Paisa

"Paisa" or "Paisan" is a film by the great Roberto Rossellini. It is the second film in is War Trilogy series and was filmed in 1946. It is a unique film in that it isn't one story, but several, each told in a short episode. This is not to say that the stories are unrelated, because that isn't the case, it just isn't what I (along with plenty of other Americans) are used to. The six episodes that make up the film span from when the Allies landed in Italy in 1943 to the end of the WWII. Narration is done in between episodes so the audience knows what is happening at that time in the war in Italy. The title, Paisan, is (according to dictionary.com) another name for a compatriot or friend.

The first episode is a story about a troop of American soldiers who land on a beach in Italy at night. They come upon an Italian village where they ask of the whereabouts of the Germans. None of the villagers speak English and only one of the soldiers, the son of an Italian immigrant, can speak Italian. They manage to get a young woman from the village to lead them past the German land mines to a safe spot (a ruined castle). Once there, most of the soldiers scout on ahead and leave one man in charge of the girl at the castle. He speaks no Italian, except for a few words he'd picked up in the US, but pours out some deep inner thoughts to her that she gets a sense of. A small troop of German soldiers wound the American soldier, who is then hidden by the girl. The Germans investigate the castle, find the girl and say they mean her no harm (though they cast lots for who "gets" her first). She, in grief over the now dead American, shoots at the Germans. The episode ends with the American's returning and thinking the young woman killed him while the Germans, at a distance from the castle, execute the girl.

The second episode takes place in the busy port of Naples. A drunk African American soldier is taken around the city by a boy. The soldier reveals his troubled thoughts, though the boy speaks no English. The boy then steals the soldier's boots while he is asleep. The soldier later finds the boy and demands his boots back. When the boy takes him to where he lives, the man is overcome with the sight of so many homeless and poor and leaves the boots.

The third episode begins in Rome with the Germans being driven out the victorious and welcomed American soldiers arrive. It then goes forward six months to a tavern filled with women and drunken soldiers. A beautiful Italian woman takes one of the drunken soldiers home with her and wants to "be with him," but he says to leave him alone, all the Italian women are "the same now". He then tells her about a woman he first met in Rome and we see his flashback. The same Italian woman greets the new American soldier and asks him into her home for some water. They talk and really hit things off since she knows English and he Italian. She says to come back and he promises he will. The story comes back to the present where the woman is telling the soldier that the woman he loved waited for him and where he can find her now. She leaves before he wakes up and puts her address on a piece of paper. Later that day, the American is leaving Rome for good and throws the paper away. The story ends with the woman waiting in the rain in front of her house for the soldier who never turns up.

The fourth episode occurs in Florence which is half controlled by the Allies and the other half by the Germans. An Italian man and an American nurse (a previous resident of Florence) team up to try and find their loved ones in the German occupied part of the city. They go through the war torn city, crouched and being shot at. They refuse to let anyone deter them from their goal. It ends with the man running off being shot at and the nurse comforting a dying man who informs her that the man she is looking for is dead.

The next episode takes place at a Monastery in Italy (perhaps Assisi?) where Franciscan monks live. The Germans are gone and they praise God for his deliverance. Three American Army Chaplains show up, ask for shelter and are welcomed. The monks live very simple, pious lives and are horrified to find out one of the chaplains is a Protestant and another a Jew. The speak to the Catholic man about saving his friends' souls. The episode concludes at dinner where the monks are fasting to save the "lost souls" of the two men and the Catholic chaplain thanking the monks for giving his heart peace.

The final episode is a story about American soldiers and Italian Partisians fighting the Germans together, behind the lines. All the men, both American and Italian seem to get along and the American speak Italian. The Americans receive orders to cease activity and get out, however they can. The entire unit ends up getting captured by Germans, though some have died fighting or taken their own lives rather than be captured. The German officer tells the Americans that they are prisoners of war but that they don't recognize the Italian Partisians as such. The story concludes with the Italian men being bound and thrown overboard to drown.

