisie', nor is she a 'mediocre heroine' (Loshitzky, 1995: 22). This is because Jeanne
does not exist in a socio-political context of young politicized, leftist intellectuals, but in a
context of bourgeois youngsters becoming aware of, and reacting against, social constraints.
Therefore, there are many elements in Jeanne's characterization that are intellectually
coherent, and for viewers and critics who are able to look beyond her particular social class,
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the character might be perceived positively for leaving her comfort zone. However, the
following sections will outline how viewer attachments to Jeanne and to the film's other
characters are problematic within the film's overall scheme.
Erasing the viewer's pro-attitude
A pattern emerges in Bertolucci's work where the viewer's nascent affective attachments
towards characters are systematically blocked. After spectators assess whether Paul's life
trajectory and values are compatible with their own value system, whatever this may be, the
narration provokes viewer detachment after the sequence that symbolically concludes Paul's
quest. The sequence resembles one at the beginning of the film, but with Paul and Jeanne in
inverted positions. In the opening sequence, the camera followed a disconsolate Paul, while
Jeanne stared at him as he passed; now it is Paul who passes a disconsolate Jeanne, and stops
to introduce himself using his real identity. This symbolic, circular representation of the end
of Paul's retreat into an alternative existence cues a possible cognitive expectation from
viewers of a positive narrative outcome that might encompass his new self-awareness and
Jeanne's love for him. Instead, Bertolucci dwells on Paul's dominance within the film's
scheme, hi the next sequence viewers witness Paul's mockery of a tango competition - which
functions as a metaphor for society's fakeness - but viewers also have access to Paul's
thoughts, through his voiceover, as he reflects on how in America Jeanne would be
considered a bimbo. And this is how he treats her in dismissing her understandable
reservations about a prospective future at the hotel, and in reacting to her decision to end their
relationship by compelling her to masturbate him under the table, because 'there is something
left to do'. In this long take, which heralds the film's dramatic denouement, Paul's egocentric
dominance, examples of which this chapter has already highlighted, escalates into the worst
form of patriarchal contempt towards the female, and the film's last traces of progressive
liberation evaporate. This inevitably dismays those viewers who had been sensitive to the
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film's earlier discourses regarding the role of the individual within society, and it ultimately
distances viewers emotionally and intellectually from the protagonists' destiny.
The construction of a mood of anxious tension
To portray Paul's powerful ego, Bertolucci cast Marion Brando, who was an icon of
subversive behaviour on and off screen, and whose persona would therefore lend a degree of
authenticity to Paul's criticisms of society. Furthermore, Brando's presence would maximize
the impact on viewers, as their fascination for him as a film legend would guarantee an
interest in his character almost by default. In this respect, some critics have recognized that
Bertolucci used details of Brando's real life and cinematic biography, "a boxer, an actor, a
revolutionary in South America, a reporter in Japan, he hangs about in Tahiti, learns French
then comes to Paris...', as a basis for Paul's troubled past (Socci, 1995: 50-51). To convey the
character's aggression, Brando alternates silences with outbursts of rage; he is repeatedly
filmed in the dark, leaning against a wall while either sitting on the floor or standing in the
corner of a room (a composition reminiscent of those of Giacobbe in Partner), suddenly
emerging from these positions for confrontations with his interlocutor who has to retreat or
succumb. Paul's intolerance of social hypocrisy makes him aggressive towards all the
characters with whom he interacts; at the hotel, after turning off the power, Paul drags his
mother-in-law into the semi-darkness of the hallway, menacingly whispering that he knows
she is afraid of dying. The anxiety generated by this sequence, heightened by the shouting of
the hotel guests, is dissipated as Paul denounces the woman as an 'old whore' who still
enjoys 'the job' now and then. In this regard, certain elements of the scene, such as the
darkness, the protagonist's haranguing of a semi-imaginary diegetic audience, and the
manhandling of a victim, recall the sequence in The Conformist in which Marcello Clerici
denounces his Fascist friend Italo to the people celebrating the end of Fascism.
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Another scene that creates a tense viewing experience occurs in the apartment, when
Jeanne furtively goes through Paul's jacket pockets and finds a razor. In the next shot she is
replaced in the frame by Paul, who takes the razor and a barber's leather strap, before joining
Jeanne in the bathroom. Cognitively, the discovery of a concealed, dangerous artefact is
imbued with sinister narrative potential and emotionally the apprehension cued by the silent
and furtive acting is enhanced by close-ups of the pocket and the protagonists' hands, and by
a high-pitched violin soundtrack. The tension is only eventually released by the argument that
develops between the characters. Consequently, the narrative and aesthetic mechanisms
outlined above militate against any viewer alignment with either the paradigm of male
menace or that of female vulnerability.
To perpetuate the emotions of anxiety and isolation that permeate Tango, occasionally
supplementing them with a sensuality that does not substantially alter the film's mood,
Bertolucci assigns a key role to the film's colours and tones. The hotel's colour scheme is
designed to accentuate Paul's anguish, and evokes the seedy ambience in several hotel
sequences in The Conformist: there is constant darkness around the characters, enhanced by
low key lighting. Many shots present the characters emerging from a totally black backdrop,
or surrounded by nocturnal hues obtained by using blue filters. The general monochrome of
certain scenes is only broken by a splash of colour on some details of the decor. Furthermore,
the montage is based on fade-outs and fade-ins, and this is so recurrent that black may be
considered a colour motif. Yet the film's fascination relies greatly on the strange, secluded
apartment set, as well as on the sophisticated, artificial light sources and filters used for its
mise-en-scene. The apartment's colour scheme is constituted by a limited palette of luminous
orange hues breaking through the darkness of the pervading reddish-brown tonality. This
enhances the characters" naked bodies and underlines the couple's separation from reality.
The orange hues, obtained through a sapient use of filters, allow details such as Paul's facial
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close-ups and the couple's nudity to emerge from the enveloping darkness.
On the use of the colour orange Bertolucci recalls that he and Storaro wanted to
recreate the light of the sun just before sunset, 'when it strikes the windows with its warm
orange rays', whereas Bacon's colours as a source of inspiration are also acknowledged by
Bertolucci as he recalls how he and Storaro even went to an exhibition of the painter's work
that was held in Paris (Ungari, 1982: 117). Moreover, the apartment's symbolic meaning is
hinted at by the whiteness of a sheet, thrown over what viewers can easily envisage as old
furniture. Standing out amidst the dim hues, it is a sad, ghostly remnant of the life that existed
in the apartment before Paul and Jeanne's arrival, thus functioning as a reminder of life's
transience and the precariousness of the human condition. To portray Jeanne's despair at
finding the apartment empty and Paul gone, Bertolucci films her from the back as, falling to
her knees, she pulls down the sheet, finally uncovering the furniture.
The affective charge of the film's sexuality
The film's emotional structure is conditioned by the sexual arousal generated by the depiction
of Paul and Jeanne's intimacy. The natural quality of the depiction is partly attributable to
Bertolucci's explanation that, for him, sexuality is determined 'not so much by your sexual
life, but by your sexual formation as a child' (Quinn, 1977: 106). Bertolucci spent his
childhood in the countryside where 'the discovery of one's sexuality happens early',
(Maraini, 1973:87) probably because children witness the sexual life of animals (Ungari
1982: 14). This detail might account for the director's decision to have the protagonists
imitate animal noises at certain points. As regards the film's visually innovative and intense
sensuality, shot realistically through close-ups, Paul arguably represents the director's alter
ego, impacting upon Jeanne and the film's viewers in a similar way. Like her, viewers are
initially taken by surprise, then constantly kept in suspense, since they soon become aware
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that the quotient of sexuality will escalate. Through Jeanne, viewers oscillate from attraction
- engendered by the mix of passion and tenderness in scenes where she is washed by Paul
while taking a bath - to uneasiness caused by his escalating dominance which is brought to
extremes, initially by the act of sodomy and later by his insolent masturbation request.
The film's representation of sex elicits both a strong fascination and a recognition of
its ideological perspective concerning the necessity of opposing conventional - and therefore
inauthentic - depictions of sexual relationships in film. Maria Schneider, the actress
portraying Jeanne, undertook a challenging role with a mixture of childish spontaneity and
rebelliousness. But due to their young age at the time of filming, a question has to be posed as
to whether the vulnerability of Schneider and, later, Eva Green (Isabel in Tlie Dreamers),
compared with more established actresses, was visually exploited by the director, particularly
in scenes where the camera's graphic representation of them cannot be ascribed to a diegetic
character's POV. This occurs in the scene in which Jeanne is being bathed by Paul, and gets
to her feet for no apparent narrative reason, her body effectively being objectified in the dual
gazes of Paul and the viewer. Another scene, in the apartment's bathroom as the two
protagonists argue, again presents Schneider in a state of undress, viewed through the
camera's medium-long shot and also in the reflection of the bathroom mirror, the actress
positioning herself - or being asked to position herself - frontally before the camera at a
certain point. So while the film can be considered intellectually progressive in its
conceptualization of sexual mores, much of the actual eroticism of its emotional charge is
attributable to a far less progressive objectification and visual consumption of Schneider.
Obstructions of the viewer's cognitive schemata
The narrative context of Last Tango in Paris is introduced but then left undetermined for a
large part of the film, eliciting affective responses appropriate to 'the representation of the
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unfamiliar', (Smith M., 1995: 93). This occurs when restricted narratives stimulate viewers to
engage with the characters on an instinctive, emotional level. The presentation of Paul's
character appears designed to achieve this aim: to create what might be termed a retarded
recognition of the character's attributes and back history, while establishing an immediate
rapport between viewers and the character on an instinctive, emotional level. The film's first
images show Paul as he covers his ears and screams at a train which passes with a deafening
noise. The camera tracks him as he wanders the streets, talking to himself and gesturing in
dismay, his face unshaven and his eyes brimming with tears. This introduction of Paul's
character reflects Smith's discussion of 'those visual representations in which we are denied
all cues aside from those provided by facial expression and bodily posture', which he
considers to be effective in eliciting affective mimicry (Smith M., 1995: 101-102). Films such
as Partner and Tango share this kind of narration, which according to Smith elicits
'sympathetic (and antipathetic) responses towards characters undergoing experiences of
traumatic loss, violation, and self-questioning that few of us will have direct experience of,
and none in the precise configuration put forward by the narrative" (Smith M., 1995: 93-94).
Both films, through an initial emotional channel, elicit a form of imagination and insight from
viewers 'that fosters new perspectives on the social', (Smith M., 1995: 93-94) and an
understanding of societal contexts different from their own.
Although not as cryptic as Partner, Tango also features a restricted narration that
forces spectators to speculate about omitted narrative events, such as Paul and Jeanne's lives
prior to their encounter. The narration follows an internal focalization attached to Paul's
subjectivity and an external focalization attached to the director behind the camera. This is
revealed by the camera being positioned at floor level even when the characters are standing
up, or by other conspicuous positioning such as the high-angle shot that allows a complete
view of the action, as in the sodomization scene. Close-ups are alternated with medium shots
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from peculiar angles, sometimes through glass. The camera movement privileges diagonal
tracking and side panning, whereas the editing is based on spatio-temporal ellipses in terms
of cuts from one interior to another (the apartment, the hotel, Jeanne's house), through the
simple framing of the opening or closing of doors. Regarding this visual framing of doors,
Bertolucci mentions one particular tracking shot, towards an empty door that excludes Paul
and his mother-in-law from the frame during their first encounter, as a re-elaboration of the
cinematic experimentation articulated in Partner (Ungari, 1982: 89). In fact Bertolucci
recognizes Tango as 'the one [of his films] most closely related to Partner', since in Tango
he was finally able to control the cinematic obsessions that dominated him in Partner, here
too he pursued 'research on the use of the camera; an attempt to question the structures of
cinema' (Bachmann, 1973: 96-97). Regarding the effect of these stylistic choices upon the
viewer's cognitive engagement with the film - effects such as spatio-temporal ellipses and
the unorthodox visual marginalizing of characters within the frame - the task of interpreting
the developing action and predicting, as in real life, courses of action and narrative
developments, is complicated.
Engaging viewers with music and parallel mises-en-scene
Another element of Tango's complexity derives from the contrasting mises-en-scene that
depict different facets of the Paul-Jeanne-Tom relationship. The narrative focus moves from
one environment to another, eliciting intellectual comparisons from viewers. In the depictions
of Paul and Jeanne's relationship, narrative time flows in a linear way, continuity being
provided by their regular arrangements to meet. Their meetings connect the film's different
strands and this is made evident by recurrent patterns in the way Jeanne's arrivals at the
apartment are framed: an off-centre view of a suspended walkway leading to the apartment
block and the lock of the apartment door filmed from the inside as she enters. The pattern is
reinforced by the way the main motif of the film's score is aired. Regarding music, Bertolucci
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declared that starting from its title, Tango was the film that gave music a prime role in his
work. Unlike his previous films in which he considered the music to be independent from the
images and in which pre-existing music was used, here he asked the composers to create
music that would follow, precede, or accompany the camera movements to achieve a synergy
or a contrast (Ungari, 1982: 87-89). In Tango music carries 'representational meaning', in
Claudia Gorbman's words, as it consists almost of a single theme (based on a saxophone
piece by Gato Barbieri) played in different nuances connected to specific 'representational
elements' in the film; the theme signals 'the same character, locale, or situation each time it
appears', acting therefore as a marker and creating continuity, and it is also instrumental 'in
the film's dynamic evolution' (Gorbman, 1987: 27). The evocative saxophone sound shapes
the film's mood every time it reintroduces a liaison between Paul and Jeanne, and ultimately
evolves into a grandiose orchestral theme towards the end of the film. Music, as had been the
case in The Conformist, therefore begins to occupy a more pivotal role in the emotional
ambience of Bertolucci's films from this point in his career.
By contrast the simple mise-en-scene that acts as a backdrop to Jeanne and Tom's
relationship appears to emphasize the relatively monotonous emotional mood of the
sequences, which are only occasionally diversified by different shooting locations. Tom, with
his monothematic personality, essentially views his relationship with Jeanne in terms of its
use in his films. Consequently, their relationship receives no narrative stimulus to develop,
remaining repetitive and one-dimensional. This perception is accentuated by a recurring
framing technique; regardless of whether scenes take place in interiors or on location, the first
shot is usually a close-up of Jeanne, or a medium shot of her running somewhere; then Tom
materializes, followed by his troupe who are filming that very scene. Eventually the frame
enlarges to show the whole set. The colours are also uniform and continuous, since the cold
green and grey hues adopted for the interiors merge with those of the Paris landscape, which
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also cue a sense of cold unresponsiveness. The repetition of narrative and technical elements
fosters little expectation of development in the protagonists' lives and therefore very few
stimuli engage viewers either affectively, in terms of fear, anxiety or elation at the characters'
destinies, or cognitively as regards the evolution of events.
The sense of viewer detachment is maintained by Tom's omnipresent troupe, whose
presence keeps viewers aware of the film's self-consciousness regarding the construction of
narrative illusions. This particular mise-en-scene highlights Nouvelle Vague narrative and
stylistic conventions which include the lack of goal-oriented protagonists, loose causal
connections in narrative terms, a 'casual', unplanned atmosphere, location shooting, a mobile
camera, and discontinuous editing. However, Bertolucci's use of this style is so overt that it
betrays a sense of irony. For instance, when the troupe is shooting in the dark, spotlights are
paraded around the set in the same ostentatious way in which huge microphones are regularly
visible in the frame. Consequently, the depiction of Paul and Jeanne's problematic
relationship and intense sexuality, so explicit for this period in cinematic history, presents an
intrinsic genuineness that clashes with the arid style of the sequences that feature Tom. This
use of different cinematic styles represents a statement, on Bertolucci's part, about which
style he intended to embrace. This is confirmed by several assertions he has made over time;
in a 1978 interview he affirmed that Tom was a stark portrayal of the tedious cinephile that
he himself had been (Casetti, 1978: 10). Bertolucci stated that the segments of Tango
focusing on Tom and his perspectives were also a message to his Nouvelle Vague colleagues
exhorting them to move on from that cinematic formula (Casetti, 1995: 9-10). The idea that
has been put forward in my study, that Tango - which was released soon after The
Conformist - embodies Bertolucci's quest for a broader appreciation of his work is
corroborated by an interview given to Gideon Bachmann: 'As far as the public is concerned,
the only sure thing I know is that I seem to be seeking an ever larger one' (Bachmann, 1973:
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96).
Conclusion
Although the director chose a denouement for Last Tango in Pans - Paul proposing marriage
to Jeanne, her refusal, his intimidating stalking of her and Jeanne's violent reaction - which
privileged the element of spectacle in line with classical Hollywood narratives and generated
a dramatic effect, overall it is an ending that generates a sense of anticlimax as it weakens the
film's socio-political perspective. While the ending may reinforce the film's emotional
structure which is founded on anguish and distress, the representation of Paul's escalating
selfish dominance makes the character incongruent with the discourses of personal and social
freedom that have been aired until the film's final sequences, and this creates an unsatisfying
narrative outcome. An open ending would have given the film a clearer position in the
context of contemporary debates regarding the social constraints affecting relationships. In
these terms, Tango typifies a pattern in Bertolucci's films that would cause controversy and
partly invalidate the intellectual resonances in his work. It centres on his occasional tendency
to lose the balance between intellectual rigour and cinematic spectacle, a balance that he
sometimes achieved through articulating pertinent socio-political issues through sophisticated
mises-en-scene and film narration. Nonetheless, as will be reiterated in the conclusion to this
study, Last Tango in Paris remains one of his most influential films.
Notes
1. Casetti. F., (1978) Bertolucci, Florence: La Nuova Italia, p. 83; Loshitzky Y., (1995) The Radical
Faces of Godard and Bertolucci, Detroit: Wayne State University Press, pp. 72-73.
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2. 'Holy family, church of good citizens, where children are tortured until they tell the first lie, the world
is broken in repression and freedom is assassinated by egoism'.
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Quinn, S. (1977) "1900 Has Taken Its Toll on Bernardo Bertolucci", in Gerard, F.S., Kline,
T.J. and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000) Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University
Press of Mississippi.
Sartre, J.P. (1943) 'Being and Nothingness', in Molina F. (1962) Existentialism as
Philosophy, Englewood Cliffs N.J.: Prentice-Hall Inc.
Socci, S. (1996) Bemardo Bertolucci, Milan: II Castoro Cinema.
Ungari, E. (1982) Scene madri di Bernardo Bertolucci (2nd Ed. 1987), Milan: Ubulibri.
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sosnatori I The Dreamers: 1968 Revisited: Replacing the Political with a Cinematic
Education
Released in 2003, I sognatori I The Dreamers was meant to stimulate in the younger
generations the enthusiasm of the students of 1968 who rebelled against the socio-political
situation of the time.(l) Instead the film provoked criticism that centred on the accusation
that it was a personalized and distorted account of the student uprising.(2) The following
analysis of the film partly recognizes the validity of this criticism, positing that The Dreamers
elicits narrative expectations that ultimately remain unfulfilled, in the sense that the narrative
strand outlining the socio-historical ferment in France is effectively closed off after twenty
minutes before being revived during the film's final scenes. The following discussion of the
film's structure indicates how viewers are presented with an intimate narrative strand -
referred to henceforth as the 'second narrative' - which, inscribed within the filmic whole,
redirects their attention towards a discourse on cinema that Bertolucci enunciates by
celebrating masterpieces that have contributed to the history of cinema, and have fuelled the
imagination of audiences and their ability to comprehend different realities. Therefore rather
than being a distorted account of historical events, the film's initial socio-historical context
becomes a frame within which Bertolucci's more personal agenda is articulated.
The film's didactic intent - with regard to imparting the importance of cinema -
springs from observations Bertolucci made in an interview in 1997 about the world being
'less and less educated, thanks to television', which he considered to be 'a great repository of
non-culture', (Nowell-Smith and Halberstadt , 1997: 247) and about the depressing situation
where global interest in movies is based on their commercial success, Bertolucci illustrating
this by comparing the differing destinies of Rouge (1994) from Kieslowski's Three Colours
and Pulp Fiction (1994) by Quentin Tarantino. According to this value system, Bertolucci
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easoned, 'great movies of the past, entire schools of cinema' nowadays 'would be
completely ignored' and he felt that 'something has to be done' (Nowell-Smith and
Halberstadt, 1997: 250-251). In concrete terms, the film that Bertolucci eventually directed
seems to draw on his personal experiences in Paris, where he studied at the Cinematheque
Franqaise in 1959, (Gerard F.S., Kline T.J. and Sklarew B., 2000: XVII) and to evoke
Godard's Histoire(s) du Cinema. However, the following analysis of the film will highlight
how the development of both narratives and the intellectual validity of their discourses are
undermined by the affective charge created by the film's extended and often self-indulgent
depictions of the sexual rites-of-passage of the young protagonists.
Plot summary
The opening credits roll over images of an American student - Matthew - attending the
screening of Hollywood and European films at the Cinematheque in Paris, hi voiceover and
in the past tense he reflects on the excitement experienced by students in discovering the
intimate connection between cinema and life, and the ways in which films clarify intricate
existential questions. The scene switches to the crowds gathered at the university to oppose
the Government's decision to close the Cinematheque and expel its creator, Henri Langlois.
There, Matthew gets to know Isabel and her twin brother Theo, just as a confrontation with
the police starts. With the twins' parents leaving Paris for a holiday, and Matthew staying at
their apartment with them, the focus of the film shifts from the socio-historical events of 1968
towards the intimate narration of their cohabitation. Secluded in the apartment, the trio
distance themselves from the turmoil outside, and spend their days discussing cinema and
politics and exploring their sexuality. Yet when the turmoil in Paris finally bursts into their
life again, Matthew remains faithful to his non-violent beliefs and departs, while the twins
join the barricades to attack at the police, whose uniforms are uncannily modern. This detail
makes the images of the police charge - shot frontally and in digital slow motion - lose their
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sense of temporal definition and assume more contemporary connotations, an effect that hints
at the invariable nature of state repression.(3) The film's sense of history is re-established
through night images of the streets now deserted but still illuminated by burning Molotovs.
The return to Nouvelle Vague style
To depict the vibrant lifestyle of the students of 1968, with a particular focus on the influence
of cinema which, thanks to the Cinematheque, had evolved from mere entertainment into a
more didactic role, Bertolucci draws on elements of Nouvelle Vague style such as location
filming, hand-held camerawork and natural sound, and by adopting a realist aesthetic for the
settings and the actors' performances. Although Matthew's voiceover implies that the
narrative will evolve through his perspective, the overall representation of this early segment
remains neutral up to Isabel's first utterances. Before that, no dialogue takes place except for
the sound of indistinct chatter, no element indicates the beginning of the narrative, and the
camera perspective is that of a non-diegetic presence following Matthew. These stylistic
elements place viewers in the position of observers whose cognitive engagement remains
unactivated, in the sense that the aural-visual information to be processed does not regard the
construction of a story, but rather the reconstruction of an ambience characterized by cultural
and political ferment. These elements underpin the film's early stages, manifesting
themselves via the intensity with which the 1968 generation experienced cinema as an art
form that questioned society, identifying its covert tendencies towards violence and
oppression. Fereydoun Hoveyda, a co-founder of the journal Cahiers du Cinema, (Hoveyda
F., 2000: x) recalls the director Edward Zwick saying that his generation used to return 'to the
dorm for hour upon hour of cigarette-hazed conversations' about the films they viewed
because they challenged individuals 'to look at (their) lives, politics and society' (Hoveyda
F., 2000: 111). In The Dreamers this Zeitgeist is evocatively depicted when the camera roams
the darkness of the Cinematheque until it locates the origin of the luminous blue beam, tracks
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it towards the images being splashed on the screen, and turns back to the darkness, panning
along the young spectators who - enveloped in a 'cigarette-hazed' silence - are absorbed in
disquieting films about social injustice in France and the USA.
The viewers' impression of watching a reconstruction of history is reinforced by the
staged re-enactment of the political confrontation being intercut with documentary footage
from 1968. In some cases fictive images and footage are edited in a way that gestures
initiated by fictional characters are completed by real people in the footage. By this use of
archive clips Bertolucci implies that his portrayal of events is interchangeable with archive
material in terms of socio-historical veracity, and therefore the archive clips confirm the
positioning of viewers in the role of observers, as they function as markers of the real world.
The narrative remains fragmentated, as if Bertolucci assumed that viewers shared an
understanding of how the revolutionary component within the cultural ferment was rapidly
identified and opposed by the state. That the film's mise-en-scene was based on authentic
audiovisual references to 1968 primarily to evoke the period's socio-political ferment, is
corroborated by one of Bertolucci's statements, namely that 'the film's meaning resided in
the attempt to re-capture and recount, above all to the present young generations, [...] the
spirit of that period'.(4) Indeed, in affective terms, this segment of the film appears designed
to elicit curiosity or nostalgia, according to the age of individual viewers.
With the twins' parents leaving for a holiday and Matthew staying at the apartment, a
shift in the film's narrative occurs that disorients viewers' cognitive expectations, as it
abandons the unfolding of events connected to the students' rebellion and redirects the
viewers' focus of attention towards the secluded set of the apartment. The shift in the
narrative is accompanied by a shift in theme which, from the political, changes into the
cinematic, with an emphasis on the fascination and the pedagogical role of cinema. This is
carried out by means of character dialogues - that at times assume the form of debates -
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integrated with a beguiling technique that uses insertions of clips from European and
American black and white movies soon after the characters mention them.(5) This technique
evokes Godard's use of images in direct reference to utterances by characters in his film La
Chinoise. The twofold function of the dialogues combined with the insertion of clips - that of
didacticism and evocation - also evokes Godard's own project Histoire(s) du cinema; this
originated as a collaboration with Henri Langlois, the founder of the Cinematheque, and is an
oeuvre composed of hundreds of images from different films (Morrey 2005: 220). In Die
Dreamers the film clips are also the object of a quiz played by the characters, and their
insertion implies an appeal on Bertolucci's part to the sensibilities and intellect of a cinephile
viewer, possibly of the director's own generation. The clips activate viewers' attention or
memory - according to their age - and constitute something of a cognitive/intellectual game
between the director and cognizant viewers regarding the ways in which clips will be worked
into the developing narrative. Typical of this strategy is Theo's question about the film in
which a cross formed by lighting indicates a murder spot (Scarface, 1949); the few seconds'
interval between the formulation of the question and the screening of the clip serves to set in
motion viewers' participation in the game.
Contrasting intellectual perspectives
The dominance of the cinematic discourse in the second narrative explains the director's
decision to depict the student uprising from a cinematic perspective - the closure of the
Cinematheque - rather than from the more renowned standpoints of the time: the Vietnam
War or the sexual revolution. This approach also suggests the presence of (auto)biographical
elements in the narrative, and that the personal/cinematic will be an influential filter for the
developing action; and it is possible to argue that the dialogue in general, and sometimes the
character of Matthew in particular, reflects Bertolucci's own perspectives. The first clue that
Matthew might embody Bertolucci's personal experience is given during the opening credits
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when, in voiceover, he recollects: 'I received my education here. All directors of the Nouvelle
Vague used to come to the Cinematheque to learn the profession. Modern cinema was bom
here. It was our private Cultural Revolution'. A few sequences later the dialogue between
Theo and Matthew concerns films by Nicholas Ray, with an explicit mention of Godard, as
his statement 'Nicholas Ray is cinema' is quoted. Their different preferences concerning
Ray's best films (In a Lonely Place (1950) for Theo and Johnny Guitar (1954), Rebel
Without a Cause (1955) for Matthew) set the tone for the cinematic debate that informs the
dialogue of The Dreamers, which is used by Bertolucci to air some of his sharpest
judgements. For example, with regard to the characters' different evaluations of Buster
Keaton's and Charlie Chaplin's works, Bertolucci gives Theo a line in which he rebukes
Matthew's preference for Chaplin, Theo saying that it is no surprise that Americans do not
understand a thing about their own culture and that they did not understand Jerry Lewis. The
initial impression regarding this line is that it might imply the director's residual bitterness
about the American reception of his films, but this gives way to an impression of witnessing a
personal, distanced form of communication with Godard, set up by Bertolucci through the
characters representing their different personae.
Three further elements of dialogue seem to juxtapose Bertolucci's and Godard's
cinematic and political perspectives, as well as established critical interpretations of their
work. In chronological order, there is the scene in the bath tub, during which Matthew speaks
about the film-maker as a voyeur spying through the keyhole of his parents" bedroom, to
which Theo sardonically comments that he'll have to say goodbye to his dreams of becoming
a director because his parents always used to leave their bedroom door open; it is an
exchange that contains considerable self-irony on Bertolucci's part, given the role of
psychoanalysis in his own life and in much scholarship on his films. The second sequence
concerns the issue of Maoism that divided Bertolucci and Godard. Theo suggests that Mao
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should be conceived as a film-maker making an epic movie, which, using culture as a
weapon, depicts the people's liberating march; Matthew, instead, is critical about culture
being constituted by a single book, noting dryly that the Red Guards all carry the same book
and sing the same song, and that everybody, in this 'epic film', is just an extra. This is a
discernible political/intellectual perspective in Bertolucci's work and it also emerges, I will
argue, in The Last Emperor. In another sequence of Tlie Dreamers there is an overt
accusation of elitism; Matthew tells Theo that if he really believed in the revolution he would
be out in the street, not secluded in the apartment, talking about Mao while drinking
expensive wines. Matthew finishes his attack by asserting that Theo conceives of the word
'together' as not meaning a million people, but 'two or three'. This concept of not being 'out
in the street' and connecting with people evokes a comment by Douglas Morrey, who links
the unsatisfactory destiny of the Dziga Vertov collective films - which were commissioned
by European television companies but then ultimately given broadcast slots during the night -
to Steve Cannon's observation that 'there is something a little perverse about this apparent
refusal to make films in France during what was a time [1968] of real revolutionary ferment
and political possibility' (Morrey 2005: 91). The content and tone of these dialogues elicits
the viewer's intellectual awareness of the extra-diegetic presence of the real-world author, an
awareness even perhaps experienced by viewers unfamiliar with Bertolucci's career; the
dialogue is endowed with a degree of historical awareness and clarity that is inconsistent with
the protagonists' young age, and also with the chaotic state of flux of the contemporary socio­
political situation.
Further correspondences with La Chinoise
Besides the repeated insertion of clips. The Dreamers evokes other elements of La Chinoise;
in particular the theme of youngsters debating politics (although in The Dreamers cinematic
issues largely replace political questions) while secluded in a bourgeois apartment belonging
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to one of the character's parents and living at their expense. If this safe, comfortable location
has led critics of La Chinoise to affirm that it creates 'an irresistible sense of young people
playing at polities' (Morrey, 2005: 54) in The Dreamers it is the response of the twins'
parents to the situation that they encounter after returning to the flat - looks of surprise and
then the decision to leave a cheque so that the youngsters' experience can be bankrolled a
little longer - that elicits ironic humour. Compared with La Chinoise, the characters in
Bertolucci's film are given a more serious attitudinal perspective, especially Theo, who is
constantly depicted reading from books like his counterpart Guillaume in La Chinoise, even
the same passage from Mao's Little Red Book.
The youngsters' disconnection from the external world - which, in La Chinoise, is
symbolized by the prolonged ringing of the doorbell that goes unanswered is reflected in
The Dreamers by mute TV pictures of street riots. These images cue a strong sense of
remoteness, both in spatial terms within the diegesis, and in temporal terms with respect to
their portrayal in a 21 st century film project like The Dreamers; consequently, this increases
the viewers' perception of the extent to which the initial socio-political narrative has been
sidetracked. Even one of the provocative depictions of sexuality within The Dreamers, a
theme to be discussed shortly, seems to be connected with a scene from La Chinoise,
reversing, in the process, the wholly cerebral relationship between the French characters in
Godard's film, a mentality which resembles the ascetic attitude of the terrorists in The
Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man. The sequence depicting Guillaume as he moistens with saliva
an arrow he is about to fire at a wall covered with pictures of famous historical characters
who are considered to be revisionists, watched by Veronique who stands behind him, is
transmuted into Theo's act of masturbation against the wall where a poster of Marlene
Dietrich is attached, watched by Isabel behind him. However, the naive atmosphere generated
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y the scene in Godard's film is transformed by Bertolucci into an atmosphere of voyeurism
that engenders an uneasy viewing experience.
In tracing these links to Godard's personality and films, a question emerges: in this
context, who or what does Isabel's character represent? Considering that in the intricate game
of cinematic citations set in motion by Bertolucci, she compares herself to Patricia, the
protagonist of A bout de souffle, one answer might be that she represents cinema, the
cinematic muse, or the spirit of cinema, as seen by Bertolucci, who has always considered
that Godard's debut film heralded a new form of cinema. Therefore, metaphorically, the
relationship between Isabel and Matthew - if Matthew becomes a cypher for Bertolucci and
Theo a Godardian figure - could be read as Bertolucci's acknowledgment that although he
has mastered, and enjoyed mastering, the art of film-making, the spirit of cinema has always
ultimately been possessed by Godard, remaining with him. hi the world of the film this
interpretation is implied in the exchange between Matthew and Isabel, the former
commenting that 'he [Theo] has never been inside you', Isabel replying 'he is always inside
me'. This inseparable complicity is also implied in the film's last sequence when Isabel opts
to stay with Theo in joining the student rebellion. The reading of an (auto)biographical
element within the trio's relationship makes for interesting forms of interplay between the
emotional and the intellectual for viewers and critics who give credence to this hypothesis.
The plausible intellectual basis for this interpretation, together with the way the film cues
empathy from viewers towards Matthew via his intermittent voiceover and the frequent
reaction shots of him, creates a poignant resonance that is both affective and intellectual on
account of Matthew/Bertolucci's genuine feeling for both Isabel/the spirit of cinema and
Theo/Godard that culminates in immense sadness as the trio finally separate, but also in
profound respect on the part of Matthew/Bertolucci for Theo/Godard's choice to embrace
political and artistic radicalism.
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Sexuality and shifts of subjectivity
The narration of the second narrative within The Dreamers often appears overwhelmed by its
eroticism, and further convoluted by the twins' incestuous relationship. This eroticism
constitutes a frame that diverts viewers' attention from the film's intellectual theses to what
appears to be a visual fixation with graphic sexuality. From this perspective the narration
assumes a subjective quality, facilitating a cognitive identification between the viewer and
Matthew based on the recognition of erotic gratification and social acceptance as the values
motivating his conduct (Grodal, 1997: 87). This makes viewers empathize with his erotic
desire for Isabel and his enjoyment of the new friendship that has vanquished his solitude,
and it is supplemented by the emotional attachment to the character discussed above.
However because Matthew is not a source of narrative impetus, but rather the object of the
other two protagonists' whims, the identification with him shapes the viewers' experience of
the diegetic events, as they never know what is coming next as regards the initiatives that
Theo and Isabel put to him. Consequently, viewers feel Matthew's disorientation at
discovering Theo and Isabel's incestuous relationship and they relate to his erotic
gratification and the misery deriving from his frequent exclusion from the twins" bond.
But ambiguity is cast on this identification structure by recurring camera viewpoints
that produce shifts in perspective regarding narrative events. An external perceptual
'presence' assumes an increasing importance, acting as a filter through which narrative
events are viewed and distorted. The effect occurs both when the camera perspective
functions as a 'third eye' or omniscient narrator, and also when it surreptitiously replaces a
character's viewpoint, especially during sexual scenes. Central to this strategy are mobile
camera movements which roam the apartment, allowing viewers to know what the characters
are doing at any moment. This occurs after Isabel's hysterical reaction to Theo's sexual
rapport with another girl. The camera movement starts from the centre of Isabel's bedroom,
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lingering on her as she lies asleep on the bed; then the camera guides viewers into Theo's
room where it finds him on the bed, reading aloud a passage from Mao's Little Red Book.
Again, the camera leaves Theo and seeks Matthew who is spotted from the corridor as he
does exercises in his room. Here, the mobile frame provides viewers with a complete and
simultaneous understanding of the trio's different responses to Theo sanctioning his sexual
independence: Isabel's inability to accept it, Theo's melancholy awareness of a lost
happiness, and Matthew's frustration at his own sentimental defeat. However, although this
third eye allows viewers to explore the fictive world without the mediation of diegetic
characters, it is not neutral. In focusing on the characters' love pains, it seems to take as a
given Isabel and Theo's disturbing bond, which, by contrast, may remain an unresolved issue
at the back of most viewers" minds, given the difficulty of integrating it within the schemes
of human behaviour (Branigan, 1992: 27). This unease is likely to vitiate the director's
attempts to elicit compassion for the trio via this palpably 'humane' camera gaze, and this
disquiet may distance viewers from wanting to engage with the characters' destinies - an
outcome reflecting the viewing experience in La hma.
Several sex scenes present a cinematic technique consisting of an initial perspective
through a character's point of view, which is subtly replaced by a non-aligned camera
perspective. In this respect, one particular sequence is emblematic. It is set in the kitchen,
with Theo immobilizing Matthew and Isabel removing his clothing while making sarcastic
comments. The exposure of Matthew's genitals is initially shot from a perspective that is
closest to Theo's, but because Theo's head is visible in profile, the perspective does not
belong to a diegetic character. A change of position brings the camera towards Isabel's visual
field, but again, the perspective is such that the close-up of Matthew's penis is slightly
angled, while a POV shot from Isabel's perspective would have entailed a frontal, straight-on
shot. The angled view, unattached to any protagonist, results in a fragmented image of male
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nudity, commodified on to celluloid. Again, the shot is anything but 'neutral', its tangible
voyeurism making viewers into accomplices in Matthew's ordeal, and inducing an affective
response which may switch from arousal to unease as a result of the shot's increasing
gratuitousness.
The sexual exploration in the secluded apartment represents a self-referential element,
evoking Paul and Jeanne's situation in Last Tango in Paris and that of Kit and the Tuareg
Mustafa in Tire Sheltering Sky. These analogies, founded on Bertolucci's depiction of
passionate, profound sexual fulfilment, are continually linked to seclusion, a suspension of
time, and detachment from everyday life. This condition finds theoretical corroboration in
Sasha Weitman's analysis of erotic sexuality in everyday life, which is 'constituted as a
separate, distinct reality', a phenomenon which is 'largely a social construction' in terms of
being deliberately set apart in time, segregated in space, somewhat staged with drawn
curtains, dimmed lights and sexy clothes, and sometimes 'aided by the intake of mood-
altering substances" (Weitman, 1999: 74-75). The narrative shift from external event towards
internal intimacy in The Dreamers certainly depicts a reality separated from everyday life,
and presents the elements listed by Weitman. The sense of clock time dissolves at the twins'
parents' departure, and this removes any familial/societal obligation for the trio. The mute
television images of the political conflict outside merely increase the impression of
remoteness. The film's pace slows, the dialogue becoming totally self-referential to the trio's
intimate experiences in the apartment where they seclude themselves. Striking costumes and
decor are designed to enhance their sexual arousal, whereas stylized red and green filtered
lighting hints at an altered, desire-driven state of consciousness.
This detachment from the street confrontations redirects the modal quality of the
film's reception, as it transforms the tense - in terms of telic action - into the intense, by
replacing the social body with the erotic body. This might be read as the director's personal
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strategy to protect the three protagonists (and ultimately himself) from the harshness of real
life. This is a condition already depicted in Tango where Paul is saved from his own
destructive desperation after his wife's suicide, and in The Sheltering Sky where Kit - as I
will discuss later - is protected against self-abandonment and annihilation after her husband's
death. This process reflects Weitman's consideration that sexual pleasure entails "experiences
of erotic inclusion' in which lovers cease to feel isolated 'in a largely indifferent [...] or
hostile world' (Weitman, 1999: 85). Viewers are easily aligned with all three characters'
desires and uncertainty, and although there may be intellectual frustration at the way the
narrative disconnects itself from its socio-historical context, it is likely that most viewers'
emotional and cognitive engagement with the narrative will converge into a desire for the
characters to attain a sense of harmonious fulfilment.
The incongruousness of decadent style
Cas Wouters' analysis of the evolution of human relationships since the 1960s' sexual
revolution indicates how, in the 1960s, 'for the first time, women themselves actively took
part in public discussions about their carnal desires and a more satisfactory relationship', and
how the 'emancipation of women ran in tandem with changes in public morality as well as in
individuals' codes and ideals regarding love and sex' (Wouters, 1999: 188). By contrast, in
The Dreamers, the protagonists' sexual experimentation is characterized by a secluded
bourgeois 'privacy' in the cavernous apartment which is nevertheless rendered claustrophobic
by the way Bertolucci frames the protagonists within it. Combined with the elements of
incest implied in the narrative, this depiction is arguably inappropriate for the social context
of the late 1960s, and is partly responsible for the film being perceived as unconnected to real
events. This conceptual dissonance extends to the mise-en-scene, which casts an aura of
decadence on the visual experience. Above all, the potentially arousing qualities of the film's
sexual sequences are frequently transmuted into uneasiness, as they reflect John Reed's
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notion that 'Decadence cultivates a fastidious affection for the disreputable' and that it
'stresses the interrelationship of virtue and vice, beauty and ugliness' (Reed, 1985: 14). The
scenes are often lugubrious, closer to a morbid adult maturity than to the exuberance of
inexperienced youth.
The sequence of Theo masturbating before a poster of Marlene Dietrich while being
watched by Matthew and Isabel exemplifies this contrived prurience. The characters'
positioning, with Theo distanced from Isabel and Matthew, creates a performance space
characterized by separation and silence, this being interrupted only by the noise of the
physical act. Contemporary 1960s values of spontaneity, collectivity and interaction are
absent, and the scene evokes a sense of oppression with Theo perceived as a victim of a
demeaning forfeit rather than the protagonist of a provocative gesture to dispel any lingering
inhibitions. In a suitably gratuitous epilogue to the scene, Isabel runs her fingertips over her
brother's sperm which is splashed over the poster. A similar impression evolves as Isabel is
deflowered by Matthew on the kitchen floor in the presence of Theo, who is portrayed
nonchalantly frying eggs nearby. Echoing the way Isabel explored the texture of his sperm,
Theo kneels to touch his sister's vaginal discharge, a gesture which is repeated by an
astonished Matthew, before he embraces Isabel and weeps with her. Here too the scene's
composition, combined with the verbal silence and the calculatedly slow pace of the take,
removes any hint of romantic love or joyfulness, while generating a disconcerting sense of
objectification rather than sensual satisfaction. These examples, together with the
idiosyncratic camerawork discussed earlier, establish the presence of a subjectivity that has
little in common with youthful exuberance, and they open up a range of considerations that
go beyond questions of aesthetics. Paradoxically, in a film that purports to depict an era
characterized by a progressive liberation of the individual, many of it sequences hint at a
more exploitative dynamic at its point of production. Perhaps the visual excess in T\ie
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Dreamers is unsurprising, given the considerable difference in status between an influential,
established director and three young, unknown actors.
In the same way, decadence pervades the decor, the costumes, and even the bodies of
the actors, often intertwined in positions that evoke those of models positioned by a sculptor.
These elements create an effect of studied stylization - a form of (re)production emanating
from an artistic consciousness rather than a mimetic evocation of Paris in 1968. Regarding
the choice of costume in certain sequences, the kimonos worn by Matthew and Theo are
emblematic. Wearing a black silk kimono himself, Theo offers Matthew a kimono with a
feminine, flowered pattern; even allowing for the frisson of bisexual eroticism hinted at in
these scenes, these touches have more in common with decadent bourgeois aesthetics than
with the apparel of the rebellious youngsters of 1968, whose fashions - to say the least - were
informal and basic. It is significant that in The Conformist, the abductor Lino offers his
victims a Japanese kimono; the inference is that for Bertolucci, these costumes, gestures, and
decor possess a personal significance connected with a loss of innocence, and that these
components emerge in what are arguably cinematic re-enactments of these fantasies.
Conclusion
For viewers familiar with Bertoluccrs work, The Dreamers can be compared to an individual
returning to a key location in one's life, as the film contains most of the themes and
influences regarding cinema and politics that have emerged in his career. The film is
characterized by a neophyte's enthusiasm for cinema's technical and visual power, as well as
for its role in enabling humans to understand reality. In this sense the Nouvelle Vague
influence and the culture of the Cinematheque is tangible in the film. Stylistically, Jlte
Dreamers typifies Bertolucci's hybrid approach in which realism and sophisticated filmic
techniques merge to create an art form that is affectively fascinating and intellectually
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engaging. Unfortunately the core of the second narrative is antithetical to the vibrant,
nonconformist nature of the 1968 students' movement, and this is mainly responsible for the
uneasy confluence of value systems that characterizes the film, and for the sense of
disappointment for those spectators who were attracted to the film for its socio-historical
premise.
Notes
1. On July 11 th 2002, during filming, the film's producer Jeremy Thomas told journalists: 'Despite what has
been said so far, The Dreamers is not a film about the barricades in 1968 Paris, but it is about the youthful
idealism that inspired them'. From the article 'Bertolucci torna a Parigi con The Dreamers' -
www.kataweb.it/cinema/cerca.jsp?textfields=the+dreamers&select=anicoli . In an interview by Vittorio
Renzi on October 12th 2003, Bertolucci affirmed: The film particularly addresses the youngsters who were
not yet born [...] I wished to create a contaminating effect and tell them that if it was right to rebel at that
time, it is still right nowadays', www.cineclick.it/recensioni/archivi/dreamers.asp
2. On October 19th 2003, in // Sole 24Ore, Luigi Paini praised the authentic depiction of the Cinematheque
battle but then criticized the film through a series of rhetorical questions: 'And afterwards? What happens
after that? Why, little by little, do we not feel involved anymore? [...] It happens that Bertolucci does not
have much left to say [...] He has made a great effort in those initial sequences, and now he has only an
empty story to tell". A more scathing review was written by Goffredo Fofi, in the 23 rd October 2003 edition
of Panorama. 'They dream very little, the three protagonists of this film [...] Bertolucci seems to have no
real interest in the events, but a strong one in psychoanalysis tailored to his own benefit [...] The Dreamers
offers a version of the events suitably and opportunistically undermined. Politics and youthful revolution
have very little to do with the film' www.mymovies.it/recensioni/?id=34652
3. In 'Incontro con Bernardo Bertolucci con interventi di Gilbert Adair', edited by Luciana Morelli and
published on October 7th 2003, Bertolucci was asked what linked the film to the present and he specifically
mentioned the scene of the police attack. 'I slowed down [the scene] by a digital technique, I would have to
extend it up to the time of Genoa 2001. This is the umbilical cord existing between the present and the past
that I wanted to be perceived in the film' [Online] available at ww\v.cinefile.biz /dreamcs.htm [March 2004]
4. In the interview 'Bertolucci, il sognatore' of the 18 th of September 2002, Bertolucci affirmed: 'The meaning
of the film is its attempt to recapture and recount, above all to the young generations of today who know
nothing about '68, which for us is extraordinary, the spirit of that time.'
www.kataweb.it/cinema/cerca.isp?textfield=the+dreamers&select=articoli.
5. C/rv Lights, (1931) by Charles Chaplin, Charles Chaplin Productions; Freaks, (1932) by Tod Browning,
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM); Bande apart, (1964) by J.L. Godard, Columbia Films, Anouchka Films.
Full list at http://www.imdb.com/title/tt039987/movieconnections .
177

