Great, detailed analysis of a very important movement in cinematic art and a landmark film. It is astonishing to me, looking back at this period, to see how this very return to the ‘basics’ of reality, you have defined so well, was taking place also in parts of the world such as India, with Satyajit Ray’s Pather Panchali (1955) (and the rest of the Apu trilogy) to Japan and Kurosawa’s Ikiru (1952) and Ozu family dramas. The Italian neo-realists were the precursors to movements in Britain and the US in the late 50s and early 60s, toward a more realistic way of looking at things. There are many examples of this (which I have talked about on much earlier threads), but for example in Britain: This Sporting Life, Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner, even Billy Liar. In the US, I will just take the early films of Sidney Poitier: like Lilies of the Field, A Patch of Blue, The Slender Thread – all these were shot in black and white when colour was the pick for most any major Hollywood style production. Of course, the French new wave would be unthinkable without these ground breaking films – 400 Blows is a prime example.
Yet, even de Sica never really returned to his neo-realist roots after Umberto D. Occassionally he would attempt a serious subject in a way reminescent of his neo-realist days with The Garden of Finzi-Contini (1970), for example. As you have alluded, this was primarily a reaction to a certain period in time and the economic situation in Italy. Thank you for the excellent analysis of how neo-realism was a reaction to the very artificial films of Mussolini’s Italy. If we look at just Italian film after neo-realism, we immediately sense a shift away to a different type of sensibility with the films of Antonioni, Fellini (whose last film in something like this neo-realist genre would be La Strada – 1954), and then later Bertolucci. Yet, here, as everywhere else, especially in films of the 1960s worldwide, there was an attempt to define a more realistic, life-based, school of filmmaking. Cinema, and all of us, were richer for it. Maybe the new harsh economic reality we are in now will bring a revitalization in more ‘realistic’ film presentation today. Otherwise, we are just going to get more fantasy, reality-escaping genre films. What does anyone think? Thank you for this topic and presentation.
Thank you. I agree 100% with your nod to the films of Satyajit Ray that fell behind the lens of a purist’s response to classism in 1930’s India. In that vein, Kurosawa’s “Ikiru” (the title itself denotes reality) and “High and Low” are perfect examples of social criticism and truth as response through film. One of the scenes that still causes me to break down is at the very end of High and Low, when the metal shutter falls on the visitor’s window at the prison, revealing the tear-streaked reflection of Toshiro Mifune. Mifune grew up in mirrored conditions to the ones depicted in the slums of Japan in the 1950’s, when industry leaders were still in the beginning stages of the advent of pure capitalism, seeing people as a commodity. Now that we are feeling the repercussions of that in today’s global economy, I certainly hope to see some sublime works of cinema that can somehow portray the convoluted result of the pure greed of banks, governments, and large-scale corporations, and that of the naive and more often helpless populous. It’s a difficult funnel to navigate, but I would definitely agree that a trend towards the more “real” in popular cinema may indeed find its place in the near future.
@WALT – Great thread
Another standout from the neo-realist period is “La Terra Trema” by Luchino Visconti. I thought it almost looked like a documentary, with the characters played by actual Sicilian fishermen. Watching the fishermen work, looking at the sunburned faces and rough hands, it doesn’t get any more real than in this movie, as far as neo-realism is concerned. Also, De Sica’s pre-Bicycle film “Shoeshine” comes to mind, with it’s realistic portrayal of the poor street children and the working class. Heartbreaking.
Ah yes! La Terra Trema is an absolutely beautiful film. Especially coming from Visconti – one of the wealthiest men in Italy at the time! I’ve said time and time again that it really deserves a Criterion release. I grew up working on a farm, and even now as I spend most of my time in academia around film, those sunburned faces and rough hands are still the most sublime thing I have experienced. All of De Sica’s neorealist films are heartbreaking, to be certain. Still, I can only take them sparingly. I wouldn’t want to go to a neorealism marathon with a loaded gun.
Now, can we discuss why this movement came to an abrupt end – especially in it birthplace, Italy? Was it tied in with the economic picture, changing attitudes, or something else? I do know that de Sica, for example, was very upset at the shabby treament that Bicycle Thieves and Umberto D. got in his own country – they were slammmed for being"too depressing"!!! Does this sound familiar? It is the standard put-down of anything that smacks at something besides escapism and has been used against many honest films in any time period. Maybe that is why de Sica, and others, mainly abandoned this method of filmmaking for more commercially viable products. I am not that familiar with the post-history of this movement, so any insights would be appreciated.
