The Italian Neorealist movement was a cathartic reaction to the horrors during the Second World War in Italy and widespread resulting poverty experienced by millions of Italian people. Mussolini’s fascist regime had tasked many of Italy’s directors to producing propaganda films throughout the war, and the majority of other films being produced at this time were of an escapist nature: comedies, melodramas and “costume-cum-historical drama[s]”[1] Though the first main example of Italian Neorealism was Luchino Visconti’s Obsession in 1943, the genre as it would shortly afterwards be identified, did not flourish until after Mussolini’s defeat and the subsequent fall of Fascism. Roberto Rossellini’s Rome: Open City (1945) is the film most widely cited as heralding the beginning of the movement, which would continue for the next seven years until its effective demise around 1952 with Vittorio De Sica’s Umberto D. Other key examples of the genre are De Sica’s Shoeshine (1946) and Bicycle Thieves (1948), Rossellini’s Paisa (1946), and Germany Year Zero (1947) and Visconti’s La Terra Trema (1948) and Bellissima (1951). The genre is typified by a number of characteristics, such as a predilection towards long shots and deep focus mise-en-scene, shooting on location in ordinary Italian streets and the casting of non-professional actors in lead roles.[2] Stories are told in a transparent, unvarnished manner.[3] They are the simple stories of “a man with his family, his job, his friends.” Ordinary people, suffering from oppression, injustice and poverty; people usually just trying to get by in the world. Their stories often end without proper resolution or the neat, wrapped-up endings we have come to expect from Hollywood.[4]
Throughout Mussollini’s time in power he was a strong supporter of the film industry, though most of the films produced during this time at the Cinecitta – Italy’s version of a Hollywood-style movie studio[5] – fell into one of two categories, named ‘pink’ and ‘black’. The ‘pink’ films, more commonly now known as the ‘white telephone’ films were “sentimental comedies and romantic melodramas [which] far outnumbered the black ‘truly’ fascist films.”[6] Very few films of enduring value were produced during this period, however Alessandro Blasetti’s 1860 (1934) would be one that strongly influenced the emerging cohort of Neorealists. Its “use of Sicilian locations and nonprofessional actors” make it an important precursor to the Neorealism films of the following decade.[7] With the arrival of Visconti’s Obsession, however, a new style became apparent. Depending on who you speak to, it was either Mario Serandrei[8] or Umberto Barbaro and Luigi Chiarini[9], who coined the term Neorealism but all agree that the term was first used in 1943 to describe Obsession. The film was not popular with the Italian authorities. The church denounced it, Mussolini’s son, Vittorio, walked out of a premiere in a rage and the film was cut practically out of existence before disappearing from theatres altogether.[10] As unpopular as the film may have been in some circles, it would prove an inspiration to other Italian filmmakers such as Roberto Rossellini and Vittorio De Sica. By this stage, the Germans had dismantled the Cinecitta and redistributed the equipment to Venice and Germany, effectively crippling the Roman film industry. Indeed, only 3 films were produced in Rome during the German occupation.[11] At the end of the occupation, around late 1944, Rossellini began work on Rome: Open City. Because of the state of the film-making industry, Rossellini was forced to take his camera to the streets, making do with funds donated by a local countess, and later selling his possessions to keep the project afloat. He also salvaged scraps of film from Allied newsreels.[12] The film started life as a documentary on Don Giuseppe Morosini, a priest who, like Open City’s Don Pietro, was executed by the Germans for his alleged support for the Italian anti-fascist resistance. As the film evolved Rossellini incorporated subplots, also based on real events, to a fictionalised version of Don Morosini’s story written by Sergei Amidei and Federico Fellini. Scripted as the film was, many scenes were improvised on set under the guidance of Rossellini and Amidei, with changes as necessitated by the guerrilla-style shoots in the streets of Rome.[13] The gritty tale of “life and death under German occupation”[14] ends with a group of boys – the next generation of Italy – having witnessed the execution of Don Pietro as they walk back down the hill into the city of Rome. Rome: Open City put Italy back on map and left the term “Neorealism” firmly on the collective lips of the film world. Rossellini would go on to direct another two films that would round out his Neorealism trilogy with Paisa and Germany Year Zero, Visconti would complete his with La Terra Trema and Bellissima and there would be others from Giuseppe De Santis, Luigi Zampa, Renato Castellani and Pietro Germi. To round out his trilogy, which already included Shoeshine and Bicycle Thieves, Vittorio De Sica would make Umberto D, which is seen my many as the last of the proper Italian Neorealism films.