References
Bertolucci, B. (2002) 'Bertolucci il sognatore', [Online] available:
www.kataweb.it/cinema/cerca.isp?texfields=the+dreamers&select=articoli [March 2004].
Fofi, G. (2003) review in Panorama, October 23rd 2003, [Online] available:
www.mvmovies.it/recensioni/?id.+34652 [March 2004].
Gerard, F.S., Kline, T.J. and Sklarew, B. (ed.), (2000) Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews,
Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.
Hoveyda, F. (2000) The Hidden Meaning of Mass Communications Cinema, Books, and
Television in the Age of Computers, Westport: Praeger Publishers.
Morelli, L. (ed.) (2003) 'Incontro con Bernardo Bertolucci', [Online] available:
www.cinefile.biz/dreamcs.htm [March 2004].
Nowell-Smith, G. and Halberstadt, I. (1977) 'Interview with Bernardo Bertolucci', in Gerard,
F.S., Kline, T.J., and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000) Bernardo Bertolucci Inteniews, Jackson:
University Press of Mississippi.
Paini, L. (2003) review in // Sole 24 Ore, October 19th 2003, [Online] available:
www.mvmovies.it/recensioni/?id.+34652 [March 2004].
Reed, J. (1985) Decadent Style, Ohio: Ohio University Press.
Renzi, V. (2003) 'Intervista a Bernardo Bertolucci', [Online] available:
www.cineclick.it/recensioni/archivi/dreamers.asp [March 2004].
Thomas, J. (2002) 'Bertolucci torna a Parigi con TJie Dreamers', [Online] available:
www.kataweb.it/cinema/cerca.isp?textfields+the+dreamers&select+articoli [March 2004].
Weitman, S. (1999) 'On the Elementary Forms of the Socioerotic Life\ in Featherston, M.
(ed.) Love and Eroticism, London: Sage Publications.
Wouters, C. (1999) 'Balancing Sex and Love since the '60s Sexual Revolution', in
Featherston M. (ed.) Love and Eroticism, London: Sage Publications.
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Section Three: Between History and Nostalgia
// Conformista/The Conformist (1970), Novecento/1900 (1976).
These films represent two key points in Bertolucci's career. The Conformist marked a shift of
orientation in Bertolucci's work, the director seeking to amalgamate authorial elements
within film-making as a visual spectacle; 1900 marked his desire to break into the American
market after the acclaim of Last Tango in Paris. Both films therefore involved a change in
the nature and in the scale of the audience to be addressed, but they retain Bertolucci's
propensity for complex narrative construction, sophisticated mise-en-scene, and intellectual
cross-references. These characteristics, and the sheer length of 1900, make it difficult to
categorize these films as 'commercial'; instead their nature lends weight to Bertolucci's
declaration that he had wanted to infiltrate the cinematic 'system' in order to combine the
best traditions of Hollywood film-making with auteur cinema (Mirabella-Pitiot 1991: 42).
Critics have already described the distribution saga of 1900 (Kolker 1985: 73-75); in the
following chapter, I will only highlight how the conduct of the producer, Alberto Grimaldi,
appeared to be incongruous with his role of acting on behalf of the American Majors, which
seemed to be unaware of fundamental information about the film, such as its length, until the
film's screening at Cannes.
Most critical analyses of the two films have traced several points of contact, starting
from their narratives which portray Italy's Fascist period. This historical frame - which is
added to in The Conformist by the presence of film noir conventions that alert viewers to their
conscious use by Bertolucci - is instrumental in distancing viewers from the ongoing action
by eliciting continuous intellectual and memory associations that shape the viewing
experience by creating the saturated modal qualities referred to by Grodal (Grodal, 1997:
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178-180). Yet the way the events are depicted relies on a subjective evocation of history,
rather than on an objective representation, both films featuring narrations constructed
according to the codes of nostalgia films, which are deployed in The Conformist through the
glossy, evocative quality of the images in segments of the film, and in 1900 through
references to paintings of the time. In addition, the peculiar construction of the scenes of
violence creates a dreamlike effect that blurs their reality status. This stylistic choice endows
the films with an intense quality, due to the vivid sensations that they elicit. Additionally, the
films present emotion structures based on general moods that envelop viewers from
beginning to end, being achieved mainly through colour schemes and lighting. In this respect,
Bertolucci's comments about the construction of 1900 being linked to a four season colour
scheme explain the stylistic choices that shaped it. In general, however, the emotions
engendered by the films tend to be predicated on the depiction of landscapes or situations,
and rarely on identification with the characters, towards whom the viewer's lack of allegiance
is significant when compared with the prolonged alignment that viewers often have with the
films' key figures. The films restrict the viewer's cognitive activity of elaborating
hypotheses; The Conformist, presents a retarded and distributed narrative - according to the
film's reconfiguration of American and French noir conventions. A predominance of
paratelic qualities characterizes 1900, given that the viewer's supposed pre-existing
knowledge of the film's historical subject matter makes the narrative a process of displaying
events rather than unfolding them in a process of disclosure.
References
Kolker, R. P. (1985) Bernardo Bertolucci, London: BFI Publishing.
Mirabella, JC. and Pitiot, P. (1991) Intervista a Bernardo Bertolucci, Rome: Gremese
Editore.
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II conformista/The Conformist: The Foundation of Bertolucci^s Theoretical 'Third Way'
In 1970, as well as The Spider's Stratagem, Bertolucci released // Conformista / The
Conformist which represents his first complete attempt to blend Classic Hollywood
conventions with European auteur cinema. In this sense it represents a turning point in his
conception of film-making, a shift in orientation generated by his forced reassessment of his
artistic perspectives after the failure of Partner, In this respect Bertolucci himself stated:
'Perhaps part of my process of liberation was the acceptance of the fact that I had always
wanted to create a spettacolo [...] with The Conformist I really accepted the role of author of
story films' (Bachmann, 1973: 96). With regard to financing the film, asked if he had a
'guilty conscience' in accepting American money - something that Godard was refusing at
that time - Bertolucci denied it, but admitted his unease at the contradictions that arose from
the need for finance in cinema, a problem that was difficult to resolve. He praised Godard's
viewpoint, but stated that this was not the only valid stance to take; in his view Godard's
choice was due to not wanting to be a leader any more (Goldin, 1972: 66). On Bertolucci's
high regard for Godard, there is a significant anecdote about their meeting after the premiere
of The Conformist in Paris, at a more mundane venue, a 'drugstore in St. Germain' where
Godard had asked Bertolucci to meet him. But Godard - Bertolucci recounts - only stopped
for a second to give him a picture of Mao on which he had written 'II Faut Lutter Contre
L'Egoisme et L'lmperialisme' (Ungari, 1982: 237). While Bertolucci did not subscribe to this
tendency to sanctify Mao and to turn one's support for Maoism into blind faith, (Ungari,
1982:237) the fact that he willingly met with Godard, being interested to hear his opinion of
The Conformist, problematizes the critical writing that has sought to demonstrate that, for
Bertolucci, the film marked the point at which he ceased to consider Godard as his cinematic
mentor, these assertions usually being based on elements such as Bertolucci using Godard's
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eal Paris address in the film as the address of Prof. Quadri, a mentor who is ultimately
liquidated (Socci, 1995: 8).
The Conformist and the legacy of French and American film noir
With regard to the structure and aesthetics of The Conformist, Bertolucci's new approach to
film-making focused on the legacy of film noir. Although elements of noir have already been
traced in The Grim Reaper, and the structure of 77?? Spider's Strategem demonstrated
Bertolucci's knowledge of detective movie conventions, the use of noir themes and visuals in
The Conformist to portray the Fascist epoch - with ambiguity, decadence, and violence as its
defining characteristics - suggests that Bertolucci's choice of style for the film was well
motivated. The effectiveness of noir's content and form in representing the individual's
alienation from an increasingly oppressive and cynical societal structure was ideal for
expressing the Fascist regime's covert menace and its impact on individuals. In addition, the
simmering sexuality permeating noir linked well with the repressed passions of the bourgeois
characters in The Conformist and also functioned as a launching pad for the increasingly
daring representations of sexuality in Bertolucci's later work.
Analysing the differences between Stratagem and TJie Conformist, Bertolucci
indicates that while Stratagem draws on his real-life memories, the origins of Tlie Conformist
lie in 'the French and American cinema of the 30s" (Ungari, 1982: 71). Ginette Vincendeau
has traced in the French poetic-realist films of the 1930s many of what came to be recognized
stylistic features of noir, (Vincendeau, 2007: 26) and has suggested that some continuity from
French to American noir can be traced in the work of those 'prominent emigres', such as
Fritz Lang and Max Ophuls, who worked in France on their way to Hollywood (Vincendeau,
2007: 27). For this chapter's purposes, some analogies emerge between Jean Renoir's La
Bete Humaine/The Human Beast/Judas was a Woman (1938) and The Conformist, in relation
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to the female protagonists Severine and Giulia (Marcello Clerici's wife). They both allow
wealthy, older men, linked to their families, to seduce them; a train journey constitutes a
turning point in the stories, during which Severine is forced to witness the assassination of a
man by her husband's hand, whereas Giulia confesses the affair to her husband, who - in
accordance with the cynicism permeating the film - reverses jealousy into a perverse
eagerness to re-enact the intimacy enjoyed by Giulia's older lover.
Julien Duvivier^s Pepe le Moko (1937) can also be considered as a possible influence,
particularly for its use of lighting that creates striking interplay between darkness and
shadows, combined with unconventional camera angles, techniques that, in The Conformist,
become an important motif in the mise-en-scene. As regards potential influence from
American noir, The Conformist perhaps relies on more codified visual traits, such as colour
schemes, lighting, disorienting visual effects, and the use of flashbacks as a structural
component; it has something in common with American noir'?, construction of a male
protagonist who is not fighting against an adverse social environment as epitomized by Jean
Gabin's roles, but who is driven by fate, and characterized by an ambiguous, violent attitude.
The Conformist shares another similarity with American noir for its incorporation of the
figure of the femme fatale into its narrative, an element which is absent from French noir on
account of many female characters being 'too marginal to qualify for the label of femme
fatale' (Vincendeau, 2007: 26) or 'too vulgar" (Vincendeau, 2007: 34). Consequently, Tlie
Conformist presents numerous artistic nuances with the potential to elicit intellectual
recognition and engagement from sections of its audience familiar with key features and
tenets of European and American noir.
Earlier critical writing on The Confomnst has identified several noir strands within it,
Barbara Creed highlighting the film's development of the figure of i\\e femme fatale, (Creed,
1993: 407) while James Naremore considered that Polanski's noirish Chinatown (1974) had
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een 'to some degree inspired by Bertolucci's Conformist' (Naremore, 1998: 206). By
contrast it does not appear in Mary Wood's survey of Italian film noir, the critic mentioning
instead The Grim Reaper for the final scene set in the dance hall (Wood, 2007: 249). Wood
introduces her analysis by highlighting the difficulty of discussing noir in an Italian context,
given that the term giallo defines an established tradition of crime stories, and has become so
broad that it is often accompanied by an adjective, such as giallo erotica, giallo politico
(Wood, 2007: 236). Wood's view that 'noir conventions are used so widely that they
constitute an intellectual and creative choice, rather than a genre' is also valid (Wood, 2007:
238). I would add that when they are used in different kinds of narratives, such as the cases
where noir touches are blended with a realist style, certain films can fall into the broader
category of 'poliziesco' (the detective genre), with the exception of films by Antonioni,
which remain centred on symbolic representations of existentialist issues. Wood adds that the
films of Damiani, Petri and Rosi are conceived of in Italy as films 'di impegno civile' or
films committed to exploring social issues (Wood 2007: 268).
While my earlier comparison between Rosi's Salvatore Giuliano and The Grim
Reaper indicated some analogies, Elio Petri's Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion
(1970) which was made during the same period as Tlie Confonnist signals a self-
awareness of the kind of genre being deployed, by repeated close-ups of gialli novels strewn
around the female protagonist's room, that is more overt and playful than in Bertolucci's
film. Although Petri's film, like The Confonnist, is constructed around flashbacks, they
proceed on the logical and chronological lines of a telic narration, with the protagonist always
in control of the situation. Instead, in The Conformist, the protagonist is far from in control,
and the flashbacks follow an associational pattern which reflects the film's paratelic
narration. The eroticism of the female protagonist in Petri's film was a provocative ingredient
to startle the hypocritical moral attitude of contemporary Italian society, and does not
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constitute an example of the femme fatale. By contrast, while The Conformist contains the
possibility that Italian politics might still have some positive future prospect, given the fall of
Fascism, in Investigation the sense of bewilderment towards Italian State institutions in the
late 1960s is total, the film depicting them as entirely hostile. While elements of noir were
deployed in many Italian films of the period that dealt with the dark side of Italian
institutional power, (Wood, 2007: 237) The Conformist appears to be a film in which a self-
conscious, comprehensive use of noir constitutes the narrative's main stylistic imprint.
Plot summary
Bertolucci's use of film noir conventions in The Conformist can be seen during its opening
credits as the first shot shows a nocturnal urban setting and a flashing red neon sign that
projects its light onto a restless individual who is sitting on a bed in the dark. The man - later
identified as Marcello Clerici - receives a phone call: a female character has 'gone', and
Clerici takes a gun and leaves the building. Present time events and flashbacks intertwine to
narrate his life. His boyhood is affected by an attempted sexual seduction that ends with the
boy believing he has killed his abductor, the family chauffeur Lino. His adulthood is marked
by a determination to establish 'normality' within his existence by integrating himself within
the mediocrity of Fascist society. He marries the shallow, bourgeois Giulia, and uses their
honeymoon to fulfil a Fascist mission of killing his former university tutor - Professor Quadri
- who is involved in anti-Fascist resistance during his exile in Paris. Followed by the Fascist
agent Manganiello, Clerici and Giulia spend time with Quadri and his alluring wife Anna, in
an ambience of mutual suspicion. Clerici's attraction to Anna weakens his criminal intent;
consequently his frantic pursuit of the Quadris on their trip to Savoia is interpreted as an
attempt to save her. Instead Clerici passively witnesses the couple's violent death. One night,
in the aftermath of Mussolini's fall, distraught by the discovery that Lino is alive and still
pursuing his loathsome conduct, Clerici denounces him to various bystanders as the Quadris'
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murderer together with his mentor and friend Italo, a blind former Fascist intellectual. Alone
in the street, Clerici looks through the gate of a ruined house at a youth Lino whom had
addressed. The final shot freezes his enigmatic stare behind the bars of the gate.
Clerici's noir ambivalence and the viewer's cognitive confusion
In the film Clerici is depicted as profoundly alienated; his aspirations to normality do not
prevent him from despising the world around him, towards which he shows a mixture of
contempt and ambiguity. Conditioned by his past, his actions constitute a sort of inertia that
condemns him to a desperate solitude. This sort of male characterization derives from French
critical writings on noir from the 1950s, when the surrealists' interpretations of its dreamlike
ambience were complemented by existentialist analyses that focused on the male protagonist.
Influential in this respect was Andre Bazin who identified in Humphrey Bogart's screen
persona a character 'defined by fate whose raison d'etre of his existence was in some sense
to survive' (Naremore, 1998: 24). Bazin's definition of Bogart as 'the triumph of
interiorization and ambiguity' is explained by James Naremore as a combination of 'a radical
isolation or individuality that forces the subject to create identity out of existential choice'
and 'ethical complexity' respectively (Naremore, 1998: 26). Such statements can also be
linked to analyses by Francois Truffaut and Jacques Rivette of films directed by Nicholas
Ray,(l) Truffaut focusing on the 'moral solitude' of the male protagonist, while Rivette
identified 'the interior demon of violence, which seems linked to man and his solitude'
(Naremore, 1998: 26).
Clerici closely embodies these theoretical features. His existence is heavily marked by
fate, which has exposed him to abduction and led him towards murder, so his identity forms
around the survival tactics he has used to overcome the deviations affecting his life's
trajectory. He denies himself any existential choice by submitting himself to people he
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despises, ranging from Fascist officials to his wife and her family. Driven by solitude, he
releases his inner demon of violence to destroy the only people (Prof. Quadri, Anna, and
Italo) for whom he had genuine affinity. The final shot framing Clerici's face behind 'bars',
while staring enigmatically at the seductive youth (see
image), epitomizes film noir traditions, and is a
metaphor for the male protagonist remaining a
hopeless prisoner of his own compromised destiny.
From a cognitive perspective, the criteria which
underpin the viewer's perception of Clerici's character inevitably engender negative
expectations regarding the character s development. This evaluation also conditions the
viewer's reconstruction of the story as the character's ambiguity inhibits the formulation of
reliable hypotheses about his decision making. By anchoring the narrative to such an
ambivalent protagonist, it is difficult for viewers to anticipate the character's behaviour; the
viewers' 'top-down' perceptual processes based on their acquired knowledge and mental
schemas, which are used to make hypotheses and create narrative expectations (Branigan,
1992: 37) are difficult to activate. The emotional implications of this will be discussed later in
the chapter.
Noir camerawork; isolation, disorientarion and disproportion
The imposing character of the regime is conveyed in
the film by its use of Fascist architecture with its
gigantic, daunting spaces. In these settings, Clerici is
often framed in extreme long shots that make him
appear insignificant (see image). During his visit to the
Fascist ministry, when he peers through the door of a
minister's office, the distance between him and the official's desk seems abyssal, and later he
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appears overwhelmed by the list of the names of dead soldiers on huge marble slabs fixed on
the wall. Elsewhere, Clerici is dwarfed by the full size wall painting in the brothel, and is
swallowed up by the huge courtyard of an asylum where the patients appear lost in its
mesmerising whiteness. To reinforce the sense of the individual's vulnerability within these
spaces, the scenes are sometimes shot with Bertolucci using the noir device of unbalanced
frame compositions. The effect of these framings is sometimes heightened by using wide-
angle lenses, as occurs in the overwhelming setting of the Minister's office; this space is
traversed by Clerici and by an administrator in an off-centre motion in order to create a sense
of imbalance to accompany the subtle sense of visual distortion.
A similar result is achieved by the use on several occasions of another noir effect,
skewed camera angles, one showing Clerici walking along a street to his mother's house,
when the car of Manganiello - Clerici's Fascist
'minder' - suddenly appears in the frame, looking for
him (see image). The sense of oppressive
disorientation intensifies as the car suddenly brakes
close to a gate behind which Clerici has sought
protection. Another skewed camera angle is deployed when Clerici travels by taxi to Quadri's
house, hi both scenes Bertolucci uses a disorienting visual scheme to emphasize Clerici's
sense of being out of his depth and vulnerable as a result of joining the Fascist secret police.
To reiterate that 'these strained compositions and angles are not merely embellishments or
rhetorical flourishes, but form the semantic substance of the film (noir)' (Harvey, 1998: 23) it
is worth mentioning a scene in the Paris hotel when Clerici is filmed frontally as if he is
waiting for the lift. Startlingly, the next shot shows a group of people who move indifferently
towards and beyond him. Viewers, momentarily disoriented, realize that Clerici was not
waiting for the lift, but was inside it. Subsequently, when he steps out and stands staring at
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the closed doors, his sense of solitude is increased by the camera moving unexpectedly
backwards, instead of tracking him as he turns and walks along the corridor.
Configuring Anna Quadri as a femme fatale
The viewer's cognitive and affective engagement with the film is also influenced by the
character of Anna Quadri who is made to conform to the figure of the femme fatale by
Bertolucci's adaptation of Alberto Moravia's original novel. Bertolucci shapes the character
into a mysterious figure who derives power from her sexuality, which she uses to get
information to protect her husband: in offering herself to Clerici, she utters: 'Please do not
harm us', the 'us' obviously implying her husband, but Bertolucci does not completely
sideline the lesbian overtones of the equivalent character in Moravia's novel. Instead, he uses
them in a subtle yet provocative way to arouse Clerici - and, via the character's POV shots,
the viewer - as elements of voyeurism are introduced. Bertolucci opts for a close-up of
Anna's face as she notices Clerici behind the hotel room door which is ajar. Consequently,
the calculated way in which Anna, still looking towards Clerici, lavishes attention on Giulia
is as much of a titillating provocation as an expression of genuine sexual interest towards her.
Similarly, the sequence of Anna and Giulia dancing at the restaurant can be considered as
another early example of Bertolucci's penchant for sensual aestheticism bordering on
voyeurism that resurfaced in his subsequent films. The accompanying dialogue between
Clerici and Quadri represents two sides of the bourgeois psyche perfectly, Clerici's prudish
discomfort at a public (not private) display of sensuality as he asks Quadri to stop the women
dancing, and Quadri's more voyeuristic pleasure as he comments: 'Why, can't you see how
beautiful they are?'
Bertolucci utilizes the actress Dominque Sanda to generate the iconic allure of the
femme fatale, a strategy which elicits dual processes of affective and intellectual engagement
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from cinephile viewers, who respond emotionally to the character's sensuality while
simultaneously recognizing the director's elaboration of noir signifiers. Sanda plays three
roles; Clerici's first glimpse of her is at the Fascist ministry, lying on an employee's desk.
She resurfaces as a prostitute whom Clerici meets at a Fascist brothel, before taking her
principal role as Quadri's wife. Clerici naturally experiences an uncanny sense of deja vu
with regard to Anna Quadri, who, in his eyes, represents a juxtaposition of her former
incarnations in the film, and to viewers she becomes a hybrid into which ihefemmefatale's
traditional qualities are distilled, the different layers of characterization merging to create a
sexually independent woman under whose influence the male protagonist feels torn between
desire and suspicion. Anna's image corresponds to the iconography outlined in Janey Place's
analysis, in terms of costume, grooming, and accessories such as cigarettes which are a
trademark femmefatale accessory (Place, 1998: 45).
In The Conformist, Anna's clothes reflect the fe/male function of trousers and slacks -
to underline an independent, almost masculine
attitude (see image) - together with outfits such as
figure hugging dresses to emphasize her seductive
femininity. In addition, her long hair and leggy
physique embody the physical characteristics, which,
according to Place, are important in the early sequences of a film noir in terms of signposting
a character's potential as a prospective femmefatale - an embodiment of unrestrained female
sexuality. Place notes that the first view of femmes fatales such as Velma in Murder My
Sweet and Cora in The Postman Always Rings Twice 'is a significant, appreciative shot of
their bare legs, a directed glance [...] from the viewpoint of the male character who is to be
seduced' (Place, 1998: 45) and this resembles the first shot of Sanda in The Conformist. It is a
view - from Clerici's perspective - of her left leg as it swings down from the desk she is
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lying on. Bearing in mind the manner in which Cora is often represented as having 'her
angelic face turban wrapped' (Place, 1998: 23) it is arguable that this character acted as a
visual prototype for Bertolucci, and this is noticeable in Anna Quadri's hairstyle and
appearance as she gracefully exits the Paris hotel. Consequently the film creates interplay
between the affective and the intellectual, particularly for those viewers aware of cinema's
back catalogue offemmes fatales, blending beguiling visuals with a profound awareness of
one of noir's iconic figures.
The femmefMale's death as the film's emotional fulcrum
The sense of endorsement that noir often elicits for endings featuring the femme fatale's
eventual punishment, appears reversed in The Conformist. Bertolucci, in fact, opts to make
Anna Quadri's death the most empathic moment in the film, a feeling originating from the
sense of impotence that viewers share with her as she is propelled towards a destiny that she
fears and cannot avert. Her death scene is a long take centring on a scene of empathy which is
counterpointed by Clerici's despicable behaviour. It starts with Prof. Quadri's murder, the
camera lingering on Anna's facial reactions and deep distress. The sense of horror intensifies
as she reaches Clerici's car and pounds her fists against the window for what seems an
eternity, with Clerici motionless on the back seat, unable either to use his gun to put Anna out
of her misery, or to save her. The camera, now moving to a neutral directorial point of view,
follows Anna as she runs into the wood pursued by the assassins, tension being generated by
their heavy breathing which fills the soundtrack, by the noise of leaves being trampled upon,
and by gun shots. Anna slows down, falls, and gets to her feet again, her beautiful features
now covered with blood filling the screen during a sustained shot, until she falls to the floor
once more. This intense violence, stylized through a striking colour scheme and lighting,
represents the emotional fulcrum of the film, and it eventually induces viewers into a state of
detachment. Grodal describes a process where viewers assume modes of engagement to cope
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with the disturbing fates of impotent screen protagonists, the critic indicating how their
identification with the screen figure becomes purely perceptual. This is a defensive act during
which 'the mind dissociates perceptions and emotions in strongly negatively charged
situations, as when people involved in catastrophes experience them as happening to
somebody else' (Grodal, 1997: 158). Therefore the film's disconcerting emotional mood -
diffused by its visuals and mise-en-scene - is intensified by the traumatic development of its
strongest moment of viewer/character empathy.
Between history and nostalgia
The narrative sequence where Anna Quadri advises Giulia regarding fashion, jewellery and
Parisian entertainment supplements Anna's femmefatale attributes by giving the character an
alluring, worldly knowledge, but it also endows sections of the film with a glamorous
elegance and sensual pleasure, as displayed in the dancing sequence. The Paris sequence,
together with other elements of the film's mise-en-scene, was instrumental in it being
categorized as a nostalgia film in the sense used by Fredric Jameson in his analysis of the
dialectic between political films and mass culture. Jameson argues that the element that
makes historical films inauthentic and therefore turns them into nostalgia films is 'the cult of
the glossy image, as a whole new technology [...] has allowed its lavish indulgence in
contemporary film' (Jameson, 1992: 85). He identifies in the precise (re)construction of
period style - above all of art deco - the formal element on which many nostalgia films
depend, so much so that he actually redefines the term as 'nostalgia-deco film" (Jameson
1992: 225). Jameson mentions The Conformist several times, but succinctly, so his ultimate
evaluation of the film remains unclear. On the one hand he considers it as part of the 'range
of contemporary nostalgia culture' deriving from the French categorization of such films as
pastiche reinventing 'the style, not of an art language, but of a whole period' (Jameson 1992:
84).
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Bertolucci seemed aware of the film's susceptibility to criticism over its luxurious
visuals and sensuality, saying that he was certain to be reproached because he had made a
film which 'is beautiful to look at and because I mix dirty things like sex with a pure thing
like polities', but he dismissed the criticism as 'moralistic' (Goldin, 1972: 67). Also, my
analysis of the film shows how its viewing experience opens up a complex network of
associations. Elements of the mise-en-scem related to the couples in Paris certainly deliver a
glossy reconstruction of the historical narrative, evoking nostalgia for art deco and for the
fashions of the time. But the film's overall mood, its reconfiguration of noir visuals and
lighting, and the way it graphically relives a tragic historical event, reflecting on the moral
responsibility the Italian middle class had in causing and supporting Fascism, gives The
Conformist an intellectual resonance that elicits a very different viewing experience, certainly
more intricate than most mainstream cinematic exercises in nostalgia.
The implications of the colour schemes and lighting within the film's historical context
It is essentially through the limited palette colour scheme within the cinematography and
through low-key photography that Bertolucci revived the noir style to make a film that
condemns Italy's Fascist period. These elements recur throughout the film, and can therefore
be considered a motif that prompts cognitive inferences from viewers. These are generated by
the viewer's perception of an ambience of pervading menace which induces narrative
expectations of oppressive and destructive outcomes. At the same time these stylistic
elements create a mood of anxiety and unease which foreshadows the emotions of fear and
disgust cued by the Quadris' double murder and Clerici's betrayal of Italo. These scenes
represent 'emotion markers' within the context of feature films (Smith G., 1999: 117-118).
Commenting on these elements of the mise-en-scene Bertolucci asserted that the lighting was
'like a 1930s studio film', (Goldin, 1972: 64) with the colours and light intended to be
impressionistic as in 'the interior of the dancing school', and expressionistic as occurs in the
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school's adjoining room where Anna offers herself to Clerici, a stylistic effect related to the
fact that 'she is going to the slaughterhouse> (Goldin, 1972: 65). In general, reiterating the
auteurist influence that Bertolucci considers himself to have on his work, a notion to which
this study generally subscribes while also highlighting the assistance of other professionals in
certain productions, the director unambiguously declared his involvement in controlling the
lighting of The Conformist 'in the old, truly professional classical sense' (Goldin, 1972: 65).
A good example of the colour scheme and lighting is featured in the sequence
portraying a dramatic moment of truth for Clerici, during which the colour scheme is nearly
reduced to black and white and the low-key noir photography is used almost didactically. Set
in the kitchen of the dance hall, the take depicts Manganiello aggressively questioning
Clerici's ambiguous behaviour. To free himself Clerici knocks a ceiling light which swings in
front of his face, so that it is kept partly in shadow; the effect continues even when the
struggle has finished. This oscillation of darkness and light arguably represents Clerici's
hesitation over deciding between life and death for Quadri. The scene's closure is equally
symbolic, the camera lingering on Clerici who stands against the wall in complete darkness,
underlining the fact that he has failed to extricate himself from the mission, and implying that
his last hope for personal salvation has gone.
This symbolic use of the contrast between light and dark reaches its apex in the scene
which portrays the insidiousness of the Fascist regime while also conveying Bertolucci's
perspective about the responsibilities of the bourgeoisie during that period. The scene is
important because it features a character and narrative events entirely invented by Bertolucci:
Italo, a blind intellectual who is a political commentator at a radio station, introduces Clerici
to 'II Colonnello', who works for the secret police. The spatial organization of the radio
station set is emblematic with two areas separated by a glass partition; one is occupied by a
female trio singing a cheerful song 'Who is happier than me?\ and it is powerfully
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illuminated as if to imply the bright future that the regime promised. On the opposite side, the
area in which Italo and Clerici are initially framed, and which features Clerici and 'II
Colonnello' soon after, is characterized by shadows. The three men are dressed in dark
colours and talk intensely, and Bertolucci occasionally cuts to a position beyond the partition
so that the sound of their voices is eliminated. At other times, it is the song that is eliminated
by a reverse shot framing Clerici as he gazes through
the partition at the radiant trio (see image). These
contrasting visual elements represent the hidden side
of the regime that was very different from its
propaganda and infinitely more menacing.
The scenario functions as a metaphor for the period as a whole. Italo represents the
intellectuals who were blinded by the idea of Italy becoming powerful again - the marble
map of the Roman Empire that was, and still is, displayed on the facade of the Ahare della
Patria in Rome is emblematic of the references to the Roman period made by Fascism.
Italo's blindness is emphasized by the speech that he delivers at the radio station, entitled
'Mystique of an Alliance' which refers to the alliance between Germany and Italy. The title
implies something sacred to be revealed only to enlightened minds, and indeed the sacred,
applied to the Party, was typical of the regime's rhetoric. In this context, there is a significant
moment when, in the darker area of the radio station set, only the lower part of Italo's face is
illuminated by a lamp. This lighting casts shadows of his hands and papers and adds an extra,
ethereal dimension to his visual representation, making Italo a minister of the regime in a
spiritual as well as a political sense. This scene, elaborated by Bertolucci, emphasizes the
inability of intellectuals - such as Italo and not Clerici as Kolker assumes (Kolker, 1985: 96)
- to 'see' the insidiousness of a political system that manipulated people's perspectives, a
regime that plotted murders under cover of the superficially harmonious social order,
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symbolized here by the glass partition, and by the alluring idea of a brighter future, evoked by
the escapism of the trio's song.
By contrast, through Clerici, Bertolucci represents a different kind of politically aware
individual, the type that supported Fascism although fully conscious of the socio-political
reality, his behaviour guided by cynicism, scepticism or by opportunism. Clerici "s awareness
of the regime's violence is represented in another piece of narrative invented by Bertolucci,
where he makes Clerici question his father - a former Party official now shut in a lunatic
asylum - about his responsibility in ordering assassinations. To avoid answering, the father
calls for a strait-jacket while muttering the words 'slaughter and mercy' This implicit
confirmation of Clerici's suspicions does not prevent him from going ahead with his criminal
purpose. From a cognitive perspective therefore, and particularly in terms of the hierarchies
of preference into which viewers place screen characters while watching films (Smith, 1995:
84-85) the breed of individual to which Clerici belongs will be regarded as more
reprehensible than that to which Italo belongs, and the mise-en-scene of the radio station
sequence was arguably conceived to strengthen the negative evaluation of Clerici"s
personality.
Using colour and lighting to blur the film's reality status
Colour schemes and lighting are also used to blur the reality status of some sequences,
sometimes enhancing their beauty while problematizing the viewer's cognitive evaluation of
whether they constitute reality in the world of the film, or a subjective image of an
individual's state of mind. Paris is rendered in bluish-grey tones, being depicted at night or at
dawn, and dimly illuminated by street lamps. The images are often characterized by the lack
of a human presence - apart from stealthy appearances by Clerici and Manganiello - and by a
misty atmosphere, so that they cue a sense of mystery and a dreamlike ambience. Gloomier
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hues of bluish-grey colouring are deployed to depict Rome at night, again cueing a sense of
the unreal, but this time conditioned by anxiety, hi the Rome scene, viewers are manoeuvred
into a POV shot from the perspective of Clerici and Italo to witness the destruction of a statue
of Mussolini which is illuminated by a flashing light normally used during air raids, the
statue's huge head being dragged along by a car like a horrible trophy. This lighting effect
transforms Rome's streets into a theatrical stage, diffusing a sense of ritualism and implying
that something sinister may happen at any moment. In this regard Bertolucci remembers how,
with Storaro, he sought to perfect a cold form of lighting for Rome, almost in a 'fascist' style,
and a softer illumination for Paris, effects which derived from the research on blue light that
the director started in Stratagem (Ungari, 1982: 117).
The depiction of Manganiello's car is also used to create a dreamlike (or nightmarish)
ambience; the interior is always dark, with weak light entering from the windows, while only
fog is visible in the background. When the car is shot from the outside, its headlights, cutting
through the night or the fog, are its main features. This visual approach evokes the oneiric
qualities of noir, although Bertolucci moves the action away from the labyrinthine cityscapes
that form noirs traditional backdrop (Place, 1998: 41; Vincendeau 2007: 26) to uninhabited
country locations. The road to Savoia is immersed in fog, and as it passes a bleak forest, the
surrounding landscape is eerie with the brushwood, whitened by the snow, contrasting with
the grey-black of the leafless trees. Therefore, although using a rural setting, Bertolucci elicits
a similar sense of time suspension, an effect that induces within viewers a temporary blur
between reality and dreams.
The dominance of procedural schemata
The viewer's perception of time is further complicated by the many shots of Clerici within
the interior of a car, being transported around as a child by the chauffeur Lino, and as an adult
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y Manganiello. The car fuses Clerici's past and present, and at a certain point Lino's car,
shown in one of the flashbacks, and the one driven by Manganiello, become interchangeable
in the same sequence. A close-up of Clerici as a child, seated on the back seat while the off
screen voice of Lino tells him about a gun he has at home, is followed by a cut to Clerici as
an adult, still in the same position, while Manganiello informs him of recent events. At other
times sequences echo each other despite their temporal distance, for instance, in a flashback
to Clerici's childhood, Lino traps the boy by driving alongside him as he walks along a street
and entices him into the car. The scenario is repeated in another flashback, with Manganiello
this time as the chauffeur and Clerici, now an adult, still indulging in the same avoidance of
his pursuer. The car's constant presence is logical since the narrative unfolds during Clerici's
journey to Savoia to pursue Anna Quadri. Clerici sits in the back while Manganiello drives,
and close ups of Clerici's face function as the point of departure and return of every flashback
and narrative revelation, sometimes accompanied by Manganiello's off screen narration.
Structurally, the effects create a repetitive sense of paratelic procedure, weakening the story's
telic impetus towards the Quadri assassination (Grodal, 1999: 133-34). Emotionally, the
effect of replacing the narrative's onward telic momentum, and the anxiety that this brings,
with recurring paratelic scenarios that move the action backwards chronologically, is that a
different mood, of despondent melancholy, is created.
Flashbacks and unexpected narrative revelations are hallmarks of American noir, and
they are idiosyncratically re-elaborated in Tfie Confonnist. The flashbacks follow no
chronological sequence and therefore the plot revelations do not emerge through logic, but
through free associations of memories. This cognitive schema, besides arousing curiosity, has
a significant consequence: it stimulates viewers to seek motivations for narrative events and
coherence between time and space in the world of the film, a process complicated by the
film's narrative retardation and distributed exposition. In addition, the use of a car interior as
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a narrative focus means that the developing action is perceived as something stationary yet
simultaneously mobile, thereby increasing the viewers' sense of cognitive uncertainty
regarding where and when actions are happening, and what could result.
Extended alignment without allegiance
The viewer's intellectual engagement with the social, political, and moral issues raised by
Bertolucci is sustained by the fact that The Conformist has few mechanisms to induce close
emotional identification and empathy between viewers and characters, apart from the scene
of Anna Quadri's death. If the narration guides viewers to recognize the characters' traits and
allows them access to the characters' thoughts and actions, it impedes the formation of
allegiance. Besides, viewers are prevented from establishing Smith's notion of hierarchies of
preference, since all the film's characters are represented as ambiguous to some extent, the
only exception being Manganiello who represents a class of individual destined to follow and
obey. The lack of allegiance and emotional attachment towards Marcello Clerici - from
whom viewers are estranged almost in an act of self defence - enhances the possibility of
reflecting on the socio-political issues raised by the film, given that viewers have already
been positioned in a specific reception situation by a narrative that presupposes an existing
knowledge of the film's historical subject.
Conclusion
This analysis of the film has illustrated how it articulates a discourse on the importance of
individual responsibility, which appears more complex than merely connecting 'reactionary
brutality' and 'repressed homosexuality' as some critics have done (Jameson, 1992: 146).
Individual responsibility and the extent to which external determinants can be held
responsible for people's actions arise in several elements that Bertolucci introduced into the
film; the invention of Italo, whose blindness is metaphorically extended to the entire
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population by the scene depicting the ball for the blind, where a gigantic flag surrounded by
Fascist symbols dominates from the back wall; the appearance in the narrative of Clerici's
father as a former Fascist officer, a character not mentioned in Moravia's novel; the
replacement of Moravia's Christian ethics with ethics of laicism, typified by the reference to
Plato's discourse on the blindness of cave dwellers; and finally the way in which Clerici is
given dialogue that overtly criticizes Prof. Quadri for abandoning Italy and blames him for
Clerici becoming a Fascist, all open up a range of questions requiring intellectual evaluation.
However, the peculiarity of The Conformist lies in the way that its activation of
associations, based on history, psychology, philosophy, and art, is embedded in a stylish, noir
framework, which gives the film profundity at both intellectual and affective levels. With The
Conformist, Bertolucci explored an artistic direction that could satisfy his auteurist
aspirations while remaining aesthetically and narratively accessible for mainstream film
viewers. A fundamental contribution to this goal was made by Franco Arcalli whom - as the
director recalls - Bertolucci's cousin Giovanni forced the director to accept in the role of film
editor (Ungari, 1982: 72). Bertolucci credits Arcalli with helping him discover that in the
editing phase there is still room for improvisation, and admits that Arcalli helped him to
conceive of editing not as the negation of creativity, but as a moment of enhancement
(Ungari, 1982: 72-73). Intellectually consistent and emotionally intense throughout, The
Conformist constitutes the most successful attempt by Bertolucci to combine a subjective
auteurist perspective with the visual and technological verve of commercial Hollywood
production. However, this theoretical amalgamation, that might be termed "the third way',
would be less effectively achieved in Bertolucci's subsequent works, many of which did not
attain the same equilibrium between intellectual profundity and cinematic spectacle.
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Notes
1. They Live by Night (1948) RKO Pictures; In a Lonely Place (1950) Santana Productions; On
Dangerous Ground (1952) RKO Pictures.
References
Bachmann, G. (1973) 'Every Sexual Relationship Is Condemned: An Interview with
Bernardo Bertolucci', in Gerard, F.S., Kline, T.J. and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000)
Bernardo Bertolucci Inteniews, Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.
Creed, B. (1993) 'From Here to Modernity: Feminism and Postmodernism', in Natoli, J. and
Hutcheon, L. (ed.) A Postmodern Reader, Albany: State University of New York
Press.
Goldin, M. (1972) 'Bertolucci on Tire Conformist', in Gerard, F.S., Kline. T.J. and Sklarew,
B. (ed.) (2000) Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University Press of
Mississippi.
Grodal, T. (1997) Moving Pictures, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Harvey, S. (1998) 'The absent family of film noir', in Kaplan, A. (ed.) Women in Film Noir,
London: BFI Publishing.
Jameson, F. (1992) Signatures of the Invisible, London and New York: Routledge.
Kolker, R. P. (1985) Bernardo Bertolucci, London: BFI Publishing.
Mirabella, JC. and Pitiot, P. (1991) Inten'ista a Bernardo Bertolucci, Rome: Gremese
Editore.
Naremore, J. (1998) More Than Night: Film Noir in its Contexts, Berkely: University of
California Press.
Place, J. (1998) 'Women in Film Noir', in Kaplan, E.A. (ed.) Women in Film Noir, London:
BFI Publishing.
Smith, G. M. (1999) 'Local Emotions, Global Mood, and Film Structure', in Plantinga, C.
and Smith, G. (ed.) Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.
Socci, S. (1996) Bernardo Bertolucci, Milan: II Castoro Cinema.
Ungari, E. (1982) Scene Madri di Bernardo Bertolucci (2nd Ed. 1987), Milan: Ubulibri.
Vincendeau, G. (2007) 'French Film Noir', in Spicer, A. (ed.) European Film Noir,
Manchester: Manchester University Press.
Wood, M.P. (2007) 'Italian Film Noir'. in Spicer, A. (ed.) European Film Noir, Manchester:
Manchester University Press.
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Novecento/1900: Reflection and Nostalgia
When asked what idea had brought him from Last Tango in Paris to 1900 Bertolucci replied
that he had worked on the screenplay of 1900 with Franco Arcalli and his brother Giuseppe
before Tango, but he had to put the project aside because he was not able to finance it;
however this opportunity materialized after Tango's, success (Georgakas-Rubenstein 1984:
139). Bertolucci recounts that he intended to make a sort of 'film-ponte / a bridge-movie'
connecting Hollywood and Soviet cinema; he confessed that the film was the result of a
period in which he had become a megalomaniac, as a consequence of finding himself in the
position of being able to do anything he wanted. On this subject he remembers how, in
presenting Vittorio Storaro to Francis Ford Coppola for the shooting of Apocalypse Now, the
American had commented: "I will make a film one minute longer than yours" (which he did
not) (Mirabella-Pitiot 1991: 46-47). Ambitious is certainly an applicable term for Bertolucci's
intention to introduce the tenets of Communist ideology across the USA with a single film
(Georgakas-Rubenstein 1984: 143). In fact, any historical reconstruction of the 1900
distribution saga revolves around these two issues: the film's length and its theme. Regarding
the first question, there is a key point that is little known: the Italian producer Alberto
Grimaldi was aware of the filnf s length, and the idea of dividing it into two parts was his
(Ungari 1982: 129); therefore it is unclear what information had been exchanged between
Italy and the USA during the making and editing of the film. Regarding the film's theme,
Bertolucci indicates that the American distributors invested in the film 'in blind faith' based
on the figures generated by Tango, that they saw it for the first time only at the Cannes Film
Festival, and that they were 'rather upset; it was really scandalous for them, all that
unexpected waving of red flags'(Georgakas-Rubenstein 1984: 141). hi the light of this,
Kolker's suggestion of 'naivete' on Bertolucci's part during the whole situation (Kolker
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1985: 73) should be contextualized by the consideration that an exceptional degree of
misinterpretation had occurred between the parties.
Nevertheless, this study is mainly interested in Bertolucci's declaration that he
worked in his own way 'in the folds of this system's contradictions' (Georgakas-Rubenstein
1984: 141) and that he intentionally used the lever of emotions to convey to a public
unfamiliar with Italian history the struggle of the Italian working class (Georgakas-
Rubenstein 1984: 143). These assertions are important because they underpin this chapter's
examination of how intellectual stratification and emotional intention run in parallel within
1900. The film's first intellectual reference, addressing mainly Italian viewers, is made as the
opening credits are superimposed on the famous tableau Quarto Stato (The Fourth Estate) by
Giuseppe Pellizza da Volpedo (1868-1970). hi Italy the painting is an icon of class struggle,
because it had been used by the Communist Party for a long time as a logo. Therefore the
association of the tableau with the film functions as an immediate indication of the film's
political orientation and remit; but it also points to the director's artistic intention to depict
the historical period of the twentieth century as a lyrical fresco. Intended to celebrate the
resolve of rural workers as a social class, the painting depicts a crowd of peasants advancing
with intent, the group being led by three people; two men and a woman carrying a baby,
whom the viewers will subsequently relate to the characters of Leo Dalco, Olmo and Anita.
Plot summary
The film opens with a gun battle between partisans and Fascists in a rural landscape, and the
caption '25 aprile 1945' situates it in the closing months of the war. There is a cut to inside a
manor house to show Alfredo Berlinghieri being captured by Olmo's son Leonida; this
sequence is a framing mechanism for the rest of the film, which is an extended flashback of
past events starting from the day on which Alfredo - the landowner's son - and Olmo - the
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peasants' leader-to-be - are born. The film depicts the story of three generations of the
Berlinghieri family, landed gentry from Parma, interlinked with that of the Dalco family, who
are the leaders of the peasants who work for the Berlinghieris. While Alfredo grows up with a
great love for his grandfather, and contempt for his arrogant father Giovanni, Olmo does not
suffer from being the illegitimate son of the peasant Rosina, as his charismatic grandfather
Leo Dalco is devoted to him and appoints him as his heir as the peasants' leader. Despite
belonging to different social classes, the boys establish a friendship which continues despite
their contrasting political views. After the First World War, Olmo forms a relationship with
Anita, and together they lead the peasants' fight for civil rights. Alfredo falls in love with the
sophisticated Ada, but their marriage is troubled because while she feels disturbed by Fascist
violence, Alfredo takes on an ambiguous, opportunistic attitude, even when Olmo is unjustly
accused of murder. In the meantime, Attila, originally the chief of an illegal paramilitary
group set up by Alfredo's father to suppress the peasants, has become a feared Fascist
official. He forms a relationship with Regina, Alfredo's impoverished and immoral cousin
who wants to take revenge on her family for their disrespectful treatment of her. The two are
compatible in their opportunism and cruelty which escalate into a mixture of sex and
violence. With the fall of Fascism, Attila and Regina are killed by the peasants, while Alfredo
is brought to trial and ultimately saved by Olmo. The final sequence shows Alfredo and
Olmo, now elderly, but still inhabiting the same rural environments; Olmo sits near a railway
line, whereas Alfredo lies on the track itself, just as he and Olmo used to do in one of their
childhood dares. But this time, instead of lying inside the tracks, he lies across them, so that
the train will kill him as it passes. The train's approach is an iconic representation of the
peasants' victory, but the image of the elderly Alfredo is replaced by one of Alfredo as a
child lying inside the track.
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The film's cognitive structure and the question of nostalgia
The film's structure resembles French realist novels such as the works that form Honore de
Balzac's La Comedie Humaine, (1799/1850) where detailed descriptions of the characters'
milieu link with the narration of their individual struggles during a particular epoch, hi the
case of 1900, the narrative depicts the contrast between different social classes but, unlike the
pattern of literary narratives in which different classes rarely interact, the essence of the
narrative ambiguity of 1900 evolves as the key figures embodying class difference, Alfredo
and Olmo, establish a friendship which is perceived as ever more incomprehensible as
Alfredo's ambiguity evolves into an opportunistic, tacit backing of Fascist violence. This
element creates disorientation in the viewers' attempt to reconstruct the story, as the linear
chain of cause and effect underlying the narration is disturbed by this unconventional position
given to characters who, by representing conflicting social forces, would be unlikely maintain
their friendship.
The film depicts the lives of different classes through a narrative whose focus shifts
from one grouping to the other with a perspective that constitutes an evocative and outwardly
objective description of the socioeconomic milieu of the time. However, the film's visual
arrangement of these elements is marked by an aestheticized beauty in the representation of
both social classes, an effect consolidated by the way in which the opulent mise-en-scene is
symmetrically distributed, though in different forms. The refinement of the landowners'
costumes and the decor of their living environments are counterbalanced by framings which
give an almost sculptural representation of the physicality of the labourers, and which
accentuate the natural beauty of their rural houses, a landscape where the master's manor
house also stands. This representation points to an aesthetic problem arising from the mise-
en-scene of 1900, as it implies an uneasy interplay between an aestheticized, personal
evocation on Bertolucci's part, and an attempt to develop a more distanced historical
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econstruction. Despite the director's eye for detail, his idiosyncratically bold, visual
articulation of the material results in a representation that is evidently an artistic evocation of
reality than a direct reflection of it.
Bertolucci's intention to privilege the lyrical form of the image over the socio­
political significance of its content can be found in many camera framings which appear to be
based on paintings rather than on more objective historical sources. The film contains visual
references to paintings originating from the period of Italian realism in general and to works
by Giovanni Segantini (1858-1899) and Giovanni Fartori (1825-1908) in particular. Segantini
and Fattori diffused within Italy their interpretations of the French realist movement's
increasingly politicized - and sensitive - themes.(l) Both French and Italian realism centre
on a technique which uses dark colours to define shapes, and a chiaroscuro effect to contrast
the foreground and background planes. A similar technique emerges in the mise-en-scene of
1900, and when certain sequences relate specifically to labourers working in the fields or in
the stables, the frame composition, particularly Bertolucci's use of colour and lighting,
evokes tableaux such as La raccolta delle patate/Tlie Harvesting of Potatoes (1890), Alia
Stanga/At the Bar (1886), Le due madri/The Two Mothers (1889) by Segantini, and // Riposo
(II Can-o Rosso)/The Rest(The Red Chariot) (1887), and Aratura/Ploughing by Fattori. In
addition, Fattori's depictions of military life, works such as // Campo Italiano dopo la
battaglia di Magenta/The Italian Field after the Magenta Battle (1861} are analogous with
Bertolucci's representation of the state cavalry in the sequence depicting the eviction of the
peasants, particularly with regard to the soldiers' diagonal positioning. On the subject of the
director s assimilation of artworks, Stefano Socci has also identified similarities from both
versions of Le dejeuner sur I 'herbe by Pierre-Auguste Renoir and Eduard Manet in the scene
of the peasants' country fair (Socci, 1996: 60-61).
The aesthetic experience generated by this painterly reconstruction of landscapes and
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daily life elicits nostalgia for a world that has all but disappeared. In this sense 1900 reflects
Fredric Jameson's observation that in nostalgia films a 'new form of visual "verisimilitude"
prevails', of which 'a series of simulacra of romantic paintings of the period is an instructive
and emblematic gesture' (Jameson, 1992: 222). Bertolucci's rearticulation of artworks
produces landscapes, colour, and lighting that evoke the past rather than re-enacting it, thus
positioning characters and viewers in 'a relatively more contemplative relationship to the
events' (Jameson, 1992: 222-223). Besides, the notion that the representation of history in
1900 might be connected to what Jameson terms nostalgia for 'the lost object of desire'
(Jameson, 1992: 139) is confirmed by one of Bertolucci's assertions related to the inclusion
in the film of collective and personal memories: 'My adolescence used to be the lost paradise
and I created again my adolescence, my childhood in 1900. And I created a copy of the lost
paradise' (Quinn, 1977: 105). Yet the film's extensive description of Italy thirty years before
the rise of Fascism arguably serves the purpose of assisting Italian and non-Italian viewers,
American in this case, with little knowledge of the film's events. In this regard Bertolucci
unambiguously announced that 1900 would be a film 'concerned with the rediscovery of the
roots', dedicated to 'the young generations', made for 'all those of the great mass who know
nothing at all about these values' (Bachmann, 1973: 100-101). It is precisely for its extended
narration of almost half a century of Italian history, representing the political changes through
three generations, that 1900 retains some value as a historical film for present day
generations. Consequently Grodal's concept of contextual frames reflects the position into
which viewers of 1900 are guided, (Grodal, 1997: 178) as they identify their own position as
detached viewers of a film that exemplifies both the historical epic and art cinema. It is in this
sense that the initial image of the painting Quarto Stato states the dual artistic and historical
mode of the ensuing filmic representation.
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The cognitive and affective functions of the theatrical mise-en-scene
The use of tableaux-style framings in 1900 casts an aura of temporal remoteness over the film
which generates in viewers a sense of distance from the unfolding events; the feeling is
reinforced by the director's preference for theatrical modes of presentation rather than those
of realism. The mise-en-scene is largely centred on symbolic uses of space, on iconic uses of
costumes to establish identity, and on declamatory acting performances; these elements also
engage viewers intellectually, as they reduce the concrete immediacy of the film's events and
endow them with a figurative significance through which reflections on concepts such as
social oppression may be elicited. The theatricality of 1900 reflects the characteristics defined
by Bernard Beckerman in his discussion about what is termed 'iconic presentation', this
dealing with being rather than with doing and is a representational mode during which
'characters appear subordinated to ritual-like activity' (Beckerman, 1990: 49). 1900 is a film
in which space is more important than time, reflecting certain forms of theatre where 'one is
conscious of an unfolding display rather than the release of suspense' (Beckerman, 1990: 55).
The film's iconic treatment of its characters also emerges in its mise-en-scene, which reflects
the way theatre 'creates an illusion of stasis" (Beckerman, 1990: 61), being essentially
concerned with 'eternal principles' (Beckerman, 1990: 63) - these being the socio-political
order in the case of 1900. One early indication of Bertolucci's preference for a theatrical
aesthetic emerges during the first sequence of the initial flashback. A hunchbacked man,
dressed as the character Rigoletto from Verdi's opera, runs along a country path shouting that
Verdi is dead and that a child has been born to the Dalco family. This device, besides
defining the time of the action (January 27th 1901), activates the viewer's awareness of the
'staging' of the film's events.
This sense of artifice is confirmed by the film's declamatory acting style, a technique
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that periodically distances viewers from the narrative and minimizes the likelihood of
empathic emotional attachments forming between viewers and characters. More subtly,
Bertolucci frames some of the film's images with secondary characters often positioned in
front of the main speakers, or in a semi-circle before them; this underlines the characters'
function as an 'internal audience' which mirrors the extra-diegetic spectator's presence. In
this regard, it is significant that Gerard Depardieu/Olmo also seems to address the film
viewers themselves on several occasions, by looking straight into the camera while
completing his speeches. In one case, he attempts to rouse his comrades - who are standing
silently in a semi-circle - exhorting them to stand firm in the face of Fascist oppression.
Then, he turns directly towards the camera to affirm that the Left will live on as long as
people make their presences felt on an individual basis. The concept of personal
responsibility appears to be important to Bertolucci; it emerges in Tlie Conformist, in the
second part of The Last Emperor, in Little Buddha, and influences the social perspective
presented in Stealing Beauty. The stylized quality of such sequences points to a didactic
intent of Brechtian derivation, as the resulting sense of distance aims - to some extent to
divert the viewers' focus of attention from the ongoing story to a reflection on the socio­
political meaning implied by the sequences.
The theatrical importance of a performer's entrance which, as Gay McAuley observes,
constitutes 'a new event within the fiction' is frequently combined with metaphorical or
symbolic uses of diegetic space to create meaning (McAuley, 1999: 100). One example is the
scene where Alfredo advances into the manor courtyard to show himself wearing his dead
father's fur coat to his relatives who are returning
from the funeral, and who stop when they see him (see
image). Besides being a theatrical set piece which is
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attached to the filmic narrative in an overdetermined fashion to elicit an intellectual
consideration of the implications of Alfredo's gesture, the mise-en-scene uses diegetic space
to establish a principle of confrontation. Consequently Alfredo's entrance introduces a new
narrative event, that of his assumption of power, and it also emblemizes the sense of
continuity with his father's domineering role in the relationships that he is going to establish,
despite his earlier repugnance to it. Another example of Bertolucci's metaphorical use of
space can be seen in the sequence in which the young Fabrizio Pioppi enters a cottage where
Attila and Regina are having an intimate encounter. The boy is disoriented and stands
immobile hoping not to be seen. But Attila, perceiving a presence, drags him in. The use of
space symbolizes the danger of being drawn in too close to the true face of Fascism and its
brutality; the boy's fateful entrance causes Attila's warped consciousness to plumb new
depths, and the 'new event", in theatrical terms, is a horrific escalation of violence which sets
the tone for the rest of the film. The staged presentation guides viewers beyond cognitive
anticipations of the subsequent plot developments, inviting them to perceive the three
characters as embodiments of social forces (the impressionable citizen, the violent, ambitious
Fascist and sections of the landowning class) that interacted in that historical period.
Affective, cognitive and intellectual implications of the theatrical performances
The significance that can be derived from Bertolucci's stylized closed camera framings in
terms of conveying political reflections also extends to the actors' delivery of their lines. The
artifice in the performances of Dominique Sanda (Ada) and Donald Sutherland (Attila) is
light years away from Brando's intense method acting in Last Tango in Paris, and its
emphatic nature appears designed to distance viewers emotionally from the screen events.
Regarding the character of Ada, Alfredo's wife, Sanda's theatricality echoes the style of an
early 20th century Italian actress, Eleonora Duse, and it connotes the kind of bourgeois
individual who was educated (Ada is well aware of the crude ignorance of Fascism and its
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followers), sensitive (she relates to the peasants' hardships), yet unable to take any
confrontational initiative.
However, the most politically significant examples of the film's theatrical recitation are
arguably two key monologues. The first one, performed by Romolo Valli as Giovanni
(Alfredo's father), establishes the landowners as the cause of the escalating violence that
propelled the Fascists into power. The sequence featuring his monologue depicts a political
meeting being held in a church, a dramatic staging which is reminiscent of T.S. Eliot's
Murder in the Cathedral (1934) given the nature of the environment and the immoral nature
of the activities occurring there. Other aspects of the mise-en-scene condition the scene's
political significance. Giovanni wears a fur coat which gives him an aura of affluent
dominance; he stands before the landowners who are seated, and encourages them to set up
an illegal force to punish the rebellious peasants. Valli's low, sibilant deliver}' evokes the idea
of a devil or snake, the character's poisonous thoughts infecting the audience. The menacing
ambience is heightened by low-key lighting to create areas of shadow, a technique that also
emphasizes Attila's unsettling appearance from behind a pillar, a manifestation of the evil
forces that Giovanni has been awakening with his speech. The film unequivocally points to
the landowners as the group with the primary moral and political responsibility for
unleashing Fascist violence on an unwary local population, and this perspective is reiterated
by the second monologue, assigned to Donald Sutherland/Attila. Its significance is underlined
by the way Bertolucci cues anticipation of it from viewers; first, the camera gradually moves
closer to the actor, framing his face in close-up, and then it lingers on his empty gaze. At this
point, Sutherland's delivery conditions the content of his monologue, as, with a resonant
whisper, Attila reflects on the relationship between the greedy, cynical landowners and the
Fascist squad members whom Attila likens to dogs to which the landowners throw leftovers.
Then, laughing contemptuously at the bourgeoisie's inability to understand the hatred that
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they are fuelling, he threatens an implacable revenge that begins later with the violent murder
of young Fabrizio Pioppi. The dark, amoral side of society is thus metaphorically represented
by the way Giovanni and Attila utter their words.
The content of the monologues is designed to elicit an intellectual engagement from
viewers that emerges through the affective charge generated by the sinister delivery of the
lines. The substance of Attila's monologue enables - and encourages - viewers to elaborate a
truncated hierarchy of preference within which the Fascist labourers embodied by Attila
somehow seem more coherent than their unscrupulous commanders. Such distinctions had
already emerged in The Conformist through Manganiello's disgust in response to Marcello
Clerici's cowardice. In 1900, Bertolucci reiterates this differentiated perspective as, during
his death scene, Attila stands upright and proclaims his Fascist pride in a declamatory style,
while Alfredo never pays for supporting a regime whose nature he was fully aware of. In this
sense, Alfredo's opportunism is a variation of that of Marcello Clerici, reflecting a
divergence between political awareness and personal conduct. Interestingly, Bertolucci
defines Attila and Regina as victims because they are 'completely instrumentalized' by the
ruling class who make them the interface for 'all the aggression it lacks the strength, the guts,
to express directly itself (Georgakas-Rubenstein, 1985:145).
Shaping the mood of 1900: charting the seasons; sex and violence as emotion markers
The film's narration presents different visuals which are instrumental in generating a shifting
emotional climate. The stunning colour scheme and warm lighting of the sequence related to
the protagonists' childhood cast a lyrical aura on the narrative, and appear designed to create
a mood of enchanted fascination. By contrast the narrative related to the class struggle during
the rise and rule of Fascism is emphasized by the use of dark colours and cold lighting, which
contribute to create a mood of oppression and unease. Lyricism is deployed again in the last
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part of the film depicting the peasants' celebration at Fascism's fall. This strategy is
explained by Bertolucci as he describes how he thought of the four seasons as the most
appropriate structure for a film about the countryside. Summer was attached to the
protagonists' childhood; Autumn/Winter to the rise and rule of Fascism; Spring 'corresponds
to the Liberation Day. April 25, 1945', which he conceived as the peasants" enactment of'the
Utopia of the revolution' (Georgakas-Rubenstein, 1984: 140-141).
Within this evocative framework that forms the film's 'emotional backdrop', Bertolucci
periodically inserts sexual and violent scenes whose camera framings and realist mises-en-
scene are designed to draw viewers more strongly into the diegesis. One sequence portrays a
visit made to a prostitute by Alfredo and Olmo, and it features a POV shot as they watch a
screen behind which the girl undresses. This creates alignment with the viewer, and also cues
anticipation and curiosity on the part of spectators regarding the extent of visual access to the
girl's body and to the ensuing action that is likely to be accorded by the director, given his
visual control over diegetic space. For decades, directors had exercised self-censorship to
bypass potential problems of nudity in their work, but the next shot unexpectedly raises the
viewer's sexual expectations by using a closed framing of the three characters - shot frontally
in medium shot - as they lie on the bed. The frame composition's symmetry, the girl
functioning as the central axis, confers a sense of realist simplicity on the scene which is
strengthened by the cheerful dialogue between the men. Part of the frame remains blocked off
by a bedstead which obscures the lower halves of the actors' bodies, but unexpectedly the
camera tracks forward to reveal - shockingly for the mid 1970s - the girl as she masturbates
Alfredo and Olmo simultaneously. Bertolucci therefore brings viewers into graphic visual
contact with the characters' sexual act - the explicitness of the scene, finally divested of
screens and other cinematic conventions - adding a concrete starkness to the narrative, and
serving to anchor it more firmly to quotidian reality. A second sexually charged sequence,
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portraying Alfredo and Ada's first physical encounter, is characterized by a similar, earthy
realism to counterpoint the artifice that is discernible elsewhere in 1900. The sequence also
possesses a strong affective charge, initially designed to elicit arousal as viewers are aligned
with Alfredo's desire, first through POV shots showing parts of Ada's body as she is rapidly
undressed by him, and then by shot/reverse shot montage between Alfredo's gaze and Ada.
The erotic tension is graphically maintained during the couple's sexual act through repeated
rear close-ups of Alfredo's thrusts, which nonetheless give rise also to a sense of unease
because of the peculiar high angle framing which endows the sequence with a voyeuristic
perspective.
Unlike the sexual scenes, a more complex discourse lies behind the techniques used to
construct several violent scenes, as the style of realism appears enriched with horror and/or
gothic aesthetics, whereas in one later sequence, influences from Soviet Cinema are visible.
These different mechanisms provide an emotional charge which is nevertheless tempered by
intellectual resonances, an approach which underpins Bertolucci's film-making. Horror film
devices are evoked by the elaborate, ritualistic cruelty of the deaths of some of the victims - a
kitten, the young Fabrizio, and his mother killed by Attila - are all crushed like insects; by
the slowed down pace of each scene, so that the length of the take becomes unbearable; and
finally through the way each scene elicits a rising level of affective engagement that
intensifies the viewers' emotional experience until a final explosion of horror releases the
accumulated tension. Some scenes, such as the murder of Fabrizio, feature a built-in, emoting
diegetic audience, and this mechanism has strong resonances. A reaction shot of Regina's
horror as Attila repeatedly crashes the boy's head against the wall is the sort of 'facial
feedback' that will draw affective mimicry from viewers (Plantinga, 1999: 240) but there is
also a strong sense of the theatrical which endows the scene with an almost didactic
distancing effect. As occurred in The Conformist during Quadri's execution, the viewer's
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engagement will again change from emotional concern for the boy's welfare to a more
defensive, perceptual form of participation in the scene when it is clear that he is doomed
(Grodal, 1997: 158).
The scene depicting the mass murder of peasants by Fascists in a field moves away
from a direct personification of the evil embodied by Attila - although he does appear in the
scene - as it is designed to represent a broader view of the state of dehumanization reached
by the Fascist regime in its late period. The graphic ferocity of the massacre evokes the visual
representations of the Russian Revolution to be found in early Soviet Cinema, in particular
the techniques seen in Sergei Eisenstein's Strike and Battleship Potemkin; these films contain
scenes in which, according to David Gillespie, 'the violence employed by the police and
army is shocking [...] but it is also highly stylized" (Gillespie, 2000: 39). The same method of
representation applies to the stylized way in which Bertolucci depicts the Fascists' cruelty.
Aspects of Gillespie's aesthetic analysis of early Soviet films resurface in 1900, in particular
the enormous disproportion between the two opposing forces - a key method of highlighting
the oppressor's brutality. The murderers' faceless anonymity creates the sense of an evil that
has become all-pervading and institutionalized, while the victims' individuality is
accentuated by emphatic close-ups, making 'the masses become real people' (Gillespie,
2000: 42), an effect which creates both alignment and allegiance with them. The viewers'
empathic absorption in the events is doubtless punctuated by an occasional awareness that the
real past is being enacted on screen, and this extra-diegetic knowledge will intensify the
disturbing nature of the violence. Yet the peasants" execution scene is articulated differently
from Eisenstein's method of cross-cutting the images of atrocities with visual metaphors,
such as images of a bull having its throat cut. By contrast, Bertolucci aestheticizes the
violence by an idiosyncratic use of elements of mise-en-scene. The colour scheme is
characterized by an unnatural omission of the red of bloodshed; the palette is restricted to
215