Well, of course location shooting with non-professionals, and showing social conditions made neo-realism ideal to influence, open up possibilities for many film-makers in poorer, often neglected countries. I think this linked in with the changes round the French new wave to help along “new waves” in Latin America in the 60s with attempts to find a film language suited to each country’s socio-political situation and history., for instance Brazil with Glauber Rocha’s Black God White Devil and Dos Santos’ Barren Lives, But Italian neo-realism didn’t spring from Italy alone; Renoir could be considered almost its father, with Toni especially, and his huge influence on Visconti’s Ossessione. Interesting that Renoir should also have influenced Satyajit Ray as did Italian neo-realism, as mentioned above. There are neo-realist elements in Ozu’s An Inn at Tokyo (1935, same time as Toni), and Oliveira’s Aniki Bobo (same year as Ossessione). It’s not always easy to disentangle all the cross-fertilisations and influences, for sure. Neo-realism’s influence can even be seen in Mizoguchi’s Women of the Night. Of course after the war there was a flood of films that had often remained unseen in various countries. A film like Dassin’s Thieves’ Highway seems like a tough mix of noir and neo-realist comment, but of course left-leaning American directors soon started to have a hard time of it in Hollywood. Some Kazan’s films show an influence- along with bringing out fine performances and “the method”’s attempt at greater realism. But then Kazan kept his career afloat by naming names and excused himself in On the Waterfront, of which the establishment approved…
my thinking is jumbled, but that may still lead somewhere…
Umberto D is one of the more loathsome characters in cinematic history. Even the extreme handicap, society rejects of Stroszek and Quasimodo reached out to their fellow humanity showing affable and gentile souls. Umberto on the other hand seems to gleam nothing from his ever listing slide into the abyss. He garners no lessons learned, no wisdom gained, shuns any subtle insights, and holds to immoveable pride as his only salvation and station. He tries without fail to even find his trusty pet dog a suitable alternative.
As a character study he is well cast. The back drape of a pre-WW II Italy where factories and career blue collar workers are cast about like trinkets – the settings for this film couldn’t be better. The script was penned by a 15 year old prodigy that belies her youthful experience. This is more of a biblical parable, a philosophical apathy showing the folly of ignorance. Those who adhere and swear allegiance to a fool’s lament.
I do love Criterion for their resurrection, discovery, and revival of lost and unseen celluloid treasures. They have certainly unearthed one here. I couldn’t wait for the film to be over though since Umberto was set on being a victim, even one in silence, unacknowledged by himself. In the end there is no hope or salvation for his lot. They go largely unnoticed on their forever march as ghost lost in their dreams. These quiet soon-to-be six feet under whose selfishness is not enough to condemn them alone. It’s just enough to keep them from ever connecting. The existential glimpse into the social conundrum of a western Europe readying to be torn asunder elects Umberto as their heir apparent clown. I was left with no apathy, hope, or well wish for this anti-hero, but I was darn impressed with the magnitude of the telling and the medium shown.
wow. umberto d as an anti-hero? interesting. i’ve never heard him described that way before.
Futurestar: “Umberto D is one of the more loathsome characters in cinematic history.”
I am not sure how or why Umberto D. didn’t really affect you on any kind of emotional level. This was de Sica’s most personal film and his favourite. He cast a non-professional retired professor of linguistics in the title role. I thought the portrayal very powerful and sympathetic to the plight of disenfranchised pensioners, whom Umberto represents. Umberto is a proud man, who dislikes the fact that circumstances have reduced him to being basically a beggar. Because his pension is not adequate to sustain him and his only companion is his dog, he is being evicted from his small tenement room. De Sica was a very close observer: as a result Umberto is not presented without flaws or a certain haughtiness. This makes him all the more human – not less sympathetic. Because of his own innate sense of pride, he refuses to acknowledge his own desparate circumstances. I don’t understand how anyone could see him as ‘loathsome’. Perhaps his landlady, who is trying to evict him onto the streets could be called this, but not Umberto. He has only his dog for company, and because he sees no hope in his situation, he tries to find his dog a home. De Sica would be horrified by any interpretation of his Umberto characterization as ‘loathsome’. With Ikiru, Umberto is a film about the true victims of society’s indifference. Two very compassionate directors, Kurosawa and de Sica, have tried to convey these two characters in all their humanity. I am not sure of what you are taliking about when you say the script was penned by a 15 year old.