Of all the films of the Italian Neorealism movement there have been few so indelible or so influential as De Sica’s Ladri di Biciclette, or as we know it: The Bicycle Thieves.[15] It is a simple story, wherein an out of work father, Antonio is given a job putting up posters, but there’s a catch: to do this job he must have a bicycle. Until then the family had been presumably supported by the job of his 7 year old son, Bruno, who works as a petrol station attendant. The family had previously pawned the bicycle to get by, and in order to retrieve it he must pawn his wife’s dowry bed sheets, items of significant sentimental value. They are able to get enough for the sheets to buy back the bike, and the money from his job will be enough to support the family again. But on Antonio’s first day at work his bike is stolen, and after a night of despair he and his son, Bruno take to the streets to look for the bike. They follow a man who was talking to the thief to a church-cum-soupkitchen, where, after much cajoling, he gives them information which may or may not prove useful. They leave, but Bruno complains of hunger. Frustrated, the father slaps him. The boy dawdles after that and when Antonio hears about a boy who has just drowned in the river, he fears it was Bruno. But he soon finds Bruno, and realising that life is short decides to treat him to a lunch of mozzarella bread and wine. After consulting a medium he runs into the thief and follows him home to a similarly poor area. He accosts the young thief, who throws a fit and the neighbourhood men run Antonio off. Shortly afterwards, he and Bruno sit on a curb across from a football stadium, dejected. The desperation can clearly be seen in Antonio’s eyes. He watches all the bicycles around him, and notices one unattended. He mulls it over, before sending Bruno to catch the tram home. Once Bruno is in line, Antonio takes his chance and rides off with the bicycle. The owner and some passers by chase him and as he rounds the corner Bruno is there, having missed the bus. He witnesses as his father is caught, restrained, with the hat beaten off his head. Antonio ignores the slaps, instead he watches his son reduced to tears by his actions. Bruno retrieves the hat as Antonio is marched off to the police station. As the mob deliberate on which station to escort him to, the owner of the bike sees Bruno and after a moment’s consideration he decides to let Antonio go free. After a last round of chastisement, the mob disperses and Antonio and Bruno walk off. They walk, side by side staring ahead until Bruno looks up and takes his father’s hand. Whether Bruno is seeking or bestowing consolation (or a mixture of both) is left for the viewer to determine, but they keep walking, hand in hand, until they disappear into the crowd. We the audience are left to ponder their fate, and draw our own conclusions.[16]
In typical Neorealist fashion, the film is played by a cast of inexperienced actors. The father, Antonio, was played by Lamberto Maggiorani – a factory worker. His wife, Maria was a journalist in real life. His son, Bruno, in reality, just a fresh-faced child De Sica spotted in the street during filming. [17] The streets are presented plainly and without grandeur but the film is beautifully shot, with deep focus throughout and a great many long scenes where Antonio walks with either his wife or his son. In these scenes, often nothing is said but the expressions and glances – even the gait of the actors – speak volumes. In one fantastic sequence in the middle of the film, Antonio and Bruno are trying to chase a man they spotted with the thief through the back streets of Rome. There are a number of well-framed wide shots, but rather than being focussed on Antonio, they remain static for the majority of the time. Instead, Antonio and Bruno run across the shot, toward the camera or away from it. There are a few pans, but they serve to establish the next perspective as they turn a corner. There are also a number of small touches which give it a more realistic feel. Shortly before his bike is stolen, as Antonio puts up the posters, young street urchins beg money in the street. Later on, Antonio and Bruno’s search is interrupted by rain, so they pause their efforts and take refuge under an eave – waiting, drying themselves and watching the passers-by. For no apparent reason a swarm of German priests take refuge under the same eave, crowding around and speaking so much it seems to drown our thoughts. We connect more deeply with Antonio seeing the same feeling mirrored on his face. Later, when they are looking for the old man who was with the thief, Bruno suddenly needs to urinate. So he unzips his fly and is about to go when his father chastises him and he has to button up as he runs to follow. These small details show us we are in the real world and make for an extremely grounded – and, well, realistic – experience. As beautiful as the film is to look at, the performances by the cast and the worn, dirty feel of the city give it a gritty feel. This is somewhat surprising as it was actually one of the “most costly neorealist films.”