Italian Cinema was a very interesting class with an icon of a teacher (Claudio Mazzola). He always wanted to class to talk more, but I really enjoyed his lectures. We started with classic Neorealist films (e.g., Bicycle Thieves and Umberto D) and continued through time. The films most interesting to me were modern renditions of modern Italian problems--most concerning the problem of the Mafia. The class also got a chance to go to the Italian Film Festival through SIFF in Capitol Hill and speak to the directors of those films afterwards which I found incredibly interesting.
A still from one of the films we saw at SIFF, "il Traditore."
This film is about Tommaso Buscetta, the highest ranking Mafia don who sang to the authorities. |
Umberto D:
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Final Still from "Nights of Cabiria":
"Nights of Cabiria" showed people in a very humane way. Maria was naïve, yet her attitude towards life was very refreshing. She wasn’t too introspective, she showed her emotions and yelled and was not very “proper” and she let herself live freely. Although she was tormented by what she had to do to make money, Maria still had an innocent heart, and even at the very end she was not broken. This film provided a beautiful insight into her life, and her character easily won over my sympathies. Something within the film that stood out to me was how religion was portrayed. Especially the scene where they went to the Madonna to try and “change themselves,” and the uncle on crutches fell down to the altar. The church was giving this false hope of monumental change to the masses, but didn’t bother to help the actual, tangible problems of Italy (like all the sick, old poor people living in caves). Afterwards, Maria yelled at a procession of nuns because nothing changed, and she was so hurt by the fallacy that was the promise from organized religion. The sequence with the magician was also very interesting to me, and I thought the scene where the magician places the flower crown on her head, with the spotlight illuminating her and blackness around her was really powerful, and I’ve seen a lot of scenes in other movies that reminded me of that one. Also, the scene where Maria bent down to pick imaginary flowers off of the stage was beautiful, and showed that she was still pure and innocent where it mattered, even though she was a prostitute. Oscar took advantage of her, but the ending with the cheerful dancing and singing, along with Maria shown holding on to the flowers she picked in the forest (and not throwing them over the cliff), was optimistic and lovely. Her spirit did not break, although the men around her were trying their hardest to leave her with nothing; the ending of this film was truly hopeful.
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"Umberto D" examined themes of pride, companionship, and desperation. I also thought this film had an even more somber atmosphere than Bicycle Thieves. One sequence that stood out to me was Umberto D’s internal struggle of being too proud to beg, and eventually just giving his dog, Flike, his hat in hopes that someone will put some money into it. When Umberto previously held out his hand, a man was just about to give him money when Umberto pretended to be doing something else. This pride is something that Umberto was not willing to give up, even if his life depended on it. Pride and dignity are important themes throughout this film, as well as hope. For example, Umberto stubbornly continues to use his address and continues to have hope about his living situation. Additionally, he thinks up of the plan to stay at the hospital for a week, and leaves the clinic in high, hopeful spirits. One other thing I noticed is the connections between Umberto D and Bicycle Thieves. Umberto's landlady reminded me of the unhelpful and unwavering society that Antonio is met with, unwilling to help him in any way, and unable to give him any hope. Umberto’s relationship with his dog reminds me of Antonio’s with Bruno. Although Umberto also has Maria, she makes it clear that she does not want to be his daughter (when the nurse asks), thus marking a division between them. Umberto and his dog are more connected, more dependent on each other. At the beginning of the film, Umberto carries and caresses his dog, whereas while he is at the hospital he leaves Flike behind. This reminded me of Antonio and Bruno, and the scene of Umberto frantically looking for Flike at the pound has a very similar feeling as the sequence of Antonio looking to the water to see if Bruno had drowned. Also, the sequence where Flike runs away from and avoids Umberto after he almost got run over by the train, with a sense of astonishment and disillusionment at his owner, was similar to Bruno avoiding Antonio after he slapped him. Both endings, however, with Bruno taking Antonio’s hand and Filke and Umberto running off playing together, show that the two companions are both unwavering, loyal connections; both Filke and Bruno serve as the ultimate saviors of the protagonists. Overall, albeit depressing, I really enjoyed this film. It was realistic, and it made me think about the homeless crisis we are dealing with today, and the people around me who are struggling to pay for their basic necessities.
