Written by: Goodtime Charlie, Special to CC2K

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Coming into His Own

L’avventura (1960) [aka The Adventure]

This movie was the start of something big, why Antonioni came to eventually own 1960s cinema, in my opinion. Combining the bourgeois women of Le amiche with the quiet, self-reflective, confused, and unresolved journey of Aldo in Il grido, Antonioni found his magical formula. L’avventura centers on a character played by Antonioni’s real-life muse–the luscious fox Monica Vitti–who accompanies a beautiful friend of hers on a little boat trip with her boyfriend and a bunch of wealthy layabouts. When the friend disappears on a (nearly) deserted island, her boyfriend quickly moves on to Monica Vitti and the two embark on a half-hearted search for the missing babe, following up a series of questionable leads. Do they ever find her? Who cares. The point here is not the destination, but what you discover along the journey. The first time I saw this movie, I was extremely disappointed (nothing happens!), but my appreciation for it increased notably upon second viewing, when I was prepared for nothing to happen and instead soaked up the beauty of the details. My favorite character (albeit a minor one) is the wealthy owner of the boat, Corrado, who utters one of my favorite lines in the movie, regarding his wife: “Giulia is like Oscar Wilde. Give her all the luxuries and she will manage without the little necessities.”

To give you an example of the polarizing reaction to L’avventura, here is an excerpt from the informative Taschen book on Antonioni:

The response of the audience at the 1960 Cannes Film Festival was boos, laughter, catcalls, and exaggerated yawning noises. But the next morning, 37 writers and artists, including Roberto Rossellini, sent an open letter praising the film and condemning the previous night’s noisy reception. The film was given a special jury prize ‘for its remarkable contribution toward the search for a new cinematic language.’

Although still divisive, the movie went on to international box office and critical success. Coulda been worse…

La notte (1961) [aka The Night]

This is the second film in Antonioni’s holy trilogy, and although it is excellent, it doesn’t quite make my top three. After L’avventura catapulted him to international art-world acclaim, Antonioni could get any actor he wanted, so he got Marcello Mastroianni and Jeanne Moreau, all the while retaining the services of his muse, Monica Vitti. Once again the milieu is disaffected upper class lovers in an indescribable funk. Something is wrong in Marcello and Jeanne’s marriage, but they don’t really know what it is. Since it is what they do, they go to yet another boring party one night and both flirt with an affair, but ultimately stay true to one another and make love on the rich host’s golf course at dawn. As you can see, there isn’t much there as far as plot goes, but there is plenty of rich detail to enjoy and plenty of realism when you compare their mysteriously ailing relationship to one you may have been in, one that a friend of yours has been in, or one those people at the other table in the restaurant are in. This one is definitely worth watching.

L’eclisse (1962) [aka The Eclipse]

This is my favorite of all of Antonioni’s movies. Yes, it is the one with the oscillating fan. It also, surprisingly, illustrates the allure and danger of the stock market better than any other movie I have seen (Wall Street can’t hold a fucking candle). It also, unsurprisingly, contains a pitch-perfect performance from willowy, capricious Monica Vitti, who shines as the restless, fiercely-independent object of two successful men’s lust. The movie opens with her telling her boyfriend/boss that their affair is over and he has trouble facing the truth. She hangs with her mom, who is obsessed with the stock market, meets her mom’s handsome young broker (Alain Delon), parties with her girlfriends in blackface, chases dogs down the street at midnight, flies in an airplane, witnesses the collapse of the stock market, falls for Alain Delon, and ultimately decides to go it alone. In one of the best endings to a relationship I’ve ever seen, they arrange to meet at a street corner the next day and neither one of them shows up. Monica Vitti has a number of fantastic lines (I mean, she does break the hearts of two men in this movie), but two I remember distinctly are both offered to Alain Delon’s character and help to flesh out the uncomfortable indecision that pulsates through this movie:

“I wish I loved you more or not at all.”

“Why do we ask so many questions? Two people shouldn’t know each other too well if they want to fall in love. But, then, maybe they shouldn’t fall in love at all.”

Il deserto rosso (1964) [aka Red Desert]

Antonioni’s first venture in color, Il deserto rosso, is remarkable if only for its hauntingly beautiful industrial-scape visuals. Deliberate use of color and shallow depth of field help paint the picture of Giuliana’s debilitating, chronic delirium and suffocation. An annoyingly noisy soundtrack adds to the effect, but sadly, that effect is ultimately far too irritating and resulted in me not liking this movie very much.

I understand what Antonioni was going for–the movie allows us to share Giuliana’s pain, confusion, frustration, etc. However, much like Giuliana hates that feeling, so the audience hates this feeling. Roman Polanski tried a similar effect with Repulsion the very next year, to much better effect.

Despite the fact that L’eclisse and L’avventura are filled with pent-up frustration, bourgeois ennui, lust, and little plot, they always seem to be going somewhere, and even if they don’t ever arrive at a destination, the ride remains enjoyable and full of meaning–maybe even more so for their deliberate, realistic lack of a firm resolution.

Il deserto rosso, however, teems with frantic confusion, constant complaining, even less plot, unlikable characters, and an intermittent soundtrack that may as well be nails-on-a-chalkboard. Sure, there is symbolism aplenty, but symbolism is lost when the audience does not care one way or another what happens to anyone in the movie. Toward the end, I found myself wishing for Giuliana to kill herself in some fantastic display, or offer herself as a prostitute on a cargo ship sailing for points unknown. Anything would have been better than more pointless and vague complaining, more endless scenes devoid of any kind of satisfaction.

Perhaps my opinion will change on a second viewing (as it did with L’avventura)–especially since it will be of a new and crisp Criterion transfer–but my fear is that this movie represents a high point in Antonioni’s arrogance (perhaps only surpassed by Zabriskie Point, which deservedly lost millions of dollars and nearly tanked his career). In the world of cinema–even art cinema–entertainment value should always supercede philosophy, social commentary, and intellectual symbolism because if the audience is not entertained, they are not listening, they are not watching, and therefore all else is irrelevant. Suffice it to say, I’m grateful that Antonioni returned to form after this disappointing endeavor, albeit briefly (with Blow-Up and Professione: Reporter).