All in all, this film is extremely depressing. None of the stories have happy endings, but I think the director was trying to show that in war, there aren't happy endings. It was very insightful to see the different ways the Italians and Americans related to one another, varying from no communication to camaraderie. All the episodes focused on the relationship of these two groups of people and showed how the war effected both. It was a good film, though not a happy one.

Who Cares About Italian Neorealism?!? (AKA: The Impact of Italian Neorealism on World Cinema)

Maybe you've been reading this blog and thinking, "All right, so Italian Neorealism was important for Italians back in the day, but what is the point of watching a bunch of black and white depressing movies for me today?" Well, I would say to you that, first of all, it's important for human beings to understand the histories of other people and other countries, if for no other reason than to put our own history into perspective. But, let's assume for the sake of argument that I don't believe that, and nobody else does, either. Forget history altogether! Who cares! Then what's the point of The Bicycle Thief? What's the point of Rome, Open City? Who cares about Shoeshine? The article "'A Poetics of Refusals': Neorealism from Italy to Africa" shows exactly why Italian Neorealism matters to the film world (and our world) today.

First of all, Gabara makes the point that Italian Neorealism made such an impact and a point against traditional Hollywood cinema (and Italian cinema at that time) because it refused to take part in certain conventions. For example, the directors of the films usually cast non-actors for the main roles. The films were shot on the streets as opposed to in studios. Things like that. Without the context of other films that did do those things, the choices the Italian Neorealists made don't really matter. That's what she means when she refers to it as a "poetics of refusals." The Italians, trying to find an identity for Italy without the black mark of facism, refused the status quo of movie making to show what "their" Italy was really like.

Fast forward to Spain in the 1960s. Spanish filmmakers were attempting to distance themselves from Americans and Europeans, and so, similarly to the Italian Neorealists, rejected traditional ways of telling stories. However, although they admired the way that Italian Neorealists made their films, they could not really identify with them as a movement because they were trying to distance themselves from Europe. As a result, those Spanish filmmakers called those in the Neorealist movement a kind of enemy. This initially seems a kind of betrayal; after all, it was the Neorealists who showed that things like non-professional acting or limited soundtracks were not necessarily the mark of a poor film, inspiring Spanish filmmakers to make do with the equipment they had. Once you think about it though, it makes sense. The Spanish filmmakers called what they made "third cinema," distinguishing themselves from "first cinema," which would be something like Inception, but also from "second cinema" which is non-traditional, but still "artsy" and, in a way, pretentious. The Italian Neorealists could have made "first cinema" because they had the resources, but they chose not to. Third cinema makes a conscious decision to make do with available resources.

The ideas behind third cinema have translated to African filmmaking. One of the main directors mentioned in the article sounded a little familiar to me, and I realized that Sembene was the director of Xala, and once I realized that, I could make the connection between Xala and Italian Neorealist films. The films all focus primarily on social issues, and highlight the disparities between classes. They are also shot in a simple way, and "seem" realistic. There isn't a lot of dramatic action or lighting or makeup; the people in the film seem like they just happen to be living their lives in front of the camera. African filmmakers, although they might identify with Italian Neorealists, face the same problem that Spanish filmmakers faced: when trying to establish a cultural identity, it isn't the best idea to use another culture's filmic movements as the basis for your own. So African films are different from Italian Neorealist films. Still, they focus on the same kinds of things, like power struggles and poverty, and all seek to establish their own cultural identity. They just take a similar style in doing so.

So that's why you should care about Italian Neorealism. The films of other countries are inspired by this historic movement. Xala might seem to be like a slow-moving film, but when we realize why it goes at that pace, and why it focuses so much on the mundane, I think we can better appreciate why those stylistic choices were made, and we are able to become better citizens of the world.

Gabara, Rachel. "‘A Poetics of Refusals’: Neorealism from Italy to Africa." Quarterly Review
     of Film and Video 23.201 (2006): 201-213. Web. 13 Apr 2011.

