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In the aftermath of World War II, many Italian filmmakers pursued a much more sobering and truthful kind of cinema. Known as “Italian Neorealism,” the movement spawned a generation of non-romantic dramas about the harsh realities of life.

Federico Fellini, who would later be known for cinematic theatricality, free-flowing style, and plot whimsy started in this movement. In the heartbreaking NIGHTS OF CABIRIA we see him true to that form…while straining to transcend it.

CABIRIA stars Fellini’s wife, Giulietta Masina, in the title role. As she was in her husband’s LA STRADA (1956), Masina is the female Charlie Chaplin…a screen comedienne for the ages. And it is within her flawless performance we find a character of true pathos, not a cartoon.

Though Cabiria (Masina) lives as a prostitute on the streets of Rome, she always seems to find the goodness in others and in the dark world she inhabits. Facing endless disappointment and humiliation, Cabiria is broken and beaten and then broken again. And yet…she never stays down. Always, always, she rises to the next occasion. She perseveres.

“Dum spiro—spero.”

Underscoring the pathos and pain of Cabiria’s hard life and positive outlook is Nino Rota’s (THE GODFATHER) stirring theme.

SPOILER ALERT: The following contains spoilers. It is my favorite movie along with only 3 others that I can call my ‘favorite’. So watch it, then come back and read this entry.

What is it about the celebrations at the end of Fellini’s movies that are so moving? Is it, partially—_precisely_—that they are so unwarranted? Only after everything is lost does Fellini think the party should start.

I’ve been haunted by that image of Cabiria’s teary eyes looking into the camera right before the movie ends. It resonates so deeply. And much like the rest of the film, it touches the viewer without words, because her actions, body language, and facial expressions say more than any line of dialogue ever can.

At one point she is in a ritzy district of town and walks down a lane. Coming opposite are two tall, obviously wealthy, cultured ladies, their backs to the camera. Cabiria’s short frame is dwarfed by comparison, and on her face, an expression of ’I’m just as good as you, I can play with the best of them’. But right after she passes them, the facade drops, and you can see on her face all her insecurities and doubts. What a great scene.

This reminds me. Somewhere I heard an interview with an actor who said his best lesson in acting came when he realized that to play a drunk person is not about falling all over the place, but instead it’s about trying your best not to fall all over the place. To show the effort in not falling… because a drunk person is all the time trying to convince people he isn’t drunk.

Likewise, how easy it is to create a character who is naive. But how much more believable it is when that character is trying her best not to be naive, to project a facade of world-weary toughness as Cabiria does. This detail is what makes her character work, what makes you believe that she can actually exist, despite her cartoony proportions.

The attention to detail here is stunning, to the subtleties of every character in the movie, and not just the main ones. In one scene, Oscar the swindler spits out a toothpick before meeting with Cabiria. In another, towards the end, he is wearing sunglasses, a sure sign that he’s ashamed of what he’s about to do.

A scene that was cut: Cabiria finds herself on the outskirts of town, among the poverty of the homeless. But Criterion included it in their version, which was a wise decision. It should never have been cut, because it lends so much more power to the movie as a whole. Here we can imagine Cabiria’s likely fate after the movie ends, after she sold her house and had been cheated out of all her money. Knowing this makes the scene so much more powerful on repeat viewings.

As are many of the foreshadowings of the movie. The push into the river at the beginning is a parallel to the movie’s final betrayal.

Likewise, will the viewer be betrayed? This is what I wonder when Guilietta Masina looks into the camera. For it is Guilietta Masina looking into the camera, and not Cabiria. Or, rather, the possibility that it is both the character and the actor in that one moment, joining the viewer in empathy, is poignant.

She has no right to be smiling here, but she does. Cabiria looks at the audience as if to say ’It’s okay. Everything will be fine’. The gall of her to be comforting us! Meanwhile Masina is saying ’It’s okay, it’s just a movie’. But will it be okay? Will Cabiria be okay after the end of this movie? Likewise, will we the viewers be okay out in the world once the fantasy of the movie has ended?

Some say this is a hopeful ending, but I am not so sure anymore. You can see it as naive hope in the face of the cynicism of the world.

Or maybe the ending is a dare. Maybe Fellini is daring the viewer to do exactly that: to interpret the ending as hopeful. Because to feel hopeful after what we’ve been shown is to put yourself in Cabiria’s shoes: naive and willing to imagine a better future despite all evidence to the contrary. Will we dare to take on Cabiria’s fate?

Strada and Cabiria deal with similar themes of innocence vs. cynicism. Guilietta (Fellini’s wife in real life) plays the innocent in Strada who is finally beaten down by witnessing a tragedy committed by Zampano, the strongman. Here Guilietta plays Cabiria/Maria, the street walker, more familiar with life and cynical of other people, but still at times showing an innocence hidden beneath the surface. I liked Guilietta a bit more in this role playing a woman who has a lot of fight in her, sometimes dancing and being loud and not caring what others think, and sometimes worrying a whole bunch about others taunting her. There are still some touching moments, but I thought this movie was a lot funnier. Cabiria struggles when thinking about her future, she sees a famous actor who lives in a huge ornate mansion, she sees homeless people who live in caves, and becomes convinced she has to seek redemption from the church for her life as a prostitute in order to live happily and find love. I heard in a documentary that Fellini believed in the Franciscan idea that everyone can be redeemed. But in both of these Fellini movies I’ve seen so far, he also clearly shows the mob mentality that goes along with the processions and ceremonies. After repenting and asking to be saved, Cabiria realizes she and all her prostitute and pimp friends haven’t changed, a realistic cynicism comes through. Still when beautiful words and the promise of happiness that she craves are offered, she reverts to her innocent self, Maria. Toward the end she repeats a mistake she made at the beginning. But is it a mistake to trust someone when they insist they love you? Can you accept that love and keep your eyes open for the signs that something is wrong? In the midst of the tragedy of losing trust in someone you’ve given your life to, you may feel that you want it all to end. Eventually Cabiria chooses life and though she has lost a lot, she is reminded of the joy of youth and that there is hope for tomorrow.

Fellini never had more compassion for a character than for Cabiria, played so effortlessly by his wife, Giulietta Masina, in this masterpiece from 1957, winner of the Oscar for Best Foreign Film, and the last gasp of humanistic realism in Fellini’s canon that soon, with the following “La Dolce Vita”, would turn cynical and bizarre. Not that that is missing from ‘Cabiria’ entirely; the sequence where Cabiria and her prostitute friends and pimps visit a shrine to the Madonna, flanked by peasants and religious Catholics, is made comical by the out-of-placeness of the street rabble and their revealing clothes, not to mention the price they have to pay to witness the statue, but just the same, when Cabiria is hypnotized by a magician and reveals her inner loneliness and longing for true love, bathed in spotlight against a crowd of gawking men, it’s the most honest ten minutes of Fellini’s entire career. With ‘Cabiria’ you could argue that Fellini was saying good-bye to the first decade of his career, from Neo-Realism to Surrealism, with not only a shrine to his wife, but to a transgressive attitude toward characterization and screen realism that would be more aggressively bizarre in the following decade; both styles have their followers, I like both, but “Nights of Cabiria” is special.