[18] Indeed, De Sica worked hard to give it the appearance of randomness. The entire film, every single scene was explicitly crafted to give the illusion of reality. This is, perhaps, simply part of De Sica’s method of operation. Similarly in Umberto D, a maid awakes early in the morning and prepares for the day ahead. She enters the kitchen, and rubbing sleep from her eyes she strikes a match to light the stove. The match goes out and it takes her a second to realise that the gas is turned off at the wall. She turns the knob, strikes another and this time lights the stove. She crosses to the window, looks out at a cat on the rooftop of another building, before going to the cabinet to take out a kettle. She slowly pads to the sink, stopping briefly to check a note on the table and then she fills the kettle. She takes a moment to splash some ants climbing the wall, and then sips from the faucet before turning off the water. She picks up the note and ink jar from the table in her free hand, putting it away before finally returning to the stove and placing the kettle over the flame.[19] All told, the scene take around two minutes without serving any narrative function whatsoever. It simply reinforces for us the illusion that we are in the real world. De Sica succeeds in making the mundane beautiful, he succeeds in producing not “a spectacle which appears real, but rather to turn reality into a spectacle: a [person] is walking in the street,” or through a kitchen “and the onlooker is amazed at the beauty of the [person] walking.”[20] . The film was well received, in Italy and abroad. It won a number of awards on its international releases from 1949-1951,[21] and topped the inaugural Screen and Sound Critic’s Poll in 1952. While it has in the 2012 poll dropped to a modest 33rd, however it remains in the top 10 in the 2012 Directors Poll – testament to the film’s enduring influence on the filmmakers of today.[22]
Seven years of healing followed the fall of Mussolini’s Fascist regime. Seven years of reflection. Seven years of reliving the horrors and injustice of everyday life under Mussolini and the aftermath that ensued. Italy took a long, hard look at itself – and the Italians were hungry for honesty. After being force-fed the nonsense produced by the Cinecetta during the Fascist period, they didn’t want life to be sugar-coated for them anymore. In a way, perhaps the film is allegorical for their relationship with their country. Perhaps not directly so, but maybe that’s why it struck such a cord. The film isn’t really about a man trying to find his bicycle in an unjust city. It’s about a hardworking and precocious little boy who follows his father. He idolises him, and trusts him to guide him through life. But the father’s single-minded pursuit of his goal leads him to neglect his child, ignoring him, even striking him in anger. Later when he sees his father stealing another person’s bike he loses a great deal of his respect for his father, along with his innocence. Though the boy still loves his father, he sees him as human, flawed. He no longer idolises his father, and never will again. He walks with him still, but he doesn’t follow any more. They walk side by side, as equals. It is telling that the Neorealist films end ambiguously. Like in life, there is more to do, things never quite wrap up so cleanly. So people often walk off, into the city, into the crowd. Because life goes on, and so must we.
[1] Morando Morandini, ‘Italy from Fascism to Neorealism‘, Geoffrey Nowell-Smith (ed.), Oxford History of World Cinema, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1996), Page 355.
[2] André Bazin, André Bazin and Italian Neorealism, Burt Cardullo (ed.), (London: Continuum International Publishing Group), Page 19.
[3] Roy Armes, ‘Film Realism’, Film and Reality: An Historical Survey, (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1974), Page 65.
[4] Ibid, Page 68.
[5] Morando Morandini, ‘Italy from Fascism to Neorealism‘, Oxford History of World Cinema, Page 354.
[6] Mira Liehm, Passion and Defiance: Film in Italy from 1942 to Present, (Berkeley: University of California Press), Page 21.
[7] Ibid Page 23.
[8] Morando Morandini, ‘Italy from Fascism to Neorealism‘, Oxford History of World Cinema, Page 357.
[9] Robin Menken, ‘Days of Glory: Masterworks of Italian Neo-Realism October 15 – November 16’, Cinema Without Borders [webpage], (1991), <http://cinemawithoutborders.com/news-issues/2806-italian-neo-realism.html>, Para 16, accessed 01 Jun 2013.
[10] Mira Liehm, Passion and Defiance, Page 57.
[11] Ibid, Page 58.
[12] Pasquale Iannone, ‘Roots of Neorealism’, Sight and Sound, 23/5 (2013), Page 62.
[13] Mira Liehm, Passion and Defiance, Page 64.
[14] Pasquale Iannone, ‘Roots of Neorealism’, Sight and Sound, Page 62.
[15] Morando Morandini, ‘Italy from Fascism to Neorealism‘, The Oxford History of World Cinema, Page 358.
[16] Vittorio De Sica (dir.), The Bicycle Thieves, (Produzione De Sica, 1948).
[17] André Bazin, André Bazin and Italian Neorealism, Page 64.
[18] Mira Liehm, Passion and Defiance, Page 76.
[19] Vittorio De Sica (dir.), Umberto D, (Produzione De Sica, 1952).
[20] André Bazin, André Bazin and Italian Neorealism, Page 79.
[21] ‘Awards for The Bicycle Thieves’, IMDB.com [webpage], 2013, <http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0040522/awards>, accessed 01 Jun 2013.
[22] ‘Bicycle Thieves, The’, Sight and Sound [webpage] (2012), <http://explore.bfi.org.uk/sightandsoundpolls/2012/film/4ce2b6ae61fec>, accessed 01 Jun 2013.
Behind the Fourth Wall
Jenna De Bono
junebullet
Brendan O'Callaghan
SB
Behind the Fourth Wall 