8 1/2

8 1/2 may the best film ever made.

If not, it is the best film about art ever made. Released in 1963, it would have been as relevant in 1889, the year after ROUNDHAY GARDEN SCENE, as it would be if it premiered tomorrow. It's a film that encompasses everything that art is about, or at least is supposed to be about. It's about the tension between truth and fiction, between art and commerce, between awareness and narcissism. And it's about everything that life is about. It's about commitment and betrayal, about memory and currency, reality and fantasy. It's about who we are and who we want to be, about ourselves and our self-constructs. It is, simply put, magnificent. It is the apotheosis of film and the indictment of the thin gruel we, as filmgoers, so regularly accept.

OK, so that's what it looks like when my mind is blown.

But this feels like a film I could see a thousand times. Not only is it a multisensual feast, but it probes, really probes, into the beating heart of life in a way no film I'd previously seen ever has. The photography complements the music complements the finely crafted story complements the performances complements the ideas that form the core of the work. 8 1/2 reveals Fellini at the height of his power, grappling with elemental dilemmas that have confronted man since he became self-aware. Mastroianni is incomparable. Cardinale and Aimée are revelatory. Every single thing about this picture is perfect. My only regret is that I've waited this long to see it.

Divorce, Italian Style

I'm tired of neorealism. Finally, an Italian movie that's just plain fun!

(Some mild spoilers follow, but nothing you wouldn't get by reading the back of the DVD box.)

Here's the setup for DIVORCE, ITALIAN STYLE: Marcello Mastroianni is married to a woman who loves him, well, too much. She dotes on him, she's attentive to his every need, and she can't get enough sex. To make matters worse, she's a good money manager and a faithful wife. Sure, she has a Frida Kahlo unibrow and a light moustache (both of which appear to have been applied with magic marker, which is kinda cute), but she has a figure to die for and a love for life. Clearly, it's time for her to go. What sparks this realization? Two things: first, ol' Marcello's gray is starting to come in and his belly's getting a little slack. Second, well, there's this girl. She's 16. She lives across the courtyard and she has this habit of sleeping on top of her covers with her doors open and curtains pulled. Now, here's the problem: Marcello's a Sicilian Catholic - he can't divorce. The solution? He's gotta kill his wife, and he's gotta get away with it. There's your movie.

There are about a million ways this movie can go wrong, but it manages to sidestep every one. We should loathe Mastroianni's character, but we love him instead. He's slick, he's charming, he's got it all under control, and he's a total idiot. We should pity Daniela Rocca's hapless wife, but she's so broadly drawn that we laugh rather than cry. The entire situation should make us shudder in horror, but instead we laugh, laugh, and laugh. What a pleasant change from the run of depressing neorealist pictures I've been watching lately.

Some incidental notes: this is a Criterion release, so the transfer looks great and the sound is crisp. Much of it was filmed in Sicily, and I enjoyed some "Hey, I've been there!" moments, so that may have skewed my response to the film overall.