tones of grey and black that cast a chromatic uniformity on both landscape and characters.
The characters stand motionless in the rain, demarcated by another symbolic use of space
with each group positioned on opposite sides of a field ;
whose fencing is reminiscent of Nazi concentration
camps (see image). Certain stylized visual elements in
violent movies, in Steven Prince's view, unmistakably
'impose an intellectualized perspective' on sequences,
and this is a perspective that can be applied to 1900, (Prince, 1998: xix) the peasants'
execution occurring a scene in which the deglamourization of violence maintains continuity
with the film's previous sequences of brutality in terms of the way the violence signifies 'the
crippling or diminishment of human identity* (Prince, 1998: 122).
Allegiance with a collective protagonist
The notions of viewer allegiance and the hierarchy of preference that viewers establish when
evaluating the morality of characters, can be used to discuss the different evaluations elicited
from viewers via Bertolucci's character portrayals. As regards the Berlinghieri family, the
film only cues brief moments of sympathetic response towards the grandfather who
personifies an ancient, rural capitalism which had a personal knowledge of, and respect for,
the labourers. By contrast, the film cues unadulterated repulsion towards Alfredo's father,
who symbolizes a radical change in the attitude of Italian capitalism towards labour - a
capitalism which facilitated and supported Fascism. As illustrated earlier, it is Alfredo's
trajectory that invites an evaluation of him as the worst of the Berlinghieris. Regarding the
Dalco family, the narrative creates forms of allegiance that are probably weaker than one
would expect given the film's political perspective. The grandfather's charisma is evident but
remains ephemeral in the context of the film's structure, due to the characters brief screen
presence. Olmo's rectitude and idealistic enthusiasm never equals his grandfather's
216

leadership, which is arguably assumed by the character of Anita, but to a lesser degree. But
these individual positive sentiments experienced by the viewer towards single characters are
outweighed by the solid allegiance that evolves towards the peasants as a group. The
materialization of the peasants as a collective protagonist is achieved through the descriptive
quality cast on the narration by the extensive use of external focalization, (Branigan, 1992:
102-104) a narration attached to none of the intra-diegetic characters. In 1900 the perspective
behind the narration can be traced to the subjectivity behind the camera which powerfully
cues indignation and compassion towards the peasants based on what, emotionally and
cognitively, is identified as the criterion of wrongfulness, which galvanizes a spectator's
solidarity when screen scenarios depict mistreatment (Carroll, 1999: 25-26). In fact when
Bertolucci was asked about his personal reading of the twentieth century, he replied that
when shooting 1900 he was filled with a sense of injustice, above all for the peasants' destiny
(Fantoni Minnella, 2004: 233).
Conclusion
The film's twofold emotional essence, based around empathy and condemnation, builds
slowly and reaches an appreciable intensity in the violent scenes, which contain an intrinsic
shock value, hi this context, 1900 perhaps does not cause the same degree of distress as other
films on a similar subject, such as La notte di San Lorenzo (1982) by Emilio and Vittorio
Taviani, the latter being a work whose sense of intense anguish - elicited by the Nazi/Fascist
ferocity against a village in Central Italy - remains consistently high. What marks the
difference between 1900 and related works, like La notte di San Lorenzo, is a tenser, tighter
rhythm achieved by the Taviani brothers by limiting the length of their narrative. By contrast,
the form of 1900, with its extended narrative and emotional ebbs and flows, contains a more
intellectual ambition to encourage meditation on the causes and the consequences of the
historical events. The mise-en-scene appears designed to reflect symbolic elements: the
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settings express the stratification of centuries of economic differences; the costumes define
engrained identities and attitudes; the declamatory acting performances convey the vulgarity
of the oppressors and the pride of the oppressed; the use of space emblemizes the
relationships between the different social strata. However, Bertolucci's visual representation
of the landscape also emphasizes its potential role as a natural, unifying force, where social
cohesion and co-operation should be possible. It conveys a sense of harmony and community
which, with the advent of mass production, has disappeared leaving individuals alienated
from their environments and from other people. Consequently, it can be inferred that 1900
encourages reflection on the way human greed underpins social conflict and generates
violence, and the film enables viewers - especially the younger generations - to understand
the nature of history in the making. Bearing in mind George Santayana's famous idiom,
'Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it', it is arguable that if films
like 1900 had been aired in Italy in the recent past, then perhaps the nation would have
avoided having to re-experience a quasi regime, again generated by an alliance between
unrestrained capitalism headed by a ruthless individual, and endorsed by the Church. In terms
of Bertolucci's career, 1900 represents the first of several films in which the emotional
component of the narration is amplified, and distanciation effects were achieved through
mechanisms that no longer included unveiling the presence of the cinematic medium, an
effect that would only begin to recur in the director's work with lo ballo da sola/Stealing
Beauty.
Notes
1. Issues such as the increasing presence of the proletariat as a political force, and their nobility in
moral terms, emerged in the French realists' depictions of scenes of working class life. The
painting The Stonebreakers (1849) by Gustave Courbet (1819-1877), which focuses on the simple
dignity of a labourer s existence, constituted a model for Segantini and Fattori who also
highlighted the socioeconomic conditions typifying the lives of the rural peasantry. In De Vecchi
P. and Cerchiari E. (1991-1992) Arte ml tempo, Vol.3,1 Tomo, Milan: Bompiani Editore.
218

References
Bachmann, G. (1973) 'Every Sexual Relationship Is Condemned: An Interview with
Bemardo Bertolucci', in Gerard, F.S., Kline, T.J. and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000)
Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.
Beckerman, B. (1990) The Theatrical Presentation, Performer, Audience and Act,
Beckerman G.B. and Coco W. (ed.). New York and London: Routledge.
Branigan, E. (1992) Narrative Comprehension and Film, London and New York: Routledge.
Carroll, N. (1999) 'Film, Emotion and Genre', in Plantinga, C. and Smith, G. (ed.)
Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.
De Vecchi, P. and Cerchiari, E. (1991-1992) Arte nel tempo, Vol.3,1 Tomo, Milan: Bompiani
Editore.
Eliot, T. S. (1934) Murder in the Cathedral, (ed.1976), London: Faber and Faber.
Fantoni Minnella, M. (2004) Non riconciliati, Turin: UTET Diffusione S.r.l.
Georgakas, D. and Rubenstein, L. (ed.) (1985) Art Politics Cinema: the Cineaste Interviews,
London and Sydney: Pluto Press.
Gillespie, D. (2000) Early Soviet Cinema: Innovation, Ideology and Propaganda, London:
Wallflower Publishing Ltd.
Grodal, T. (1997) Moving Pictures, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Jameson, F. (1992) Signatures of the Invisible, London and New York: Routledge.
Kolker, R. P. (1985) Bernardo Bertolucci, London: BFI Publishing.
McAuley, G. (1999) Space in Performance: Making Meaning in Tlieatre, Michigan: The
University of Michigan Press.
Mirabella, JC. and Pitiot, P. (1991) Inter\>ista a Bernardo Bertolucci, Rome: Gremese
Editore.
Plantinga, C. (1999) 'The Scene of Empathy and the Human Face on Film', in Plantinga C.
and Smith, G. (ed.) Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press
Prince, S. (1998) Savage Cinema: Sam Peckinpah and the Rise of Ultraviolent Movies,
London: The Athlone Press.
Quinn, S. (1977) '1900 Has Taken Its Toll on Bernardo Bertolucci', in Gerard, F.S., Kline,
T.J., and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000) Bemardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson:
University Press of Mississippi.
Socci, S. (1996) Bemardo Bertolucci, Milan: II Castoro Cinema.
Ungari, E. (1982) Scene Madri di Bemardo Bertolucci (2nd Ed. 1987), Milan: Ubulibri.
219

