La Dolce Vita

La Dolce Vita (1960). Dir. Federico Fellini.

Brace yourselves, I am about to write a review that I’m sure will put me in a minority position with regards to one of Fellini’s most highly regarded films.

I will admit, I didn’t enjoy this film the first time that I watched it, I am not what one could call a fan of other of Fellini’s films that I’ve seen, either. However, to give myself a chance to review my earlier assumptions and conclusions regarding his work I have tried in recent months to revisit his work in order to achieve some kind of balance. It’s not that I had trouble disliking something that is highly regarded, it’s that I wanted to have a well-reasoned position regarding the film. In lieu of some kind of viewing manifesto, I do attempt to justify my position regarding any film I see, whether positive or negative. And, I hope that that is apparent from the other reviews that I have written.

I want to be both a fan and a critic. I want to sit down to a film and enjoy the experience, as well as come out on the other side with some articulate reasons for my feelings regarding the film. Even films that I haven’t enjoyed for the experience of watching deserve to be given credit for what was done well, just as much as any faults deserve to be delineated.

Well, after that long-winded introduction, my thoughts on <i>La Dolce Vita</i>.

Marcello Mastroianni (playing Marcello Rubini, a dissolute writer for paparrazi tabloids) is an excellent actor, whose distinctive face and mannerisms have rightly earned him a place in a pantheon of iconic actors. In fact, each member of the cast could be singled out for their nuanced performances both as ensemble members as well as on their own singular merits. Of special note, I think, is the performance of Alain Cuny as the mentor/father figure Steiner. His melancholic intensity lends a certain credence and believability to the almost melodramatic turning point in Rubini’s life.

Of note is also the sum total of the cinematography and photography, Fellini’s films always have a visual intensity, stark with a trembling life-like vibrancy. It is this visual intensity that, in part, lends gravity to scenes of emotional intensity (as in the final party scene), as well as a confused levity to scenes such as the one where Anita Ekberg’s Sylvia dances shoe-less to the combined dismay, desire, and disdain of the various observers.

Now, here’s the part that could conceivably ruffle someone’s proverbial feathers (or whatnot).

In spite of recognizing the beauty of the photography I have two major problems with the film. First, pacing. I think that the film would have benefited immensely from some judicious cuts in the middle and on into the final third of the film. And I don’t think that these cuts would have detracted from any of the sub-text or from the thematic power of the narrative as a whole. It’s not that these scenes do not provide a further of certain ideological goals and artistic statements by Fellini; however, I think that the same effects could be had by a much tighter juxtaposition of key/pivotal scenes.

Secondly, for all of the art in this film, it feels a tad soulless and tightly wound. I kept trying to find some sympathy in the portrayal of Rubini, his dilettante friends, or with any of the major characters. But, apart from the brief time that Steiner is on screen, I was viscerally disgusted with the portrayal of every major character. Even in exploitation films, horror films, and slashers, there is generally some sense (at least in the successful exemplars of genre) that someone on-screen is worth rooting for. And even if these sympathetic presences are eliminated, as is often the case, at least for a brief moment you are rooting for someone. Even if it has to be the bad-guy/monster/etc., as is the case in the latter films in noted horror franchises. But, I found myself globally repulsed by the characters, I wanted to take Steiner’s way out, just about the time that off-screen he was committing his final passage from the clutches of Fellini’s ideology. I too wanted that same escape. After roughly the first third of the film I kept hoping for it to end, I knew that Rubini couldn’t choose the stable futures that Fellini dangles in front of his hapless ‘protagonist’. There was never any question in my mind that this was a tragedy. And what’s worse? I didn’t care. If Fellini had structured his narrative around someone worth caring about, then it might be different. And I disagree with the proposition that it is his neorealism that necessitates putting all the flaws on screen to see. These characters do not ring true enough, their is still the weight of symbolism that blots out any ability to bring hints of positive characteristics to the screen.

The unrelenting negativity, I never found there to be much else even in the face of the supposedly unrestrained youthful vigor, is enough cause for me to suggest this film only as an exercise in art without joy.

Worth watching, as is the case with any well-made film, but not worth enjoying.