General Della Rovere

Roberto Rossellini’s General Della Rovere (1959), which was recently revived as a part of Vittorio De Sica retrospective, currently playing at Film Forum, is a chance to see the great Italian director (Bicycle Thieves, 1948, The Garden of the Finzi-Continis, 1970), act. The role would be a plum for any thespian due it’s marvelous conceit. De Sica plays the part of Vittorio Emanuele Bardone, a fraudster who exploits the misery of occupied Italy and in particular those whose relatives have been imprisoned by the Nazis. Bardone gets caught up short by his fascist counterpart, a savvy S.S. colonel named Muller (Hannes Messemer) who outdoes him at his own game. The mixture of rivalry and admiration that forms the basis of the relationship between Muller and Bardone is reminiscent of that between von Rauffenstein (Eric von Stroheim) and de Boeldieu (Pierre Fresnay) in Jean Renoir's Grand Illusion (l937). General Della Rovere is based on a novel that apparently had some basis in fact, but there’s a disconnect. The  contrived theatrical quality which sets the stage for De Sica’s tour de force is almost at odds with Rossellini’s stark neo-realism. It’s as if  the intrinsic melodrama of the narrative were being mollified by the director’s signature style. An unforgettable scene where resistance fighters hover in a snowy piazza recalls the gritty Rossellini masterpiece Rome, Open City (1948). But then there are also the shots of the prison with its futuristic lines of black cell doors complemented by a soaring interior whose Beaux Arts style is as duplicitously high-minded as the film’s final con--where Bardone impersonates the title character. Has Bardone finally undergone a conversion and become a hero? You might admire  De Sica’s acting, but it’s hard to believe the figure Rossellini creates has finally seen the light.

The Passionate Thief

If you want to see Anna Magnani’s earthly talents turned to comic advantage then check out Mario Monicelli’s The Passionate Thief (Risate di goia, l960), the restored print of which is currently completing a run at Film Forum. Magnani, whose suffering persona in films like Rome, Open City (1945) and Mamma Roma (1962) was accentuated by those famous eyes which sparkled with life in spite of the dark rings, plays the part of, Tortorella, a down on her heels extra at Cinecitta, out for a good time on New Year’s eve in Rome. The Passionate Thief is worth seeing if only for the blond wig Magnani sports as part of her party outfit. Magnani is passionate even in her comic roles, though the passionate thief in question may refer to the character of Lello (Ben Gazarra) who calculatedly seduces Magnani only to use her as a front. “Steal but why play with my feelings?” Magnani cries at the end to which Gazarra replies, “Because I’m a thief and not ashamed of it.” The famous comic actor Toto plays Umberto, a bungling scammer and sometime performer, who is the straight man in the face of Magnani’s frenzied energy. He’s a Buster Keaton double, as they open up their only possession, an umbrella, to protect themselves from the sun rather than the rain. By the end of her New Year's, Tortorella’s fortunes have fallen even further with her taking the rap for the theft of a necklace from the Madonna in a church. Here Monicelli conjures the memory of another famous Italian screen actress, Giulietta Masina, who played an equally down on her heels character, the prostitute in Fellini’s The Nights of Cabiria (l957). Fred Clark has an uproarious cameo as a drunken American tourist who seems like an easy mark, but inadvertently ends up relieving the thieves of their jackets before attempting to jump into a fountain. Poverty is really the subject (“Why are some people born rich and others so poor?” Gazzara’s character asks at another point) and as in Big Deal on Madonna Street (1958), Monicelli uses the comic caper to underline a theme that neo-realists like Rosellini, Visconti and De Sica presented in a more sinister light.

The Artful Dodger

Portrait of Johann Wolfgang von Goethe by Joseph Karl Stieler

When something painful happens, do you immediately think you can make it worthwhile by transforming it into a great work of art that will make you famous? Do you find yourself using your iPhone to take pictures of your wife when she's in a rage, and fantasizing about the show you will be having at the International Center of Photography, instead of attempting to fathom the source of the complaint? Did you consider writing a poem or short story about it and even try to submit it to The New Yorker before finding out what was bothering her? Creative expression was usually thought to be the province of artists. The artist’s life may have been one of poverty and self-sacrifice, but it’s one saving grace was that everything became gris for the mill. While average people tended to find no pay off in pain, catastrophe was like striking gold for the artistic prospector. At the very least the enemy earned a diary entry. At the best, he catalyzed "Guernica" or For Whom the Bell Tolls. However, today the degree of separation that was always a lagniappe of the artistic personality is available to anyone. Literally anyone can imagine himself the Cartier-Bresson of his time with the help of his or her smart phone. Most smart phones also are capable of giving Italian neorealists like Rossellini a good run for their money. Employing the video component literally anyone can make their version of Rome, Open City (1945) whether they’re in Buffalo, Albuquerque or Kalamazoo. Say you’re a Werther and want to record your sufferings, just flip open your iPad. Let’s say reading this post is making your confront some aspect of yourself that’s painful. Let’s say at the very least that it’s irritating, blog about it or just, “post a comment.”