Umberto D.

When I go to the movies, I don't usually go because I want to be shown how I should live my life. I don't go to expose myself to the way that those less fortunate than I am are forced to live their lives. It isn't that I don't care about those things, because I do care a lot. It isn't even that I don't think that movies should do those things, because I think that, ideally, movies should expose us to ways of living that are different from our own, and show us new things about ourselves and the world. Still, when I go to the movies, I want to escape. I want to laugh and have a good time and not worry about the fact that I have to have movie critiques posted on a blog by a certain date. I don't think it would be unrealistic for me to say that most people go to the movies with that expectation. If people went to the movies only because they wanted to better themselves in some way, then I don't think that anyone would have gone to see Twilight, or even Vampires Suck. (Let's face it; I saw both of those movies, and I can't see them having made anyone a better person for having watched them.)
Still, just because people don't go to the movies to make themselves aware of the disparities between social classes doesn't mean that the people who make movies don't want people to do just that. If you've been reading this blog, I'm sure you recognize by this point (unless you started reading at the top and are working your way down, in which case you will recognize this in short order) that Italian Neorealist films were made for just that purpose. Instead of focusing on the rich, they focus on the poor. Instead of focusing on the young, they focus on the old. That is the case with Umberto D, a film directed by Vittorio de Sica later in the movement. The film pits the younger, rich, socialite landlady against Umberto, a poor retired old man. The narrative itself does this, but the film also uses visual tropes and cinematic devices to show us their struggle as well.
The film starts out with a crowd of older men protesting the fact that they don't get enough money from the government for their pensions. Umberto is in the crowd, basically because his rich landlady, Antonia Belloni, is trying to drive him out of her house by making the rent higher and higher, and now he owes her 15,000 lira, more than he can hope to afford. When we get to the boarding house, we are introduced to Antonia for the first time, and she is obviously meant to be a foil. That is, her primary features are the opposite of Umberto's. Umberto is contrasted with his landlady most noticeably at the surface level. She wears fancy clothing, where he dresses conservatively. Her hair is always perfectly styled, whereas Umberto, though clean and well-groomed, is a little haggard-looking. In addition to their surface differences, their values are also deeply different.

Umberto D and his dog, Flike

Umberto seems to be fairly conservative. He has worked hard in his life, and he holds traditional moral values. Not so with Antonia, who has been renting out his room by the hour as a discrete place for married couples to have affairs. Umberto is scandalized by this. He is shocked to find people in his room, and is shocked to discover from the maid, his only human friend, that it is a common occurrence. At the same time, even though Umberto is dismayed to hear that the maid is not only pregnant out of wedlock, but is sexually involved with two men, he is supportive of her. He offers to force the men to do right by her, and offers advice to Maria, the maid. On the other hand, Maria fears that Antonia will fire her if she finds out about the pregnancy, even though Antonia is far from scrupulous in sexual matters. Umberto is moral, even though he is one of the lesser members of society, but he also cares about people who do not abide by his morality. Antonia is neither moral nor caring.
Umberto's friendships, the few that he has, are also more meaningful than Antonia's. At one point, Maria confides in Umberto that Antonia is only interested in her fiance because he owns a movie theater and would be able to get her tickets for free. Umberto’s two best friends are the maid, who is barely able to provide for herself, and his dog, Flike, neither of whom are able to help him materially in any way, not does he expect them to do anything other than provide him with company.

The socialite landlady.