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La Dolce Vita:
"La Dolce Vita" is about people without centers who are restless and unable to make definitive choices about their lives. In the beginning of the film, Maddalena is very restless with her life. She wants to leave, to change, to go somewhere where no one would know her—this is similar to Anna in L’aaventura…both women are extremely restless. Maddalena wants to live a different life and be somewhere else, be someone else for the night, which is why she goes to the poor girls home; she is extremely bored. Throughout this entire film, the duality is shown of private life versus public show. This reminds me of the lie the father created in “Seduced and Abandoned” for the outside world to view. The paparazzi in “La Dolce Vita” will not let anything or anyone alone. They record everything for the public to devour to rid them of their existential boredom. Marcello is trying to elevate himself from the paparazzi, but he is still one of them, writing about nonsense. We know he wants to write books, or at least more legitimate pieces of writing and yet he doesn’t make a change or a choice to quit his job. One moment that stood out to me was when Sylvia was asked if neorealism was dead or alive—yet the scene cut quickly and she didn’t answer. Afterwards, Sylvia keeps climbing up the stairs while the photographers and journalists cannot keep up (except Marcello)… I wonder if this is a metaphor for the two societies…or the two filmmaking techniques (neorealism versus a more Hollywood style movie). Not only this, but she turns the music to rock and roll from more traditional Italian music. She also is extremely child-like and still in awe of life—this is shown when she picks up the kitten, barks at the dogs, and walks through the fountain. Marcello tells Sylvia she is “everything.” She shows the extreme differences of her different society, and Marcello craves her. Religion in this film is portrayed in a very interesting way…the opening sequence with a plane dragging the statue of Jesus to the pope was odd, and made me think of religion leaving the people and being flown away, taking higher Catholic morality with it. Later on, the people were making fake religious miracles into a money-making spectacle for journalists. Everyone (including Emma and the old/sick) at the site was looking to religion as a catalyst for their change, exactly like the old man in “The Nights of Cabiria". The crowd was gripping onto any hope they could get. Of course, no change occurred: the old man died, he did not miraculously become healthy. At Steiner's dinner party Marcello attends, the female poet talks about choosing, and her inability to choose (in terms of marriage). This lack of being able to choose, lack of center, is what Marcello’s entire life struggle is about. Steiner wishes to “live detached,” and he believes peace is simply a mirage, hiding real Hell underneath. He seems scared when he says that, and also says he wants to love so much…he wants to hold on to what peace he has, until his Hell inevitably reaches up. The sequence with the father was interesting, as he represented an older generation with a lot of similar views. He also talks about boredom, which is something that everyone seems afraid of. Especially at the party at the very end of the film, everyone is bored with everyone else, and Marcello grows tired and angry at their boredom. The father says "boredom ages us". Throughout this film, boredom seems to be the greatest annoyance. I personally think some boredom is good…as when your mind rests good ideas are able to seep in. At the next party at the mansion Marcello attends, he says he feels as though he loves Madalenna tonight. Again, he seems to lack a strong center or ability to choose. Madalenna also doesn’t want to choose (between marriage and fun). His inability to make a decision is underlined with Emma. At first, he lets all his emotions out and tells her she was way too overbearing…he tells her he does not want the life of just a husband where all she talks about is cooking and bed, and that he cannot live like that. And yet, later, he comes back to get her. I was so shocked that Steiner killed himself, but after rewatching his monologue at his previous party, it made a little more sense. He might have been scared of his peace leaving, or of living with too much attachment…or maybe his Hell finally erupted from under the peace. At the very end of the film, Marcello is making fun of all of the people there, but right before he leaves the feathers he is throwing fall on him, grouping him in with them. At the end he shrugs to the girl, indicating that he doesn’t know, or cannot understand her. This may indicate that he has yet to find something to anchor him or to center his life; nothing has truly changed him throughout his odyssey... |
A still from one of my favorite films of the class, "Gomorrah"
FINAL ESSAY ON "GOMORRAH"
