Otto e mezzo
Federico Fellini (1963)
I was a bit startled that I remembered so little of it from a first viewing in 2004. I think this is due to two things: a mind like a sieve and the fact that 8½ is a brilliant but completely self-contained universe. It must be one of the most self-indulgent pictures ever made – which hardly seems to matter when Fellini is giving the audience such a good time. Scene by scene, image by image, it seems like a great film but it’s not one that speaks to many people’s experience. (I disagree with Clive James’s view, expressed in an extract from a New Yorker piece in the BFI handout, that it’s the psycho-sexual story of men generally.) 8½ is about making – and not making – a film; about the relationship between the content of that film and the thoughts, memories and fantasies of its maker, Guido Anselmi; about the people in Guido’s film who are performers even when they’re not on set. Fellini anticipates criticism of his lack of intellectual rigour, lack of anything to say etc: his alter ego Guido keeps being accused of this and the accusers are enjoyably lampooned. The film has a marvellous momentum but it reaches its peak as it’s happening (in that sense, it might be considered a perfect piece of cinema). It’s sustained by its own bravura – it’s not thematically rich or interested in exploring human relationships or even thought-provoking. Fellini’s self-awareness may disarm criticism while you’re experiencing 8½ but the film doesn’t resonate – or stay – with me like La dolce vita.
The cast assembled are a magnificent selection of faces and physiques. In spite of this variety, there’s a prevailing theatricality to the performances, although in many different registers. This seems absolutely right as a means of seeing these people through Guido’s eyes – a mixture of monsters and objects of desire and personifications of his neuroses and obsessions – but they’d still get tedious over the course of 138 minutes (as the playing does in Fellini films like The Clowns and Roma and Amarcord) without the leavening influence of Marcello Mastroianni as Guido. It’s hard to overstate his contribution to the success of 8½. Mastroianni is a wonderful actor-star: his essentially quiet glamour, a shy elegance that he blends with the skills of a physical comedian, and an ability to suggest thoughtfulness and controlled exasperation, are perfect here. He subtilises Fellini’s preoccupations and draws us to Guido as the film’s sentient centre, orbited by all its more obviously vivid satellites. The collection – an orchestra – of women in Guido’s life is stunning, even though his (I guess Fellini’s) view of them seems fairly primitive. (Mastroianni’s courtliness makes this element more palatable than perhaps it deserves to be.)
The film was made at the height of Fellini’s fame and reputation, when he was widely compared with Bergman – as a kindred genius and a spiritual polar opposite. 8½ begins with a dream – which we don’t know to be a dream until Guido wakes from it – whose powerful claustrophobic and acrophobic imagery stands comparison with dream sequences in Bergman. The climax to 8½ is a sequence that calls to mind the dance of death that ends The Seventh Seal – except this is a dance of life, a bracingly choreographed curtain call which expresses the physical variety and uniform absurdity of human beings. It’s as an accompaniment to this that Nino Rota’s great score – endlessly witty and inventive, and enriching what we see on the screen – reaches its humorous apotheosis. With (to name a few) Anouk Aimee (Guido’s wife), Sandra Milo (his current mistress), Claudia Cardinale (his ideal actress-woman), Edra Gale (the rumba-dancing La Saraghina), Tito Masini (a cardinal), Jean Rougeul (an indestructible critic) and Ferdinando Guillaume (a clown). Fellini wrote the screenplay with Ennio Flaiano, Tullio Pinelli and Brunello Rondi. The cinematographer was Giovanni Di Venanzo; the production design and Oscar-winning costumes (the picture also won Best Foreign Language film) are by Piero Gherardi.
1 June 2009