Perhaps “loathsome” is an inappropriate word. I’ll retract that. Our Umberto though was not clever enough to adapt and feared crossing any line that comprised his stoic and set principals. His survival instinct seems to dull as his situation spiraled away. He feigned true bravery and never saw solution, resolve, and remedy in his on going dilemmas. He was never truthful with himself in his own denial and self deception. He couldn’t even handedly find his dog a new owner or home. This is a beautiful film though and told in a grand style.
(NOTE: In the interviews the idea for story which became the film was imagined when the author was 15).
Futurestar: Thanks for expanding. Umberto’s character is stuck in a certain type of mind-set, where pride cometh before fall. He really doesn’t have any mechanism to resolve or fully comprehend his own situation. De Sica purposefully lets him wander in his own morass, because he doesn’t want to present us a rebel or self-actualizing person, but just someone who is caught in a dilemma not entirely of his making. The intention of the film was to bring attention to social injustice, because Umberto only really has these problems because he lacks sufficient funds. De Sica is not trying to represent a self-aware person, but a victim of society’s indifference. This is how you are meant to see Umberto – warts and all. That is why de Sica used a non-professional actor – to focus on the story he was trying to tell. Making the character weak was a calculated decision to elicit sympathy for him. A strong, self-realized and aware Umberto, played by a professional actor, would have negated his purpose. That’s my take on it anyway. I didn’t realize where the 15 year old reference came from, as I wasn’t aware of that part of the story. I’ll leave it at that.
However it’s been said, it’s all been well told better by others than myself. Umberto D is a remarkable tale on the blight of aging. It’s a dim future for us all out there as the need to be forever young is even stronger today at any and ever spiraling cost.
However it’s been said, it’s all been well told better by others than myself. Umberto D is a remarkable tale on the blight of aging. It’s a dim future for us all out there as the need to be forever young is even stronger today at any and ever spiraling cost.
Italian neorealism is dark, it’s bleak, it leaves you contemplating the grim nature of the world, man’s despair in facing his own mortality, worth and contribution to society. Of course, I love it.
Lots of great stuff on De Sica and Visconti, but unless I’ve missed it, no one has mentioned Roberto Rosellini (?) Rossellini, of course, more or less got neorealism started with the “Neorealist Trilogy”—Rome, Open City in 1945, Paisan in 1946, and Germany Year Zero in 1948. Truffaut called him “the father of the French New Wave.”
Walt Ostrander
The influence of Italian neorealism in the cinematic world is extremely difficult to overstate. One can highlight its methods in American film noir of the late 40’s and early 50’s, its obvious links to works in the French new-wave, and its influence on international third world film of the time for its depiction of common people and its portrayal of the “real.” Vittorio De Sica’s Bicycle Thieves is certainly neorealist; every principle of the movement is utilized within the film. It is a quiet, tragic anthem to the poverty-stricken working class of postwar Italy, and a beautiful work that has been part of the pallet of the auteur in cinematic movements ever since. It is perhaps the very antithesis to Hollywood film in its subject matter of “life as it is,” as screenwriter Cesare Zavattini has put it.
Bicycle Thieves contains no scenes of intimate sexual relations, and none of the crimes and passionate lives so common in the American film noir pictures that came parallel to it. By those standards, its plot is miniscule in scale. A poor, out-of-work man spends an entire day in vain searching for his stolen bicycle throughout the streets of Rome. This bicycle is his key to wellbeing and a necessary tool in order for him to keep his newfound job. After his efforts prove fruitless, he attempts to steal a bicycle himself. After being caught and released, he is left to suffer the degradation of becoming a thief himself.
This brief plot synopsis does nothing to shed light on the absolute beauty and tragedy of the story. The characters, played by non-professionals (the protagonist came from the Breda factory, the child found hanging around in the street, and the wife, a journalist), have the expressions of lower-class pedestrians because that is plainly what they are. Lamberto Maggiorani’s (Antonio Ricci) face is gaunt and searching, his angular cheekbones are rough sills to soft eyes constantly on the verge of submission. In search of his bicycle, he casts looks of suspicion, curiosity, and most prevalently indifference. Enzo Staiola’s (Bruno) hopeful glances linger past their scenes with an air of uncertainty, all of which is placed in the trust that things will work out in the end. The outfits are worn and baggy, hair is unkempt, and men still stand with their superficial pride masking all of their obviously tragic truths. This is all part of the thesis behind neorealism. It is a passionate desire in itself to realize a hunger for reality, in this case brought out by the breathtaking aftermath of World War II; a Rome made of derelict buildings and rubble fantastically perpendicular to its illustrious majesty before the devastation from the war.