Neva Crnković Hahn Professor Mazzola CMS 320 12.11.2019 A Deeper Sympathy: A Study on Images in Gomorrah The films we studied in this course showed that cinema is an art form rather than simply entertainment. Directors depicted the world for us, as they each saw it, through their cameras. Societal issues were addressed not necessarily to be comprehensibly answered, but instead to be deeply seen. These films have interpreted Italy over the years through the eyes of artists rather than academics or journalists. Learning from art is, in my view, the best way to understand a society: art is rich in information and unique insight without being dry, and one is able to retain more knowledge than from simply learning facts. Art carries feelings in addition to pure information, and viewers are able to insert themselves and interpret the art form in diverse ways. The directors of each film we saw made very conscious decisions on how to visually grasp social issues. This paper will focus on how the film Gomorrah, through an artful lens, portrayed the inner workings of the Mafia, and on how it awoke in us—the viewers—a deeper empathy for the world it depicted. The Italian Mafia (or the Camorra in Naples) has created a crime epidemic. The Mafia is an organization that was born to give law and order to areas historically forgotten by the government. This is in complete contrast to the United States where the Mafia was simply created as a hierarchy of those engaging in criminal activity, and is often glorified in films. The Italian Mafia thrived and evolved, and now plays a part in various criminal activities such as dumping waste, the illegal drug industry and trafficking, and even the fashion industry. Various governmental efforts have tried to eradicate the Mafia but with little success—they have mostly misunderstood the problem, largely because of a great historical rift between the North and the South of Italy. In addition, political parties in the South themselves became involved with the Mafia and obstructed any efforts to intervene with or eradicate the organization. On top of all this, American government gave its support to the Mafia during World War II, to avoid supporting the communists. An all powerful entity thus emerged. The people of Italy are victims of this situation: there is universal confusion about whom to trust, an inability to figure out how to escape the situation, and no power to change it. The Italian Mafia as a film genre, as opposed to the American, is not a spectacle. It shows an issue yet to be solved and exposes the difficulties of people living in the south of Italy who have to deal and live with the Mafia. It artfully portrays how the horrors of organized crime are absorbed into ordinary life without diminishing their impact. The instilled fear and violence surrounding the organization are hard to fully understand, and yet Gomorrah shows the Camorra in a digestible, non-judgmental fashion. Gomorrah is an artistic view of the Camorra as an ambiguous reality. The film does not endow it with an appearance of glamour, nor does it display a sense of indignation. It seems uncritical—simply an observation. In this way, the film is akin to a documentary. The director, Matteo Garrone, was in fact influenced by Rossellini’s Paisá, an episodic neorealist war movie. The documentary feel, the use of non-professional actors, and the on-site filming found in Gomorrah are all key aspects of neorealism, alongside its non-judgmental, observational core. Garrone also stated that he worked from images as he wrote the script. This film shows this, as it portrays the societal issue of the Camorra very visually, and uses many spaces, lighting, and images to evoke emotional responses and deeper understanding. Garrone was trained as a painter, and was “concerned with creating emotional frisson with startling images” (Porton). A film usually consists of moving images. Their mutual connection aids the audience in assigning meaning to what they are seeing. Viewing one image right after another adds inherent meaning to that first image. For example, seeing a man’s expression directly followed by a scene of his dead cat makes one think he was mourning, even if his expression looked rather ambiguous. If one just saw the man’s expression without the following information, the feelings would remain ambiguous. With stoic, unlinked images, the audience is able to create unique interpretations and form idiosyncratic connections with the film, as there is no one clearly prescribed way of “reading" these images. Different people will believe and connect to different things about the images, regardless of what follows them, because they are an event unto themselves. I believe this is where the magic lies in Gomorrah--within its artful, powerful images that on their own create a world of interpretation of what they depict. The first sequence of Gomorrah takes place in a tanning salon, with several men tanning and grooming their nails. Garrone states that “the idea [of this opening sequence] was to convey to the audience the fact that the war in Scampia and Secondigliano started from inside the clan, not outside it; they were friends and then they started killing each other” (Porton). The opening image is a startling one: a blue, unnatural