Section 4: The Pinnacle of the Tilm-spettacolo'
L 'ultimo imperatore/The Last Emperor (1987); // te nel deserto/The Sheltering Sky (1990); //
piccolo Budda/Little Buddha (1993).
The negative response to The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man (1981) marked the definitive
breakdown in relations between Bertolucci and the Italian critics, and led to the director
abandoning Italy.(l) The fact that the first subsequent film to be shot abroad was The Last
Emperor suggests that the director had returned to his idea of making film-spectacles,
(Bachman, 1973: 96) and that the experience of 1900 had nevertheless convinced producers
of Bertolucci's ability to plan and deliver ambitious projects. In terms of links with 1900, the
film embeds a historical theme in an enchanting evocation of a world long gone, that of the
millenary culture of the Qing dynasty. With a larger number of extras than in 1900, almost
the same number of red flags, and a lesson learned about film length, Tlie Last Emperor was
a work which did make an impact on America. The fact that a fifty year period similar to the
one depicted in 1900 was represented, this time, within a 'safer' duration of one hour and
fifty-eight minutes, might be connected to the influence of Mark Peploe who co-wrote the
screenplay with Bertolucci. According to the director, Peploe managed to change
Bertolucci's attitude towards screenplays, which he did not always follow during shooting as
he was convinced that creativity should be linked to instinctiveness. For The Last Emperor,
Peploe made him accept a strict adherence to the screenplay, by showing him that it was
possible to be rational without jeopardizing creativity (Ranvaud 1987: 264). Therefore Mark
Peploe and Franco Arcalli - who changed Bertolucci's rapport with editing - might be
considered the collaborators who most influenced Bertolucci's mode of film-making after the
experiences of the 1960s.
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The success of The Last Emperor enabled Peploe - who in the past had attempted to
adapt Paul Bowles" novel The Sheltering Sky as a road movie - to obtain approval from
William Aldrich, who owned the cinematic rights, for the film to be made by Bertolucci, who
again collaborated with Vittorio Storaro and with the English producer Jeremy Thomas
(Peploe, 1990: 84-85). In this film the element of visual enchantment is 'acted out' by the
beauty of the Sahara desert, which is arguably the protagonist of the second part of the film.
The subsequent shooting of Little Buddha appears to be the apex of the phase of Bertolucci's
film-making characterized by the intent of overwhelming viewers' senses. At the same time it
can also be read as a sign of the director's reconciliation with his personal anxieties; an
interpretation confirmed by the fact that after Little Buddha he returned to film in Italy for
Stealing Beauty. The three films elicit homogenous viewing experiences by privileging what
Branigan terms a bottom-up process, (Branigan, 1992: 37) to indicate the viewer's
engagement with the perception of the images and sounds on screen. In these films, the
viewer's cognitive activity is reduced in favour of pure contemplation of the aural-visual
elements. Bertolucci's tendency to construct ambiguous screen characters is maintained,
together with the recurring effect in his films whereby the formation of viewer allegiance
with characters, despite prolonged alignment with them, is improbable. The only exception to
this is represented by the character of Jesse's father in Little Buddha, as the narration guides
viewers to share his existential concerns.
Although the affective component dominates the films' organization, their cognitive
structures remain complex. In Tlie Last Emperor, spectators need to follow the shifts between
the present time narrative and flashbacks; in Tlie Sheltering Sky, a suppressive narration
making extended use of time-space ellipses creates demands on the viewer; in Little Buddha
the real world narrative intersects with that of the telling of Siddhartha's story and merges
with it at certain points. These strategies act as a constant reminder that the subjectivity
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ehind the films is that of the director as the implied author, hi addition, the presence of
macro-frames for all three films - centred on historicity, la mode retro, and Buddhism
respectively - ensures that there is an intellectual foundation to each narration that elicits
from viewers that 'judgement upon modern life and la condition humaine" that typifies art
films (Bordwell, 1995: 207). On this point, the following chapters will also consider whether
the intellectual elements within the narrations are sufficient to protect Bertolucci from the
accusation that he has been assimilated into Hollywood mainstream cinema (Loshitsky, 1995:
201).
Notes
1. 'I no longer wished to shoot in Italy after The Ridiculous Man. On the contrary I wished to go as far
away as possible' (Ungari-Ranvaud,1982: 238).
References
Bachmann, G. (1973) 'Every Sexual Relationship Is Condemned: An Interview with
Bernardo Bertolucci', in Gerard, F.S., Kline, T.J. and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000)
Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.
Bordwell, D. (1995) Narration in the Fiction Film, London: Routledge.
Peploe, M. (1990) 'Life as a Road Movie', in Negri, L. and Gerard, F.S. Bertolucci. Bowles
TJie Sheltering Sky, London and Sydney: Scribners a Division of Macdonald & Co.
(Publishers).
Ranvaud, D. (1987) 'Z 'Ultimo Imperatore di Bernardo Bertolucci', in Ungari E. (1982) Scene
Madri di Bemardo Bertolucci, (2nd Ed. 1987) Milan: Ubulibri.
222

L 'ultimo imperatore/The Last Emperor: Wonder and Disenchantment
The film's narration of the life of Pu Yi as the last emperor of China is based on the
emperor's autobiography, in which the details are rendered in a rather arid list of names and
places.(l) Therefore it is understandable that Bertolucci mentioned the book Twilights in the
Forbidden City (1934) by Reginald F. Johnston - who was Pu Yi's tutor from 1919 to 1924 -
as a particularly useful source (Ranvaud, 1987: 281). The film is a meticulous reconstruction
of life in the Forbidden City during Pu Yi's childhood, adolescence and adulthood, and this
chapter will focus on how Bertolucci establishes a non-linear narrative structure that
alternates an opulent, colourful mise-en-scene for the Forbidden City, with a stark,
monochromatic mise-en-scene during the film's depictions of Maoist China. The result is a
contrast that elicits diverse emotional responses, while also fostering an intellectual form of
viewer engagement with regard to the artistic and historical associations that the contrast
triggers.
Plot summary
The narration of Pu Yi's life begins with a caption, 'Manchuria 1950, Chinese-Russian
border 7 , which indicates the place and time of the emperor's imprisonment by Maoist forces.
Pu Yi attempts suicide by slashing his wrists, the red of the blood running into a washbasin
and giving way to the first of several flashbacks representing his memories. The red filter
used in the filming links 1950s Manchuria with Peking in 1908, depicting the young Pu Yi's
traumatic separation from his mother. Brought to the Forbidden City, he spends his childhood
surrounded by the beauty of the place and by the obedience of hundreds of people who look
after him. When he is fourteen, China becomes a republic with an official President, who has
a wall added to the Forbidden City perimeter to demarcate Pu Yi's symbolic role in Chinese
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life. A cut brings viewers back to Manchuria where the governor is reading a biography of Pu
Yi written by his former English tutor. Another flashback narrates the encounter between the
two, and the influence the tutor had on the young emperor, until they were forced to abandon
the Forbidden City by the Communist revolution that had overthrown the republican
government. Back in the prison, Pu Yi denies the biography's allegation that he acquiesced
with regard to the Japanese invasion of Manchuria. But a flashback re-enacting the events
confirms the tutor's assertions, while the emperor's resistance breaks down only after
watching a newsreel showing images of Japanese atrocities in Manchuria. During his ten year
sentence he takes up gardening as part of a re-education programme, and acquires a job at
Peking's botanical garden. One day, he sees youngsters in the streets, brandishing a small red
book, and aggressively surrounding a group of prisoners among whom he recognizes his
former prison governor. In trying to convince the youngsters that he is a good citizen, he
makes the governor's situation worse. The last sequence of the film depicts Pu Yi's visit in
1967 to the Forbidden City - now bare and empty - where he experiences a tender sense of
nostalgia and proves his past identity to the caretaker's child by taking from behind the
throne a box containing a cricket, miraculously still alive, that he received on his coronation
day. He gives it to the boy and disappears as a group of tourists approach the throne. The film
ends with the tourist guide summing up Pu Yi's life in a single, banal sentence which also
makes reference to his death that same year.
Chromatic contrasts and personal evolution; the effect on the viewer
The film immediately activates affective responses with images showing the arrival of a train
of prisoners who are herded into a huge bare room. This is rendered in a monochrome green
that quickly fades into a greyish hue which blends into everything - the sets, the decor, and
both the soldiers' and prisoners' uniforms; it is a palette that cues a sense of oppression and,
in narrative terms, bleak expectations. In this monochromatic scheme, two elements stand
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out; the red of a notice on the wall of the prison courtyard written in imposing Chinese
characters, and of a small red star - the symbol of the Communist Party - which decorates the
huge wall from where the governor delivers speeches. This arrangement endows these two
components with an authoritarian strength, and it adds a sense of subjugation to the deictic
space because the two red elements evoke a sense of command. As it becomes clear that the
monochrome colour scheme is a recurrent feature in the depiction of the Maoist events, the
use of a single colour drains the mise-en-scene of any sense of life and it effaces every trace
of individuality, thus reducing hundreds of people to a mass of undistinguishable, inert
human forms.
The monochrome mise-en-scene lends itself to comparisons with the aesthetic beauty
contained in the flashback images of Pu Yi's memories. The stunning polychrome colour
scheme that characterizes the depiction of Pu Yi's life prior to his imprisonment elicits and
focuses emotion in different ways. This is because the flashback narrative divides the
character's past into three phases: his magical childhood, his disillusioned youth, and his
troubled adulthood, each period drawing diverse affective responses towards the protagonist,
while cueing aesthetic fascination. After the first phase, a pleasurable period of Pu Yi's life
eliciting curiosity and enthralment, the second phase is characterized by a sense of impotence
at not being allowed to shape his future - a period that cues moments of viewer empathy. The
third phase is characterized by a sense of reproach over the emperor's reprehensible conduct,
a sequence that leads to viewer estrangement.
The overwhelming effect of decor, costume and scenery
The aesthetic charm and emotional intensity created by the portrayal of the emperor's
childhood partly originates from the fact that it represents a fascinated, Western gaze on
Chinese civilization with its long-established traditions based upon a ruler's absolute power.
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This is articulated in the scene depicting the young Pu Yi being dragged from the family
home and taken to the Forbidden City. Viewers are introduced to this mythical environment
through dramatic nocturnal images blurred by the use of filters that bathe the scene in red
light. With the visual field partially obscured, the viewers' comprehension of events is
restricted, (Branigan, 1992: 76) and their perceptions become sensitized to interpret the
turmoil that characterizes the sequence, thus mirroring the disquiet occurring in the fictive
world. At the same time, the refined decor and the sensuous colours of the costumes of all the
social classes involved in the scene - for example the close-ups of Pu Yi's family's
embroidered velvet clothes, the imperial soldiers' elegant uniforms, and the sedan-bearers'
bright silk clothing - engage the viewer's senses while inducing reflections on the aesthetic
difference created by multiform expressions of human creativity.
The sense of amazement increases as young Pu Yi is brought into the presence of the
dying empress. In the throne room, the magnificent interiors with their gold and red patterns
give the scene an aura of fantasy. But the polichromy reaches its peak in the long take of the
coronation day. In this sequence, the grandiose nature of the Chinese empire is displayed
through a massive, stylized display of all Pu Yi's subjects - portrayed in their colourful
costumes - who kneel before the child emperor who himself evokes a beautifully decorated
doll. To achieve maximum impact, Bertolucci initially uses a tracking shot to follow Pu Yi as
he runs outside, and then the camera displays a
POV shot from the child's perspective, so that
when a curtain waving in the wind slowly lifts
up (see image), the disclosure of the grandiose
spectacle is experienced by viewers with the
same sense of overwhelming wonder felt by
the child.
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The intellectual implications of the film's colour motifs
The polychrome patterns also form part of an intellectual symbolism which is discernible
beneath the film's visuals. The colour motif of red, black and gold points to the ancient
Chinese system according to which each colour had a cosmological meaning. The most
important elements are the principles of Yin and Yang, which, in Chinese philosophy,
represent two complementary aspects of life in terms of interior and exterior existence. In her
study of Chinese theatre, Jo Riley (1997) explains that the black - representing the Yin
principle - symbolizes the moon and the element of water, whereas the red represents the
Yang and symbolizes the sun and the element of light. Hence, opposites such as water and
fire, or death and life are represented in a diagram of continuous exchange and flow. Riley
also explains how the importance of the colour red resides in its 'exorcist function during the
dangerous passage of transition between states', primarily those of life and death, but also
between the status of being unmarried to becoming wed (Riley, 1997: 64-65). In The Last
Emperor, the dying empress wears a sumptuous red dress, and similarly the wedding dresses
of Pu Yi's wives are red. Moreover, the use of red filters during the first flashback might be
interpreted as marking the transition from Pu Yi's state of being a 'normal' child to that of
becoming a child emperor. According to Riley, the link between the opposites of red and
black was identified in the colour gold that represents a 'deity, the power of one who controls
and recreates the cosmos' (Riley, 1997: 65). Therefore it is no coincidence that the sequence
portraying the disillusionment of Pu Yi's youthful years is introduced by the use of this
symbolism. It is, in fact, by reproaching his cousin for wearing a gold shirt, 'Gold is the
emperor's colour , that Pu Yi discovers that China had become a republic with a president. In
this regard, the ironic images of the president getting out of his sports car, surrounded by
aides who ceremoniously hold a red and gold parasol for him, convey the idea that a simple
transfer of power has occurred, with no tangible effect on the lives of the common people.
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These are examples of the way in which the mise-en-scene and cinematography of The Last
Emperor generate a viewing experience characterized by interplay between the affective and
the intellectual.
From the sublime to intimate empathic phenomena
To depict Pu Yi's increasing melancholy caused by his isolation, the film's lighting and
colour scheme is toned down. In this regard Bertolucci asserted that Storaro conceived of the
'forbidden city" as preventing Pu Yi from experiencing the fullness of light and the fullness
of colour, and that Storaro managed to transform this into visual terms (Ranvaud, 1987: 277).
Hence there is a predominant use of dark blue and black for the costumes, and of brown and
ochre for both the interiors and the landscape, with ochre also used to create a more
overwhelming and unique emotional effect. It is arguable that at certain moments, a sense of
the sublime is induced in terms of the effect upon characters, an effect also perceived
indirectly by viewers, hi the context of the body of writing on the subject, it is arguably
Edmund Burke's concept of the sublime that is evoked in The Last Emperor, what Burke
considered to be the product of three elements; terror, obscurity, and power, because each
component is related to our deep fears of pain and death. According to Burke, terror is our
emotional response to 'ideas of pain and danger', and it is indivisible from the idea of power,
whether concrete or abstract, because this represents the enormous strength' that can inflict
pain and death (Burke, 1759: 131-137).
The mise-en-scene symbolizes the infliction of pain and socio-political death upon Pu
Yi by turning the same vastness, which had earlier played an integral role in the spectacle of
his socio-political affirmation, into an emblem of his new status as a socio-political non­
entity. To place the greatest dramatic emphasis on this transition, a monochromatic colour
scheme is adopted to heighten the sense of immense void created by the size of a courtyard in
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the Forbidden City. This, combined with an
extreme long shot that further dwarfs the
emperor's frame, makes the spatial emptiness
overwhelming (see image). The spiritual
annihilation resulting from this visual
juxtaposition is conveyed through repeated
reaction shots of Pu Yi's face. Eventually the
emperor manifests his terror by running desperately across the empty space, crying in
dismay. The depiction of the Forbidden City, evolving from an imperial residence to that of a
barren, desolate prison, is symbolized by the way actions tend to take place in the set's
recesses, and by repeated shots of gates closing in front of Pu Yrs face which accentuate the
sense of segregation. The importance of the use of space in 7?7e Last Emperor appears
corroborated by Bertolucci's admiration for Ferdinando Scarfiotti in charge of the film's set
design - whom he refers to as 'the genius of the dramaturgical spaces, of emptiness and of
fullness' (Ranvaud, 1987: 277).
The transformation of Pu Yi from the maximum embodiment of power to that of a
simulacrum of China's historical past increases a sense of sorrow at being isolated from his
loved ones. Since the camera extensively focuses on Pu Yi's face and posture, it creates what
Berys Gaut terms an 'imaginative identification' eliciting an empathic response, since 'if we
are confronted with visual evidence of an individual suffering, we have a strong tendency to
empathize and sympathize with her' (Gaut, 1999: 210). The viewer's imaginative
identification with Pu Yi is secured by Bertolucci's repeated construction of scenes of
empathy, where the narrative slows and a character's emotions become the locus of attention
(Plantinga, 1999: 239-240). This differs from a face-reaction shot either for its longer
duration or because it is inserted in a POV structure alternating shots of the character's face
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and shots of what s/he sees. In The Last Emperor, the alternating technique is used in the
scenes depicting the emperor's desperation at being separated from his loved ones, and his
attempts to escape. The device ensures that viewers share Pu Yi's emotional angst, as well as
his longing for freedom and frustration at having to submit to an undeserved fate. The
viewer's alignment and affective connection with Pu Yi's sadness and with his unfortunate
situation, is made explicit when, on the soundtrack, Johnston voices viewers' thinking by
commenting that 'the emperor is the loneliest boy in the world'.
The stylization of decadence and sexuality
When the sequence related to Pu Yi's troubled adulthood begins, the colour scheme changes
again and becomes dualist; it is composed of a uniform bluish grey (reminiscent of the
exterior lighting in The Conformist) and also a vibrant polychromy, which arguably functions
as a metaphor for the co-existence in this phase of Pu Yi's life of the harsh reality that he is
unable to acknowledge, and the dreamlike lifestyle he recklessly pursues. The external shots
of Manchuria, a wild landscape, are rendered in a gloomy bluish grey, a tone with which the
emperor's new headquarters (a stone palace), and the characters' military uniforms, blend
perfectly. The colour uniformity, further emphasized by a metallic-hued light, cues an
impression of perilous detachment which invites grim expectations regarding the outcome of
the narrative events. By contrast, life inside the palace exudes the elegance of 1930s Western
aesthetics which is reproduced in the decor and costumes. The refined colour scheme creates
fascination towards the beauty of whole compositions and individual details, positioning
viewers alongside characters in experiencing intense aesthetic pleasure. Pu Yi's luxurious
Western lifestyle experienced in a period of war, in a place which - as one of the recurring
themes of Bertolucci's cinema - constitutes another secluded dwelling, highlights how his
discontent has led him to pursue sensuous gratification rather than virtuous action. This
reveals the moral void that prevents him from admitting that he has been a hostage of the
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Japanese.
His personality fits the definition of decadent individuals outlined by John Reed: The
Decadent recognizes a nothingness at the centre of existence and dreads the emptiness within
himself (Reed, 1985:15). To fill this emptiness, Pu Yi deludes himself that he occupies the
role of emperor once more, his narcissism becoming a nihilism that destroys the only people
who care for him. This particularly affects his first wife - now called Elizabeth - who, deeply
aware of their humiliating situation and of her impotence, slowly assumes decadent
perspectives, such as attitudes of self-destruction and a tendency towards sexual perversity
(Reed, 1985: 19). She is challenged by another female character, the emperor's cousin
Gioiello d'Oriente, whose androgyny evokes what 'was a peculiar but pervasive variation' of
decadent sexuality (Reed, 1985: 227). However, as regards the representation of sexuality in
The Last Emperor, I would suggest that it is so stylized that it appears designed not to cue
arousal, but to fuse with the overall sense of aesthetic allure, reaching its peak in the sequence
depicting Pu Yi's wedding night. The sexual encounter between the spouses is shot through a
voile curtain; they are framed sitting on a bed by a fixed camera positioned so that only the
upper half of their bodies are visible and their faces are mostly in profile; the red filters
envelop the red of the bride's dress and of the bed linen, whereas the gold of the jewellery
appears to melt in the suffused light. This strategy elicits a perception of the sequence that is
more similar to the contemplation of rich embroidered silk, typical of Chinese artworks, than
to the realistic, intimate human encounters typical of Bertolucci, who would return to his
more characteristic depictions of sexuality in The Sheltering Sky.
Melodramatic style and the estrangement of viewers
The decadent aesthetic used to depict Pu Yi's weakness - and the consequent moral decay of
his wife's lifestyle - results in a visual intensity that heightens the melodramatic tone with
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which the narrative represents the opposition between the ingenuous Pu Yi and the villainous
Japanese character Amakasu, in charge of the Japanese invasion of Manchuria which is
facilitated by using Pu Yi as a puppet ruler. The escalating cruelty with which Amakasu
responds to Pu Yi's naive claim that his role is that of a real emperor is portrayed through
forms of dramatization which reflect what Peter Brooks terms 'the melodramatic mode' as
established by Balzac, Henry James and Dostoevsky. Discussing philosophical aspects of
melodrama with regard to the above writers, Brooks observes that their awareness of losing
"any specific religious belief did not prevent them from continuing to believe 'that what is
most important in a man's life is his ethical drama and the ethical implications of his psychic
drama" (Brooks, 1976: 21). In The Last Emperor this is articulated through Pu Yi's denial of
reality, a perspective that increases his responsibility for the war in Manchuria, as well as for
the ill fate of his closest collaborators and his wife, hi this regard, Noel Carroll's examination
of film genres through their principal focuses of emotion is useful in identifying how
Bertolucci deviates from cinematic codes. Carroll discusses the way melodrama is based on
the combined criteria of misfortune and virtue; this often draws a compound emotion
comprising pity and admiration, (Carroll, 1999: 36). However, the form of melodrama used
in The Last Emperor lacks the virtue criterion, which explains why the eliciting of pity is
only occasional at best, with little admiration being cued towards the protagonist.
Regarding style, the film does utilize an important feature of the melodramatic mode,
muteness, which consists of gestures instead of verbal expression; Brooks traces this feature
back to Diderot's 'dramaturgy of gesture', through which he attempted to redevelop French
theatre by developing the use of a tableau vivant to represent emotional reactions (Brooks,
1976: 64-65). Melodramatic muteness is ultimately Diderot's effort to recover on stage [...]
the mythical primal language' (Brooks, 1976: 66) whose importance is stressed by Brooks
when he affirms that 'our very phrases "facial expression" and "bodily expression" suggest
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the belief that whereas language may have been given to man to dissimulate his thought,
physical signs can only reveal' (Brooks, 1976: 79). This stylistic form peaks in the scene of
the coronation ball, where a striking sequence combines three sets of images: Elizabeth eating
flowers from a vase as her eyes fill with tears
(see image), Amakasu peering from behind a
pillar and glancing menacingly at her, and Pu
Yi angrily approaching her, and rigidly sitting
beside her. This triangulation also reflects the
notion that in melodramatic modes of acting,
the meanings contained in gestures represent a 'metaphorical approach to what cannot be
said' (Brooks, 1976: 10). In the aforementioned sequence Elizabeth's gesture conveys her
acknowledgment that the situation has reached the point of no return; Amakasu's behaviour
implies his intention to repress the threat posed by Elizabeth's awareness; Pu Yi's stiffness
communicates his refusal to confront reality.
Nevertheless, while the camera positions allow viewers omniscience in respect to all
the characters, they are also responsible for the fact that, despite the emotional display of this
and other sequences, moments of empathy are largely surpassed by a sense of distance. It is a
process described by John Gibbs (2002) who notes how such framings put the spectator 'in a
position of seeing and evaluating contrasting attitudes within a given thematic framework'
thus creating a distanciation effect; Gibbs considers this to be a product of Brechtian
perspectives on mise-en-scene, which, 'rather than involving the audience in the emotional
experience of the characters, instead encourage the spectator to become aware of the social
forces that shape their behaviour' (Gibbs, 2002: 73-75). hi addition, as regards the concepts
of alignment and allegiance, the sequence portraying Pu Yi's unsatisfying adulthood appears
designed to interrupt viewers' attachment to the main character, as it extends their access to
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Elizabeth's suffering on account of her husband's socio-political blindness. This
circumstance indicates that Yosefa Loshitzky's evaluation of women in Bertolucci's films as
not having any intellectual interests and living by 'animalistic instincts and for sensual
pleasure' is insufficiently nuanced, since it can be argued that in The Last Emperor it is not
'the Bertoluccian male to suffer at length, and to prolong his suffering through conscious
intellectualization of his problems' (Loshitsky, 1995: 186) but the female. In this respect, my
overview of Bertolucci's films illustrates how the most important female characters (Gina,
Anna, Jeanne, Ada, Elizabeth, Kit) suffer because of their existential awareness, besides
being portrayed as well educated and sometimes economically independent. However, by
dissolving Elizabeth's rectitude into degenerate behaviour, the narrative of Ttie Last Emperor
ultimately alienates viewers who are therefore prevented from feeling allegiance towards any
of the characters.
History as contextual frame and the 'melodrama of passive position'
The film's a priori reference to Pu Yi's autobiography affects its viewing experience by
drawing from spectators a constant evaluation of the way the film's narrative shifts between
fiction and nonfiction; a form of representation that Lars Ole Samerberg has identified in
texts that draw on a 'verifiable reality to various extents, but invariably in such a way as to
call attention explicitly or implicitly to the difference between the fictional and the factual'
(Samerberg, 1991: 6). This oscillation between the elaborated and the real characterizes the
viewing experience provided by The Last Emperor, as the aesthetically detailed depictions of
elements of Pu Yi's life undoubtedly merge Bertolucci's fascination with the emperor's life
with the historical truth of his existence. This form of representation can elicit diverse
responses, ranging from an acceptance of 'the text as a unity' to reactions ranging from
admiration to irritation at 'the author's playful manipulation of fiction and facts'. (Samerberg,
1991: 98) responses that have occurred for The Last Emperor.(T)
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In addition, the presence of a historical macro-frame combined with a melodramatic
style takes The Last Emperor close to the genre of the 'melodrama of passive position' as
outlined by Grodal; this genre regards fictions of a melodramatic type which foreground a
passive actant controlled by forces which may be represented by a social occurrence that
negates "an active position' (Grodal, 1997: 170). In Bertolucci's film viewers are also
positioned at a historical distance from the narrative whose "authoritative form' inhibits their
construction of the film events as situations that can be altered by voluntary acts; this is
because the outcome is already known, and the time represented in the film is one in which
'human beings are objects of major forces' (Grodal, 1997: 255). In The Last Emperor the
reduction of viewers' cognitive processes is further decreased by the non-linear narration
which, by switching between two contrasting historical situations, ultimately diverts viewers'
mental activity towards reflections on the socio-historical implications of the different epochs
represented. In addition, the denouement depicting Pu Yi's nostalgia for his previous life, and
his eagerness to prove his past identity, leaves viewers uncertain as to whether he has really
changed; behind it is a discernible authorial presence creating an ending which blocks the
viewer's cognitive expectation of evolution on the protagonist's part.
Conclusion
Despite Bertolucci's intention of creating a film depicting a human journey from darkness to
light, (Ranvaud, 1987: 277) Pu Yi's transformation from emperor to citizen evokes Socci's
description of him resembling not a new man but someone discharged from a lunatic asylum,
reduced to a mere shell of a man cultivating chrysanthemums at a botanical garden (Socci,
1996: 75). But the film's depiction of Maoist China in terms of a social order which - in
pursuing equality - had come to conceive of life as a monochrome reality where any
possibility for diversity was suppressed is substantially faithful. Bertolucci confirms this
interpretation, admitting that he had felt 'the absence of the ghost of freedom' (Ranvaud,
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1987: 237). So, considering the film's depiction of Pu Yi's quest for aesthetic beauty, one
might consider his choice of horticulture as a way of continuing to enjoy multiple colours and
forms. However, the luxurious atmosphere in the Forbidden City is always associated with
the absolute power that the Emperors had; similarly, a cruel regime is embedded in the
aesthetic beauty of the Manchurian court. In this respect the mise-en-scene indirectly
highlights an issue related to independent and creative human thought, in terms of it being
either subjected to exploitation in a capitalist social order, or a source of suspicion in an
egalitarian social order; the issue is further complicated by the unexpected socio-political
disgrace of the prison governor. This occurs after viewer alignment with the character's
thought processes and his sense of justice and humanity, and his humiliation is compounded
because it occurs at the hands of youngsters whose fanatical mistreatment of their fellow
Communists is disconcerting on all levels. Therefore sympathy is generated towards the
governor because his disgrace is perceived by the viewer as unjustified. The sequence also
induces intellectual reflection as it implies that power ultimately reproduces its oppressive,
negative facets, regardless of the forms that it assumes according to historical circumstances.
The presence of these socio-political elements, although only implied, prevents the
film from resulting in catharsis, as they create a narration that does not cloud viewers'
judgment of reality, (Benjamin, 1966: 18) but which induces reflection on the portrayed
events. Consequently, I have reservations about Yosefa Loshitzky's assessment of this stage
of Bertolucci's career as a 'capitulation to Hollywood-style spectacle', with the Oscars as
proof of his 'total assimilation into mainstream cinema and the ultimate recognition of his
conformism by the film industry' (Loshitsky, 1995: 201). In my view the Hollywood-style
spectacle frequently features variants of the 'arrival of the cavalry' or the 'idealistic
sentiment' - expressed either directly or metaphorically - as embodiments of the military or
moral supremacy of the USA and/or the Western world. These values, of which Avatar
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(2009) is one recent, successful expression,(3) are absent in Bertolucci's work. Regarding the
dichotomy between intellectual films and mainstream films, it is arguable that a balanced
judgment must take into account the long debated notions that intellectual arthouse films are
frequently received by limited audiences who already share the films' perspective or
sensibility, and that 'popular' films are not necessarily politically conservative. Arguably, a
progressive society needs both: the avant-garde as the intellectual beacon indicating new
perspectives, and the popular as the vehicle to spread socio-political awareness. In the history
of the Oscars, films such as Dr. Strangelove, (1964) Guess VWw 's Coming to Dinner, (1967)
and Philadelphia (1993) have stimulated worldwide reflection on issues such as nuclear
armaments, racism and homosexuality. Consideration should also be given to the effect that
mainstream distribution and publicity can have on intelligent, low budget films after Oscar
recognition, enabling them to reach global audiences as occurred with The Full Monty
(1997).
Loshitzky's evaluation stems from continuing to compare Bertolucci to Godard, but
on closer scrutiny, the debate on Tfre Last Emperor and Bertolucci's subsequent films can no
longer take place in an avant-garde context since Bertolucci departed from Godard's view on
film-making decades earlier, with The Conformist. The Last Emperor indisputably initiated a
phase in Bertolucci's work characterized by an emphasis on visual spectacle, his projects
being supported by big budgets. But because none of these later films feature elements such
as cathartic narratives or a direct identification with the screen protagonists, instead
maintaining complex narrations often characterized by open endings and by a range of
intellectual resonances, arguably they do not conform to mainstream cinema codes. As
discussed in the conclusion to Last Tango in Paris, I think that many of Bertolucci's post-
Conformist films attempt to combine cinematic spectacle with components of auteur cinema,
an approach which ultimately left the avant-garde connoisseur and the multiplex cinemagoer
237

oth dissatisfied. When asked about Bertolucci, Italian mainstream cinemagoers often know
his name, and might mention one or two titles from The Conformist onwards, but they always
comment about the difficulty in understanding his films. By contrast, the viewers who take
pleasure in the cognitive and intellectual activity required by the allusions and cross-
references in the films will invariably be disappointed by the predominance of visual
spectacle in Bertolucci's later work.
Notes
References
Aisin Gioro Pu Yi, (1965,) From Emperor to Citizen: Autobiography of Aisin Gioro Pu Yi , transl. by
W.J.F. Jenner, Peking: Foreign Languages Press.
'A real dramaturgical synthesis to balance the uncertain relationship between history and metaphor is
missing, but the direction of the film clearly stresses the second aspect, and therefore any negative
remark on the factual plausibility of the mise-en-scene becomes futile'. Tullio Kezich, La Repubblica,
October 1987, as re-presented in Inten>ista a Bernardo Bertolucci by Jean-Claude Mirabella, Pierre
Pitiot (Rome: Gremese Editore, 1999) p. 106.
Although Avatar narrates the struggle of a native population against an imperialist nation, the
protagonist is a paraplegic former marine, who changes sides because he is in love with the daughter of
the indigenous chief. He predictably becomes their hero as they fight back, and their possible future
leader. This narrative scheme, which is nonetheless supported by a glamorous depiction of the
imperialist power, is effective in enabling audiences to leave the theatre in a mood of feelgood serenity,
oblivious that the various real world Pandoras are facing a very different destiny from the fictive one.
Aisin Gioro, Pu Yi (1965) From Emperor to Citizen: Autobiography of Aisin Gioro Pu Yi,
translation from Chinese by Jenner, W.J.F., Peking: Foreign Languages Press.
Benjamin, W. (1966) Understanding Brecht, translated from German by Bostock A., (ed.
1973), London: NLB.
Brooks, P. (1976) The Melodramatic Imagination: Balzac, Henry James, Melodrama, and the
Mode of Excess, New Haven and London: Yale University Press.
Burke, E. (1759) 'A Philosophical Enquiry into the Origin of Our Ideas of the Sublime and
' Beautiful', in Ashfield, A. and de Bolla, P. (ed.) (1996) The Sublime: A Reader In
British Eighteenth-Century Aesthetic Theory, Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
Carroll, N. (1999) 'Film, Emotion and Genre', in Plantinga, C. and Smith, G. (ed.)
Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.
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Gaut, B. (1999) 'Identification and Emotion in Narrative Films', in Plantinga, C. and Smith
G. (ed.) Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.
Gibbs, J. (2002) Mise-en-scene: Film Style and Interpretation, London: Wallflower.
Grodal, T. (1997) Moving Pictures, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Loshitzky, Y. (1995) The Radical Faces ofGodardandBertolucci, Detroit: Wayne
University Press.
Mirabella, J.C. and Pitiot, P (1991) Intervista a Bemardo Bertolucci, Rome: Gremese
Editore.
Plantinga, C. (1999) 'The Scene of Empathy and the Human Face on Film', in Plantinga C.
and Smith, G. (ed.) Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.
Ranvaud, D. (1987) 'Z 'Ultimo Imperatore di Bernardo Bertolucci', in Ungari E. (1982)
Scene Madri di Bernardo Bertolucci, 2nd ed. 1987, Milan: Ubulibri.
Reed, J.R. (1985) Decadent Style, Ohio: Ohio University Press.
Riley, J. (1997) Chinese Theatre and the Actor in Performance, Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Samerberg, L.O. (1991) Fact into Fiction: Documentary Realism in the Contemporary Novel,
London: MacMillan Academic and Professional Ltd.
Socci, S. (1996) Bemardo Bertolucci, Milan: II Castoro Cinema.
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te nel deserto/The Sheltering Sky: Time and Memory
Bertolucci declared that after The Last Emperor he was looking for a subject that would
allow him to 'put the soul under a microscope' and that in reading Paul Bowles's novel he
was 'fascinated by the idea of these "figures in a landscape" so like the paintings of Caspar
David Friederich' (Leys, 1990: 53). This declaration is pertinent to the following analysis,
which outlines how Bertolucci uses the impact of the desert landscape on the protagonists'
lives to represent the problems affecting human relationships in contemporary Western
society. It will be argued that the film's approach is to highlight the diminishing importance
of the memory of original human needs and desires in Western society, due to a radical
change in the perception of time. In fact, the film is centred on its protagonists' gradual
awareness of having lived their lives oblivious to the crucial meaning of existence, an
awareness that leads to death or to a sense of perdition both in the individual's inner and
outer worlds, hi studying the ways in which Bertolucci conveys the complex, cognitive
experiences and also the intense, affective experiences of the subject, my analysis divides the
film into three main conceptual elements: the representation of time, the representation of the
sublime, and the representation of lyrical forms. The analysis also highlights how the film's
montage and the retro quality of the mise-en-scene sustain and intertwine these theoretical
facets throughout the film.
Plot summary
During the film's opening credits, clues emerge about the narrative's themes; time and
memory. The credits roll against a background of black and white images, depicting a ship
preparing for a transoceanic journey, which are given a sepia tone. It has been noted that the
sepia tones invoke 'the nostalgic look of old 1950s postcards' (Loshitzky, 1995: 2). However,
any interpretation of this aesthetic as an indication of nostalgia is somewhat simplistic, as the
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working class people depicted in these images evoke the mass emigration from Italy to the
USA that occurred during periods of economic hardship. The brown colour is a device which
immediately shapes viewers 5 cognitive and affective engagement, by positioning them at a
temporal distance from the fictive world.
The narrative, based on Bowles's novel, is set at the beginning of 1900 and concerns a
tour of Africa - a place historically and mythically linked to man's birthplace - made by
three Americans. There is a married couple, Port (John Malkovich) and Kit Moresby (Debra
Winger), (a composer and writer respectively), and their entrepreneur friend George Tunner.
They are intermittently joined by a British woman, Mrs Lyle, and her adult son Eric who has
no apparent job. Port and Kit's marriage has lost much of its enthusiasm, and their present
rapport, essentially a friendship, is clearly unsatisfactory for both. Port's contact with a
different culture and immersion in a fascinating yet wild environment brings him to realize
that he loves his wife deeply, although this realization arrives belatedly and he dies of
malaria. Kit feigns intellectual detachment and enjoys Tunner's amiable company, the latter
clearly in love with her. But her impression of having everything under control is mistaken;
after drinking too much, she allows herself to be seduced by Tunner. Later, she also belatedly
declares her love to her dying husband. In shock, Kit runs away from the situation and,
having joined a group of Tuareg, she passively becomes the sultan Belquassim's lover, until
his wives banish her. Kit is rescued and returned to Western society but her rescue is
incomplete, as she ultimately rejects being reunited with Tunner because she feels
psychologically lost.
The representation of time through subjective narration
The two poles around which Bertolucci represents time are an intense subjectivity and a
detachment from what Deleuze terms 'sensory-motor situations', (Deleuze 1989: 126)
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intended as the conventional link between images and movement that accentuates an action,
against which Deleuze posits the notion of a purely optical image to emphasize the concept of
time and elicit reflection. With regard to subjectivity, during the first part of the film, viewers
experience the diegetic world and the landscape mainly through Port's POV, and,
significantly, the shot that starts the film is a close-up of Port's feverish face framed from a
high angle and upside down, as he opens his eyes and looks into the camera, as if to bring
viewers inside his mind to follow what appears to be a flashback narration. The narration then
adopts a slow pace to portray Port's adaptation to the different African concept of time,
which revolves around the simple alternation of night and day. Additionally, the intellectual
distance that Port puts between himself and the unfolding events creates a lack of immediacy
and involvement which, in temporal terms, adds a vagueness to the passing of time, to the
extent that in some sequences the boundary between reality and imagination is blurred.
These characteristics reflect Grodal's theories regarding the effects of the passing of
time upon human subjectivity, Grodal asserting that temporal experiences are subjective and
that they provide modal tones to visual fiction. He also observes that the elaboration of
subjectivity in film is often linked to restrictions; mise-en-scene, particularly lighting, can
combine with camera angles to restrict the viewers' ability to see, thereby reducing their
overall perception, and the outcome is that the constraints may trigger an emotional build-up
that provides the subjective feeling (Grodal, 1977: 129). The visual restrictions that emerge
from Port's POV generally originate from camera angles which, by revealing only a small
portion at a time of the set, prevent a complete view of its space and content. Interior scenes
are often weakly lit, and composed of dark shades of brown and green to contrast with
intense orange and red rays of light which stream through offscreen windows. This technique
of a restricted perspective, combined with the peculiar lighting and slow paced sequences, is
used to represent situations in which the protagonist is not in control of events, thus
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strengthening viewers' alignment with Port's passive position.
The film's use of slow paced sequences - based on long takes and minimal montage -
is extensive, and this device alters the way a narrative event is experienced. Grodal outlines
how 'temporal slowdown relocates the experience of the same images from an exterior to an
interior space', which he terms the 'body-mind location* (Grodal, 1997: 130). Through this
process, termed 'introjection'. the viewer's evaluation of narrative events shifts from an
exterior space to a body-mind location so that physical phenomena are felt as mental states.
As an example Grodal indicates the dark, wet streets in film noir that are experienced not as
real but as representing mental states (Grodal 1997: 130). In The Sheltering Sky this process
occurs in several sequences featuring Port, one of which conveys his spatial disorientation in
an unknown city as dusk falls, while another portrays his encounter with a prostitute in the
spatially indistinct environment of her tent, a dreamlike effect being created by glowing red
light sources and the use of slow motion.
A similar effect occurs when Port is in a state of delirium, lying on a stone platform;
whether this is an interior or exterior shot remains unclear. He is encircled by musicians
playing raucous music; the camera switches from a low angle representing Port's often
blurred POV, to a straight-on angle not attributable to any diegetic character, a view
restricting the viewer's perception of the space. Panning further left, the camera repeatedly
frames a group of shepherds sitting with their sheep at their feet, observing the scene with
silent detachment. The limited spatial perspectives, the bizarre frame compositions and the
loud music all cue a nightmarish numbness to enhance Port's subjective viewpoint which is
shared by viewers. The relentless African rhythms on the film's soundtrack during these
sequences also evoke an otherworldly condition, a sensation which enables the scenes to be
perceived as mental states rather than as real events. Therefore, while these sequences are
emotionally keyed to Port's perspective, the lengthy takes and indistinct, unfamiliar
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environments do not arouse tension, the latter also making it difficult for viewers to orient
themselves cognitively and anticipate events.
Representing time; self-conscious narration
The sensation of sharing the characters' subjectivities is combined with a progressive sense
of detachment caused by sensory-motor movement, Bertolucci eliciting this effect by using
images that are characterized by minimum physical movement, and by using montage based
on simple cuts. This strategy is described by Deleuze in his writing on the time-image in
cinema, in which he distinguishes between the 'indirect representation of Time", which is
conveyed by movement images through the intermediary of montage - this including the
existence of a centre whether in spatial or narrative terms - and the 'direct representation of
Time' which is conveyed by static images that draw the eye in, images linked by false
continuity shots that do not feature a centre of any sort. In the latter case, the 'image no
longer has space and movement as its primary characteristics, but topology and time'
(Deleuze, 1989: 128). The narrative of The Sheltering Sky is without a centre, this absence
being confirmed at the start when Port and Kit admit the vagueness of their plans, consisting
of travelling around for a year or two, without excluding the possibility of never returning
home. The visual narration of the journey is based on a descriptive scheme that reduces a
sense of impetus on the characters' part, especially so in the case of Port and Kit. Static,
tableau-style images are constructed by the continual visual restrictions placed on the
camera's POV by Bertolucci, up to a point where his framings often 'send' sections of the
shot offscreen, a technique which tends to draw attention to itself.
These techniques, relative to a direct representation of time, serve to emphasize small
details in the mise-en-scene and also the vastness of landscapes. The sense of fascination
exerted by these panoramas upon viewers may be strong enough to induce an emotional
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experience of being out of clock time. As Deleuze observes in commenting on Ozu's
cinematic style, slow movements combined with a prolonged length of shot create moments
of 'contemplation' that 'immediately bring about the mental and the physical, the real and the
imaginary' (Deleuze, 1989: 16). Two effective examples of the real and imaginary fusing
together occur in the film, shots where 'the action image disappears in favour of the purely
visual image' (Deleuze 1989: 13). The first example is the quasi freeze frame that closes the
opening credits and which shows a ship, shot from a high angle, as it enters the open sea with
Port and Kit on board. Later there is an actual freeze frame of the train on which Kit and
Tunner are sipping champagne; the train is suddenly framed from the outside, on a diagonal
axis. It stands motionless like a relic in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by a still, silent
landscape of white sand which forms a blurred horizon with the sea. The freeze frames,
especially the latter, cue an intense aesthetic experience, yet they also increase viewers'
awareness of the cinematic artifice involved - an awareness also elicited by several facial
close-ups of Africans of different ages, sitting and silently looking into the camera. The shots
introduce fragments of a documentary-style form into the film, perhaps with the aim of
eliciting reflection on the uncontaminated beauty that emerges from the gaze of these human
portraits. The freeze frames and the portrait shots are undoubtedly detached from the story,
and are therefore directly addressed to the audience as examples of self-conscious narration.
Representing time through time-space ellipses
Together with the absence of a centre and a predominantly non-action narrative, the third
element constituting the direct representation of time, the false continuity shot, emerges
frequently too. It takes the form of elliptical montage based on spatial and temporal gaps,
indicating the omission of a 'discrete segment of fabula time' (Bordwell 1997: 82). The most
substantial ellipse relates to the ship's journey from New York to Morocco, which is
completely omitted. A simple cut shows a little boat being rowed ashore; a subsequent cut
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introduces an image of Kit and Tunner in medium shot, as they emerge from nowhere and
pause to contemplate the deserted place. When Port appears, Bertolucci reframes the scene
from a distance to capture his movement. This longer shot is taken on an empty quayside
which features a gigantic, rusting crane, evoking a past of industrial enterprise. There is no
other human presence and no sound but their voices. Deleuze discusses film sequences in
which characters 'literally emerge from time rather than coming from another place',
(Deleuze, 1989: 39) and this observation is relevant here. Two long journeys made across the
country's arid terrain, by train and car, are also fragmented by montage and by restricted
camera views, thereby increasing the abstractness of the spatial reference and also the sense
of temporal indefiniteness. Similarly, the long duration of the Tuareg journey is constructed
through the simple alternation of night and day images. With this kind of editing and nuanced
narrative structure, Bertolucci constructs a suppressive narration which inhibits viewer
engagement with the characters, and this viewer passivity is accentuated by not disclosing
information about the motivations behind the protagonists' conduct (the reasons for the
couple's unsatisfactory marriage, the thoughts driving Kit to abandon her husband's body).
Representations of the sublime and its emotional impact
The desert is the most significant reference point for the film*s representation of time, and it
also serves to divide the narrative into two parts on account of the different aesthetic
meanings conferred upon it by Bertolucci. In the first part of the film, the desert is used to
evoke a sense of the sublime. Viewers are guided to this experience through the framings of
Port's intense facial expressions and bodily postures that relay the impact of experiencing a
different temporal effect. This novel sense of time triggers thoughts of mortality -
substantially suppressed by Western culture - which make Port realize that he has lost
direction in his life and it also facilitates the re-emergence of sentiment towards Kit. The
narrative culmination of this discovery is reached when Port takes Kit out into the desert,
246