The shots are set up to pit Umberto and Antonia against each other, as well. In one scene in particular, Umberto has a conversation with Antonia, and she is shown from a low angle to be standing at the top of the staircase. The shot of Umberto is at eye level, but he is lower in the screen, and also lower down the staircase than Antonia. She holds the power in the relationship, but it is Umberto with whom we empathize. Our empathy is heightened by the ratio of close ups between the two. Umberto, and even Maria, are often shown at close range, often considering a painful choice they are considering. Antonia is never shown at close range, and is also never shown with any truly human emotions. During this time, it was more common for members of the wealthy class to be portrayed positively, and the poor were shown negatively. This is exactly the opposite of what happens in Umberto D.
I think the film accomplished what it sets out to do. It's a very sad movie, and I certainly wouldn't go see it to escape from my problems, but it isn't overly preachy, either. Umberto, although a good person, is thoroughly human and not infallible. He's kind of a grumpy old man. He is not angelic. He calls Antonia "a bitch," which is definitely not the traditionally moral thing for him to do. But Umberto D helped me to empathize with a character who was much older than I am, and in a much different circumstance, which few films do well. In fact, the only movie I've seen recently in which I identified with an older male character was Up! If nothing else, this film is worth watching because it does offer such a different view, and broadened my ability to empathize with others.

Spoiler Alert! The endings of Italian Neo-realist films

One of the things I've really noticed about all of the Italian Neo-Realist films I've watched is that the endings are very similar, both narratively and stylistically. For example, the first film that I watched was The Bicycle Thief, which ends with the character of the father attempting to steal another bicycle so that he will be able to keep his job and take care of his family. Here is a clip.


The entire time you're watching, you know exactly what is going to happen. The father is going to try to steal the bike, but it's not going to work out. Still, De Sica makes us sit through the entire ordeal, repeatedly cutting back to the son's crying face, and the father's expression of (at first) his conflicted feelings about his actions and then the resignation that he is going to have to resort to theft. Although the man who he tried to steal the bicycle from lets him off the hook, the end of the film is not happy, because we are left wondering how on earth the father will be able to provide for his family when he has no way of doing his job without a bicycle.

The next film I watched, Umberto D, had a very similar ending. In it, an old man is trying to survive in a society where he is no longer considered useful or valuable. He attempts to commit suicide, but is stopped at the last second when his dog runs away from him.


Once again, the ending is bittersweet. Although Umberto is able to win back the affection of his dog (his only friend) and does not decide to end his life, he is left without any options. He is homeless, jobless and friendless. He is alive, but his future is far from bright.

Shoeshine, the next film on the list, wasn't exactly any brighter. I couldn't find a clip of the ending, but basically what happens is two boys, Giuseppe and Pasquale, who were best friends get into a fight because, while they were in jail for a crime that Giuseppe's brother committed, Pasquale told the authorities that it was the brother who committed the crime. As a result, the boys get into a fight which escalates to the point where Pasquale accidentally kills Guiseppe. Once again, during the last 20 minutes or so of the movie, I was able to predict that the fight was going to escalate to that point, and winced during each and every scene the two boys were in together.

The final movie is Germany, Year Zero. In this film, a family living in Germany after the Second World War struggles to get by as their father wastes away from an unidentified illness. The youngest son, Edmund, is eventually persuaded by a former teacher that the best thing for him to do is to put his father out of his misery, and poisons him. When he confesses his crime to the teacher, the man turns on him, saying that he never said that at all, and calling Edmund a monster. Edmund is filled with remorse, and throws himself out the window of a ruined building across the street from where he lives.



In all of these endings, the viewer is completely aware that something terrible is about to happen, but neither De Sica (the director of the first three films) nor Rossellini (the director of the last) allows the audience to look away from the tragedy that is unfolding. The films use long shots that don't look away from the tragedy that is going on. That is, I think, the entire point of these endings. They aren't surprising, just like the ending of Romeo and Juliet isn't surprising. They are long and drawn out, and all the more tragic because of it. The reason the Italian Neorealist movement happened was because filmmakers were tired of the false happy endings that Hollywood was providing, and they wanted to show everyone what the "real world" was actually like. In the real world, children are driven to acts of violence, and suicide is one way that people consider to get out of their horrible life situations. Instead of trying to soften the blow of these tragic events, Italian Neorealist directors seek to show an unblinking account of what happens when people are driven to the ends of their ropes. You can't cut away from tragedy in real life, and so the directors choose not to take that option in their films. And that's the crux of Italian Neorealism.

