Fellini scrive e dirige, probabilmente, uno dei suoi lavori più personali e visionari.
Dipinge un quadro astratto, decantando lo splendido mondo femminile senza cadere in scialbi stereotipi maschilisti.
La donna è vita. La donna è Dio.
Ma tanto forte e indipendente quanto fragile e delicata.
Un piccolo capolavoro quasi dimenticato.
Ah le donne...
Even at his worst Fellini seems worth the effort. Whole sequences in City of Women are dazzling in their scale & presentation. Images, ideas & scenarios that are incomparable in their vision & unrestrained in their imagination. Unfortunately such sequences are at the service of an empty dream-narrative about a middle-aged man's inability to grasp the necessities of feminism or the role of women in a changing world.
Fellini's great sin is excess—by the 70s, life with his films means sifting through huge surreal setpieces for moments of pure, dazzling beauty. So I must confess that I was listless for the 1st half, but by the end, I could see why some critics champion it as a Hidden Masterpiece. For movies as loaded as this, don't take anyone's word for it...hit play, hang in there through any unease, and see where it takes you...
Late period Fellini finds him at his most misogynistic as he attempts to examine the uprising of feminism in Italy in this too simple tale. Even Mastroianni falters here. It seems to almost come together in its penultimate moments before the ridiculous coda that sinks it.
At its best (far stronger in the first half than in the second (or maybe I was just exhausted)) CITY OF WOMEN possesses the anarchic joie de vivre of THE MUPPET SHOW. In its dedication to berserkoid misadventure of a distinctly themed nature, it was hard not to think of certain postmodern American novelists like Pynchon and Robert Coover. Mastroianni basically a beleaguered foil, the pleasures are all about women.