where the contemplation of this infinite, timeless landscape provokes nostalgia for what
might be termed the lost purity of purpose, a sensation so intense that it overwhelms Port and
brings the couple's lovemaking to a halt.
In this key sequence Bertolucci's camera set-up maximizes the visual impact of
contemplating the desert. It frames both characters from the back and pauses with Kit while
Port reaches the edge of a promontory and turns to call her to join him. In positioning the
camera behind Kit, slightly to her right, Bertolucci creates only a partial identification with
her POV. This slightly more objective perspective enables viewers to feel like they are
glimpsing the desert for themselves at first hand, rather than experiencing a scene through the
eyes of another. Hence, the amazement elicited by the extreme long shot of the stunning,
monochromatic, motionless vastness that forms a horizon together with the luminous sky,
gains in intensity as Kit and the camera draw closer to the rock. Silently contemplating the
landscape with feelings of bewilderment and grief, they couple begin to make love, Port
indicating the sky as a solid shelter protecting them from what lies beyond - death - which he
suggests they are perhaps both afraid of. This provokes a liberating outburst from Kit, whose
resentment reveals that her physical detachment was ultimately meant to punish him. Port's
reply that perhaps they are both afraid of loving too much, betrays a Western cultural attitude
of choosing the safety of intellectual relationships to avoid the risk of emotional pain (a
theme further explored in Stealing Beauty). The sequence ends with Port and Kit weeping
desolately, both lying on the ground as if lifeless.
Storaro confirmed that this sequence signified the core moment in the representation
of Port and Kit's relationship. The director of photography explained that in dealing with the
film's two-part structure - corresponding to the alternate predominance of the protagonists -
he conceived of Port as the sun and Kit as the moon, which motivated his use of reds and
oranges in the first part and then indigos and blues in the second. He affirmed: 'Perhaps it is
247

significant that as a couple, they only come to terms with their relationship as they sit and
watch the sun go down, over a vast plain, at the time when the two lights pass each other. It is
only then that they find their truth/ (Storaro, 1990: 88). The dialogue, the acting, the lighting
and the use of different framings ranging from extreme long shots highlighting the
insignificant vulnerability of Port and Kit in the desert - at times their act of lovemaking
almost dissolves into the landscape - to extreme close-ups, are used to indicate that the
characters' response to the desert's overwhelming natural presence is a form of emotional
annihilation.
The affective experience of the characters could be termed sublime. William Hope's
cinematic contextualization of the sublime is relevant to this analysis of The Sheltering Sky,
clarifying the concepts underpinning this sequence's emotional structure (Hope, 2002: 134).
The aspects of the sublime relevant here include the overwhelming affective impact that
natural entities can have on humans, and the link between experiences of the sublime and
ethical aspirations, particularly the longing for an ideal life. Among natural entities as sources
of the sublime, Dionysius Longinus indicated large rivers like the Nile and immense oceans
as having awe-inspiring properties (Longinus, 1819: 28). In later debates on the concept,
Longinus's indications were extended, and references to landscapes such as that featured in
The Sheltering Sky can be found in Joseph Priestly's references to 'extensive plains' (Priestly,
1777: 119-123), and Joseph Addison's observation that 'a vast uncultivated desert' can
possess sublime qualities (Addison, 1712: 62). Philosophers agree that the inherent qualities
of objects which elicit the sublime are those of vastness and uniformity, perspectives
summarized by John Baillie: 'Where an object is vast and at the same time uniform, there is
to the imagination no limits of its vastness, and the mind runs out into infinity (Baillie, 1747:
90). These concepts are perfectly represented by the desert, since its size and uniformity of
colour, together with the idea of its origins going beyond human memory, elicit a sense of the
248

infinite.
In his discussion of sources of the sublime, Edmund Burke stated that it must elicit a
sense of pain and danger, from which 'the passions which belong to self-preservation' are
triggered. Among these passions Burke identified sentiments connected with love,
particularly 'a mode of uneasiness that is when an idea of its object is excited in the mind
with an idea at the same time of having irretrievably lost it' (Burke, 1759: 132). Their
experience of the sublime affects Port and Kit profoundly, and their pain arises from an
awareness of having lost each other's love. Moreover, by inspiring a more expansive idea of
existence, the sublime generates in both characters a sense of defeat for having lost the initial
idealism of their marriage, and this leads to their emotional collapse. In this context, it is
arguable that a concept that Bertolucci used to describe the rapport between the protagonists
of Last Tango in Paris, the notion that 'every relationship is condemned to change" in terms
of there always being 'a sense of loss', (Bachmann, 1973: 99) is also embodied by Port and
Kit. By representing so intensely the infinite through the desert's timeless and
uncontaminated beauty, the long takes cue a perception of the Sahara as the catalyst for this
moment of true communication between the protagonists (the last one occurring at the dying
Port's bedside) as well as the consequent sense of melancholia felt by them. In the film's
subsequent sequences, the viewer's hypothesis about a possible change in the couple's
relationship after the desert excursion is confirmed by the narrative depicting a revival of
Port's aspirations. He starts writing music again, he sends Tunner away with a stratagem, and
behaves more appropriately towards Kit to revitalize his marriage.
The representation of lyrical forms
In the second part of the film, which mainly depicts the journey of the Tuareg people across
the desert, the aesthetic meaning cast on the desert is that of an enchanting beauty that moves
249

viewers towards a state of psychological abandon as regards time. This narrative strand
depicts the splendour of sunsets and dawns in the desert in such a way that a timeless
experience is created, fused with an allegorical impression of an original, unadulterated,
terrestrial existence. Apart from the extensive use of long shots, the underlying aesthetic in
these sequences is related to the construction of lyrical forms; drawing on Grodal's research,
two lyrical elements can be identified: light and rhythmic phenomena. Grodal explains that
when light is deployed to draw attention to itself, the evaluation of a film's reality status and
its temporal status is affected because the reality of the diegesis dissolves and the viewing
experience becomes more achronic (Grodal, 1997: 153). The spectacular light of the sunsets
and dawns on the desert's red sand removes corporeality from life forms - such as humans
and camels - within this landscape; in the intense daylight, they seem made of paper, and at
night, their movements resemble a theatre of shadows. The result is that these images elicit
pure contemplation from the film's viewers, a form of engagement that cancels the temporal
and the spatial dimensions of the sequences. On the impact of light upon viewers, Storaro
affirms:
Light is a physical thing. It enters the eye, and therefore the brains of the people who are looking at it.
The wavelengths of the various tones impart particular psychological signals, which the audience
absorbs. It alters their blood pressure, their metabolism, their physical input. It is my work to tell the
story of the script, in this case the story of Port and Kit, carefully employing my understanding of these
principles, while writing with the light (Storaro, 1990: 88).
Grodal suggests that rhythmic phenomena also have lyrical potential; rhythm within
films - whether in the form of beats on a soundtrack, montage patterns, or camera movement
- is connected with the 'autonomic processes of the body\ The abovementioned techniques
are most important for 'representing a non-telic, non-object directed activity', (Grodal, 1997:
153) because they can change how time is perceived, hi The Sheltering Sky, rhythm is created
by camera movement reproducing the swaying motion of the camels during the Tuareg
journey. Given that the camera is also the viewers' perceptual outlet into the filmic space, the
250

camera's 'symbiotic fusion' with the camels is shared by them. Viewers are also closely
aligned with Kit during the journey through repeated POV shots, and share her sense of
abandon, becoming oblivious to the cultural world to which she belongs.
Femininity and the destiny of female fulfilment
To portray Kit's devastation at Port's death, especially after having reached a mutual
understanding, Debra Winger portrays the character extremely passively - she never really
speaks - to convey estrangement from her past life. Her intense sexual relationship with
Belquassim is linked to the issue of identity, as its origins can be found in a concept that
Bertolucci explored in Last Tango in Pans, with the addition that here the use of verbal
language is erased altogether. By having Kit and Belquassim re-enact the sexual experience
of Paul and Jeanne who also met in seclusion, ignorant of each other's identity, Bertolucci
confirms his idea that only the annulment of memory, and consequently of one's own
identity, can temporarily allow a fusion with the Other and a free joyful sexuality. Like Paul
in the Paris apartment. Kit finds in this sensual seclusion a sort of limbo in which pressing
questions disappear. Between the two films there is also some similarity in the mise-en-scene;
Kit stands half undressed in a washtub while Belquassim playfully washes black paint off
her, and this is reminiscent of Jeanne being sponged down by Paul.
Nonetheless Kit's destiny is almost as sad as Port's, given that she must live with the
impossibility of being happy. Kit rejects traditional concepts of matrimony, with its
established passive female roles that lead to psychological frustration, a mode of being that
also affects long term sensual gratification. She also refuses more modern, pragmatic ways of
conducting relationships as typified by Tunner's perspective, because she knows the
limitations of living purely for the moment. The pessimism implied by her situation emerges
in Kit's admission that she is lost; it is an open ending that will find an attempted solution in
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Stealing Beauty, where Kit's implied perspectives re-surface and are developed through
characters - Lucy and Miranda - who are no longer afraid of declaring that their
independence does not contradict their need for romance. Therefore, in The Sheltering Sky,
although Kit's doubts and disorientation are mainly conveyed through mute expressivity, her
destiny has an intellectual resonance that will induce reflection among viewers - not just
female spectators - who are sensitive to the difficulties of women attaining self-realization in
modern society, regardless of the laws and cultures in a given social order.
La mode retro as the film's contextual frame
In his analysis of cinema's use of metaframes which form a style or structure within which a
film's action is embedded, Grodal asserts that 'the addresser establishes a complicity of
fascinations between himself and the spectator", the result being that 'the freedom and
subjectivity of the viewer is moved from the level of fictional simulation of action to the level
of perceptual and affective simulation' (Grodal, 1997: 229). He identifies in nostalgia and
retro films the use of 'history and historical pattern as an embedded space for negotiating
social roles and common denominators'; he differentiates the two film types by asserting that
nostalgia films presuppose a mental model 'analogous to those used for memories', while 'la
mode retro is a more self-conscious version of the nostalgia film\ in that 'the self-referential
film highlights the fact that experience is a patterned social construction' (Grodal, 1997:
230). More specifically, in the retro film, the double position of the viewer's reception
situation is produced by the fact that:
The retro film makes the coded character of systems of consciousness and pleasure explicit [...] so that
present-day viewers know that other viewers also participate in their blend of nostalgic affect and
distance, and therefore viewers share not only identification with the fiction but also the voyeuristic
viewer-persona (Grodal 1997: 230).
The connotation of The Sheltering Sky as a retro film centres on the fact that the film embeds
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criticism of contemporary Western ideas of clock time (representing the broader frame) into
the well-known pattern of romantic adventures within a colonial context, among which A
Passage to India (1984) (1) seems to be its closest blueprint.
In terms ofmise-en-scene, many analogies emerge between the two films. Images of a
transoceanic ship are used to create a sense of anticipation for extraordinary events. There is
an evocation in The Sheltering Sky of Lean's glamorous colonialist decor and costumes, as
opposed to the economic neglect of the local populations; both films depict the landscape
through lighting and colour schemes that cue sensations of illusory enchantment; both films
also exude a disquieting sense of death from the natural, exotic terrain, such as the presence
of crocodiles in rivers and snakes in the desert. Similarly, hallucinations as a result of being
immersed in Otherness affect the films" most fragile characters, Adele and Port.
Thematically, both narratives focus on the encounter between West and East and present a
dichotomy in which Western superiority complexes are juxtaposed with enlightened Western
sensitivity; in The Sheltering Sky, the Lyles and Tunner (although in a different way) evoke
the colonialist attitude of the British expatriates in India in Lean's film, whereas Port and Kit
evoke the self-questioning attitude of Mrs. Moore and Adele.
hi both films it is a tuneless natural entity - the river Ganges and the Sahara desert -
that elicits in characters and viewers a sense of fragility and inadequacy, accompanied by a
rediscovery of spirituality and sensuality that had been erased by a Western culture entrapped
in its social patterns. Both films present a dramatic impact on their protagonists: Port and Mrs
Moore die while Adele and Kit see their Western identity questioned forever. Therefore, it is
arguable that the underlying significance in this scheme is not one of a 'West symbolically
annihilated by the East" (Loshitzky, 1995: 132); it is more subtle. Returning to the dichotomy
within the Western psyche outlined above, what occurs is an implosion of Western values
within the enlightened, sensitive Western conscience in its encounter with Eastern existential
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values, given that both films present Western utilitarian pragmatism - embodied by the
British expatriate community in Lean's film and Tunner in The Sheltering Sky - as unaffected
by such an encounter.
Therefore, the retro quality of the films' settings and mises-en-scene impacts on the
affective and cognitive engagement of viewers. Emotionally, it revitalizes the past fascination
that Western viewers experienced in discovering the East through a range of literary and
cultural media; cognitively, the films activate viewer recognition of the different character
traits of Westerners immersed in other cultures and of narrative schemes related to journeys
in unfamiliar locations. Additionally, the films use the viewer's renewed fascination in new
cultural encounters to invite socio-political reflection; in A Passage to India, these relate to
colonialism, whereas in The Sheltering Sky they concern the negative influence that the
Western cultural notion of time has had on human relations. By marginalizing mortality from
everyday life, Western culture has created a deceptive impression of there being endless time
to fulfil one's intimate desires with the effect that these can end up being deferred indefinitely
and never realized. This is a concept summarized and poetically conveyed by Bowles's final
monologue.
Conclusion
The Sheltering Sky fills viewers' senses with colours, light and boundless space, reducing the
logical flow of their thought processes as they follow the narrative's atypical temporal
schemata. Nevertheless, the two main emotions cued by the mise-en-scene - fascination and
melancholy - are the means with which Bertolucci stimulates reflection about human
relationships in contemporary Western society. In particular, the film questions Western
perceptions of time which trap individuals in a spiral of commitments that inhibits their
ability to question their life choices, an existence that leads to solitude and unhappiness. This
254

is conveyed by Port's bleak awareness of having wasted precious time, and by Kit's
realization that it is impossible to reacquire it. The subsequent release of Little Buddha also
focused on the contrast between Western and Eastern concepts of time, and this confirms the
issue's significance for Bertolucci. A final consideration of the film should perhaps centre on
its Italian title, 77 te nel deserto (Tea in the Desert), since it represents a significant example
of a misleading title. It originates from the anecdote narrated in the film by the prostitute
about three girls, who, having been invited to have tea in the desert, perish there, but the
reference passes largely unnoticed due to the scene's predominant sensuality. The Italian title
cast an aura of superficial exoticism over the film which influenced some critics who could
not resist comparing it to 'a travel agency advertisement' (Socci, 1996: 80). Again, while
considering the degree of visual spectacle contained in the film, such perspectives arguably
fail to recognize the film's attempt to raise questions regarding Western lifestyles and
civilization. Bertolucci voiced this concern, noting that 'the isolated melancholy experienced
by Port and Kit forty years ago has now assumed epidemic proportions', and that in the
'renewed search for alternative values' it was not surprising that 'existentialism should once
again take hold of the popular imagination' (Leys, 1990: 58-59).
Notes
1. Mrs. Moore and Adele, her daughter-in-law, travel from England to India to visit her son and Adele's
fiance, who is a magistrate of the Empire. They are critical of colonialist attitudes and develop a sincere
interest and sentiment of friendship towards the locals, which dramatically affects their lives.
255