Italian Neorealist Cinema: an Aesthetic Approach

In Christopher Wagstaff’s Italian Neorealist Cinema review he takes a look at the three neorealist films Open City, Paisa and Bicycle Thieves. He discussed how these films were the part of the core films from this genre and how neorealist cinema has represented the foundational story of Italian cinema. The article discusses how it is the “moral responsibility” of Italian Neo-realism to document the Nazi occupation, the resistance and the reconstruction of the world after the war. I think that’s a great way to put it. These films were made with the intention of the world understanding what happened during this time period and giving the audience a realistic view of what post war really looked like.

Wagstaff also talks about some of the themes that are typical in neo-realist films. This includes the long shots of the scenery, prostitution of woman and even the unevenness in the sound recording. He says that this “works to disorient the viewer”, which I can certainly see to be true. All of these observations have been present in the movies I have seen on my own and with our group. We see the remains of the land and the desperation in the faces of the people whether they are the main characters or just extras walking by. Women stoop to humiliating levels to provide and the sounds of the movie are not easily understood. This all makes me more attentive to understanding each plot.

Wagstaff concludes by saying “it might be appropriate to consider Neorealism as a mode that spans texts, periods and cultures rather than as a set of techniques.” I would have to agree. With over fifty-five neorealist films, the message is much deeper than just the similar styles and a reflection of Italian cinema. It’s about the moral responsibility.

Nazis and Drifters: The Containment of Radical (Sexual) Knowledge in Two Italian Neorealist Films by Terri Ginsberg

This article by Terri Ginsberg was a challenging read. The author suggests that Italian Neorealist films use radical/sexual themes to portray deeper, sociopolitical themes & patriarchal/capitalism hegemony. Hegemony (something the author expects the reader to know) is when when the dominant group uses it's power over other groups in society. It can be political, economic, cultural or ideological power. Ginsberg claims that the Neorealists supported & helped exert the power of a patriarchal, capitalist society. The two films he uses as examples are Rome, Open City directed by Roberto Rosselini & Ossessione directed by Luchino Visconti.

Ginsberg begins by explaining that the best way to critically read these films is to look at the way homosexuality (verses heterosexuality) are portrayed in these films. He says that, rather then representing material sexuality, the use of homosexuality in these films is an "indicator of all that is wrong with society the signifier of the transgression of bourgeois humanist mores." However, though it shows what is wrong in society, it is shown as never being a real threat to the "system" aka bourgeois society.

Rome, Open City is the first film analyzed. In Roma, homosexuality is used in a way that suggest "psychic ambivalence," or an inability to choose a role. This fickle attitudede is in contrast with heterosexuality where gender roles are stable. In the film, homosexuality plays a role in the relationship between Ingrid (an agent for the Gestapo, a Nazi) & Marina (an actress & informant of Ingrid's). Their homosexualities are allegories for the socially & politically "sinful" activities they are involved with. The way Ingrid is first presented is significant to how the audience perceives (perhaps subconsciously) her role. She is first shown as only a reflection in the mirror Marina is looking in. This reflection shows that Ingrid has no depth is only a representation of the "imperialist exploitation" taking place, a stereotypical, heartless Nazi. Therefore, Nazism can be seen as not a material phenomenon, but as sexual perversion - bringing up the audience's negative feelings about such things. Marina is not a Nazi or a German though, she is an Italian. She is shown as being guilt ridden & vulnerable, giving her a character with more depth & more easily empathized with. She is shown as being the one seduced by Ingrid, suggestion perhaps that Italy's compliance with Nazism was a moment of weakness & not of character. Marina is also shown swaying between homosexuality & heterosexuality, since she is in love with a man as well as having a relationship with Ingrid. Marina is portrayed as delicate & feminine, while Ingrid is portrayed in a more masculine light. By showing the relationship in this way, homosexuality is seen as a ridiculous impossible love that is ultimately no threat to the patriarchal dominance.