light gets brighter and brighter as a man is tanning (shown below). This unnatural blue encompassing the sequence overtakes all the rest of the colors—the men’s teeth look unusually white, the blood later on looks almost black. The resulting sense of disorientation remains constant throughout the film. This image also shows the odd duality within the mindset of the Camorra men. They are very concerned with their appearances, taking the time to do a very “ordinary” activity such as tanning, and yet they brutally murder others. Contradictions such as this one play into the rest of the film: between the ordinary and the terrifyingly brutal and strange, the good and the bad, right and wrong. The audience is introduced to the young boy Totó in a small warehouse where his mother keeps groceries that he delivers. Totó represents Naples’ youth, and is a complete victim of the situation he finds himself in. In the shots in which Totó appears (one shown below), there is visual proximity yet lack of both facial expression (as they are mostly shot from behind) and meaningful dialogue, which makes him feel more distant and incomprehensible: not a hero for the audience to empathize with and cling to. This style is in complete contrast to the introduction of protagonists in many American Mafia films such as Goodfellas. The other characters in Gomorrah are depicted similarly to Totó. No one is the hero or the villain; they are simply living their own, imperfect lives while the audience watches. The backgrounds of these medium shots are also of utmost importance, as they allow the audience to peer into what seems to be a completely real interaction. Yet another contradiction is revealed in this way—there is literally something illegal happening in the background of an innocent young boy delivering groceries. Totó is shown as surrounded, with no other way forward than to go through these men: visually, he has no real choice other than to eventually join the Camorra. He is shown as a complete victim of his environment. Later on, Totó is forced to choose whether he is “with us or against us” before he aids in the murder of Maria. He has no alternative, or rather his own death is the only alternative to joining the Camorra. The entire film shows both the outdoor and indoor spaces as dark and grey. There is a sense of claustrophobia within an inescapable gloom. The ambient colors and lighting in this shot have no apparent sunlight. This may represent the utter impossibility for change or a way out: a lack of hope in a system everyone is doomed to eventually fall prey to. When Totó is being initiated into the Camorra (below), he is in what appears to be an underground cave. The shadows on the wall add to the overall gloomy, grey, and desolate atmosphere of the film. The lighting and use of heavy shadows is reminiscent of Bertolucci’s “The Conformist,” in the sequence where the professor is speaking about Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. Plato’s cave was originally presented to compare “the effect of education and lack of it on our nature.” This educational aspect plays a huge impact on who is doomed to join the Camorra and who has a chance of escape from the system. For example, Roberto is the only educated character in Gomorrah, and this education allowed him to be free from the Camorra for the first forty years of his life, before he eventually joined. Education is shown as a powerful means of escape. Although Roberto will most likely never be able to rid himself of the mafioso, he has had a much greater chance to do so than Totó—doomed to a life in the “cave” of the uneducated—ever did, or ever will. There is a great majority of medium and close up shots in Gomorrah, with only a few very long shots. These few long shots include the projects in which Totó lives (with children playing in the foreground while mafiosos are on watch in the background), the great outdoor area where the toxic waste is to be dumped, and the beach where Marco and Ciro’s bodies are disposed of at the film’s end. These long shots put great emphasis on the visual impact of the three locations. One extreme long shot of utmost importance is that of an outdoor site in which Franco and Roberto are planning to dump toxic waste (below). Franco is shown as a very composed, civil, stylish man, and yet he is ethically the most rotten. His true colors are blatantly shown when he allows young boys to drive big trucks and when he tries to get more land from a dying man at the end of the film, and he displays his lack of humanity when he throws out the gift of peaches. Franco refuses to face the truth as he denies actually perpetrating any violence; he makes it easy for himself by saying and probably believing that he is simply “solving problems others created.” Franco’s visual surroundings in this still appear as if they are swallowing him whole. Two great walls are coming from the ground, almost as if they are natural barriers boxing Roberto and Franco inside of them. Franco’s suit is almost the same color as the surroundings, making him blend in, and difficult to distinguish within