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Socci, S. (1996) Bernardo Bertolucci, Milan: II Castoro Cinema.
Storaro, V. (1990) 'Writing with Light', in Negri, L. and Gerard, F.S.,(ed.) Bertolucci,
Bowles: The Sheltering Sky, London and Sidney: Scribners a Division of Macdonald
& Co. (Publishers).
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Piccolo Buddha /Little Buddha: A Journey into the Ethical through the Marvellous
After The Last Emperor and The Sheltering Sky, which were both based on literary works,
Piccolo Buddha/Little Buddha (1993) marked Bertolucci's return to developing and writing
his films' scripts. This detail, together with a contemporary critical observation that
recognized the value of the film's philosophical basis, (Grazzini 1999: 111-112) has
prompted the following chapter to venture beyond the assumption that it centres on a
simplistic opposition between West and East, in terms of unhappiness versus happiness in
personal and societal contexts (Niogret 1999: 111). Hence, I will explore two themes in the
film, the first represented by a mental journey into the essence of ethics, during which the
West/East opposition becomes a more complex issue. This emerges from the notion that, far
from denying the value of Western culture, the film warns against the distortion generated by
its self-centredness.
The second of the film's cornerstones is based on a visual journey during which its
opulent visuals appear motivated not so much by Bertolucci's interest in making a
'sumptuous work', (Socci, 1996: 83) but by an expression of his own personality through the
creation of an aesthetic experience that evokes the emotional impact of wonder and
amazement upon humanity and the nurturing of the human imagination. This archetypal
sensation, the film implies, is dying out nowadays as a consequence of the pragmatism that
dominates Western society. To clarify the nature of the film s journey theme, this chapter will
analyse the two segments which compose the film, these relating to the depiction of the
Buddha/Prince Siddhartha's life within the story of a young boy assumed to be the
reincarnation of the Dalai Lama. As a consequence, it will be indicated how the viewer's
cognitive and affective engagement is split between these two segments as they require
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different positions and elicit different emotional responses, such as melancholy and wonder.
Plot summary
The opening credits accompany a beautiful illustrated tale narrated in voiceover, which tells
the story of a priest who halts the sacrifice of a goat when the animal reveals that it had been
a priest in its previous life. The narrator is revealed to be a Buddhist monk - Lama Norbu -
who is reading to a class of children. Having received a letter containing a tip-off, Lama
Norbu, accompanied by a group of acolytes, leaves his monastery in Bhutan to travel to
Seattle where a boy - Jesse Conrad - has been identified as the possible reincarnation of the
late Dalai Lama, Lama Dorje. The monks' visit to Jesse's parents, Lisa and Dean, draws a
polite but sceptical response, although when they read a book about Prince Siddhartha s life,
an affinity with Buddhism begins to evolve. The book introduces the visual splendour of the
Buddha's legendary birth and life; a narration that, from this point in the film, alternates with
the unfolding of the present day narrative. When Jesse enquires about Lama Norbu's illness,
the monk introduces him to the concept of impermanence, while Siddhartha discovers death
as the ultimate human suffering, and Dean experiences grief as his business partner commits
suicide after going bankrupt, Dean being briefly tempted to repeat the gesture himself.
Siddhartha's decision to embrace an ascetic lifestyle, driven by the desire to find a solution to
human sufferings, is mirrored by Dean's decision to accompany Jesse to Bhutan, hoping that
the journey will help him to understand 'what to do with the rest of his life'.
Two other possible candidates for the reincarnation emerge: Raju, from Katmandu,
and Gita, a rajah's niece, whom they meet in India. During the journey, the beauty of India's
landscape and the poverty of its population are witnessed, whereas the affective bond
between the children is strengthened as they participate in the final confrontation between
Siddhartha and the Lord of Darkness (Mara). At the monastery in Bhutan, Lama Norbu
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concludes that all three children are part of Lama Dorje's reincarnation, representing the
Body, the Mind, and the Speech respectively. Soon after, he passes away, and his ashes are
given to the children who decide to commit them to the three natural elements of air (Raju),
earth (Gita) and water (Jesse). The final sequences depict the Conrad family expecting their
second child, united in assisting Jesse as he undertakes his sombre, ultimate task.
A dual cognitive scheme
The twofold level of the film's narrative is established from the beginning by the appearance
of a caption against the dark screen, immediately followed by the warm colours associated
with the embedded tale of Siddhartha's life - narrated in a past tense voiceover. The caption
reads: This film is inspired by the true life stories of several children and their extraordinary
voyage of discovery'; the following colour images depict an ancient parchment being
unwrapped, while the film's title appears on a bookrest and a voiceover utters the words
'Once upon a time...'. In this way, viewers are informed that a double thread will run through
the film, pertaining to both the worlds of reality and imagination. The real world narrative is
based on the search for Lama Dorje's reincarnation, which represents the motivation
providing the narrative with impetus and a forward-directed quality. It is a classic telic
narration which - by being based on 'models of goals and motivations conceptualized as
exterior-future-preferred states' - (Grodal, 1997: 118) provides a guide for viewers as they
hypothesize about narrative developments. This linearity is envisaged by Grodal in the
'interrelatedness of the forward-directed processes' of cognitive activities 'and the backward-
directed influence of goals [...] which are felt as causal determinants of the narrative and the
narrative actants' (Grodal, 1997: 118). The goal-structure usually implies several goals which
may either be 'independent, dependent on each other or mutually conflicting' (Grodal 1997:
118).
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In Little Buddha the goals are initially independent: Lama Norbu aims to find the
Dalai Lama's reincarnation, whereas Dean aims to find a different approach to life. The
narrative remains uncomplicated through the absence of 'process-oriented' elements, (Grodal
1997: 119) but the expected outcome is delayed by the revelation that, besides Jesse, there are
two other individuals who are possible reincarnations of the Dalai Lama. The development is
designed to create suspense and force viewers to re-orient their hypothesis-making.
Bertolucci's tendency to manipulate viewers' narrative expectations is reaffirmed by Little
Buddha which ultimately confounds the expected outcome by introducing the final twist of
none of the youngsters actually being the definitive reincarnation of Tibet's spiritual leader.
The extended narration of the gratifying journey in India takes on a paratelic mode that
temporarily sidelines the two telic narrations, diverting the viewer's attention to the non goal-
directed aspects of the narrative segment, which are intended to induce reflections on non
Western-centred ideas of life.
By contrast the narration of Siddhartha's life is connoted by a dreamlike and
mythological quality designed to situate viewers in a passive position, in order to achieve the
maximum affective impact. In this narrative strand, elements of the mise-en-scene signal to
viewers that they are transcending reality, thus facilitating the passage from one mode of
engagement to the other. They include a past-tense voiceover narration, changes in the colour
scheme, overexposed lighting, and theatrical costumes and make-up. These are the main
elements that enable viewers to determine a scene's reality status, its deviation from normal
perception, and its perceptual intensity (Grodal 1997: 30-31). The past tense voiceover shifts
the narration away from the vividness of the present, and the 'deviation from normal
perception' that alters the viewing experience in Little Buddha stems from a vibrant golden
tone that characterizes an exotic and long gone world. This colour scheme endows the
aestheticized images with an unreal quality, which is further emphasized by a perceptual
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intensity created by stylized lighting that fills the landscape with brightness, and at other
times by a pervading mist that envelops the royal palace. The result is the creation of a
dreamlike sensation as all three techniques affect normal perception by rendering characters
and environments remote and weightless.
The otherworldly sensation created by the combination of pastness and altered
perceptual elements is not affected by the present tense dialogue between Siddhartha and the
other characters, as this fails to create immediacy due to the theatrical aesthetic of the set,
costumes and make-up, which emphasize the staged nature of the images. To conclude the
analysis of the reality status of Little Buddha, it is worth considering Grodal's observation
that when a film portrays the co-existence of real and unreal situations, 'the change of focus
of attention may highlight the systems of reality-representation" (Grodal 1997: 35). This view
reflects the concept that the mise-en-scene of Little Buddha is designed to make viewers
switch between two levels of perception, and reinforces this chapter's argument that the
gradual effacement of the boundary between the two narrations constitutes the film's essence
- reflecting an intention to get viewers to re-experience and relate to the marvellous in the
way that a child readily welcomes even extraordinary events as real. Consequently, viewers
become accustomed to sequences in which the three children take part in Prince Siddhartha's
narration, such as the scene where the children first view their reflections in a illusionary
pond, are shaken by a howling wind and a sea storm, before eventually playing with a
cascade of flaming arrows transmuted into a cascade of petals.
A dual process of viewer identification
This dual cognitive scheme is emphasized by the existence of a dual process of identification
- as outlined in Murray Smith's work - which serves the twofold purpose of the film; this
consists of introducing viewers to, and arousing their interest in, Buddhist principles and
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captivating them through the spellbinding narration of Siddhartha's life, hi this respect, this
chapter's view is that the narrative choice of leaving undetermined the issue of reincarnation
represents the film's ideological basis of promoting recognition of the universal values per se
inherent in Buddhist principles, as it places an emphasis on them rather than on the religion's
central belief in reincarnation. This interpretation is supported by the fact that the character
eliciting the strongest forms of viewer attachment within the film's real world narration is not
Jesse, despite his sustained screen presence, but Dean, to whom the narrative gives the role of
embodying Western perspectives with regard to Buddhism. A viewer's 'perception of
narrative action' occurs 'through identification with subject positions instantiated by
characters' (Smith M., 1995: 78) and in Little Buddha, Dean's character plainly expresses a
developing knowledge and respect for Buddhist traditions, concern for the oppression caused
by the Chinese government in Tibet, and scepticism concerning the principle of
reincarnation; consequently, these cognitive and intellectual traits merge into a "person
schema' that viewers can easily recognize (Smith M., 1995: 82). Besides this, close
alignment with Dean is created by giving viewers access to the character s feelings in the
aftermath of his colleague's suicide and to his anxiety over possible bankruptcy;
consequently, viewers broadly empathize with the character's diminishing self confidence.
The turning point is Lama Norbu's serene comment of 'Why should you?' at Dean's
declaration of disbelief in reincarnation, because while it distances the Western culture shared
by the character and by most of the film's viewers from any commitment to believe, it elicits
an interest in knowing more about Buddhist principles to make an informed evaluation of
their worth.
Dean's encounter with Buddhist culture is experienced primarily through Jesse's
innocent gaze, since his curiosity about a different existential dimension becomes contagious,
hi this context, the story of Siddhartha's life, which derives its momentum from the reading
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of a children's book, takes on a precise meaning in terms of the way it represents Bertolucci's
attempt to induce viewers to adopt the same docile attitude towards the marvellous that
typifies childhood. In the film's structure, therefore, Jesse represents a second 'engaging
character' with the task of embodying the metaphorical door through which viewers enter the
film's imaginative segment, and then the medium through which they might cross the
boundary between reality and imagination when the mise-en-scene slowly merges the two
narrative segments by having the children from the film's present day narrative continuum
(their position mirroring the viewer's position) become physically involved in Siddhartha's
astonishing tale. Consequently, the disappearing demarcation line between the two narratives
ensures that the sense of wonder and spiritual awareness elicited by Siddhartha's narrative
eventually pervades the film's contemporary realism.
The use of archetypes to engender intellectual inferences; Buddhism, Greek mythology
and Christianity
Unlike the whimsical fantasy imagery that appears in mainstream, commercial cinema, Little
Buddha makes use of archetypal imagery designed to stir viewers' most intimate (though
forgotten) desires and needs. An archetype, in fact, involves a deeper emotional experience
through its fundamental, intercultural links to primordial images expressing human wonder
about life and its phenomena. Little Buddha draws on three primary patterns: the child
symbolizing a new beginning that is open to all possibilities; the hero/saviour symbolizing
potential changes in world orders; and the supernatural symbolizing the divine or special
nature of the hero - indicated in the film by trees spontaneously bending towards
Siddhartha's mother to shelter her during the baby's birth and by a cobra that grows to giant
proportions and rears its head to protect Siddhartha from the rain.
The use of archetypes with their resonances might explain the mise-en-scene^
effectiveness in cueing visual amazement as well as intellectual involvement. This is also due
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to the film's strategy of amalgamating Buddhist themes with those deriving from two major
cultural components which form the basis of Western perspectives towards individual and
social suffering: Greek mythology and the figure of Christ. The implied cross-references are
arguably intended to suggest why Western society continues to be trapped in existential
unhappiness, and to encourage reflection on the different ways in which Western and Eastern
parts of the world have come to perceive human suffering. The element of Greek myth re-
elaborated in the film concerns Pandora's Box,(l) which tells the story of a woman who (like
Siddhartha) is drawn by her curiosity to disobey an order and open a forbidden box. Her
gesture liberates human sufferings related to old age, poverty, illness, and death that spread
across the world, and it forces her to ease her guilt by spending the rest of her life trying to
alleviate people's pain. In Little Buddha, Siddhartha's desire to look beyond the sanitized
reality established for him by his father is comparable to the opening of Pandora's Box, the
character discovering the sufferings in the same order. But as regards the sequence depicting
death, the camera framing and the close-up of the dead man's feet evokes Andrea Mantegna's
famous painting // Cristo morto / TJie Dead Christ, who is depicted lying on a marble coffin,
his feet positioned towards the forefront of the canvas.
References to Christianity also appear at an earlier stage of the film, when baby
Siddhartha is presented at the age of two already able to speak, as he says 'I have been born
to save all creatures from suffering', which echoes Jesus's words as he declares that he has
been sent into the world to take on his shoulders the original sin of Adam and Eve. The
astronomer who asserts that Siddhartha 'will be the master of the world' resembles the Magi
honouring Jesus as the future 'King of the Kings'. Later, the scene depicting Siddhartha's
renunciation of his regal status draws on St. Francis's life, with the evocative rite of cutting
his hair, and the slowing down of the take is intended to emphasize the gesture's symbolism.
Moreover, the dialogue continues to establish parallels between Buddha and the figure of
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Jesus throughout Siddhartha's progressive awakening regarding the ways of the world. For
instance, when he declares to his servant 'I am doing this for everyone' the words echo Jesus
saying to his disciples 'My sacrifice is for everyone'. By underlining the analogies between
Buddha and Jesus, the film elicits reflection on the fact that while Buddha's enlightenment
leads to a personal decision and initiative against something that can be erased (expressed by
Siddhartha's uttering 'I must find a remedy for suffering'), the laic ethic (passed down from
Greek culture) and the Christian religion conceives suffering as a punishment people cannot
escape, the latter conceiving that it can continue even after death. These cross-references
strengthen this chapter's contention that Bertolucci's interest in Buddhism is a choice that
leads him to imply that Buddhism is able to transcend the limits of other moral codes, which
consist of variations of the notion of original sin (Pandora and Adam and Eve respectively),
this entailing the individual's submissive acceptance of an unchangeable, sad reality. By
contrast, the Buddhist concept of 'the present time' being the only time and reality that
human beings know and can master, provides a free path to establish harmonious
relationships with the inner self.
The film's emotion structure and its implications regarding modern existence
The film's emotional charge is not limited to the segment depicting the marvellous, but it also
derives from the present day narrative through Bertolucci's depiction of the contrast between
the Tibetans' serenity and the melancholy nature of Western life. Nonetheless, both cultural
perspectives are characterized by a shared fascination for intellectual discoveries, as well as
by a strong sense of cultural identity; the Tibetan monks recreate a multicoloured microcosm
in the heart of Seattle, while Jesse travels through India and Bhutan with Western clothes,
baseball cap, game-boy, and rucksack. In addition, each world is portrayed as possessing its
own aesthetic beauty. This links two different strands of affective engagement into a single
form within a narrative that implies equal respect towards the aesthetic and the intellectual
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experiences generated by both worlds. The cinematic techniques used to obtain this result
centre on the colour scheme, the acting style, and the dialogue. From the beginning of the
film, viewers are presented with a strong chromatic contrast that places the warm oranges and
reds of the monastery, built from natural materials and meant as a shelter from the outer
environment, in contraposition with the elegant yet cold metallic blues and greys of Seattle's
modem skyline and the Conrads' stylish house. The latter is built with refined materials and
resembles a human aquarium overlooking the seascape through its glass walls. Although
differing in style, the dwellings both represent a state of wellbeing, but the tones and colours
associated with the Western world betray concerns which are also mirrored in the behaviour
of Jesse's parents, who despite their apparent affective security and affluence look jaded and
sombre.
Lisa and Dean's disenchanted perspective characterizes the pragmatic gaze with
which Western society views existence. Through their gaze the Tibetan monks' joyful
tranquillity is perceived as amusing and even slightly suspicious for a modem society where
people are constantly on guard. By contrast, the monks' spontaneity in appreciating Western
progress without being in awe of it, elicits doubts concerning the West's confidence about its
cultural supremacy. Evidence of this is contained in the sequence depicting the different
approaches to astronomy shown by Lisa and the monk Sogyal. Although they both live in
Seattle and teach maths, they conceive their subject differently: Sogyal links astronomy with
human lives, his discipline generating endless amazement for him in terms of humanity
somehow being influenced by the stars' infinite and timeless presence. By contrast Lisa
simply replicates the Western concept of science as a means of expanding human knowledge
to control world phenomena. The contrast between her condescending politeness and
Sogyal's enthusiasm elicits the doubt that the price paid by Western society for modern
thinking, which has brought abundant material comforts, has been the loss of more intimate
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human feelings and desires. This interpretation is supported by the film's portrayal of suicide
being perceived by Western society as a way to escape life's difficulties. The inclusion of this
notion in the film implies that despite our advanced knowledge we remain unable to control
our lives, and it indicates how our inner fragility remains intact regardless of technological
progress.
Dialogue plays a key role in concretizing the film's sense of equality between the two
worlds, since the characters are all intelligent, perceptive and likeable. The monks patiently
explain their culture and beliefs, serenely accepting Western scepticism. Emblematic of this
is the scene in which Lama Norbu, nearing death, gives his watch to Dean while
affectionately reproaching him with a smile: 'You still don't believe, do you?" Lisa and Dean,
in turn, evaluate Buddhist ideas without dismissing them entirely. At Dean's concern about
the possibility of being reincarnated as an ant that can be squashed, Lisa's rebuff is brusque:
'People get squashed too'; Dean's sarcastic comment about Jesse's impending 'career' as a
spiritual leader takes on a new meaning after his business partner's suicide, allowing him to
see that an alternative, non-materialist lifepath might enable his son to avoid the stress of
contemporary society. Finally Dean's confession of his hope that the journey to the East
might provide an answer to his existential disorientation is echoed by Lisa's sombre
awareness of having been excluded from 'the adventure'.
Conclusion
Little Buddha is the last of three films (the other two being The Sheltering Sky (1990) and Tlie
Last Emperor (1987)) that Bertolucci released after abandoning Italy as a consequence of a
rift with critics about The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man. For this reason, Italian critics
designated them as la trilogia deU'altrove /the trilogy of the elsewhere, (Socci, 1996: 83)
thereby implying that Bertolucci had decided to detach himself from Italian political issues. It
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is curious that this accusation came after they had dismissed The Tragedy of a Ridiculous
Man, a film that this study considers eligible to be included among Bertolucci's most political
films, such as Before the Revolution, Partner and Tlie Spider's Stratagem. The director's
interest in vast, exotic spaces might be interpreted as a need to breathe after the
claustrophobic experience, in psychological terms, created in Italy by negative responses to
almost all his films. On the other hand, this study has identified how all three films retain a
certain socio-political significance. In this respect, Little Buddha addresses Italian audiences
directly, as many contemporary viewers would remember how in the 70s and early 80s it was
common among leftist sympathizers to turn to Buddhism as a philosophical answer to their
political disappointment.
In this regard it is interesting to remember how Bertolucci had already anticipated this
particular interest in Before the Revolution (1964), through the character of Gina who narrates
an apologue on the inexistence of time, this drawing on Eastern philosophy (see the earlier
reference to Hesse's book Siddhartha). Certainly, as regards the beliefs circulating in the
developed world during those years, the film does not express any messianic expectation
about the ability of Buddhism to alleviate social problems. Yet it is rediscovered as a way to
elicit reflection on how Western society has come to be oblivious of, and indifferent to, the
human condition. Hence the film's socio-political perspective can be acknowledged as a
warning to Western society against its harmful tendency to restrict its conception of the world
to Western values only. This interpretation appears confirmed by the film's denouement (the
Conrad family reunited with Lisa who is expecting a second baby) which depicts how Dean's
world view has been positively changed by contact with a different culture. Similarly, the
journey into the marvellous seems to represent Bertolucci's intention not only to amaze
viewers, but also to pose a fundamental question linked to the abovementioned socio-political
warning. It concerns the danger that human ability to experience life's wonders is
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diminishing because of Western society's obsession with keeping human existence under
rational control and within fixed parameters. The recourse to the archetypes and myths in the
film is a way of underlining their potential - both at social and individual levels - to shape
people's perspectives and hence generate possible new life perspectives. The construction of
the film's final images seem to reflect this notion, in that the camera first frames the Conrads'
boat (a realistic image), and then slowly moves backwards until it becomes smaller against
Seattle's silhouette which is enveloped in a beautiful sunset (a poetic image). This is a clear
cinematic statement that we are surrounded by natural wonders, provided that we take the
time to become aware of this.
Notes
1. The myth narrates that Pandora was created on Zeus's command to punish Perseus and mankind for
having stolen the sacred fire. Zeus sent Pandora to Earth to marry Perseus's brother, and knowing her
curiosity, he gave her a beautiful vase with a strong recommendation never to open it. As expected,
Pandora opened the vase, thus letting out all the punishments. After days of devastation. Pandora
discovered that at the bottom of the vase, only one thing was left: hope.
References
Grazzini, G. (1993) review in L 'Indipendente, 10th of December, in Mirabella, JC. and Pitiot,
P. (ed.) (1999) Inter-vista a Bemardo Bertolucci, Rome: Gremese Editore.
Grodal, T. (1997) Moving Pictures, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Niogret, H. (1993) review in Positif, n.394, December, in Mirabella, JC. and Pitiot, P. (ed)
(1999) Inter-vista a Bemardo Bertolucci, Rome: Gremese Editore.
Smith, M. (1995) Engaging Characters, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Socci, S. (1996) Bemardo Bertolucci, Milan: II Castoro Cinema.
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Section 5; Women at the Forefront
La luna (1979); lo hallo da sola/Stealing Beauty (1996); L 'assedio/Besieged (1998)
Within Bertolucci's body of work, these three films are characterized by their emphasis on
female characters as protagonists, namely Caterina, Lucy and Shandurai respectively. Yet,
paradoxically, none of these characters are as striking and memorable as figures such as Anna
Quadri, Jeanne, and Elizabeth (Pu Yi's first wife). One reason for this is perhaps that they are
inserted in relatively uncomplicated and undemanding narratives, and that - fundamentally -
they are cyphers through which Bertolucci identifies issues that go beyond the characters'
personal circumstances in the films. In particular, Caterina in La luna seems to function as a
symbolic representation of America and its film audiences, having seemingly become
unreachable for Bertolucci after the debacle of 1900, as Caterina is for her son Joe. Lucy, in
Stealing Beauty, represents the medium through which the film addresses the issue of the
female condition in consumer society; whereas through Shandurai, in Besieged, the director
returns to existentialist questions, this time linked to the human condition when estranged
through living in a foreign country. These elements affect the development of the three
protagonists in terms of their narrative importance; since they seem to be symbols
representing other, often intellectual agendas, this has repercussions on the viewer's affective
engagement with them, in the sense that even the empathic phenomena usually present in
Bertolucci's film-making are used sparingly and with varying results. In general, all three
films fail to engender much of a 'pro-attitude' towards characters, (Carroll, 1999:31)
although there are different degrees of intentionality on Bertolucci's part regarding this
outcome.
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In all three films it is possible to observe a pervasive extra-diegetic narration that
indicates the presence of an implied author. In addition, although their narratives assume a
telic form, this is gradually sidetracked by their narrations which often activate memory
associations, thus creating viewing experiences typified by a saturated modal quality (Grodal,
1997: 136). Additionally, La luna, Stealing Beauty and Besieged conform to Bertolucci's
stylistic tendency to offer viewers rich aesthetic experiences through his use of landscapes,
sets and cinematic techniques, an approach which, again, constitutes the focus of these films'
affective charge rather than any sustained viewer/character attachments.
References
Carroll, N. (1999) 'Film, Emotion and Genre', in Plantinga, C. and Smith, G. (ed.)
Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.
Grodal, T. (1997) Moving Pictures, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
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La luna: Stylistic Incoherence and Affective/Cognitive Incongruence
In 1979, three years after 7900, Bertolucci released the controversial film La luna. If the
failure of Partner led him to reassess his artistic identity and to make remarkable films such
as The Conformist, the problematic reception of 1900 evidently caused disorientation, as La
luna features little of his ability to develop elaborately structured work and sophisticated
narrations. Interviews confirm that the film originated from anomalous and stressful
commercial circumstances, and they refer to the devastating effect caused by the struggle to
distribute 1900 in America. In 1977 Bertolucci commented that during the negotiations for
1900 he had felt Mike a spinach', unable to react, and that he had been on medication for his
anxiety. He praised his partner - Clare Peploe who had been assistant director for 1900 - for
her support (Quinn, 1977: 103). More intriguing is Bertolucci's assertion that in La luna
Peploe went beyond her role as screenwriter to assist with the film's direction, although
Bertolucci does not say which sequences were involved. Emphasizing her importance in both
his artistic and personal life, he also recalls that they married after the filming of La luna had
ended (Ungari, 1982: 195). These assertions shed light on the unusual conditions in which the
film was elaborated and constructed, and support the idea that it represents 'a momentary loss
of formal and narrative control' (Kolker, 1985: 8).
Significantly, the narration of La lima is expressed through a range of registers, such
as drama, comedy and lyricism, which characterize different segments of the film. However,
this scheme reduces its stylistic coherence while inconsistency and a lack of lucidity in
affective and cognitive terms are also arguably experienced when viewing it. In narrative
terms, the protagonists of La luna have little psychological depth, making any form of viewer
attachment difficult, and from a social perspective the motivation for the mother/son incest -
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the film's dramatic pivot - appears inadequately grounded. Inevitably, Bertolucci's
declaration that the incest theme was a development of the one presented in Before the
Revolution, (Ungari, 1982: 35 and 195) immediately attached a psychoanalytical significance
to the film whose durability has possibly restricted the development of alternative critical
hypotheses about its meaning, hi this respect, the following analysis will interpret it
differently, positing that, in emotional terms, La lima can be interpreted as the director
expressing his mixed feelings towards America and its audiences - intended here as both
viewers and critics.
This chapter will trace a contradictory attitude of attraction and resentment in the
film's framework and within a metaphorical meaning for the film that I will outline, an
interpretation based on the mother figure, Caterina, embodying America and its capricious
audiences, and on her son Joe embodying Bertolucci's attempts to elicit a greater
understanding and appreciation of himself and his work in the States. These contrasting
sentiments are responsible for the likely response of disorientation and occasional annoyance
that viewers may feel while watching La luna. At a general level, a sense of attraction is
evoked in the film's emotional structure, based on the viewer's fascination for opera music
and performances, on a degree of enthralment at the film's daring sexual component, and on
its lyrical, poetic sequences. This combination of elements implies an intention on
Bertolucci's part to regain significance for American audiences through the use of
ingredients, such as the traditional cultural appeal of opera, and the eroticism of Tango, that
had proved attractive to them.
By contrast, a sense of authorial resentment emerges in the film's flat cognitive and
intellectual structure, an approach that reflects Bertolucci's conviction - at the time - that the
European tradition of analysing reality in political terms was extraneous to the Americans,
(Ungari, 1982: 127) and he thereby attributed a limited interest in intellectual matters to
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American filmgoers. The fickle, inaccessible mother Caterina - in metaphorical terms,
America and its audiences - proves, affectively, to be a source of frustration and resentment
for her son Joe, and if credibility is given to the notion of Joe being a cypher for Bertolucci,
giving the director a narrative presence, other manifestations of his presence that alter the
filnTs mood take the form of moments of self-affirmation that emerge in the virtual tour
through Bertolucci's cinematic memories that occurs at certain points in the film. This seems
to function primarily for Bertolucci's own benefit, and it accounts for Kolker's cutting
remark that La lima is 'a film for the solitary pleasure of its maker' (Kolker, 1985: 154).
In affective terms, resentment surfaces from the relationship depicted in the film,
where the mother is guilty of not listening and not understanding, whereas the son's troubles
reside in a teenager's typical fragility and naivety. This chapter asserts that Joe embodies
elements of Bertolucci's contemporary mindset, initially reflecting his idealistic craving for
the non-listening and non-understanding American audience - symbolized by Caterina and
then regaining lucidity by returning his attention to his cinematic origins. This situation is
reflected in the film by the slap that Joe receives from his biological father. Continuing the
metaphor of the film's characters embodying the perspectives of real-life figures, it might be
asserted that Joe's father brings the boy/Bertolucci back to his senses, the character evoking
Pasolini's influential role in Bertolucci's cinematic career and sharing biographical
similarities with Pasolini such as living in Rome with his mother. Pasolini's pedagogical role,
broadening the minds of individuals regarding human existence, is reflected in the film
through Joe's father's profession as a teacher, echoing that of Cesare, another possible
Pasolini cypher, in Before the Revolution. Consequently, the following outline of the film's
cognitive and affective structures will centre on the uncomplicated scheme of the narration,
the implications of the film's sketchy development of the protagonists' psychological traits
and the limited narrative justification of their actions, and the incongruous deployment of
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different stylistic registers as the filirTs main weaknesses. It will also indicate how,
emotionally, the pleasurable affective engagement created by the lyricism of some sequences
is outweighed by other elements that cause a more frustrating viewing experience.
Cognitive and affective functions of the prologue
The film's first images are close-ups of an attractive young mother - Caterina - playfully
pouring honey on the shoulder of her toddler, Joe, and licking it off, while in turn the toddler
licks honey from her finger. A backward tracking shot shows them sitting on the floor of a
veranda overlooking a stunning seascape. A man enters carrying a basket of fish; under the
child's disconcerted gaze, he starts cutting and cleaning them before joining Caterina to
dance to a song being played loudly. Joe starts crying and ventures inside the house to seek
comfort from an elderly woman; in doing so, a strand from a ball of wool twines around his
neck. The opening credits start after a cut to an image of the moon shining over a country
road along which Caterina is riding a bicycle with Joe seated in front of her. He is enchanted
by the dual spectacle of the moon and of his mother's beautiful face. The prologue ends with
a cut to the interior of a beautiful, bourgeois apartment.
The prologue establishes an immediate perception of Caterina as self-absorbed,
distancing viewers and their sympathies. Murray Smith has argued that viewers sometimes
experience a residual 'drag' of positive emotion towards film characters even when their later
behaviour becomes unattractive, (Smith M,1995: 217) but equally, as has been pointed out
elsewhere, certain film protagonists never redeem themselves after viewers fail to engage
with them at a film's outset (Hope, 2006: 96). While there may be little viewer attraction
towards the characters, the prologue assists viewers in understanding the mother and son's
feelings as the story unfolds, with particular regard to the way Joe perceives his mother as
distant like the moon. Affectively it cues contrasting sensations through the aesthetic
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experience engendered by the beautiful seascape, and by the unease generated by Caterina's
over intimate approach to the toddler. The nocturnal bicycle ride is designed to cue a poetic,
lyrical ambience, which occasionally characterizes the narration later on.
Plot summary
The main narrative begins with the toddler having now grown into the teenager Joe, who
feels neglected by his mother Caterina, an acclaimed soprano. A trip to Rome reveals the
extent of his solitude, in contrast with the way Caterina flourishes through the love of friends
and fans. Joe's deviated affection for his mother emerges as he, in a delirious state as a
consequence of drug withdrawal symptoms, encourages Caterina to masturbate him. Away
from Rome, they visit places frequented by Caterina in her youth - which are the settings of
Bertolucci's previous films - and encounter a range of peculiar characters. Eventually mother
and son end up in a hotel room and another sexual situation develops, but abruptly and
furiously Joe withdraws from this intimacy. Caterina resolves to let him meet his real father,
the man who appeared in the prologue. They meet at the beach house where everything has
remained unchanged, including the basket with the wool balls. The film ends with Joe
meeting and being slapped by his biological father at the Caracalla Baths where Caterina will
perform. The last images are of the three characters smiling at each other, as the moon rises
behind an inspired Caterina who sings in a pale, feathery dress which mirrors the moon's
evanescence.
Narrative linearity and cognitive engagement
The narrative of La luna appears to be the most linear of Bertolucci's films, which are usually
characterized by formal and structural complexity. In particular the narrative features several
mainstream conventions such as instances of similarity and repetition; a circular pattern
established between the opening and ending, with the ending resuming the filirfs opening to
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esolve it; and a predominantly unrestricted form. In La luna, patterns of similarity emerge
from physical and psychological elements, all of which are linked to Caterina's personality.
Physical elements include the mise-en-scene of the house in Rome whose imposing decor
evokes a theatrical backdrop rather than domestic furnishings, and Caterina's dress sense
which indicates little difference between her everyday outfits and her theatrical costumes.
Similar psychological elements involve a correspondence between the physical settings and
the characters' stylized performances to enhance the sense of Caterina's self-referential
world, in which she is perceived and treated as an idol. In cognitive terms, these identifiable
thematic features facilitate the viewers' activity of hypothesis-making, while simplifying
their expectations regarding the evolution of the plot.
One minor variation occurring in the second half of the film, with Caterina
temporarily abandoning her self-centredness to give Joe attention, does not add thematic
intricacy; instead, the narrative's uniform nature is continued, as no change in Caterina's
prima donna attitude is presented. These characteristics (over)simplify the viewer's task of
constructing the story by constantly confirming their assumptions regarding the development
of plot and characters. Finally, unlike Bertolucci's prior films which do not offer clear-cut
denouements, La luna closes with every loose end tied up. This is achieved through the film s
final sequences reprising the prologue, adding more contextual information regarding Joe's
relations to achieve narrative circularity. Joe returns to the beach house where everything is
unchanged, and the identities of the two adults - his father and grandmother - are confirmed.
The viewer's uncomplicated cognitive engagement with the film is facilitated by the
unrestricted narration, during which spectators constantly know more than diegetic
characters. The only exception occurs in the prologue sequences which have no clear origin,
but which indicate how Joe's association of his mother with the beautiful, unreachable moon
evolved from his childhood.
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Pasolini's Oedipus Rex revisited
The opening sequences lack narrative contextualization to connect them either to an
individual's dream or memory, or to define them as orthodox flashbacks. This adds a degree
of uncertainty to their function in the film, unless we consider them as a kind of prologue
following the conventions of Greek tragedy, according to which the first scene or monologue
illustrates the action(s) preceding the portrayed events. The fragmented quality of the scenes
between Caterina and young Joe, together with analogies in the mise-en-scene, evoke
Pasolini's staging of the prologue of his Edipo Re/Oedipus Rex (1967), which used a format
referencing the conventions of Greek tragedy. In Edipo Re the prologue is also fragmented
and spread over unconnected sequences. First Pasolini shows the enchanting discovery made
by baby Oedipus - as he is breastfed - and by the viewers, of Giocasta's beauty, the actress
Silvana Mangano's face being shown in close up in a long duration shot. Mother and son are
sitting in an idyllic country landscape, filmed on a gloriously sunny day like the seascape
sequence in La luna.
A few shots later Oedipus is portrayed as a toddler who frightened by deafening
fireworks cries inconsolably as his parents dance happily, oblivious to him. Curiously, the
role of Merope, the queen who acts as Oedipus's adoptive mother, was played by Alida Valli
who plays the role of Joe's grandmother in La luna. Whether or not this is a coincidence, the
parallel between the films explains the nature and function of the sequences between Caterina
and Joe within the narrative scheme of La luna, since Caterina s obliviousness to the child's
distress, and more importantly to the dangerous twine in which he gets caught, functions as a
prologue to anticipate the hazards which ensnare Joe in his adolescence. The analogies
between La luna and Edipo Re end here, as Pasolini adhered to the original unfolding of the
tragedy with Oedipus unaware of Giocasta's identity, and because his casting of Franco Citti
- an adult - in the role of Oedipus rendered plausible the powerful reciprocal love between
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the two characters.
The failure to elicit cognitive identification and pro-attitudes
In La luna, the conformity of the plot and characters to traditional patterns of canonical
narratives does not result in close viewer engagement with the developing action. This failure
can be explained through the cognitive notion that viewers perceive narrative events not only
as chains of causes and effects, but they also draw on their cultural knowledge in evaluating
them, (Branigan, 1992: 27) formulating hypotheses based 'on life as experienced through the
probabilities of his or her society' (Branigan, 1992: 30). In this respect the disjunction of the
film's incest theme from viewers' knowledge of social interaction generates dissociation
from the ongoing action; additionally, the recurring narrative patterns referred to earlier may
cue uncomfortable cognitive expectations in scenes where Caterina and Joe are alone. From
their initial evaluations of her character, viewers are unlikely to engage emotionally or
cognitively with Caterina since the egocentricity and dubious motives of her actions will
induce aversive responses, hi this context, if filmic situations are negatively evaluated by
viewers, 'the cognitive activities then produce mental models for reducing the affects and
emotions' (Grodal, 1997: 87). This concept illustrates why La luna short-circuits the
emotional response expected from viewers who detach themselves from the proceedings, a
response aggravated by the film's structure which - as will be shown - fails to generate a
pro-attitude in viewers towards its protagonists and story (Carroll, 1999: 31).
The short circuit between the film's content and viewers' reception of it occurs from
the prologue onwards, when a discrepancy evolves between the director s sympathetic
portrayal of Caterina's self-absorption, and the likelihood of viewers being more judgemental
towards her. These scenes, which typify the film's ambivalent visuals and subject matter, are
characterized by a light touch that viewers are unlikely to respond to. The camera's intrusive
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proximity as Caterina licks honey off her son may elicit unease, as it depicts a scenario where
the characters' roles are more akin to those of adult sexual fetishism than to those of parent
and child. Affectively, the film's recurring juxtapositions of inappropriate intimacy and
insensitive detachment are set in motion, with a harmonious middle ground permanently out
ofreach.
Transient empathic phenomena
In contrast to Caterina, Joe is a character with whom viewers might experience partial
cognitive identification, in so far as they recognize a lack of interpersonal relations and a
desire for social acceptance as causing his unhappiness. This brings occasional empathic
phenomena, generated by viewers 'using mental models and schemata from everyday
psychology 7 that allow them to simulate 'emotions in identification with an agent of fiction'
(Grodal, 1997: 87). This frequently occurs during Joe's fruitless attempts to obtain his
mother's attention, and his solitude in Rome, hi this context, the concept of the disorientation
of individuals who find themselves in artificial environments created by/for other people -
stylized, insular habitats which induce alienation - is a recurrent theme in Bertolucci's work.
It spans films ranging from The Spider s Strategem, in which Athos Magnani junior is drawn
into an elaborate mise-en-scene created by the inhabitants of Tara, to The Last Emperor,
which portrays Pu Yi's malaise in the Forbidden City, and it re-emerges in Bertolucci's later
films as protagonists such as Shandurai and Matthew experience disorientation in the
secluded, disquieting environments constructed by others in Besieged and The Dreamers, hi
La luna, Joe's disorientation leads him to drug addiction, whereas the extent of the emotional
distance between mother and son is emphasized during his birthday party, where Caterina
appears to be the only person unaware of Joe's feelings and situation. However, this fleeting
empathy with Joe is problematized by the incestuous attraction between him and his mother,
behaviour which is not articulated visually or thematically to elicit emotional involvement or
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even understanding from viewers and which, cognitively, does not find narrative justification
within the film's scheme. If we return, however, to the earlier reading of the narrative in an
autobiographical perspective, some sense can perhaps be conferred on it, at least if credibility
is given to the notion of Bertolucci, consciously or otherwise, portraying through Joe his own
disastrous naivete in craving the attention of America and its audiences, whose allure and
self-centredness is perfectly embodied by Caterina's character.
Problematic alignment and the absence of allegiance
For mainstream viewers, the occasional empathic phenomena originating from Joe's solitude
are too infrequent to create an attachment to the character and therefore enable a convincing
treatment of a controversial narrative theme like incest. Several elements cause this effect: the
viewer's alignment is split almost equally between Caterina and Joe as a consequence of
Bertolucci attempting to create a balanced representation of their mutual pain. The number of
POV shots from Joe's perspective, plus reaction shots, is limited, and this reduces his
subjectivity in favour of an objective narration. The outcome of this technique is that
Caterina's responsibility for the family crisis is lessened, and Bertolucci's depiction of her
smiling amiability appears to be an attempt to redeem her inability to understand Joe's
affective needs. This perspective implies that Bertolucci is occupying an objective position
between the protagonists, a position that marks the point where the director and viewer's
evaluations of the unfolding action may diverge. Spectators are less likely to sideline their
sense of mature responsibility, to embrace the poetic idealization and volatility of the
egocentric Caterina. This position whereby the viewer's sympathies are not marshalled
against Caterina and what she represents, again supports the interpretation that despite the
fate of 1900 in America, Bertolucci was finding a way of expressing his personal, unresolved
feelings for America and its audiences.
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The emotional neutrality of the film's opera music
The film's operatic soundtrack - based mainly on arias by Verdi from works like La traviata
(1853) - does not, affectively, enhance the dramatic moments in the narrative. Instead it
forms a musical punctuation or motif to Caterina's life; given her profession, an operatic
soundtrack is an almost obligatory choice, signalling who Caterina is and what she does.
There is no thematic or emotional connection between the film narrative and the
music/staging of two of Verdi's operas // trovatore (1836) and Un ballo in maschera (1859),
because unlike the operas in question, La lima features no tragic events. Similarly, the operas
have no thematic relevance to the protagonists: Joe cannot be considered a 'lover', there are
no rival contenders in love, and Caterina's troubles do not derive from any dramatic choices
to be made in her love life. The use of operatic music for its general aural appeal rather than
as a component to clarify the film narrative or its characters' motivations is revealed in the
staging of the operas, as the construction of these sequences merely satisfies the viewer's
curiosity concerning the staging of this kind of spectacle. In the staging of // trovatore, the
camera gradually focuses on a waterfall which occupies the centre stage where three singers
perform. Drawing closer, it reveals that there is no water involved, but plastic strips rotating
around huge cylinders, then turns backstage to frame the men manually rotating the cylinders,
thus revealing the artificiality of what had initially appeared to be an evocative set. In the
staging of Un ballo in maschera, viewers of La lima observe a rehearsal where performers
practice while wearing a single element of their stage costumes, such as the choir wearing
veils over their ordinary clothes. From affective and cognitive perspectives, by depicting
individual technical aspects of the mise-en-scene of opera, both sequences elicit mild interest
regarding the creation of the operatic spectacle, rather than, for example, creating empathic
phenomena towards the characters involved in the sequences, absorbing viewers into a
complex narrative sequence, or delivering any revelations about the nature of the artistic
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illusion.
In search of new scandals?
The film's depiction of the deviated mother/son relationship centres on inappropriate
intimacy between the characters, and this is expressed by behaviour more appropriate to an
adult relationship than to a parent/child rapport; this is exemplified in the scene depicting Joe
preparing a candlelit dinner for his mother and himself, as if they were lovers. This detail,
however, in the context of the ongoing ambivalence of the Joe/Caterina relationship, suggests
that Bertolucci was drawn to include this episode in the film but without knowing how to
justify and develop it in narrative terms. It is difficult to imagine the theme underlying this
narrative detail - a desire for rapprochement or proximity from one party towards another -
being entirely decontextualized from Bertolucci's own life and career, and again it points to a
personal discourse animating the film's subtext. Returning to the notion of Joe being a cypher
for Bertolucci's mindset and Caterina representing America and its public, parallels could be
drawn between this dinner sequence and various phases of the 1900 distribution saga. Joe
enthusiastically cooks an elaborate French recipe, elegantly sets a table, and dresses himself
for the serving of his culinary masterpiece; ultimately the dish turns out to be inedible for its
intended recipient, Caterina, and Joe shouts 'I fucked it up' in furious frustration. Again, for
viewers whose reception mode is principally intellectual, especially those with knowledge of
the director's career, a pattern can be identified between the elaborate and time consuming
creation of 1900 and Bertolucci's eventual frustration over its failed 'consumption' by
America and its audiences, and his admission of partial responsibility for having mismanaged
the situation. This reading could be extended to one of the film's sequences of intimacy
between the protagonists as Caterina solicits a sexual act from Joe, the youth angrily drawing
away and shouting 'You don't love me'. This could be a metaphorical representation of
Bertolucci's refusal to satisfy the American conditions related to 1900, airing his anger and
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disappointment after sensing that he is not appreciated. Significantly, in the preceding
sequence, a would-be lothario whom Caterina uses to fuel Joe's jealousy, introduces himself
to her by saying 'I am a Communist', explaining to her that the relevance of this information
lies in the fact that Caterina is American'. The man's affirmation leads Caterina to treat him
as a fool, and their bizarre exchange, whose significance is unclear from a narrative
perspective, makes more sense if interpreted as a sardonic reflection from Bertolucci about
America's single minded political attitude.
The film's sexual escalation begins with a situation which Bertolucci himself
described as 'the ultimate, extreme maternal gesture' (Ungari, 1982: 140) when, to alleviate
her son's drug withdrawal symptoms, Caterina gives in to Joe grasping her hand and moving
it down his body to masturbate him. But Bertolucci's handling of the scene transforms it from
an unorthodox, disturbing but practical act to relieve the boy's suffering to a scene charged
with titillation. This evolves from the close-ups of the characters' hands on Joe's body, before
the sexual charge is increased by close-ups of Caterina bringing Joe's mouth to her breast
while masturbating him. Another such moment occurs when Caterina re-enacts former life
experiences as she takes Joe to visit Emilia Romagna in central Italy. At a certain point
during the journey, she reveals to Joe that his real father, who was not her late husband
Douglas, had kissed her for the first time at the place where they have stopped. She kisses
him playfully on the lips twice, provoking Joe into grabbing her and kissing her with more
intent, to which she responds with a prolonged sensual kiss. The effect of this upon viewers
may range from emotional estrangement to cognitive perplexity at behaviour justified neither
by social norms nor by earlier 'evidence' in the film's own narrative scheme. This response,
curiously, was shared by Bertolucci himself, who said of this sequence:
It is the one I feel most uncomfortable with. Caterina kisses Joe for no apparent reason [...] And she
kisses him as one kisses a lover. Earlier on it was the mother who was helping the son. But, there, I
don't quite understand it myself (Roud, 1979: 141).
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That this sequence was written, probably rehearsed, filmed, and made the film's final cut
implies an intentionality that does not square with the director's 'incomprehension' of it.
Explanations for its inclusion will remain speculative without further comment from
Bertolucci or his production team, and the spectre of Clare Peploe's co-direction of the film
and its uneven effect on the style of La lima may come into consideration. What are less
debatable are the affective, cognitive and intellectual consequences of the inclusion of both
scenes and their lack of coherence and narrative justification.
Elsewhere, the film's sexuality and eroticism are, in line with Bertolucci's work,
visually characterized by lingering voyeurism, ambivalence and by transgression but rarely in
a progressive, liberating sense. This is a tendency already discussed in terms of Marcello
Clerici's re-enactment of Giulia's seduction by her uncle in The Conformist, the visual
objectification of Jeanne/Maria Schneider in Last Tango in Paris, the voyeuristic camerawork
of the sex scenes in 1900, the social circumstances affecting the sexual intimacy experienced
by Kit in Tire Sheltering Sky (and Shandurai in Besieged), and the ambivalence of Ttie
Dreamers in all these contexts. The eroticism in La lima analysed, for example, in terms of
the nudity of Joe and Caterina in certain scenes, is charged with this same ambivalence which
centres on the uncertain extra-diegetic motivations of the director and also those of the
diegetic characters. This occurs in the sequence depicting the visit of Caterina's friend
Marina whose loudness causes Caterina to urge her to speak quietly because Joe is sleeping.
Bertolucci cuts to an image of him; his naked body, framed from a high angle, is slightly
curled up at the centre of a bed covered with red linen. The framing is more evocative of an
object of desire than of an exhausted drug addict who has overslept. This ambivalence
increases in a subsequent scene portraying Marina's sexual attraction for Caterina, who
undresses and takes a shower under Marina's desiring gaze. Consequently, when Marina
enters the shower cubicle to console Caterina as she weeps, the scene's aftermath is steeped
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in ambiguity that stems from Caterina's exhibitionism, Marina's latent motives for
frequenting Caterina, and the nudity used in the sequence by Bertolucci. With these different
internal tensions, the scene elicits a form of affective arousal without being coherent either in
terms of human behaviour or artistic intentionality.
The dramatic undermined by the comic
Moments of emotional and dramatic tension in La luna are rarely fully developed, often
being sidetracked by comic or whimsical elements. The scene depicting Joe's rapture during
his mother's performance at the Opera, a scene initially marked by viewer alignment with the
boy, switches to a comic register as other spectators worry about having turned the gas off at
home; similarly the framing of Caterina on stage, wearing a classical Greek costume, her
right arm stretched out against a starry sky, is unlikely to elicit a sense of aesthetic beauty
because it will be superseded in most viewers' minds by a recognition of its calculated
similarity to the Columbia Pictures logo. A similar effect undermines the sequence where Joe
is left alone to prepare to meet his real father, for the first time, at the school where he
teaches. This would constitute an affective and narrative climax to most films, whether
mainstream or arthouse or a fusion of the two like La luna, especially given its orthodox,
linear narrative scheme. But any emotional intensity
or cognitive expectation of emotional intensity is
aborted. A cut to Joe crossing the playground,
closely following a limping caretaker, ensures that
the approach of the duo - shot frontally - evokes
classic comic visuals such as the Marx Brothers'
duck walk (see image).
At other times, tension is cut short by interruptions, notably in the dramatic sequence
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of Caterina discovering Joe's drug addiction. Their confrontation is interrupted twice, with
Caterina being distracted by the unexpected presence of a decorator comically manoeuvring a
large red curtain, a colour to which she takes a strong dislike. Therefore the film's
exploration of the mother and son's existential reality is marginalized by the dual distraction
of Caterina being sidetracked by interior decor (another mise-en-scene that highlights the
mother/diva's demanding self-centredness) and by the director's inclusion of a comic
moment featuring Roberto Benigni within this sequence. This dissipates much of the scene's
tension, because laughter encourages a sense of relaxation and creates pleasure by 'a
reduction of a tense object-world-directed [...] attitude' (Grodal, 1997: 187). The decorator's
sudden appearance behind the curtain reflects Grodal's observation that 'the most basic form
of comic surprise in visual fiction is the appearance of a person [...] at an unexpected time'
(Grodal, 1997: 190). However, the result in viewing terms, as a result of Caterina's behaviour
and the comic tone in this and in other moments of the film, is incongruousness, given the
film's sensitive subject matter and of the lack of an identifiable design in Bertolucci's generic
and stylistic choices.
Minor characters and incongruous intellectual references
Intellectually, the film lacks clarity with its perplexing inclusion of two-dimensional
characters and scenarios which resemble a superficial, sub-Godardian manipulation of viewer
expectations as they deconstruct the legacy of Italian cinema, notably 'committed' socio­
political cinema. This occurs in the scene featuring a cynical individual who attempts a
homosexual seduction of Joe by offering him ice cream and trying to exploit his fragility.
This role is played by Franco Citti who, by acting in Pasolini's films (including Oedipus
Rex), had become synonymous with the director's committed film-making and tragic death.
Therefore his role of an irredeemable predator in a scenario evacuated of any socio-political
resonance is a disconcerting intellectual reversal which appears incongruous given Citti's
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prior socio-cultural associations. Bertolucci's depiction of another minor character, the young
drug dealer Mustafa and his habitat in the poor outskirts of Rome, will again draw
comparisons with Pasolini's sub-proletarian youngsters, but it is little more than a cinematic
citation, lacking the socio-political substance of both Pasolini's Accattone (1961) and
Bertolucci's own Grim Reaper. Bertolucci gives Mustafa Accattone's line, 'I hate to work
because there is no work' - in the sense of stable, respectable employment - but it is a self-
conscious inclusion that lacks the original line's resonance, since the implied social
accusation does not possess the impact it had two decades earlier, and because the line is
uttered in a film devoid of socio-political commitment. A similar effect is created by the
foolish would-be lothario from Rome who attempts to chat up Caterina by telling her a joke
about the Cuban president Fidel Castro. This role is played by Renato Salvatori, who was
popular in the 1950s and 60s, and whose most famous film was Poveri ma belli (1957) in
which he played a brash but genuine proletarian character. To viewers familiar with
Salvatori's career, his character in La lima is perceived as a miserable caricature of his most
famous role, and the joke about Castro - if not read in the light of Bertolucci's sardonic view
of America's fear of Communism may deepen the sense of emptiness that often engulfs the
viewing experience offered by La lima.
The need for self-reassurance
As indicated by critics, (Kolker, 1985: 154-155) La lima features many allusions to films
both by Bertolucci and by others. For viewers familiar with Bertolucci's prior work, such
cross references may elicit curiosity and mild intellectual gratification, but as they become
pervasive, a sense of overstatement develops. This is instantiated by the scene depicting an
implausible conversation about various types of ham and wine into which Joe is drawn by a
bartender (see image on following page). The character clearly evokes Gaibazzi from Tlie
Spider's Stratagem, who, in a similar scene, makes Athos Magnani junior taste and comment
288