What's interesting is that there is one other portrayal of homosexuality in this film. The gestapo, Major Bergman, is implicitly homosexual. Unlike the female same-sex relationship however, the gestapo is single & has no partner. Therefore, it seems to point to the fact that female sexuality is a greater threat to "hegemonic stability" than male sexuality.

Ginsberg also analyzes the film Ossessione. He suggests that it is an allegorical representation of Christian democracy & Italian communism. These two views are posed as the only conceivable stances to take since they are politically organized, while anything other that is politically radical is inconceivable. This is shown through the homosexual relationship between Gino (drifter) & Lo Spagnuolo (traveling performer, "citizen of the world") in contrast to the heterosexual relationship of Gino & Giovanna (a married woman). The homosexuality shown deals with a drifter & is thus showing the futility & harm of drifting aka not choosing one of the preferred paths before mentioned. Gino, just like Marina, is constantly swinging between a homosexual & heterosexual orientation. He has relationships with both a man (Lo Spagnuolo) & a woman (Giovanna). The heterosexual relationship is much more complicated than the homosexual one. It also is conjoined with the "dominant ideological structures" such as Giovanna's wife. The homosexual relationship seems to almost be a relationship between alter egos, which is destructive, pointless & unrealistic. It shows that the heterosexual, patriarchal dominant system is clearly the better choice. Gino is directionless & must choose which path to take (choice being significant in a capitalistic economy). The relationship between the two men is also shown to be amoral & wrong (allegorically) when Lo Spagnuolo admits his pseuodonym & thus his falsity, to the police. Therefore, heterosexuality, a metaphor for an organized, patriarchal economy, is the only position that is able to be expressed.

Citation:

Nazis and Drifters: The Containment of Radical (Sexual) Knowledge in Two Italian Neorealist Films. Author: Terri GinsbergSource: Journal of the History of Sexuality, Vol. 1, No. 2 (Oct., 1990), pp. 241-261. Published by: University of Texas

Encountering "the real" in the films of Roberto Rossellini

I don't know about you, but reading dense academic articles about foreign films is my idea of a good time. In the article “Encounters in the real: subjectivity and its excess in Roberto Rossellini,” film and psychoanalytical expert Fabio Vighi takes a look at the films of famous Italian director Roberto Rossellini. We've watched two Rossellini films so far (Rome, Open City and Germany, Year Zero), and the article mentions both of them. Vighi takes a psychoanalytical approach to viewing the films, drawing heavily on the work of 20^th century psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan.

I have to admit that this article was incredibly hard to understand. The author wrote in an impenetrable academic style that made my eyes gloss over on more than one occasion. From what I gather, Vighi's main premise was that Rossellini's films, especially Rome, Open City and Paisà, are best viewed through a psychoanalytic lens. The main characters in the films “encounter the real” in tragic ways that allow them to overcome their subjective limitations and die heroically...or something like that.

The article dealt a lot with the term jouissance, which comes from the magical realm of Lacanian psychoanalysis. Since it was used about a hundred times, I decided I should look up what the term meant so I could feel slightly better about myself. Turns out the term is synonymous with pleasure or enjoyment. The author of the article was basically arguing that the characters came to terms with their desire in each of Rossellini's films. The author also pointed out the sexual tension that existed between male and female characters and how Rossellini depicts the impossibility of communication between the sexes. I found this section of the article to be the easiest to understand, primarily because it dealt with some ideas I've already been exposed.

Overall, this article provided a lot of insight into the sheer depth and complexity of film criticism. It also made me feel incredibly dumb. It's amazing to know that academics who seriously study film have intense conversations full of polysyllabic words about aspects of films that I never even think about. So next time you watch one of Rossellini's films, apparently you should have a psychology textbook and a graduate degree in psychoanalytic theory with you, just to be on the safe side.