Of course, I went to see “Nine” in the movie house, though I’d never seen the musical on stage.
And, what an odd choice of material to turn into, or try to turn into Big Broadway.
Italy’s Federico Fellini is one of cinema’s great auteurs of all time. “8 1/2″ is certainly his most famous work. And arguably his best. Though many prefer “La Strada” which proceeded it. And I love “Amarcord.”
“8 1/2″ as the basis for a musical just seems awfully odd to me.
The film is a dense psychological examination of a movie director going through creative and personal crisis. But it can’t be confused with such as Scorcese’s “Shutter Island,” which is so filled with sturm und drang. The brilliance of Fellini is that he presents the miasma that is the director Guido’s (Marcello Mastroianni) life in a palatable and visually stunning manner that is easy to digest.
Here’s the original trailer:
Forgetting the story for a moment, the incredible black and white cinematography and visual imagery are worth the price of rental alone. So a shout out to cinematographer Gianni Di Venanzo. The Film Babe and I watched this last night, and I’m thinking of doing so again . . . with the sound off. Just to allow the visuals to work their magic.
The film mixes reality and fantasy in a way that blurs the demarcations. What is really happening to Guido and what is only in his head is never clear. And really doesn’t matter. It’s simply a wonder to watch unfold.
Here’s another scene of performers at a dinner party. I marvel at the geometry of the screen.
I’m not going to prattle on about this masterpiece. If you are a student of film, you know “8 1/2.” But you might not have seen it in awhile. Do yourself a favor, rent it again.
And, if you don’t know the film, and consider yourself a cineaste, well, it’s time to fill out your resume.
I believe it was 1968 when segregationist/ pragmatist/ power seeker George Wallace held a rally at Freedom Hall. He was the American Independent Party’s candidate for POTUS.
He even toyed with tabbing Kentucky favorite son Happy Chandler to be his running mate. Until Wallace’s handlers pointed out to the Alabamian that Chandler was obviously a Commie, having, among other leftist transgressions, supported nay encouraged the desegregation of baseball by cooperating with the Dodgers when they put Jackie Robinson on the roster. Instead Wallace chose a Dr. Strangelovian military guy, Curtis LeMay.
But I digress. Wallace held a tent style revival political rally at Freedom Hall. The crowd warmed up to the partriotic sounds of Johnny Jones and His Red, White & Blue All American Band.
For a pinko poli sci major like me, just there with a date experiencing America’s political process at work, it was a scary sight. The passion and fervor of the acolytes was stunning. I was convinced that Wallace had a legit shot to become president. Fortunately, my abilities as a political prognosticator weren’t very acute.
Truth is, Wallace moderated his views as he got older, especially after being shot. But he never took to hangin’ with the Kennedys, if you get my drift.
Anyhow, after taking in the latest Tea Party shenanigans of one Sarah Palin, I’m again worried. And, given the times when media can manipulate the masses in a way never before, she’s got a significantly better chance to decorate the Oval Office with a moose head than Wallace ever had of setting a photo of Bear Bryant and him on the Lincoln desk. Lonesome Rhodes lives.
Which is to say, I am seriously scared that daffy Ms. Sarah might just wink and babble her way into the highest office in the land. You’ve got to take seriously any politico aggressive enough to use her Down’s syndrome baby as political prop.
Last week, I mentioned to some friends how I’m no longer as locked into the political process as I once was. It’s a selfish thing, I suppose. I started on Medicare the beginning of the month. I have less days ahead than I’ve experienced in the past. So there’s this pragmatic view I hold. Absent a meteor blasting its way through the atmosphere and landing in Spencer County or a terrorist attack that fells the internet and thus the world’s financial structure, not much is going to happen that is going to affect my life one way or another. Okay, maybe another bout with Big C, or a U of L national title.
But, given the stasis that now pervades Washington, not much there is going to move the meter more than a tick or two in either direction during my lifetime.
Other than if Sarah Palin, or somebody else similarly daffy bobbing in her wake, grabs the reigns of power.
I’m pretty settled here in Louisville. The Film Babe wants to get a place in Florida, and I’m even reluctant to consider that.
But what if our government is taken over by a know nothing Know-It-All like the former mayor of that strip mall known as Wassila, Alaska. I’m thinking someplace far far away with a moderate clime, serious broadband, access to ESPN 360 so I could follow the Card and half way decent pizza. Like, maybe, Sydney. I’ve always loved Aussie Rules footie.
These are strange times indeed. Pretty soon the star maker machinery may just rule the land.
Of course, I went to see “Nine” in the movie house, though I’d never seen the musical on stage.
I believe it was 1968 when segregationist/ pragmatist/ power seeker George Wallace held a rally at Freedom Hall. He was the American Independent Party’s candidate for POTUS.