a long shot such as this one. This may be representative of the Camorra swallowing young boys, and eventually molding them into its perfect parts: obedient middle-aged men. Franco does not realize that he is working with no true autonomy, and his blending into the wall behind him shows this. Roberto is still young, and is an educated man with greater prospects. In this sequence, Roberto is wearing black and is more discernible in this landscape. But he too cannot measure up to the natural barrier that surrounds him. This great, rock-solid vertical surfaces mirror the overarching power of the Camorra—nothing can get over or bring down the system. The two young “punks,” Marco and Ciro, represent a glamorized form of the Mafia seen in American media. They want to be heroes, and the linearity and logicality of their storyline is representative of a typical Hollywood portrayal of the Mafia genre; they are even shown reenacting an iconic scene from the American film Scarface. Their story is easy to follow, and they lead their lives as if they were in a video game, as they cannot recognize the deadly serious nature of their own reality. The images associated with them are demonstrative of this (as shown below). After discovering a cache of Mafia guns, they are in their underwear, shooting at nothing in a river. This is the very same river next to which they are beaten when their weapon stealing scheme is found out. Their shooting at nothing represents the lack of any real criminal “achievement." The two boys believe they will be glamorous gangsters, independent of the established hierarchy that rules their land, whereas in reality that is not possible. They are shooting, trying to hit something substantial, and yet there is no meaning in their activity. Again, the world appears grey, with no hope. The futures of Marco and Ciro are predetermined; they are living in an altered reality and they are shooting at nothing, playing life as a game. The river is one of the only natural landscapes shown, and this real, natural and potentially beautiful and peaceful image is sullied by two loud boys, who will never fully understand their own reality, splashing and shooting. Throughout Gomorrah, much like in the Neorealist films, the audience is not exposed to any grand monuments or the most beautiful areas of the city. Neorealist films are similar because they represent a snapshot of life—nothing too glamorous, depicting the city as a regular person would see it. As he is returning from teaching a Chinese sweatshop to sew garments, Pasquale is shot at. As the car he is in swerves off the road, it hits a garden filled with beautiful statues. This destruction, turning the only man-made art seen in the whole film into rubble and smoke, is significant. The image (below, left) reminds one of a war torn city that fights bombs and soldiers for its survival. It appears that there is destruction to the left and right as well, and that this car-related crash is not just a confined incident. It is an image comparable to images of actual ruins within Florence in Rosselini’s Paisá (shown below, right). These two images evoke the same feeling of a realistic despair within destruction. Neorealist films are powerful because the audience can experience themselves living in the “in-between moments” that are depicted, and living in the same exact atmosphere as exists within the films. Gomorrah evokes these same real emotions in this shot with its realistic, war-like nature. Although this may not be a war in the typical sense, there is definitely an internal and brutal battle within Italy between the citizens and the Mafia. The destruction perpetrated by the Mafia is not always as visible as the demolition done by bombs on a war-torn city, and yet the Mafia’s effects are so thoroughly widespread throughout Italian society that one can compare the destruction which they cause with the more visible destruction seen in Paisá. The gravity of the Camorra’s violence is spelled out explicitly in the concluding titles, including this statistic: “4,000 deaths in the last thirty years. One every three days.” This extreme, internal social destruction is displayed as external, visible ruins in this shot in Gomorrah. This internal destruction is seen and known by every member of the society, and yet it has become so ingrained that they cannot react to every incident with shock and horror. This absorption of gruesome crime and brutality into everyday life is shown in the still below, which is taken directly after Ciro turned his back on his own syndicate to save himself and watched as his men got murdered. He stepped over their bloody and lifeless bodies, and rushed away into the distance. In the background, it is apparent that everybody else is moving along, the same as always. The audience is horrified after seeing the spectacle of mass carnage, and yet it is by now so much part of this society that an intense reaction (like ours) from the onlookers will not follow these murders. This still is representative of the forced acceptance and sad stoicism of the society. The closing shot of the film (below) is a long shot of a tractor taking away the bodies of Marco and Ciro, the two young punks who lived life as if they would never die. Their murders are brief, with no bloody or gruesome violence shown, which is typical of the rest of the film. The shooting is quick with no actions drawn out, and no dramatic music behind it—it seems real, and ordinary. This depiction of violence is in complete contrast to American Mafia movies, which portray violence with gruesomeness, drawn out emphasis, and glorification. This choice again rids the narrative of an obvious hero or a hideous villain. It is observational rather than glorifying, or judging, of bloody violence. This closing long shot has a beautiful landscape in the background of a mountain and the ocean, framed by the setting sun. Additionally, the tractor is not attempting to be inconspicuous. On the contrary, it is a rather blatant, enormous force, rather obvious against the natural background. This represents the Camorra’s lack of both humility and reason to hide, which adds to the despair of the whole situation—in this society these acts happen so often, and there is nothing to do to stop them. Every call to help is met by either fear or an already corrupt party, and thus these actions will keep happening until they become even more deeply ingrained in the society’s consciousness. Any reason for the perpetrators to hide their misdeeds, or time for society to feel sympathy and sadness, is voided. The duality of the landscape and the bodies in the tractor is a harsh one, and serves as a poignant image to end the film. Gomorrah cannot be placed in a category, and it cannot be explained as simply a film about the Mafia. It is an exploratory glimpse into the lives of those tangled in the inescapable web of “the system,” and a description of the widespread effects the Mafia has on others. There is no sense of finality or reassurance in the conclusion, no false efforts at attempting to make an optimistic film. The film has a real soul, which is very much akin to the neorealist movies we have seen throughout the quarter. It does not make concession to classical dramatizations. It is a stripped down peek into the lives of these people, without any additions or extremes. They are simply living their lives just as we do, and the events that occur (although dramatic in nature) are not portrayed in an ostentatious way and are not building up towards a dramatic climax or any transformation. These aspects of lives shown in Gomorrah allow the audience to explore a linkage between the visual perception and a truth of being, and a deeper truth of the situation in Italy surrounding the Mafia. Real life, for the audience, most likely does not mainly include dramatic moments or intense turning of events. Through his ability to make dramatic moments void of much drama, and to saturate the images with emotional value, Garrone invites the audience to feel empathy towards people in a situation that they themselves have probably never experienced. These potential personal connections are the site of power in Gomorrah; the unlinked images invite viewers to form their own connections, as there is no one way to rightfully interpret them. The characters themselves are not seen as black or white, good or evil. They are humans, and in order to survive they do things that are both logical and illogical: they feel just like we do. The still images show the direness of their situation, and the audience by the end feels a bleak understanding. The artfulness of the stills allows us to see the uncertainty and unescapable gloom of the situation, and the lack of hope about abolishing “the system.” Garrone mentioned in an interview that he may have been unconsciously inspired by the painter Francis Bacon, whose paintings he described as “animalistic and carnal” (Porton). Bacon was known for his emotionally charged and raw imagery. Some of his paintings, such as the one below, evoke the same gloom and pessimism as Gomorrah. This particular image shows a screaming man in a dark room. The screaming mouth acts as the centerpiece, and is divorced from any logical narrative context and from the other facial features. It seems as though this scream is existential agony over an inability to get out of the room and outside of those bars, a complete lack of hope. This image is implied by many images in Gomorrah, as there is simply nothing that these people can do to escape—the only thing available is to keep trying to stay alive, to keep going even though there seems to be no better days ahead. Creating such power in single snapshots, and not just in the story line by the succession of images, allows the audience to find deeper personal connections with the film. Gomorrah was built around powerful images, and the soul of the film can be found within them. Empathy and connection are created not simply with what the images are depicting, with specific people or events, but with the universality of the feelings these images evoke. Works Cited Porton, Richard. “Inside ‘The System:’ An Interview with Matteo Garrone.” Cineaste, Vol. XXXIV No. 2, 2009. |