on different types of meat. The bartender character -
behaves as if he has materialized from another [
I,
context into the film, and because of the scene's |
ambiguity, possessing hints of the comic but
without developing them, and lacking any
cognitive stratification (in The Spider's Strategem
Gaibazzi uses the types of ham as metaphors for describing Athos Magnani senior and his
opponents' personalities), no indications are given to viewers regarding an appropriate mode
of reception. However, what is recognizable is that through the allusions to Bertolucci's own
work in La luna, the director is revisiting his own career as if in need of reassurance about the
value of his art. The epitome of this personal journey is the sequence in which Caterina and
Joe pass the picturesque farm used in 1900 while farmers load hay on to tractors in a clear re-
enactment of a scene from the film. The images, framed from the car window, are slightly
blurred, soundless and in slow motion; the effects confer an emotional charge on the
sequence. But without a narrative justification for such techniques, which cue a sense of
affection and melancholy, the temptation is to look beyond the diegetic world to the
directors state of mind.
Elements of the lyrical
The film's most affectively coherent segments - in terms of the engagement elicited from
viewers - centre on the lyricism of the scenes featuring Caterina and the moon, the apex of
this coming in the long take depicting young Joe as he compares his mother's face to the
moon. It is a tender moment between the two, and is one of the rare instances where a sense
of poetic visual and aural harmony evolve, the latter component being represented by the
sequence's film score which is composed of a pure, simple clarinet note. Grodal has termed
this kind of narrative scheme 'associative lyricism' and it is based on the 'symbiotic fusion
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etween viewer and the viewed, perceived as a saturated -metaphorical lack of [...] difference
between viewer and fiction'; this effect can be achieved in different ways, and what Grodal
says about certain films 'reducing a given agent's ability to act, and emphasizing the agent's
perceptions and expressions of emotions', a process that reduces 'the possibilities of making
an objective time-space' is applicable to this sequence (Grodal, 1997: 164-165).
Symbiotic fusion occurs between the
viewer's gaze and Joe's as, enchanted, they
contemplate Caterina s s face and the moon (see
image). Here, the mise-en-scene plays on the
universal human experience of enchantment at ^J ; , *., •
the fascinating spectacle of the moon, and
evokes poetic traditions of comparing female
beauty to it. In this way, the scene loses its time-space definition by taking on a subjective
quality that shapes viewers' perception in a poetic form. As Grodal suggests, the
'deformation of canonical narratives may often lead to felt subjectivity' in the absence of a
clear link between given sequences and the rest of the narrative flow; he adds that the
'schemata of acts plays a key role in felt objectivity; if they are missing, feelings of
subjectivity and dreaminess will be created' (Grodal, 1997: 135). Moreover, the unspecific
temporal sequencing of these moments in the life of Joe and his mother is a key element
creating the subjective perception, given that 'many films produce subjectivity and
dreaminess by totally dissolving the objective time-structure' (Grodal, 1997: 136).
Conclusion
In critical terms, apart from a contemporary review praising the film's 'exceptional plastic
beauty' while simultaneously criticizing its lack of complexity, (Conrad 1979: 103) La lima
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was considered to be Bertolucci's return to his beloved Parma. But he replied that the
screenplay merely included generic mentions of the Po countryside with no precise
references. He stressed that he had been unaware of filming in the same location through
which Gina had passed in Before the Revolution when she returns to Milan; it was only his
fall from the dolly during filming that led him to wonder whether this was a sign of having
been too daring in bringing 'the mother' to the same spot (Socci, 1996: 63). It is
understandable that Bertolucci wanted to place dramatic emphasis on the incestuous
relationship depicted in the film, as it was an ingredient with the potential to generate
publicity after Last Tango in Paris. Nevertheless, the film fails to emulate the impact of
Before the Revolution or Tango, and the preceding analysis has highlighted the main
weaknesses that led to this result: the lack of narrative coherence, psychological justification,
and, indeed, drama in portraying the incestuous attraction between Caterina and Joe, a defect
accentuated by the flimsy and ambiguous secondary storylines and characters which neither
shed light on the protagonists' behaviour and existence (in the Hollywood tradition) nor draw
attention to wider socio-economic circumstances (in the traditions of European cinema). The
incoherent fusion of styles and moods in La lima plus the absence of any intellectual
framework apart from self-referentiality and evocations of the work of directors such as
Pasolini - also lead to a problematic viewing experience.
Regarding the lack of coherent dramatic progression from the beginning of the story,
this almost predisposes viewers to scrutinizing the motives that lead to the mother/son incest.
Finding none, the film's narrative development is likely to elicit cognitive rejection and
unsympathetic affective responses. If the film is setting out to represent the Oedipus complex
- either as an individual drama or as a projection of a social issue - then it is missing one of
its key tenets; hostility towards the parent of the same sex. As far as father figures are
concerned, Joe has no competition or opposition, whereas his real competition for his
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mother's attentions - Caterina's singing career, which absorbs her - is inadequately
addressed. As regards the weakness of the secondary characters and storylines, this chapter's
analysis concurs with contemporary criticism of the film for introducing lighter moments to
counterbalance the film's controversial subject matter. The view that many characters are
caricatures overloading the film with their depictions' seems appropriate (Grazzini, 1979:
102). This contributed to destabilize further the film's style and structure which were already
lacking organization. These factors doubtless aggravated the response from viewers and
critics who were familiar with Bertolucci's previous work, as La lima appeared to be
insubstantial by comparison, hi the context of his career, it remains isolated in terms of being
the only film featuring little of Bertolucci's technical sophistication or his habitual
exploration of cinema's potentialities; nor does it provide individual or social perspectives
that elicit reflection from viewers. On the other hand, if it is considered as a partly
autobiographical work, La luna configures itself almost as a stream of consciousness whose
articulation Bertolucci may have felt necessary in order to be able to recuperate his artistic
faculties, abilities that resurfaced as the subsequent film The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man
demonstrated.
References
Branigan, E. (1992) Narrative Comprehension and Film, London and New York: Routledge.
Carroll, N. (1999) 'Film, Emotion and Genre \ in Plantinga, C. and Smith, G. (ed.)
Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.
Cornand, A. (1979) review in La Revue du Cinema, no.344, November, in Mirabella, JC. and
Pitiot, P. (ed.) (1999) Intervista a Bemardo Bertolucci, Rome: Gremese Editore.
Grazzini, G. (1979) review in // Corriere della Sera, 2 September, in Mirabella, JC. and
Pitiot, P. (ed.) (1999) Intervista a Bemardo Bertolucci, Rome: Gremese Editore.
Grodal, T. (1997) Moving Pictures, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
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Hope, W. (2006) Giuseppe Tornatore, Emotion, Cognition, Cinema. Newcastle: Cambridge
Scholars Press.
Kolker, R. P. (1985) Bernardo Bertolucci, London: BFI Publishing.
Quinn, S. (1977) '1900 Has Taken Its Toll on Bernardo Bertolucci', in Gerard, F.S., Kline,
T.J. and Sklarew, B. (ed.) (2000) Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University
Press of Mississippi.
Roud, R. (1979) 'Bertolucci on LuncC, in Gerard, F.S.. Kline, T.J. and Sklarew, B. (ed.)
(2000) Bernardo Bertolucci Interviews, Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.
Smith, M. (1995) Engaging Characters, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Socci, S. (1996) Bernardo Bertolucci, Milan: II Castoro Cinema.
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lo hallo da sola /Stealing Beauty: A Contemporary Gaze on Women
After Little Buddha, Bertolucci returned to work in Italy and made lo ballo da sola/Stealing
Beauty (1996), which, in common with Little Buddha, presents a narrative denouement that
constitutes a satisfactory conclusion in terms of character evolution. This might be read as a
sign of optimism in the work of the director, who, for this film, declared: 'I am re-
experiencing the same enjoyment in making and discovering the cinema that was around in
the 60s' (Socci, 1996: 15). In reality, the film marks a return to more balanced filmic
structures in terms of intellectual and affective components, after the emphasis given to the
sensual aspects of cinematic narration in Bertolucci's previous three films. While Stealing
Beauty retains the same use of landscapes to cue the sort of intense aesthetic experiences
observed in The Sheltering Sky, the similar theme of the crisis of love relationships in
contemporary society is placed in a cognitive and intellectual framework closer to Last Tango
in Paris. Stealing Beauty can be said to revisit Tango's denunciation of consumer society's
commodification of human relationships, by articulating an idea of love relationships that
differs from the prevalent value systems of the period.
By the 1990s, little importance was attached to a teenager s first sexual experience,
and the loss of virginity was taken for granted as an inevitability. In the same way, the often
pragmatic, functional nature of affective relationships involving working women was
accepted as part of a woman's evolving role in contemporary society, hi Stealing Beauty,
Bertolucci's representation of socio-cultural reality indicates that these patterns were
changing. The film implies that despite the disconcerting level reached by society's
commodification of the female image, girls were endowing their 'first time' with expectation
and meaning, since they had become aware of the emotional drought characterizing the lives
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of their 'elder sisters'. In a broader societal context, young males - uneasy at late 20th century
society's value system of success at all costs - were also realizing that their fragility was one
of the qualities characterizing their identity. In this light, the film's English and Italian titles
each reflect a perspective in the film: the voyeuristic perspective (Stealing Beauty) - which is
articulated in different ways - and the feminist perspective (lo ballo da sola 1 1 dance 'on my
own", where 'sola' refers to a female character).
Plot summary
Lucy Harmon (Liv Tyler) is a perceptive American teenager who is determined to shape her
incipient love life beyond the models established by society. At nineteen, she is still a virgin,
since she rejects the concept that one's first sexual experience is either a means of ridding
oneself of virginity, as if it were a millstone, or merely a matter of curiosity. She desires to
make love to Niccolo, a youth she had met during a visit to Italy, and with whom she has
been exchanging letters. The opportunity to see him again occurs when, as a birthday present,
she returns to Italy to have her portrait done by the painter lan Grayson, the husband of
Diane, the best friend of Lucy's late mother. Lucy stays at the Graysons' Tuscan country
house as she seeks to make her romantic dream come true and to discover her biological
father's identity. What other characters in the film - namely Diane's children from her first
marriage, Christopher and Miranda, the English writer and cancer victim Alex, the French art
dealer Mons. Guillaume, and Noemi, a journalist who writes an agony column - perceive as a
'flaw' in Lucy's character, is a quality that makes her an object of voyeurism by two other
characters, Carlo Lisca and Richard Reed. Disillusioned by Niccolo, Lucy chooses his less
attractive brother Osvaldo, whom she discovers is the real author of the letters. Inspired by
her Miranda ends her relationship with the cynical Richard, whereas the revelation that lan
Grayson is Lucy's father remains a secret between them.
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The affective and cognitive implications of the voyeuristic prologue
Bertolucci's inclination to summarize his films" themes during their opening credits occurs
again in Stealing Beauty. On this occasion, viewers are made aware of the film's voyeuristic
perspective as the opening credits roll beneath images of Lucy, who is travelling from the
USA to Italy. Stylistically, this sequence resembles an amateur home video; there are
moments of camera shake which emphasize a presence behind the camera as well as its
subject, plus several crude close-ups and pans that are symptomatic of inexperienced camera
users who follow their instincts rather than aiming for an aesthetic smoothness in their films.
This is a stylistic approach, which, given its attractive female subject, escalates into
voyeurism. Confirming this interpretation, Bertolucci himself declared that these early
sequences were inspired by Michael Powell's Peeping Tom, a voyeuristic cult movie that
portrayed a serial killer's penchant for filming his female victims' agony (Mirabella-Pitiot,
1991:73). But, unlike Peeping Tom, there is no mediation between the viewers and these
images, since the character filming Lucy never comes into frame (it is only later in the film
that he is identified). During the final Italian stage of her journey, the camera moves close to
Lucy, taking advantage of her as she sleeps in a train compartment; her obliviousness to
being observed is underlined by the camera filming a drop of saliva that falls from her
slightly open mouth. This makes the filming appear as a form of intrusion on the part of the
invisible cameraman, whose perspectives start fragmenting the girl's body into many details,
focusing on the childlike within Lucy while also charging the images of her with a clear
erotic connotation. A cut to a close-up of her plump red lips depicts them as almost asking to
be kissed; a series of extreme close-ups of her hand, until just the fingers are visible, picture
her fingertips resting near her inner thigh, a pose with obvious autoerotic implications. A full-
length low-angle shot focused on her open legs, her bended knees, and her feet that rest on
the seats opposite, is followed by a cut to high-angle shot that frames the top of her thighs as
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she slowly changes position. Both shots clearly carry a heavy sexual charge.
This perspective will elicit varied responses from different cross sections of viewers.
It is not without an erotic, affective charge but the exploitative implications of the shots may
elicit a sense of guilt for those viewers initially aroused by the images; viewers for whom the
images contain no sensual titillation will be intellectually alienated by their manipulative
essence. This arises from the realization that the POV shot compels viewers to directly
participate in the voyeur's process of stealing Lucy's images of beauty. Bertolucci's decision
to use very idiosyncratic framings confirms this interpretation, hi fact the visual frame is
smaller than the dimensions of the screen, and the overall effect is of images from a hand­
held video camera surrounded by a black border of blank screen. This frame-within-a-frame
is also positioned at the very centre of the screen - which corresponds to the focal point of a
person's vision - to accentuate the impact upon viewers. Consequently, when the close-ups
of different areas of Lucy's body are filmed, it creates the impression that the frame is further
narrowed, since the rest of her body, together with the background detail of the train
compartment, vanish off screen. Through these techniques, the camerawork assumes a
significant role in the voyeuristic process of reducing Lucy to a sexual object, since, in Laura
Mulvey's words, 'one part of a fragmented body destroys the Renaissance space, the illusion
of depth demanded by the narrative, it gives flatness, the quality of a cut-out or icon rather
than verisimilitude to the screen' (Mulvey, 1995: 27). Therefore, many viewers' instincts will
ultimately be to distance themselves from these images which transform Lucy into a
consumable object of gratification. Eventually, when the train stops at Siena, the voyeur's
hand comes into frame as it caresses Lucy's face to wake her up - and also startle the viewers
by suddenly giving substance to the presence behind the camera. The closure of this
prologue, with the voyeur's hand emerging from the train window to give an astonished Lucy
the videotape he has been making, which she drops on the rail track, reinforces the idea of
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Lucy as a consumable item. He gives away the videotape in the same way as he might
dispose of a porn magazine after flicking through it. As well as the prologue's emotional and
intellectual resonances, by withholding all narrative information except the fact that Lucy is
travelling to Tuscany and that her beauty attracts unsolicited attention, the film stimulates
viewers' curiosity and directs their cognitive hypotheses towards the probability that
sexuality will be an important ingredient in the film.
Cynical voyeurism, repulsion and social awareness
Later in the film, the voyeur is identified as Carlo Lisca, a photographer who specializes in
war reportage and whose involvement in war is characterized by moral detachment and by an
interest in its more lurid excesses, as his cynical statement 'There is a war and I am light as a
souffle' implies; Bertolucci consequently creates a further similarity with the protagonist of
Peeping Tom. In Lisca's second encounter with Lucy, she is lying on the grass after a game
of hide-and-seek and is wrestling playfully with another character, Richard, these exertions
leaving her panting. By using a high camera angle to represent Lisca's gaze, Lucy is shot in a
medium close-up to enhance her neck, her open mouth, her shoulders as they rest on the
grass, and the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. Through Lisca's gaze, they all become
ambiguous signs of excitement; then by using a low camera angle to render Lucy's gaze,
Lisca is seen showing no reaction, he simply puts on his sunglasses and walks away. In their
subsequent dialogue, focusing on the possibility that he is Lucy's biological father, his
contemptuous detachment confirms that he is very much in control of himself. This is
confirmed in a later sequence in which he is referred to as 'that bastard" who likes looking at
women 'relieving themselves'; he dismisses the allegation with a superficial comment that
does not actually deny the accusation. This depiction is effective in making Lisca's character
repugnant, the viewer's emotional, antipathetic response leading to Lisca being placed at the
negative end of the viewer's hierarchy of character preference as this classification starts to
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evolve (M. Smith, 1995: 84-85). The sequences also guide viewers to recognize in him the
embodiment of the cynicism which contemporary society increasingly uses to relate to human
dignity and suffering.
With his emotional aloofness, Lisca embodies one of the two kinds of voyeurism
displayed in the film, specifically the role of the detached voyeur who perceives women as
commodities. In this respect his visual exploitation of Lucy, his female 'victim', reflects
Griselda Pollock's analysis of women's images within mainstream magazines. She suggests
that 'Notions of patriarchal ideology engendered by a recourse to psychoanalysis are on their
own inadequate and insufficiently historical and the issue must be located in terms of
capitalism and bourgeois ideology for [...] one of the dominant significations of woman is
that of sale and commodity' (Pollock, 1995: 142). Pollock considers Mulvey's interpretation
of the male sexual gaze as directly connected to the Freudian formulation of the castration
complex as outdated, due to the widespread 'directness of vaginal imagery' (Pollock 1995:
142), a position that is partly shared by John Ellis (Ellis, 1995: 159-161). In a later work,
Mulvey herself acknowledges a 'formal relation' between contemporary capitalism and the
aesthetics of Post-modernism (Mulvey 1996: 14). Lisca represents the most updated version
of a capitalism which, having erased the notion of the individual value of human labour, now
has the impersonality of knowledge in its sights, and seeks to establish the supremacy of the
mass media over all aspects of intellectual thought. The lack of consideration for the
specificity of the individual has reduced people to mere marketing targets for desirable goods
and services which appear in every channel of mass communication, charged with symbolic
meaning, to be sold, consumed, and disposed of. This dehumanizing process results in a
dramatic loss of contact between people and reality, as Lisca's cynical exploitation of Lucy s
obliviousness while asleep, his indifference towards wars, to the death of Lucy's mother and
people in general, indicate.
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Brutal voyeurism, repulsion and social awareness
Lucy's journey into voyeuristic exposure at the country house continues through the
morbid gaze of Richard Reed, Miranda's lover, who embodies the second kind of voyeurism
represented in the film, this being an intrusive attitude leading to aggressive behaviour. He is
a personification of the kind of man that Western consumer society, with its devotion to
materialistic goals, considers a winner. He is handsome and health conscious, successful in
his legal career, married, and engaged in a love affair with a beautiful woman (Miranda). His
first appearance on screen is calculated to leave viewers with no doubts as to his
ambivalence; he flirts with Lucy at first sight, speaking poetic words, the insincerity of which
is underlined by Miranda who ironically comments that she had never been aware of his
poetic talents. From the moment he knows about Lucy's virginity, he becomes obsessed by it,
and, through his manner, viewers are made aware of the reason. He clearly considers Lucy's
virginity as a virtue that adds value to the goods, as it were, making Lucy a rare form of prey.
From that moment, he is portrayed as increasingly coarse and predatory. His POV shots are
characterized by 'active scopophilia and its investigative, sadistic, enquiring look' as
Elizabeth Cowie terms it (Cowie, 1997: 168) a gaze that sexually objectifies women.
Through his perspective, Lucy's body is framed from all angles, even from extremely low
angles to catch a glimpse of her underwear as in the hide-and-seek sequence. Viewed through
Richard's gaze, Lucy's young exuberance is charged with an erotic excitability, and adult
viewers of film will recognize the tactics he uses in to engender situations that will lead to
erotic contact with Lucy. This represents an interesting situation for the film viewers, in terms
of the concepts of alignment and allegiance (M. Smith, 1995: 75). As regards cognitive
alignment, (adult) viewers will be aligned with Richard because they will recognize the
strategies that he uses in order to get close to Lucy, but viewers may be simultaneously
repulsed as Richard's behaviour will probably be evaluated as undesirable and harmful, and
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any allegiance towards the character is unlikely to develop. These cognitive and affective
responses are triggered from Richard's pseudo-poetic utterances onwards, the film showing
him as he removes his swimwear - in an aggressively exhibitionistic gesture - and dives into
the swimming pool where Lucy is.
Hints of Richard's tendency to dominate and exploit within his sexual relationships
are given when the camera peeps through Miranda's bedroom window on two occasions and
portrays their intercourse as an act in which he gratifies himself crudely without any care for
his partner. Significantly, on the second occasion, Richard is shown fantasizing about
deflowering Lucy as he sodomizes Miranda - this is evident from his distant, glazed look,
which ignores his partner. Low-angle shots of his body towering over Miranda's are intercut
with repeated close-ups of his hands as they grip the bed frame, his bestial panting filling the
soundtrack. The scene's disturbing nature is compounded as Miranda is shot frontally, and
this reaction shot of her distress, emphasized as her hands grip the bed-head to brace herself
against the pain, highlights Richard's focus on his own pleasure. These two kinds of
voyeurism - the cynical (Carlo Lisca) and the brutal (Richard Reed) - both imply the kind of
rapport that Pollock identifies as existing between the 'spectator-buyer' and 'the picture of
woman' created by male-oriented pornography, this being one of a 'forceful intrusion or
indeed possessive voyeurism inviting rape'(Pollock, 1995:142). By making Richard into a
source of voyeurism, Bertolucci elicits a more general evaluation of his social behaviour; his
violent attitude during the sexual act can arguably be interpreted as one of the last remaining
opportunities for men who feel uneasy in their relationships with independent and successful
women, to reaffirm their dominance. Richard's final dialogue with Miranda, which is
discussed later in the chapter, sustains this interpretation.
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Unease and gender awareness elicited by feminist perspectives
If notions of voyeurism appear to have shifted from the castration complex to the more
dehumanizing concept of commodity possession, feminist perspectives also present a further
step in the process of representing realistically a woman's need and desire for love. Given
that the screenplay is credited both to Bertolucci and to Susan Binot, it would be interesting
to know to what extent Binot's female perception might have been responsible for this
portrait of a 'new woman' which emerges in the representation of Lucy. First, by depicting
the pressure that begins to build around Lucy, the other characters focusing on her as the
gossip spreads that she is a virgin, the film represents the impossibility - even for a society as
sophisticated and evolved as our own - of accepting and respecting non-conformist
behaviour, and implies how this attitude conceals a measure of antipathy towards people who
show independence of mind. In the film, Lucy eventually overcomes the problem by
pretending to lose her virginity with a young Englishman whom she happens to meet at
Niccolo's party. The power of conformism is confirmed by an exchange between Alex and
Diane. Referring to Lucy's presumed sexual encounter, he asks 'Did she choose a good one?'
to which Diane replies, 'She just chose the first one' Through this contrivance and its
repercussions, the film indicates how private situations can become intolerable and absurd
when subjected to social pressure.
But the script's originality centres on its portrayal of Lucy as a teenage protagonist
who has digested the experiences of two previous generations: that of Diane as a mother
figure, and that of Miranda, notionally an 'elder sister' in age terms. Lucy appears to have
come to a resolution that goes beyond the classic dichotomy between the bride's submission
to the patriarchal order, and the independent, career-oriented, postmodern woman. The film
suggests that the nurturing, motherly role embodied by women is no longer applicable, as
Diane admits that she is tired of taking care of people. On the other hand, the role fulfilled by
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the 'elder sister' is also unsatisfactory, as Miranda appears to pay a heavy price for achieving
economic and social emancipation, given that personal relationships are increasingly loveless
and functional. Through its portrayal of Miranda and Richard, the film explores the modern
phenomenon of the difficulties faced by men in their relationships with independent women -
in particular, their propensity to avoid responsibility or, worse, their tendency to exploit
relationships to their own advantage. When Miranda finishes with Richard he paces the room
in disbelief, interpreting her behaviour as characteristic of his own manipulative values, as he
claims: 'You get what you want when you want'. Miranda is viewed as a commodity on to
which Richard projects his values and needs, and when she shows signs of alternative,
independent wishes he is unable to cope with the autonomy of this object of his desire. When
Miranda rejects the functional, compartmentalized nature of their affair, Richard's angry
outburst of 'What happened to "What you see is what you get?" This is not you, I know you',
is characterized by the language of possession and consumerism, and betrays the confusion
and disappointment of a customer when an item that was believed to have been 'broken in' to
a comfortable fit, like shoes, suddenly assumes different and undesirable characteristics. This
exemplifies the way the film uses dialogues, whose nature and content demand a reflection
from viewers, to stimulate awareness about how modern society perceives women.
Lucy appears aware of these societal positions into which women can be
manoeuvred, so when she meets Niccolo again, the youth for whom she has preserved her
virginity, she does not immediately surrender herself and look at her love object in a solely
idealistic way. She remains aware, looking for signs of love in Niccolo's face, but she finds
none. Similarly, Lucy does not accept the practical solution inadvertently offered by the
Englishman. Instead she waits, and eventually Niccolo's less attractive brother, Osvaldo, is
revealed as the author of the letter that she loves and knows by heart; this situation is
undoubtedly a re-elaboration of the 18th century comedy Cyrano De Bergerac.(l) But unlike
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the novel's protagonist Roxanne, Lucy has grown suspicious of pretty faces and is ready to
listen to her Cyrano (Osvaldo) as he opens up to her. As a result - by taking Osvaldo's words
as the 'proof of love' referred to by the French guest Mons. Guillaume ('II n'y a pas d'amour,
il n'y a que des preuves d'amour') - Lucy confirms that modern day women, without giving
up their independence (Lucy travels, smokes cannabis, and has total control of her sex life)
want to experience real feelings in their relationships again. This is indicated in Lucy's
harmonious love scene with Osvaldo, which contrasts with Niccolo's calculating and
hypocritical sexual approach from which Lucy departs in tears, feeling degraded by the
experience.
By this realistic portrayal of a young woman who achieves a sort of third way that
allows her simultaneously to avoid historical female passivity and contemporary
manifestations of sex as part of consumerism, Stealing Beauty broaches the question of
modern day womanhood as do certain other films in which the 'problem of woman as a
subject of desire and as subject to social discourses is presented' (Cowie, 1997:14). Credit
should be given to Bertolucci for dealing with such issues in a way that, on the one hand,
avoids the irritating aestheticism of Hollywood romantic comedies (e.g. The Runaway Bride,
Carry Marshall, 1999) in which, between the two presentable male protagonists who are
vying to be chosen by the female, the particularly gorgeous one, with whom the woman will
naturally end up, is also more intelligent and charming. Such artificial and idealized
narratives are bound to draw irony from non-mainstream female spectators. On the other
hand, Stealing Beauty also avoids radical feminist perspectives that often alienate male
spectators and make them feel misrepresented. In this respect, the film manages to align
viewers of both genders with the character of Osvaldo by presenting him as the embodiment
of the authenticity sought by female spectators, and by developing a cognitively and
intellectually gratifying storyline in which fragile insecure men can potentially secure
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omantic fulfilment.
The author as omniscient narrator
Despite the range of character perspectives within the narrative, Bertolucci's idiosyncratic
camera in Stealing Beauty is particularly conspicuous and reflects the peculiar phenomenon
that William Rothman terms the 'relationship between the camera and the author, the "I" of
the camera' (Rothman, 1988: x). Although Lucy is constructed as the central character, and
although the narrative receives an initial impetus from her journey to Tuscany, from that
point onwards, no individual character assumes the role of narrator - in novelistic terms - to
drive the story forwards. In this way viewers are not aligned with any individual character to
any extent, and so it is the camera - or more specifically the unseen presence behind it - that
gives impetus to the narrative in temporal and spatial terms. In this respect Stealing Beauty
exemplifies films based on external focalization, which occurs when camera position and
movement resemble the presence of an extra diegetic narrator (Branigan, 1992: 102-104).
Two types of framing become motifs that characterize the film. One type is based around
close-ups of Lucy's face - not from any character s perspective - which are followed by the
camera moving away from her to take in a broader picture of other characters/actions. The
other type of framing uses a POV shot as a starting point, a perspective that soon turns into an
objective view in which the character from whom the subjective shot originated, is, in turn,
observed himself. As s/he looks at someone else, the camera's framing finally leaves him/her
behind and follows the second character, thereby taking the viewers to the next scene. At
other times, to portray what is happening at a given moment in a different area of the set, the
camera moves ostentatiously from one area to another and back again in the manner of an
omniscient narrator of a novel.
This strategy emphasizes the descriptive quality of the narration and also increases the
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director's presence, as no character is offered to viewers as a screen-surrogate from whom the
viewer's gaze might be projected. The outcome is the positioning of the viewers as observers,
a distanciation effect reminiscent of the Brechtian lesson about inducing in viewers a critical
attitude by making them look upon the characters and their situation (Willett, 1992: 91-93). In
this respect the film also presents two self-conscious moments about film-making, which,
although interrupting the viewers' absorption in the story, also appear designed to elicit forms
of affective engagement. The first sequence depicts the verses that Lucy writes in her diary,
which are initially shot in close up, with Lucy's handwriting then being superimposed on
screen; this device immediately awakens the viewer's perception of the artifice of the
cinematic medium, while also enhancing the scene's poeticism. The second, more complex
example depicts Lucy's vitality as she starts dancing while listening to energetic music,
arguably the scene from which the Italian title for the film is derived. Although Lucy listens
through earphones, the music is made audible on the soundtrack, until the camera tracks
backwards and the soundtrack goes completely mute. Only when two characters come into
frame commenting on the carefree quality of people of Lucy's age, do viewers realize that
she is now framed from outside the room, being watched through a closed window. Again the
device has a twofold aim: to showcase an ingenious directorial manipulation of the film's
visuals and diegetic spaces, and to expose viewers to Lucy's absorption in the music's
dynamic energy.
The affective charge of the film's aesthetics
In other situations, the camera's mobility - combined with a range of camera angles - creates
a vivid impression in viewers of being allowed to gaze freely around the filmic location, and
this technique augments the viewer's affective engagement with other aspects of the filmic
experience, such as sharing the magical beauty of the landscape and setting which form the
film s backdrop. These are constituted by a beautifully converted barn surrounded by a
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striking garden whose colours naturally blend with the reddish soil and green vegetation of
the Siena countryside, these tones being intensified to cue a sense of artistic beauty.
Remembering how Stealing Beauty was Bertolucci's cinematic return to Italy, his choice of
location can be interpreted as a tribute to the geographical beauty and artistic tradition of his
country. This appears to be echoed in the praise delivered by lan Grayson early in the film,
There is a great tradition of art in these hills', in response to Lucy's question about why he
moved there. The notion that Bertolucci aims to encourage in viewers a prolonged
enchantment with this element of the film's mise-en-scene, is reinforced by the way a colour
motif based on shades of red and green is designed to enhance the natural beauty and radiate
from almost every scene. The colour of Lucy's eyes and lips also perfectly match those of the
settings, and because it is noticeable how every shot contains either objects or costumes that
repeat the red/green colour motif, it is clear that the director used the colours as a technique to
create parallels among elements of the film's settings. Here follow a few examples: life size
statues, made of the local red clay known as "Terre di Siena" and positioned around the bam,
mirror the red soil of the paths that run between the buildings. In the kitchen, green furniture
is counterbalanced by the tiled red floor, while a green shawl covers the shoulders of a red
statue resting against the wall. Each character in turn wears something red or green;
particularly beautiful is Diane's green silk dressing gown with a red rose pattern, which
contrasts with the monochrome of the red-clay artistic headboard of her bed. hi the sequence
of the decisive encounter between Lucy and Osvaldo, her red skirt complements his red shirt,
so that when they make love, their clothing underlines the forming of a bond between them.
The film ends with Lucy returning to the barn, and the promising future ahead of her is
symbolized by the way the frame gradually enlarges to give an aerial view of Siena, showing
the familiar red of its roofs and buildings, surrounded by green hills.
Moreover, frontal lighting is adopted to take away density from the images, whereas
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the hues are kept in the same tone by the use of appropriate filters, the intention being to
merge the light touch of Humanistic art with the brightness of Impressionism. The filters
make the hues vibrant during the day - and the effect is particularly vivid in the scene where
Lucy, filmed frontally, cycles along a path which is flanked by trees curving almost to the
ground and forming a stunning natural arc. Within sunsets the use of colour is dramatic, and
is particularly impressive within the theatrical mise-en-scene of the party at Niccolo's 18 th
century villa, where side lighting is used to create a stylized effect and to evoke the
atmosphere of a Bacchanalia. This colour and lighting strategy evokes the scheme deployed
in The Sheltering Sky as it succeeds in temporarily privileging an affective, sensual
engagement with the film over cognitive or intellectual activity, enchanting viewers with the
aesthetic beauty of the locations and mises-en-scene.
Conveying meaning through film style
The colour motifs that emerge through the careful combination of setting, lighting, and
costume create a sense of elegant continuity, and ensure consistency in the film's visual style.
But the colour motifs' function goes beyond style as it marks the contrast between the
harmony implied by the film s aesthetic perspective and the discomfort implied by its social
perspective. In this respect, another valuable outcome from the use of this visual technique is
its contribution in creating the artistic effect of still life paintings, as Bertolucci seems to use
this technique as a metaphor to represent the characters as fixed in a lifestyle that has lost its
original authenticity, just as still life itself has lost its vital lymph. Lucy awakens their
consciences, this being evoked in the early sequence of her arrival at the Graysons' home.
Everything inside and outside the house is presented as still and immersed in silence as
everyone sleeps. Lucy gently awakens Diane, who loudly announces her arrival to lan who is
sleeping indoors; then, gradually, the whole house stirs into life, hi thematic terms, many
characters - stirred by the issues brought to light by Lucy's arrival - will find aspects of their
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life revitalized. Diane rediscovers the erotic side of a marriage overwhelmed by daily routine;
lan's creativity is reinvigorated; Miranda becomes true to herself again; Noemi experiences
love for a younger, more sensitive man, after years of cynically evaluating the love affairs of
others, whereas Alex tastes for one last time the joy of human interaction. In this light, the
colour motif appears designed both to generate an aesthetic experience so intense that
viewers at times feel enchanted by the harmonious beauty, and also to emphasize the
descriptive quality of the narrative, which centres not on an ongoing plot but on the process
of attaining awareness about the existential limits caused by the ways in which contemporary
relationships are established.
Conclusion
The stylistic techniques used by Bertolucci in Stealing Beauty allow him to connect the
affective and intellectual threads of the film to give viewers a dual experience of similar
intensities. Viewers experience the vivid fascination of actually being at the Graysons' home
as invisible guests and, at the same time, viewers are made constantly aware of the social
discourse that is being explored. However, the film's visual approach to Lucy VLiv Tyler's
face and body - with the repeated close-ups and extreme close-ups of her mouth, eyes, breast,
and legs often not being attached to a character's point of view - can be perceived as a
contradiction of the critical perspective of voyeurism implied by the narrative, because the
shots are ultimately experienced as a further objectification of the actress's beautiful features.
In addition, the film s narrative is markedly unconfrontational, as Lucy does not question
Carlo Lisca's values, simply acknowledges Niccolo's calculating nature, and even agrees
with lan that the fact that he is her real father should be kept secret. This underplayed
approach possibly prevents viewers from developing a pro-attitude towards Lucy's character
and situation, as she appears detached from the other characters and their circumstances.
Consequently these factors ensure that the themes that this chapter has identified in Stealing
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Beauty remain at a somewhat understated level within the film, without them being debated
or articulated more explicitly. Therefore, the result is a film that is emotionally and
intellectually subtle, beguiling but not, arguably, profoundly engaging.
Notes
1. A heroic comedy in five acts by the poet-dramatist Edmond Rostand (1869-1918). The protagonist
Roxanne falls in love with a handsome youth, as she believes he is the author of romantic poems and
love letters dedicated to her, whereas the real author is instead Cyrano, her ugly cousin, who is
secretly in love with her and does not dare to reveal himself because of his ugliness.
References
Branigan, E. (1992) Narrative Comprehension and Film, London and New York: Routledge
Cowie, E. (1997) Representing the Woman: Cinema and Psychoanalysis, Hampshire:
MacMillan Press Ltd.
Ellis, J. (1995) 'On Pornography', in Caughie, J. and Kuhn A. (ed.) The Sexual Subject: A
Screen Reader in Sexuality, London: Routledge.
Mirabella, JC. and Pitiot, P. (1991) Inten'ista a Bemardo Bertolucci, Rome: Gremese
Edit ore.
Mulvey, L. (1995) 'Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema', in Caughie, J. and Kuhn, A.
(ed.) The Sexual Subject: A Screen Reader in Sexuality, London: Routledge.
Mulvey, L. (1996) Fetishism and Curiosity, London: British Film Institute.
Pollock, G. (1995) 'What's Wrong with "Images of Women"?', in Caughie, J. and Kuhn, A.
(ed.) The Sexual Subject: A Screen Reader in Sexuality , London: Routledge.
Rothman, W. (1988) The "I" of the Camera, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Smith, M. (1995) Engaging Characters, Oxford: Oxford University Press
Socci, S. (1996) Bernardo Bertolucci, Milan: II Castoro Cinema.
Willett, J. (ed.) (1992) Brecht on Theatre, translated from German by Willett, J., London:
Methuen Drama.
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L 'assedio I Besieged: A Cognitive Approach to On-Screen Emotion
Three years after Stealing Beauty (1996), Bertolucci released L'assedio I Besieged, the latter
film carrying over two themes from the previous film: a young female protagonist who is the
subject of unsolicited male attention, and a setting in which private dramas evolve in relative
seclusion. But the analogies end here, as in Besieged the director explores these elements
through different perspectives, principally solitude and fetishism. In this film, the female
protagonist - Shandurai - is an African immigrant, a position that makes her individually and
socially fragile and therefore mostly passive. The male gaze - through the English expatriate
Kinsky - appears driven by love, yet it is intrusive and is combined with behaviour that
betrays signs of fetishism. The secluded set is an apartment that constitutes an oasis of calm
within the metropolis of modern Rome, emphasizing the estrangement of the male
protagonist from the outside world, as well as offering Shandurai the opportunity to
reconstitute fragments of her native world. The director's choice of location appears
motivated to strengthen the degree of realism in the narrative. Yosefa Loshitsky (2010)
asserts that the film's 'nostalgic gaze at one of Rome's most romantic and iconic historical
landmarks, the Piazza di Spagna (The Spanish Steps) reveals spaces (presumably near the
Termini and Piazza di Repubblica) where only nonwhite, dark foreigners can be seen',
(Loshitsky, 2010: 77) but this overlooks the fact that Piazza di Spagna is historically known
as having been the favourite spot of the English Romantic community in Rome. There, John
Keats lived and died and nowadays his house is a museum; at the comer of the street where
the apartment featured in Besieged is located, there has long been a tea room in classic
English style. The space where Shandurai is framed amongst other migrants is Piazza
Vittorio, one of the Rome's most famous market squares, an area where migrants do mix with
Italians, this integration facilitated by the buying and selling that all the communities engage
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in, as the market sequences of Besieged show. Not uncoincidentally, in 2002 a famous
multiethnic band of musicians was formed there, which took its name from the square -
L 'orchestra di Piazza Vittorio - and is one of the best known examples in Italy of successful
multiculturalism. Therefore, at least for viewers familiar with Rome's topology, the film
location has arguably been chosen to fit the criterion of verisimilitude sought by the narrative.
Nevertheless, the realism evoked by the location, set and character traits is counterbalanced
by a sophisticated, intellectual cinematic construction, combining stylized framings, skewed
angles, varying film speeds and unconventional editing, which shape the film's style. In
addition, in terms of Besieged' s narrative construction, Bertolucci resumes his habit of
leaving viewers with a denouement that is ambivalent, leaving the viewer's cognitive
hypotheses suspended.
A prologue with a cinematic citation
The prologue accompanying the opening credits contains key narrative details; it is composed
of African images and sounds that inform viewers about Shandurai's background. She is a
nurse who witnesses the arrest of her husband, a local teacher, for political reasons, and she is
forced to emigrate. The scene depicting the arrest seems designed to trigger the recognition of
connoisseurs of film history, as it evokes a key scene from Rossellini's Roma citta aperta I
Rome Open City (1945), one of the best known Neorealist films. In Bertolucci's cinematic
debut Before the Revolution, Rossellini's name is mentioned as a key exponent of art cinema,
and another element of homage, here in Besieged, not only seems plausible but also
indicative of a pattern of cinematic citation and homage that Bertolucci was to continue in
The Dreamers. In Rossellini's take, the camera cross cuts between three images, those of a
member of the Italian resistance flanked by German soldiers as he is taken away on a truck,
his partner running after the truck with her right arm outstretched, shouting his name, and the
local priest who tries to restrain her. Eventually a soldier shoots her down, and she falls dead
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on the dusty road, while the priest arrives and kneels beside her. In Besieged the sequence
presents the same composition, framings and camera movements, except that Shandurai is not
killed, but falls on her knees and buries her face in her hands. Where Rossellini heightens the
emotional torment of the scene via soundtrack music Bertolucci opts for a different - though
equally disconcerting - effect by removing the scene's diegetic sound. Because this is a
prologue and not a denouement, an African seer - who replaces the priest in approaching the
woman - does not stop and attend to her, but a few steps away he resumes his litany to
indicate the story's continuation. For many viewers, both Italian and also those with
knowledge of world cinema, the scene indirectly draws on the affective power of one of the
most traumatic scenes in the history of Italian cinema, and therefore a link between Besieged
and its cinematic heritage is set up.
Plot summary
The film's main narrative starts with Shandurai already in Italy. She is portrayed as the object
of unsolicited attention from Kinsky, an English pianist, for whom she works as a housemaid
in an elegant Rome apartment that he has inherited. Shandurai's contacts with the outside
world are limited to the university where she is studying medicine, and where she has only
one friend, Agostino. Kinsky too leads a lonely life, only seeing a few youngsters to whom he
teaches piano. In love with Shandurai, Kinsky besieges her with unsolicited attention. As a
consequence of a confrontation in which Kinsky declares that he would do anything for her -
Shandurai consequently challenging him to get her husband out of jail - Kinsky sells his most
precious belongings to provide the money necessary to liberate the man. This act proves to be
a more insidious, psychological siege on Shandurai's state of mind, and she eventually sleeps
with Kinsky the night before her husband's arrival.
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The affective implications of a(nother) secluded set
It could be said that the film centres on two characters as co-protagonists, as the narrative
shifts from Shandurai to Kinsky and vice versa, portraying their solitude in a city that is alien
to them both. However, the point around which the story of these two forms of solitude
unfolds is the house, which, as Bertolucci himself stated, is 'as important as the characters. It
is a third character' (Mirabella-Pitiot 1999: 79). The house, in fact, seems to possess a
personality; to step inside is to immediately distance oneself from the chaos of daily life and
to enter an atmosphere of strange stillness. The elaborate mise-en-scene of the house, with its
dust-covered artworks, antique furniture made of dark wood, and heavy curtains, all
contribute to make it into a museum piece, a perfect setting for a theatrical drama, since it is
immersed in silence which is broken only by the melancholy sound of the pianoforte. By
considering the mise-en-scene of the house, it is possible to establish how the house itself
shapes the narrative - and also the emotional states of the protagonists - in three stages. At
first, it defines the characters' solitude, enclosing each of them in a specific, separate space:
the lounge on the first floor for Kinsky, where he spends his time alone playing the piano
almost obsessively; for Shandurai, a ground floor room that once might have been the
kitchen, where she temporarily re-establishes her identity through wearing African clothes,
listening to African music and eating African food. The location of the spaces serves as a
setting for the second stage of the narrative, as Kinsky's intrusion in Shandurai's life unfolds.
Two structural features of the house frequently emerge in the narrative, its main
staircase and also a dumb waiter used by Shandurai as a temporary wardrobe. Kinsky
covertly observes Shandurai's movements from vantage points on the staircase and he
sometimes hauls the dumb waiter up from her room (the old kitchen) to his 'territory', an act
which infuriates Shandurai as she imagines him indulging his curiosity regarding her clothes
and undergarments. In portraying Kinsky's overbearing appropriation of Shandurai's
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elongings, and his silent, secretive gaze on her daily routine, Bertolucci places the character
on the edge of normality. The house's architectural features are therefore used within the
narrative to generate emotional tension as they facilitate Kinsky's obsessive, fetishistic
behaviour, a factor which also creates cognitive uncertainty for viewers regarding the lengths
to which his fixation may go. Towards the end of the film, the house also possesses a
significance beyond its role in the film's mise-en-scene; the divesting of the house in the final
stages of the story is a visual metaphor for the way Kinsky rids himself of his past complexes
and psychological 'baggage" in order to embrace new, positive life perspectives.
As regards the film's sets, it is worth noting an interview in which Bertolucci warned
against comparisons with the apartment set of Last Tango in Paris, emphasizing two
fundamental differences between the films. In Last Tango in Paris, it is the characters who
divest themselves, not the house, and the male character is characterized by a desperate
sexuality, not by an intense sensuality (Mirabella-Pitiot, 1999: 79). Additionally, this chapter
posits that the secluded sets of the two films hold opposite meanings. In Tango, the apartment
occupied by Brando's character Paul is used as a barrier against the outside world, where
society, with its web of formal and stereotypical behaviour patterns, is guilty of stifling true
emotion and genuine human contact; in Besieged, Kinsky's alteration of his living
environment is indicative of a man who is breaking down barriers to open himself up to the
outside world. Therefore, the ensuing analysis emphasizes the links between Kinsky's
gradual and positive change of perspective towards life and the progressive denudation of his
house.
Different forms of narration and empathic phenomena
To heighten the sense of strangeness surrounding Kinsky's character, narrative information
regarding his past is relatively restricted. The causal gap related to the circumstances which
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have brought him to such a sense of isolation is partially revealed only towards the end of the
film, and this strategy clearly aims to foster viewers' curiosity in the character in the first part
of the film and engender moments of empathy when his character evolves from eccentricity
to friendliness. By contrast, the narration depicting Shandurai's life is unrestricted, as clear
information about her plight is given from the start to facilitate viewers' understanding of her
and also to elicit empathy with her responses. The images in the film's prologue serve to
establish a global sense of compassion towards her, as they summarize the situation of many
African citizens, whose stunning continent (the first image is a spectacular bird's-eye view of
a volcano overhanging an immense lake) is abused by violent, military dictatorships. This is
symbolized in the film's prologue by close-ups of political posters of an individual who
embodies all the hallmarks of a dictator, the poster also depicting the shape of the African
continent coloured in red in an obvious evocation of blood. Similarly, Shandurai's life in Italy
is depicted with linearity and cohesion, facilitating the viewer's cognitive engagement with
this particular narrative strand, and regularly confirming the viewer's hypotheses and
expectations about Shandurai's objectives and feelings.
To engender a steadily positive viewer attitude towards Shandurai, Bertolucci gives
the character an appearance designed to elicit benevolence; she is small, fragile, her young
age enhanced by a romp hairdo, and she is made to look more childlike by wearing overalls
which make her resemble the little scoundrel in Chaplin's Modem Times (1936). Obviously
the choice of actress, Thandie Newton, and her costume, was designed to cue a heightened
receptiveness towards Shandurai's character, but it is the constant framings of her wide open
eyes that communicate her unease at living in a foreign country where she experiences a
'suspension' of her identity. In a scene set at an office where residence permits are issued,
Bertolucci emphasizes how - by law - people like Shandurai only exist through their
employers, from whom signed documentation is needed to legitimize the presence of
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individuals like Shandurai in Italy. In the same way, her wandering gaze over Kinsky's empty
house, evoking a child's innocence, significantly contributes to the emotional structure of the
film. Shandurai's face is often featured in close-ups or in 'point-of-view structures' where 'a
point/glance shot is juxtaposed with a point/object shot' (Carroll, 1996: 125-138). The two
techniques are further used to create scenes of empathy which occur when a facial close-up
remains on screen for a prolonged duration or when the shot continually returns to it within a
point-of-view structure (Plantinga, 1999: 249). Plantinga asserts that this device is not
intended simply to communicate the character's inner emotion, but also to elicit empathic
emotions in viewers. In Besieged the repeated recourse to scenes of empathy can be attributed
to an attempt by Bertolucci to increase recognition and alignment from viewers towards
Shandurai's character. This remains constant even when, in the second part of the film,
Kinsky's character is incorporated into this process, because there is no real shift in the
structure of the narration towards him.
The viewer's privileged narrative position and intellectual engagement
As the story unfolds, the narration takes on a melodramatic alignment structure in terms of
placing viewers in the position of knowing more than any individual character does. This
strategy further explains the frequent facial reaction shots in the film, as in this particular
structure, the designed mode of viewer engagement is to 'watch for characters' reaction as
much as for narrative progression' (Smith M., 1995: 152-153). This strategy reflects the
film's narrative strand related to Kinsky s gradual change of attitude, the motivation for
which is disclosed only to viewers, and this primes spectators to watch for Shandurai "s
reaction at her employer's strange behaviour. In addition, because the narration related to
Kinsky continues to be restricted, the viewer's cognitive engagement is heightened by the
need to infer the complete meaning of the fragmented information that the film provides.
Initially Kinsky is shown in a church waiting to talk to an African priest and being struck by a
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eading from the Gospel that declares that whoever tries to preserve their life will lose it,
whereas those who lose their lives will be saved. So when Kinsky is shown later, taking
photographs of his works of art which gradually disappear from the house to reappear in an
antique shop down the road, viewers infer that, enlightened by the Gospel reading, he has
decided to sell his belongings to generate the funds to release Shandurai's husband.
hi this regard, the reference to the Gospel sheds light on Kinsky^s new perspective on
life because at its heart are a number of concepts, reflected in his later actions, that are
identifiable as originating from Christian Existentialism. For viewers able to make this link,
the latter part of Besieged has a strong intellectual resonance. As opposed to the
existentialism that highlighted the solitude and fragility of the human condition in the world
(used by Bertolucci in Last Tango in Paris) Christian Existentialism emphasized humanity's
potential to fulfil the true meaning of life by establishing honest and caring human
relationships. In his work La dignite humaine, Gabriel Marcel, a proponent of the philosophy,
stressed that one major step through which humans can achieve true existential fulfilment is
the act of giving, which, according to him, is not a familiar or instinctive gesture, (Marcel,
1964: 61-65) but which is the result of a process of self-reflection (Marcel 1964: 115).
Kinsky is an example of somebody undergoing this process. His sense of inspiration after
listening to the Gospel represents the phase of questioning oneself about the mystery of
'being'; his decision to sell his belongings represents the phase of assuming a conscious
position in the face of one's own lifestyle (Marcel, 1964: 118).(1) The fact that he gives away
the proceeds of the sale of these things represents his acceptance that the Christian concept of
property goes beyond the mere meaning of 'having' and includes broader philosophical
implications (Marcel 1964:132).(2) Furthermore, in his act of giving, Kinsky gains a feeling
of freedom which reflects Marcel's affirmation that during the individual's self-reflection, a
phase that leads to the abandonment of one's own powers in favour of a greater trust in "the
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other' as opposed to the individual him/herself as subject, freedom manifests itself (Marcel,
1964:119).(3) An indication of this freedom occurs in a scene where the disoriented
Shandurai surveys the house's bare walls and shelves and comments: 'There is not much to
dust'. Kinsky, smiling triumphantly, replies 'Yes, I know' and in nonchalantly carries on
composing, for the first time, a piece of his own music. He also appears finally able to
express his uneasiness, admitting to the African priest that the reason for his isolation is
rooted in his feelings of inadequacy as a pianist. It is an assertion which is greeted by the
priest's reassuring, compassionate chuckle. Kinsky's sudden vitality and the change in both
his gaze and behaviour (serene and confident respectively) imply that there is something
more than a loving generosity behind his resolute course of action. This could arguably be
identified as a realization that, by doing something to bring happiness to the person he loves -
even if the gesture is unlikely to lead to a future together - it represents an opportunity to
come alive again; a chance that is too important to be missed.
Music's prominent role in the encounter between Europe and Africa
In Besieged, soundtrack music is important because it conveys the characters' emotions
which are rarely articulated in speech; this is a directorial choice aiming to avert the risk of
sentiment becoming banalized through overemphasis. In cognitive terms the music covers
three functions: it defines and enhances the protagonists' cultural identity; it provides the
terrain for the encounter between the two protagonists and their cultures; and it is also used to
signify the growth of a bond between them. This latter use of music emerges in the scene
depicting the first sensual interaction between the protagonists. A canted framing features
Kinsky in the foreground as he composes music at the piano, this consisting of a rapid
'ostinato' which evokes the idea of a predator chasing prey in the wild. In the background
Shandurai hoovers the carpet, rhythmically moving her head in a way that indicates her
appreciation of the hybrid aural effect. The sensuality implied by the music is enhanced by
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the canted framing being repeatedly linked with close-ups of exposed parts of Shandurai's
body, specifically her arms which are adorned with ethnic bracelets, and her neck. These
images are also alternated with close-ups of parts of Kinsky's body, specifically his hands
and his profile, and these two angles of shot reproduce the protagonists' visual perspectives.
The diagonal framings convey the protagonists' mutual awareness of being observed
sensually, but it is the soundtrack music that creates the main emotional resonance in the
sequence, functioning together with Bertolucci's visuals and the actors' subtle performances.
The contradictions within the film's progressive intentions
hi her work mentioned earlier, Loshitsky has analysed Besieged in the context of the
problematic relationship between xenophobic Europe and the migrants who arrive there,
paying particular reference to the notion of miscegenation which is perceived as a threat by
the white communities. Loshitsky is aware that Besieged is not the most important Italian
film on the subject, and while she examines a number of other films (Loshitsky, 2010: 174)
which result in more productive analyses of racial integration as depicted in modern Italian
cinema, she does not include La giusta distanza/Jlie Right Distance (2007) by Carlo
Mazzacurati, whose narrative, focusing on the scapegoating of a migrant worker for the
murder of female teacher in Italy's Veneto region, contains a range of socio-political and
narrative elements that would have reinforced Loshitsky's arguments, given that the film is
set in territory controlled by Italy's xenophobic Lega Nord party. In general terms, my view
is that Bertolucci handles the migration issue in Besieged in a subjective and intimistic way,
compared to the socio-political impact that the phenomenon has had in Italy. Loshitsky's
analysis of Besieged would also have benefited from closer comparison between the film and
James Lasdun's original novel The Siege (Loshitsky, 2010: 80) because, by identifying key
differences between the two, it is possible to ascertain the thematic input of Bertolucci and
his collaborators in Besieged. In intellectual terms, while Loshitsky analyses the film
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(Loshitsky, 2010: 90-93) via arguments and counter arguments concerning its progressive
and reactionary impulses, the conclusion that I would draw from Besieged connects it with
films such as Last Tango in Paris. I will argue that Besieged is intellectually ambivalent, its
progressive elements losing their clarity on account of ambiguous behaviour by characters at
an intimate level and also because of a revelatory ending that privileges cinematic spectacle.
Lasdun's novel, set in England, features a South American woman who does
domestic work for a male English employer and landowner; in Besieged, Bertolucci transfers
both protagonists to a foreign country, making both of them outsiders and reducing the
novel's socio-political dichotomy between capitalist imperialism and colonial labour in
favour of a more existential discourse. Bertolucci's decision to transform the male
protagonist from an embodiment of European capitalism to a lonely individual estranged in a
foreign country positions Kinsky closer to Shandurai's vulnerable social condition; the
distance between the two is further reduced in the film in terms of class, because Shandurai is
not just a cleaner, as in the novel and as many Africans would be in real-life Italy, but she is
also a medical student. Her studies link her to a small but growing group of migrants
involved in higher education, a group with some prospect of a brighter future. This ensures
that she is perceived by viewers as less marginalized than many other foreigners and more
likely to eventually integrate into Western society. In the film, Shandurai has (at least) one
white friend - a fellow student Agostino (although his homosexuality also marginalizes him
in a society like that of contemporary Italy) while Kinsky only has contact with the children
attending his music classes. As a consequence, despite her situation, Shandurai is perceived
as less isolated and with more of a future that her employer Kinsky. The factors corroborate
Loshitsky's 'positive' interpretation of Besieged as 'an emancipatory film that tries to close
the gap between the two worlds' (Loshitsky, 2010: 91).
By contrast, it should also be observed that a status difference between the
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protagonists remains visible, Shandurai continuing to refer to her employer as 'Mr. Kinsky'.
Also, after Bertolucci frames the numerous, crumpled up pieces of paper on which Shandurai
has written 'thank you', following Kinsky s intervention to free her husband, she realizes that
the only way to thank him is to make love to him; significantly, Kinsky does not renounce the
opportunity of taking advantage of the economic sacrifice he has made. This reflects
Loshitsky's outline of a possible 'negative' interpretation of the film, the critic saying: 'Read
as an economic equation, the transaction is hardly liberating. According to the implied
contract between them, Kinsky will release Shandurai's husband and she will become his. He
will own her" (Loshitsky, 2010: 92). This symbolizes a perpetuation of Western colonialism
as 'possession' of Africa and, intellectually, ends the film on a reactionary note. Viewers who
had identified the progressive aspects of Besieged such as the heightening of Shandurai's
social status will, cognitively and intellectually, have difficulty in reconciling the film's
ending with its narrative development, the film therefore replicating the perplexing nature of
Paul's behaviour in the final sequences of Last Tango in Paris after a sustained filmic
discourse on personal and sexual liberation. While the ending of both films are endowed with
a degree of cinematic drama and spectacle, and I will discuss Bertolucci's propensity towards
this more fully in the conclusion, the privileging of 'spectacle' over intellectual coherence is
less satisfying for those viewers who have engaged with the films from a more critical,
academic perspective.
The aesthetic and intellectual effect of Bertolucci's stylized visuals
The film's uncomplicated linear narrative is articulated through relatively sophisticated
cinematic techniques which Bertolucci also used in his earlier films, such as unbalanced
framing, slow motion, and stylized camera movement. The result of this approach is
multifunctional in intellectual and affective terms as it increases the viewer's awareness of
the presence of the camera and generates fascination at the way these cinematic devices
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create different artistic effects, yet it also induces empathy with the protagonists' inner
feelings and draws other emotional responses. To exemplify this, a number of sequences -
selected on the basis of their significance in aesthetic and theoretical terms - will be
discussed. With regard to frame composition, two scenes are particularly significant. One
portrays the first time that Kinsky moves forward along the staircase to talk to Shandurai. In
this sequence, the camera is made to physically follow their small talk, as alternating low and
high camera angles reproduce the two characters' points of view and underline the
awkwardness of the situation. The use of unbalanced framing underlines Shandurai's
discomfort - as she stands in the middle of the entrance hall, clutching shopping bags - and
simultaneously creates a comic effect on viewers. The same occurs in the two-part scene
depicting Shandurai at her most disoriented during the emptying of the house. The first part
begins with a skewed framing that films Shandurai from knee level as she goes downstairs to
open the front door. To increase viewers' expectations, the camera does not pan to the left to
follow her to the door, but stops on the first flight of stairs, making viewers wait for her
return. Without shifting the frame so that again only her knees and feet are visible, the
sequence re-starts with Shandurai leading two men upstairs. The camera s pause increases the
sense of curiosity and expectation that the scene intends to cue, but combined with the
peculiarity of the framing, it effectively draws attention to the director's presence behind the
camera. In the second part, the two men descend the stairs again led by Shandurai, but this
time the shot is in medium close-up, to draw attention to the rolled-up, precious tapestry that
they are carrying on their shoulders behind the woman's disconcerted gaze. The combination
of the skewed framing, the circular movement of the scene, and the fact that not a word is
spoken in the whole take, again ensures that Shandurai's disorientation is endowed with a
sense of the comic for the viewers' benefit only. In both sequences, the distancing effect of
the film's knowing, stylized framings generates an awareness of the film as a piece of
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constructed artifice, while, however, also strengthening the viewer's emotional understanding
of Shandurai's character. This is typical of the way in which, from his earliest work such as
Before the Revolution, Bertolucci's film-making tends to engender viewing experiences in
which intellectual awareness and affective engagement are interlinked.
Two more scenes are worth mentioning for their idiosyncratic camera movement and
changes of speed. The first one introduces Shandurai's disquieting perception of Kinsky's
evolving attitude to life as an insidious siege to her inner feelings. Here, Bertolucci chooses
the representational form of the dream, thereby evoking the notion that the subconscious
tends to reveal emotional turmoil, while reason refuses to accept its existence. The sequence
starts with the camera focusing in on Shandurai as she falls asleep at the kitchen table, then
the close-up of the woman's face undergoes a 180 degree rotation, which might symbolize
her mental transposition to Africa where the dream takes place. She is shown tearing down
posters on which the picture of the dictator has been replaced by Kinsky's portrait. The
dream's end is marked by a reverse rotation to the original shot of Shandurai's face. The
second scene is designed to confirm Kinsky's new, positive attitude towards life. At the end
of the concert he has given to showcase the music he has composed, Kinsky follows his
guests/students out on to the patio and starts juggling with oranges and apples, which
accidentally hit a tray of drinks that Shandurai is holding. The clownesque quality of this
mise-en-scene is enhanced by an unexpected form of closure strongly reminiscent of silent
comedies from the 1920s. The images of Kinsky guiltily running away towards the back of
the frame are shot using a speeded up effect that immediately evokes the warm, comic
humour of the earlier genre, hi these two scenes the peculiarity of the camera movement and
the change of speed suddenly bring up a third point of view unattached to any authority
within the diegesis and the effects instantiate how Bertolucci engages viewers on both
affective and cognitive levels at the same time.
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The use of different film speeds and slow stylized camera movement also appears
designed to increase viewers' awareness of cinematic artifice and to draw emotions by
casting a lyrical quality on to the images. The following sequences exemplify the
development of a lyrical effect through the slow motion device. One scene shows Shandurai
pressing herself against the wall of the landing in the attempt to avoid meeting Kinsky, but
she drops her dustcloth which slowly descends like a feather down the stairwell and lands on
Kinsky's head, who stops and returns the cloth with a cheerfully impish expression. The slow
motion used for the cloth's descent lends the mise-en-scene a lyrical quality which is
enhanced by the use of neutral colours: the white of the cloth, the cream of walls and steps of
the staircase, the soft daylight. On the one hand, the slow motion effect represents a poetic
pause in the tension created by the fact that their communication is still somewhat stilted; on
the other, it symbolizes the fact that Kinsky's world view has become more light-hearted and
relaxed.
A remarkable lyrical effect is achieved in the scene depicting Shandurai "s subtle
awareness of her situation in the form of a daydream. An extreme close-up of beer foam
being stared by Shandurai, suspended on the rim of a glass, turns into an extreme close-up of
the foam of soapy water. Slowly, the frame enlarges to gradually include a bucket, Shandurai,
and an increasingly large portion of the entrance floor that she is washing with radial
movements, so that the space takes a circular shape. Then the camera tilts upwards and, by
slowly retreating from her, it shows more of the stairwell, which creates the impression that
Shandurai is enclosed in the house like an insect trapped in a carnivorous flower. Through her
rhythmic movement and blank gaze, she appears charmed by Kinsky "s music as it fills the
stairwell, and this enhances the sense of estrangement from reality that the whole sequence
cues. By contrast, slow motion is also used by Bertolucci to emphasize a moment of drama.
The technique intensifies Kinsky's emotions, literally evoking an impression of him being
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swept away by his repressed feelings as he is filmed frontally in a scene where he runs after
Shandurai. His frantic body movements, combined with his contorted facial expression,
achieve a profound affective impact on the viewer. It is a visual approach which increases the
physical intensity of Kinsky's final, almost violent gesture, as he grips Shandurai's arms.
This is an instance where any sense of stylistic realism is totally abandoned, but on this
occasion, the technique is used to elicit an affective engagement from viewers; few spectators
are likely to be able to disengage themselves from the proceedings to reflect on this artificial
and emotional form of representation.
Conclusion
The film's extensive use of stylized visuals gives the impression that Bertolucci was in his
element in drawing on these devices to create the dual effect of a significant aesthetic impact
and that of an auteur still at the top of his game. By using these aesthetics to effectively
interrupt what is often an absorbing narrative, Bertolucci seems to ask viewers to reflect
intellectually on the implications of the on-screen emotions portrayed in Besieged, rather than
to share them passively. With regard to the development of the film's theme concerning an
encounter between individuals from different cultures and its examination of the socio-
economic, political and personal factors conditioning this emerging rapport. Bertolucci's
decision to use an open ending, creating doubt as to whether Shandurai, after sleeping with
Kinsky, will open the door to her husband as he arrives and rings the bell, is an approach that
would perplex mainstream cinemagoers with their expectations of narrative completion.
Similarly, as discussed earlier, the circumstances of this denouement and of the love scene
between Shandurai and Kinsky may exasperate more intellectually demanding viewers, and a
sense of deja vu may be experienced by those familiar with the director's earlier work such as
Last Tango in Paris. Bertolucci's predilection for cinematic spectacle and dramatic excess,
typified by Shandurai's act of offering herself to Kinsky. halts the progressive discourse
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unfolded by the narrative until that scene. It negates the viewers' hypothesis that Kinsky s
behaviour has gradually matured out of interpersonal solidarity, this seemingly indicated by
the way he withholds the details of the sale of his valuables from Shandurai and by his
increasing openness with the African priest. As indicated in this chapter, although there are
numerous visual and narrative devices that momentarily align viewers the thought processes
and emotions of Shandurai and Kinsky, and although the narrative frequently highlights a
new multicultural Italy where self-realization is possible for migrants like Shandurai, the
transactional nature of the protagonists' intimacy, centred on the socio-economic influence of
a white Western male profiting from the vulnerability of an African female, is an outcome
that on all levels emotional, cognitive and intellectual will estrange many spectators.
Notes
1. 'Je remarquais alors que le recueillement [...] est 1'acte par lequel je me ressaisis come unite, mais ce
ressaisissement ou cette reprise affecte 1'aspect d'une detente ou d'un abandon. Au sein du
recueillement, disais-je, je prends position en face de ma vie...'
2. 'L'avoir est ici considere sous le signe de la propriete; mais il est evident qu'il deborde la propriete et
c'est peut-etre par la qu'il interesse le plus directement le philosophe.'
3. 'Le recueillement c'est en verite 1'acte par lequel on abandonne en quelque sorte tous les pouvoirs q'on
possede et comme si cet abandon suscitait une certaine reponse [...] II convient de reconnaitre ici qu'il
y a deux types d'attente bien differents 1'une de 1'autre [...] dont 1'autre releve beaucoup plutot de la
confiance qu'on peut placer dans un etre ou dans la realite en tant que celle-ci est assimilable a un etre.
Mais ce qui intervient dans ce second cas, c'est a proprement parler la liberte."
References
Carroll, N. (1996) Tlieorizing the Moving Image, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Loshitsky, Y. (2010) Screening Strangers, Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University
Press.
Marcel, G. (1964) La Dignite Humaine (et Ses Assises Existentielles), Alencon: Editions
Aubier-Montaigne.
Mirabella JC. and Pitiot, P. (1991) Intervista a Bernardo Bertolucci, Rome: Gremese
Editore.
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Plantinga, C. (1999) 'The Scene of Empathy and the Human Face on Film', in Plantinga, C.
and Smith G. (ed.) Passionate Views, Baltimore: The John Hopkins University Press.
Smith M. (1995) Engaging Characters, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
328

