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.