On the subject of pre-war Rome and Italian cinema, the fact stands that neorealism would not hold the emotional power it has on its subjects without the backdrop of the pre-war fascist films produced through the efforts of Benito Mussolini. While De Sica made efforts to capture the provocative photography of common Rome through its dirty streets and worn buildings, fascist filmmakers posed star actors and actresses in front of famous monuments like The Colloseum, statues of Casears, and ornate fountains.
The camerawork behind Bicycle Thieves has traits of documentary-style filmmaking – a characteristic often applied to Zavattini’s works. This is used to exemplify the real, humble, and idealistic sense of realism needed in the film. While American films relied on the necessity of a “story,” neorealist filmmakers understood the richness in reality and sought to exemplify it through a camera lens.
The stylistic characteristics of what is known as neorealism are readily identifiable, perhaps one of the most important being visual representation. The most appropriate subject for representation (at least from a “pure cinema” point of view) is reality itself. This is achieved perfectly in Bicycle Thieves by its method of filming on location, out in the real world, outside of a studio – not a created world inside a studio as was popular in Hollywood films of the time. The director’s note of this characteristic is apparent in the film itself, perhaps most prevalently in the scene where Ricci is hanging up the poster of Rita Hayworth. Her figure is covering a wall of dirty posters and advertisements, and her beautiful made-up character seems shockingly out of place on the dirty street corner full of pedestrians who seem to be too caught up in the harsh reality of things to fall into the illusion of the image on the poster. Zavattini once said regarding postwar Italian cinema, “Making a movie grounded in reality takes just as much imagination as making a fictional film.” Simply filming reality doesn’t make a good realist film. It is a lesson that can be learned throughout history from figures like Picasso, Proust, Joyce, Kafka and the like: everyday life can be transformed into something sublime.
As powerful and provocative a style as it was, neorealism was very short-lived from an historical point of view. Only twenty-one or so films were made in the vein of the movement in a course of seven years, mainly because the creative energy behind it all was completely due to a real historical crisis. By the time Bicycle Thieves was conceived in 1948, the “revolution” of neorealism had reached the end of its rope as a style in itself. Italy was reinvented after the war as a capitalist society stuck in a stasis of unemployment. The film (as noted by the previously mentioned facial expressions of the actors) is balanced on a thin line separating ever-looming melancholy and idealism.
In the mode of pre-war Italian cinema, the soundtrack for the film was completely dubbed. This method became common due to Mussolini’s insistence that films be dubbed over in an effort to have more control over their final production. The non-diagetic music that played through the film has been argued to be disconnected from its events because of this technique, yet changes from major to minor keys seem to play their part in reflecting scenes of both idealism and melancholy, respectively.
One of the most notable things worth taking into account is the creative fusion between writer and director that took place with De Sica and Zavattini. De Sica viewed his chosen non-professionals as “blank canvases,” which he was able to mold into the characters he desired. Because they were not typical actors who needed to shed their layers of stardom and character to play the part of the common individual, De Sica was able to provide the film with an unadulterated cast of pure realistic characters. Zavattini’s writing fit in perfectly with De Sica’s characters – in a way that comes across rarely in cinema. A pivotal scene in the film in which Antonio elects to treat his son to a good meal shows a series of intricate gestures from father to son played out against the subsidiary drama of glances between Bruno and a pampered bourgeois boy at another table. The dialogue between father and son is invariably in analogous sync with the scene played out in the restaurant. Zavattini’s skill as a writer for the screen is without a doubt brought out by this scene. The viewer is compelled to discover how the film will end. This complete inability to predict the outcome in the plot comes as a definitive quality of realism – if one were to see the same story unfold on the street outside their home, a predictable end would of course be impossible. This sort of narrative is difficult to keep up, and only the illusionary art of cinema can be the perfect canvas for such a feat. It is a perfect example of the sort of idea a film can convey that printed literature or other works of art cannot.