CONCLUSION
This project's aim has been to investigate the ways in which Bertolucci has constructed the
cognitive and emotional structures of each of his feature films in the context of a reception
situation characterized by conscious viewer engagement with on-screen events, a reception
process based on an interrelation between cognition and emotion. The study also illustrates
that the passage from one phase to another of Bertolucci's film-making is not typified by
clear-cut changes. The analysis of his early 1960s films has shown how his enthusiasm for
the innovative work of the Nouvelle Vague does not result in exclusively cerebral films, but
instead the use of the new cinematic language has a twofold effect, that of eliciting reflection
on the nature of cinema and also drawing a significant affective response ranging from
lyricism (The Grim Reaper and Before the Revolution} to unease (Partner). Regarding
Bertolucci's way of adopting elements of the Nouvelle Vague model, Roberto Perpignani (the
film editor for Before the Revolution and Partner} asserts in a DVD interview that although
Bertolucci was swept along by the disruptive force of the Nouvelle Vague films, and although
they were important reference points for him, they were incorporated into a process of free,
autonomous creativity on the director's part: 'Bertolucci was working on his own idea'
(Perpignani, 2005). Perpignani indicates the sequence in Before the Revolution of Agostino
repeatedly falling from his bicycle as exemplifying Bertolucci's personal experimentation.
Perpignani also maintains that at that time, there were few opportunities to examine
scientifically the techniques used in other films, and so the effects that materialized in
Bertolucci's early films were the result of dialogue between the director and himself about
the Nouvelle Vague films that they had both seen and which had remained in their memories:
'this was our authorization to use them' (Perpignani, 2005). Even the director's use of
different distancing effects - which resurfaced throughout his career - is characterized by a
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dual effect, since they often appeal to the viewer's senses and emotions. This combined effect
generates a process that often engages viewers cognitively and affectively at the same time,
hi the most experimental of Bertolucci's films, Partner, the emotional impact of the film's
distanciation effects is a self-conscious by-product of a cognitive process, whereas in
Bertolucci's other work, the effects often generate specific moods.
My analysis of the films belonging to the second phase of Bertolucci's career - from
The Conformist onwards - which incorporated a greater number of elements from more
traditional codes of film-making, has highlighted several characteristics that prevent the films
from being categorized as mainstream products. This reflects Bertolucci's assertion that he
liked to think that he had combined certain Hollywood values with the essence of a cinema
which was against Hollywood; he was not certain about the efficacy of the result but the
process enthused him because, as he admitted, 'there is a Hollywood cinema that I deeply
love' (Mirabella and Pitiot, 1991: 43). To contextualize in greater detail Bertolucci's attempts
to combine in his films elements of cinematic spectacle with the characteristics of arthouse
cinema, this study has focused on the predominantly unfavourable reaction to the director's
films from the early to mid 1960s and to his subsequent inactivity, suggesting that it was a
key factor in motivating a change in his film-making orientation. The collection of
declarations both by the director himself and by critics and scholars that are contained in this
study require, at the very least, that greater consideration be given to the notion that the
evolution in Bertolucci's artistic direction was prompted by his dispiriting professional
circumstances rather than by more private troubles. Indirectly, Vittorio Storaro's recent
pronouncements confirm this interpretation. Recounting his collaboration with Bertolucci at
the time of Tire Spider's Stratagem, Storaro admits his mixed feelings of anticipation at
making a film with Bertolucci, who had taught him so much during the shooting of Before
the Revolution where he was assistant to Aldo Scavarda and who, according to Storaro, still
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had much to teach him, and his resolution not to accept the offer if Bertolucci showed signs
of the same arrogance that he had previously displayed on set. Instead, Storaro found that
Bertolucci had matured greatly, 'having passed through a tunnel, [...] and was ready to start
again, with great courage and humility, with a modest film for television' (Storaro, 2005).
This study has outlined that the second phase of Bertolucci's career continued to
feature several characteristics of art cinema, notably his idiosyncratic use of the camera and
his frequent adoption of elaborate schemes of narration, which includes a self-conscious use
of different genres such as detective movies - with particular reference to noir - and
melodrama. It is as if Bertolucci creates a sort of a dialogue with these genres, revisiting them
and engaging with them but manipulating their established conventions. It has been
illustrated how this strategy generates a notable effect on the viewers' cognitive activity
during the viewing experience. Drawing on Torben Grodal's description of the viewer's
mode of perception, it can be argued that Bertolucci's films create a mode of perception
whose 'source is ambiguous' by creating perspectives belonging 'to intermediary positions'
between 'an exterior hypothetical or real world and an interior mental world" (Grodal, 1997:
158). The perspectives cued by the films sometimes draw negative evaluations from viewers
which, Grodal suggests, form as a result of viewers perceiving the fictive agent as
'unfamiliar' and 'distant' (Grodal, 1997: 158). Another element from the second phase of
Bertolucci's work that positions his films between art cinema and mainstream films that are
centred on cinematic 'spectacle', can be found in the director's increased emphasis on
privileging visually and sensually evocative viewing experiences. This approach is
constructed around a richer visual approach to landscapes, settings and mise-en-scene, on
which the films' affective resonance is centred, rather than on direct, strong viewer
identification with the films' protagonists. In this sense, none of Bertolucci's later films
feature cathartic experiences based on viewers sharing the vicissitudes of characters, and so
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the likelihood of leaving the auditorium with a feelgood sensation is not high. This is the case
even in Little Buddha whose positive denouement merely hints that a different, more
harmonious way of life is possible, rather than implying that it is a reality that will soon be
established.
For this study, the tendency of Bertolucci's films to elicit reflection from viewers,
although passing from overt political resonances to more existentialist ones, represents
another common denominator in his work. In 1963, while being interviewed on the set of
Before the Revolution, Bertolucci declared that, for him, cinema was above all a matter of
talking about oneself through others, or using others to describe oneself (Bertolucci, 1963). In
the light of this comment and of the findings of this study, all of Bertolucci's films point to a
constant authorial presence, describing - through characters and situations his ideas on the
human condition in contemporary society and articulating several of his own, individual,
unresolved conflicts. This interpretation is corroborated by Casetti's affirmation that one of
the elements of continuity in Bertolucci's work is represented by a strong subjectivity, the
stories of all his films being filtered through the director's consciousness (Casetti, 2005).
Casetti's recognition that another element of continuity is constituted by the fragmentation of
Bertolucci's narratives, (Casetti, 2005) reinforces this project's perspective that even in his
later, more commercial work, Bertolucci preserves specific cinematic devices that create
complex narrations. However, it has been argued in this study that this combination of styles,
commercial spectacle and art cinema's thematic and stylistic resonances, is not entirely
successful. As already indicated within the analysis of each film, I believe that the director's
propensity to privilege spectacle over the coherence of a film's intellectual standpoint -
sometimes at the very end of the film as in the case of Last Tango in Paris and Besieged -
undermines the validity of the discourse articulated in the narration, with the effect of
frustrating the director's intellectually demanding art cinema viewers and creating an uneven
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and confusing experience for mainstream viewers. It is a tendency that again emerged in
Bertolucci's short film Histoire d'Eaux (2002).
The film marks a return to the director's origins, being shot in black and white and
possessing a style that combines Pasolini's neorealism with lyricism. Thematically, it re-
proposes the notions in Gina's apologue in Before the Revolution about time not existing and
about a lack of fulfilment when people's lives become materialistic. The apologue's Buddhist
monk and his disciple are transformed in the short film into a modern day immigrant who is
thrown out of a truck together with other illegal immigrants, into the Italian countryside. The
story's theme remains the same with the disciple/immigrant sent off in search of water. He
becomes sidetracked and is gradually drawn into a range of life experiences; he falls for an
Italian girl who provides him with a job, a house and a son. When the symbol of the
immigrant's socio-economic achievement a car crashes, he disconsolately wanders
through a wood, where he finds his mentor still waiting for the water. The immigrant then
kneels, suddenly aware of the ephemeral quality of time and life. Although the film's
intention appears that of sketching a situation suspended between reality and a dream, the
denouement of the immigrant seemingly re-embracing his ascetic former values appears
incongruent with the generally positive narrative sequence of the serene encounter between
two cultures. This is symbolized by the immigrant's integration into Italian society, and by
his family life and working environment absorbing elements of his culture. Bertolucci
asserted that with this short film he aimed to 'help people replace their fears about diversity
with curiosity and then love.' (Socci, 2003: 19). But the denouement he gives to the story
seems another example of how the film's socio-political standpoint is dissolved by the
director's propensity for a coup de theatre, rather than for a coherent resolution both in
narrative and moral terms; consequently, he manages to surprise viewers, but at the price of
leaving them with an ambivalent perception of the social discourse unfolded by the film.
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Nevertheless, this short film also confirms the evaluation of Bertolucci's work as a whole that
emerges from this investigation, in terms of identifying as a key element of his film -making
the way viewers are placed in positions which are distant from the film protagonists but
which are counterbalanced by a powerful fascination for what is perceived on screen. The
frequency with which this structure is employed represents a genuinely original trait in
Bertolucci's work.
The significance of a director's work can often be evaluated in terms of their
influence on other directors and of their impact on their respective national cinemas and on
world cinema in given periods. The way in which younger directors now explore sex
thematically and stylistically has gradually evolved as a consequence of the work of a number
of European and American directors, including Bertolucci; his realistic portrayals of
eroticism, which started with Before the Revolution, deserve acknowledgement for having
broken the unspoken rule of cinematic self-censorship regarding sexuality. In this context,
Last Tango in Paris seems to have markedly influenced a film like Intimacy (2001), where
Patrice Chereau portrays the weekly sexual encounter between a couple who are unknown to
each other, using an intense, realist style that leaves little to the imagination. The title of
Gabriele Salvatores' film Quo Vadis Baby? (2005) refers to a line uttered by Marion Brando
(Paul) to Maria Schneider (Jeanne) in Last Tango in Paris - a film watched by two tormented
lovers and aspiring actors who are galvanized by constantly rewatching it in a secluded
apartment. A more recent homage to Bertolucci came from the third episode - Ratking - of
the BBC One fiction series, Zen, (2011), set in Rome, which openly drew on the Italian
cinematic style of the late 60s and 70s. For Bertolucci, the episode's cinematic evocations
referred to T)ie Conformist, the makers of Zen using the sets used by Bertolucci in the
sequences depicting Clerici's encounter with his father and with the Fascist minister, as well
as deploying frame compositions evoking the latter sequence. While Bertolucci's impact
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within Italian cinema has not been as sustained as that of several of his contemporaries, the
evocative visuals of his work, its absorbing narrative structures and considered reflections on
society and the individual - in short, the affective, cognitive and intellectual resonances that
this study has attempted to highlight, have gained international recognition both for
Bertolucci and also for Italian cinema in every individual decade of the 20th century.
References
Bertolucci, B. (1963) 'Cinema d'oggi', in Bertolucci, G. (ed.) with the collaboration of
Sanguineti, T., (2005), Extra to DVD Before the Revolution, (Special Edition 2005),
Disc 1, RHV.
Casetti, F. (2005) 'Riletture/Re-readings', in Bertolucci G. (ed.) with the collaboration of
Sanguineti, T., Extra to DVD Before the Revolution, (Special Edition 2005), Disc 2,
RHV.
Grodal, T. (1997) Moving Pictures, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Mirabella, J.C. and Pitiot, P., (1991) Intenista a Bemardo Bertolucci, Rome: Gremese
Editore.
Perpignani, R. (2005) 'La bottega dei giovani maestri/The Working of the Young Masters', in
Bertolucci, G.(ed.) with the collaboration of Sanguineti, T., Extra to DVD Before the
Revolution, (Special Edition 2005), Disc 2, RHV.
Socci, S. (2003) Bemardo Bertolucci, later edition, Milan: II Castoro Cinema.
Storaro, V. (2005) 'La bottega dei giovani maestri/The Workshop of the Young Masters", in
Bertolucci, G. (ed.) with the collaboration of Sanguineti, T., Extra to DVD Before the
Revolution, (Special Edition 2005), Disc 2, RHV.
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GLOSSARY
Alignment: The process by which viewers engage with screen characters, via spatio-temporal
attachments and/or subjective access.
Allegiance: The process by which viewers morally evaluate screen characters, ranking them
in a system of preference, and forming attachments to given characters.
Autonomic: Reactions based on non-voluntary mechanisms (supported by the autonomic
nervous system) like laughter, crying, shivering.
Bottom-up: The process by which viewers organize the data perceived on screen, with little
input from their associated memories.
Canonical narration: A narration following a linear chain of cause and effect.
Cognitive identification: The process by which viewers participate in constructed fiction, by
identifying with characters on the basis of recognizing the characters' motivations, a
process also involving the emotions generated by this identification.
Diegetic narration: The presentation of information internal to the fictive world.
Distributed narration: A narration where the information is disclosed intermittently.
Downstream: The perception of images and sounds on screen which induce affective
reactions within viewers and activate hypotheses regarding possible actions.
Epistemic identification: The process by which viewers imagine believing what a screen
character believes, based on a shared perception or knowledge of events.
External focalization: The process by which the narration depicts an action through a
character's subjectivity, but integrated by another subjectivity, often connected to that
of the implied author.
Intensities: The 'emotional' tones connected to the activation of vivid perceptions.
Internal focalization: The process by which the narration depicts an action through a
character's subjectivity.
Narration: The way in which the story is presented.
Narrative: The story.
Non-diegetic narration: The presentation of information made available only to viewers.
Non-focalization: The process by which a narration simply depicts screen events, without the
information being filtered through any intra or extra diegetic subjectivity.
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Oneiric: The depiction of dream-like states.
Paratelic: A narration modality focusing on processes rather than on the achievement of
goals.
Perceptual identification: The process by which the viewer sees what the character sees,
instantiated by the POV shot as well as by the face-reaction shot.
Pro-attitude: The viewer s concern for characters or situations.
Procedural schemata: A narration requiring a search for motivations and for relations
between space, causality and time.
Reality-status: The extent to which a given screen action or phenomenon reflects authentic
human experience.
Recognition: The process by which viewers identify and construct screen characters' traits
according to real life experience.
Retardation: The process by which narrative information is delayed.
Saturation: The viewer's experience of emotions connected to the activation of mental
associations.
Telic: A narration modality focusing on goal orientation.
Top-down: The process by which viewers organize the screen data on the basis of their
acquired knowledge and mental schemas.
Upstream: The process by which the viewers' perception of forms and movements on screen
is blurred or blocked.
337

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345

Documentaries
FILMOGRAPHY OF BERNARDO BERTOLUCCI'S FILMS
1957 La teleferica/The Cable, home video, B&W.
1958 La morte del maiale/Death of a Pig, home video, B&W.
1965-1966 La via del petrolio/The Oil Route, Rai Radiotelevisione Italiana/ENI.
1966 // canale/The Canal, Prod. Giorgio Patara S.r.l.
1971 La salute e malata o Ipoveri muoiono prima/Health Is III or the Poor Die First,
ARCI/Unitelefilm.
1976 // silenzio e complicita/Silence is Complicity. A collective work
of 33 directors and intellectuals, coordinated by Laura Betti, on the assassination
of Pier Paolo Pasolini. Studio Vergini.
1985 Cartolina dalla Cina, 10 minutes of material relevant to the location survey
for The Last Emperor, broadcast on television on December 1985.
1989 Bologna, segment of the collective work 12 registi per 12
Citta, Istituto Luce, broadcast on television on Summer 1989.
Short Films
1967-1969 Agonia/Agony, segment of the collective film Amore e rabbia/Love and Anger,
Castoro Film/Anouchka Film.
2002 Histoire d'eaitx, segment of T\ie Cello in Ten Minutes Older, Road Movies
GmbH.
Full-length Films
1962 La commare secca/Tlie Grim Reaper
Screenplay: Bernardo Bertolucci, Sergio Cirti
346

Cinematography: Giovanni Narzisi; Production Design: Adriana Spadaro
Editing: Nino Baragli; Music: Carlo Rustichelli, Piero Piccioni
Production: Compagnia Cinematografica Cervi.
1964 Prima della Rivoluzione/Before the Revolution
Screenplay: Bernardo Bertolucci, Gianni Amico
Cinematography: Aldo Scavarda
Editing: Roberto Perpignani; Music: Gino Paoli, Ennio Morricone
Production: Iride Cinematografica.
1968 Partner
Screenplay: Gianni Amico, Bernardo Bertolucci
Cinematography: Ugo Piccone; Production Design: Francesco Tullio Altan
Editing: Roberto Perpignani; Music: Ennio Morricone
Production: Red Film.
1970 Strategic/ del ragno/T7ie Spider's Stratagem
Screenplay: Marilu Parolini, Edoardo De Gregorio
Cinematography: Vittorio Storaro; Production Design: Nedo Azzini
Production: Red Film/Radiotelevisione Italiana.
1970 // Conformista/The Conformist
Screenplay: Bernardo Bertolucci
Cinematography: Vittorio Storaro; Production Design: Nedo Azzini
Editing: Franco Arcalli; Music: Georges Delerue
Production : Mars Film/Marianne Productions/Maran Film Gmbh.
347

1972 Ultimo tango a Parigi/ Last Tango in Paris
Screenplay: Bernardo Bertolucci, Franco Arcalli
Cinematography: Vittorio Storaro; Production Design: Ezio Frigerio
Editing: Franco Arcalli; Music: Gato Barbieri
Production: PEA/Artistes Associes.
1976 Novecento/1900
Screenplay: Bernardo Bertolucci, Franco Arcalli, Giuseppe Bertolucci
Cinematography: Vittorio Storaro; Production Design: Ezio Frigerio
Editing: Franco Arcalli; Music: Ennio Morricone
Production: PEA/Artistes Associes/Artemis Film.
1979 La luna/Luna
Screenplay: Bernardo Bertolucci, Giuseppe Bertolucci, Clare Peploe
Cinematography: Vittorio Storaro
Production Design: Maria Paola Maino, Gianni Silvestri
Editing: Gabriella Cristiani; Production: Fiction Cinematografica/20 th Century Fox.
1981 La tragedia di un uomo ridicolo/The Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man
Screenplay: Bernardo Bertolucci
Cinematography: Carlo Di Palma; Production Design: Gianni Silvestri
Editing: Gabriella Cristiani; Music: Ennio Morricone
Production: Fiction Cinematografica/The Ladd Company.
1987 L 'Ultimo Imperatore/Tlie Last Emperor
Screenplay: Bernardo Bertolucci, Mark Peploe with Enzo Ungari
Cinematography: Vittorio Storaro; Production Design: Ferdinando Scarfiotti
348

Editing: Gabriella Cristiani; Music: Ryuichi Sakamoto
Production: Recorded Picture Company/Tao Film, in association with the China Film
Coproduction Corporation.
1990 H te nel deserto/The Sheltering Sky
Screenplay: Bernardo Bertolucci, Mark Peploe
Cinematography: Vittorio Storaro; Production Design: Gianni Silvestri
Editing: Gabriella Cristiani; Music: Ryuichi Sakamoto
Production: Sahara Company, Recorded Picture Company/Tao Film.
1993 Piccolo Buddha/Little Buddha
Screenplay: Bernardo Bertolucci, Rudy Wurlitzer, Mark Peploe
Cinematography: Vittorio Storaro; Production Design: James Acheson
Editing: Pietro Scalia; Music: Ryuichi Sakamoto
Production: Sahara Company, Recorded Picture Company/Ciby 2000.
1996 lo ballo da sola/Stealing Beauty
Screenplay: Susan Minot, Bernardo Bertolucci
Cinematography: Darius Khondji; Production Design: Gianni Silvestri
Editing: Pietro Scalia; Music: Richard Hartley
Production: Recorded Picture Company/UGC Images.
1998 L'assedio/Besieged
Screenplay: Bernardo Bertolucci, Clare Peploe
Cinematography: Fabio Cianchetti; Production Design: Gianni Silvestri
Editing: Jacopo Quadri; Music: Alessio Vlad
Production: Fiction Films/Navert Films/Mediaset/BBC.
349

2003 I sognatori/The Dreamers
Screenplay: Gilbert Adair
Cinematography: Fabio Cianchetti; Production Design: Jean Rabasse
Editing: Jacopo Quadri; Production: Recorded Picture Company/Peninsula Films/
Fiction Films.
350

SELECT FILMOGRAPHY
A bout de souffle (Breathless), Jean-Luc Godard, 1960.
Amarcord (1remember), Federico Fellini, 1973.
A Passage to India, David Lean, 1984.
Avatar, James Cameron, 2009.
Bronenosets Potemkin (Battleship Potemkin), Sergei Eisenstein, 1925.
Buongiorno, notte (Good Morning, Night), Marco Bellocchio, 2004.
Chinatown, Roman Polanski, 1974.
C 'era una volta in America (Once Upon a Time in America), Sergio Leone, 1984.
C 'era una volta il West (Once upon a Time in the West), Sergio Leone, 1968.
Colpire al cuore (Blow to the Heart), Gianni Amelio, 1983.
Deliverance, John Boorman, 1972.
Deux ou trios choses que je sais d'elle (Two or Three Things I Know About Her), Jean-Luc
Godard, 1966.
Dr. Strangelove, Stanley Kubrick, 1964.
Edipo re (Oedipus Rex), Pier Paolo Pasolini, 1967.
E.T., Steven Spielberg, 1982.
Guess WJio 's Coming to Dinner, Stanley Kramer, 1967.
Histoire(s) du cinema, Jean-Luc Godard, 1988-98.
// buono il brutto e il cattivo (The Good, the Bad and the Ugly), Sergio Leone 1966.
II deserto rosso (Red Desert), Michelangelo Antonioni, 1964.
In a Lonely Place, Nicholas Ray, 1950.
Indagini su un cittadino al di sopra di ogni sospetto (Investigation of a Citizen Above
Suspicion), Elio Petri, 1970.
Intimacy, Patrice Chereau, 2001.
Ipugni in tasca (Fists in the Pocket), Marco Bellocchio, 1965.
Johnny Guitar, Nicholas Ray, 1954.
351

Johnny Stecchino, Roberto Benigni, 1991.
La Bete Humaine (The Human Beast/Judas was a Woman) Jean Renoir, 1938.
La Chinoise, Jean-Luc Godard, 1967.
La giusta distanza (The Right Distance), Carlo Mazzacurati, 2007.
La notte di San Lorenzo (Night of Shooting Stars), Emilio and Vittorio Taviani, 1982.
La ora de los homos (Hour of the Furnaces), Fernando E. Solanas, 1973.
La regie dujeu (The Rules of the Game), Jean Renoir, 1939.
La Stella che non c 'e (The Missing Star), Gianni Amelio, 2006.
Les Carabiniers (The Soldiers), Jean-Luc Godard, 1963.
Le notti di Cabiria (The Nights ofCabiria), Federico Fellini, 1957.
Le petit soldat, Jean-Luc Godard, 1960.
Local Hero, Bill Forsyth, 1983.
L 'ora dipunta (The Trial Begins}, Vincenzo Marra, 2007.
L 'ora di religione (The Religion Hour), Marco Bellocchio, 2002.
Masculin feminin (Masculine, Feminine), Jean-Luc Godard, 1966.
Modern Times, Charles Chaplin, 1936.
Nosferatu, Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau, 1922.
Nuovo Cinema Paradiso (Cinema Paradiso), Giuseppe Tornatore, 1988.
Pepe le Moko, Julien Duvivier, 1937.
Pierrot le Fou, Jean-Luc Godard, 1965.
Philadelphia, Jonathan Demme, 1993.
Poveri ma belli (A Girl in Bikini), Dino Risi, 1957.
Pravda, Dziga Vertov Group, 1970.
Psycho, Alfred Hitchcock, 1960.
Pulp Fiction, Quentin Tarantino, 1994.
Quo Vadis Baby?, Gabriele Salvatores, 2005.
Raiders of the Lost Ark, Steven Spielberg, 1981.
352

Rashomon, Akira Kurosawa, 1951.
Ratking, Jon Jones, 16/01/2011, 3 rd episode of Zen, 2011.
Rear Window, Alfred Hitchcock, 1954.
Rebel without a Cause, Nicholas Ray, 1955.
Roma citta aperta (Rome Open City), Roberto Rossellini, 1945.
Rouge (Red), (from Tftree Colours, preceded by Blue and White) Krzysztof Kieslowski, 1994.
Salvatore Giuliano, Francesco Rosi, 1962.
Sauve qui pent (le vie) (Every Man for Himself), Jean-Luc Godard, 1980.
Stagecoach, Alan Ford, 1939.
Star Wars, George Lucas, 1977.
The Full Monty, Peter Cattaneo, 1997.
The Postman Always Rings Twice, Tay Garnett, 1946.
The Runaway Bride, Carry Marshall, 1999.
The Silence of the Lambs, Jonathan Demme, 1991
The Wrong Man, Alfred Hitchcock, 1956.
They Live by Night, Nicholas Ray, 1948.
Toto che visse due volte (Toto Who Lived Twice). Cipri and Maresco, 1998.
Unefemme est unefemme (A Woman Is a Woman), Jean-Luc Godard, 1961.
Viaggio in Italia (The Lonely Woman), Roberto Rossellini, 1954
Vivre sa vie (My Life to Live), Jean-Luc Godard, 1962.
Week-end, Jean-Luc Godard, 1967.
Wild Strawberries, Ingmar Bergman, 1957.
353

Ph.D. Thesis Sih/ana SERRA 2011