A contribution to the Criterion Blogathon hosted by Criterion Blues, Speakeasy, and Silver Screenings.

As a general rule, I don’t like commentary tracks. I have only listened to a few of them, and I always feel that I would rather come to my own opinions as I watch a film, as opposed to being guided by someone else. In the case of Michelangelo Antonioni’s 1960 masterwork L’Avventura, however, I was willing to accept some help. L’Avventura is a brilliant, seminal film, but it is not one that yields its secrets easily. My first viewing of the Criterion edition of the film certainly established in me the realization that I was looking at a masterpiece, but there was always a niggling part of me that wondered if I was really fully able to appreciate it. Hence, my exploration of the film via the accompanying Gene Youngblood commentary track.

Youngblood was a LA critic, journalist and academic who was instrumental in championing independent film, and his great 1973 book Expanding Cinema, was at the vanguard of the idea of film as high art. Youngblood was at heart a movie geek, albeit one with irons in a lot of other fires. As such, he was the perfect man to tackle the beautiful enigma that is L’Avventura. Listen to his commentary track, and you will be gobsmacked by the breadth of detail and insight into this most elusive of cinematic masterpieces.

The first image we see in L’Avventura is of the mysterious Anna (Lea Massari) emerging from her opulent home, looking a bit dismayed and troubled. As she stops to talk to her father (Renzo Ricci), Youngblood touches on one of the central themes of the film laid out early for us; the juxtaposition of the old and the new – Classic beauty vs. sterile modernity. As they speak, we see a classic Roman dome to her right - To his left, a modern apartment block. The contrast is jarring, and gives a good taste into the detail that LÀvventura contains. The film is crammed full of stuff, and Youngblood sees all of it.

At the heart of most of Antonioni`s work was the upper-class character who is suffering from a spiritual malaise. His films are shot through with people who, on the surface, have everything, but are nonetheless unhappy and unfulfilled. Anna could be the exemplar for this notion. She is scheduled to go on a boating trip with her friend Claudia (Monica Vitti), and her lover Sandro (Gabriele Ferzetti), but there is a strange melancholy about her. As they two women arrive at Sandro`s house, Anna hints that she is ready to break things off with him. Then, when she first sees Sandro, she initiates a sexual encounter.

Listen to the insights that Youngblood brings to this scene. It`s telling that the first thing that Anna does when she enters Sandro`s room is to go and open the window. – She is creating an emotional escape route. He also brings attention to the way the sex scene is filmed – In close-up, with the two lovers in the bottom of the screen, and partially hidden in the fame. From Annas face, it`s easy to intuit that she is bringing no passion to the process -It`s sex by rote. The peculiar way in which Antonioni shoots this scene thus has the effect of casting the sex in a stunted, sickly light. It`s not two people on fire for one another; rather it`s two people just going through the motions.

There is a tiny scene on the boat ride where Anna and Claudia seem to be flirting with one another. Youngblood makes the point that many critics have interpreted Anna as being a lesbian, and that her melancholy may be rooted in sexual confusion. There is no denying that that element is hinted at here, because it is literally the only time in the film where Anna displays any warmth or playfulness, but Antonioni doesn`t explore it beyond a few seconds. It is just another part of the mystery.

I`ve always thought that one of the touches of genius about the making of L`Avventura was the selection or Lipari Island near Sicily as the harsh lump of rock that hosts the central events of the film. Right from the first time we lay eyes on Anna, we know there is something eating at her, and when the party arrives on the island, that feeling of unease and discomfort gets nudged up even more. There isn’t a comforting or smooth surface anywhere on this island. It’s the perfect setting to illustrate this story of dissatisfied, morose people.

Youngblood pays particular attention to the final scene in which we see Anna. She and Sandro find a spot alone together and she tries to make him understand her unhappiness. As the two lovers talk around their problems, Antonioni shows another couple from the party in the distance. Youngblood is prescient in seeing how the director uses this second couple to subtly point up the short comings of Sandro and Anna. Youngblood points up Antonioni`s habit of having characters in turmoil turn away from one another, and does it beautifully in this sequence. At one point, Sandro turns away in exasperation and throws a stone into the ocean. The scene ultimately dissolves into a shot of a small boat putting off in the distance, and Youngblood, who greatly admires the scene and the dissolve offers that "We just know that Anna is gone".

Gone she is, and L’Avventura then gets down to the real meat of the film, which is what her lover and her best friend do after she is gone. Anna has only been missing for a few hours, at best, when Sandro approaches Claudia on the boat, and kisses her. Shocked, she leaves immediately. Listen to Youngblood describe the scene immediately following this encounter, as the camera observes from the boat as Claudia gets off. Up until now, the camera has been stable, but at this juncture, Antonioni and cinematographer Aldo Scarvarda let the camera follow the rocking of the boat, underscoring Claudia’s confusion at what has just happened. It’s a brilliant little bit of filmmaking, and it’s one of the ways in which Antonioni nudges the viewer in this ostensibly impenetrable film.

Youngblood is well versed in cinematic technique, and specifically in Antonioni’s techniques, but he is also a wellspring of knowledge about the making of the film. Through the narration we hear about how the production ran out of money partway through, and the cast and crew were stranded on this barren island with no food for three days. He also tells a story about Massari’s falling ill due to extended time spent in the frigid water of the Mediterranean, and how she ended up in hospital in a coma for several days.

I have always been fascinated by Monica Vitti. Antonioni’s favorite female muse was a great beauty, albeit not a classic one. With her impossibly thick blond hair, somewhat flat features, and full lips, she had an utterly unique sexual quality that combined shyness and reticence with a calm inner strength. L’Avventure is Claudia’s movie; the action all is funneled through her, and she is the fulcrum against which the other main character, Sandro, works. As such, I think this is one of the greatest performances in the cinema. When I watch L’Avventura, I am always struck by the way that she and her director use that exquisite face. Vitti’s eyes are liquid, and incredibly expressive. In the scene in the cabin with Anna, they betray timidity, but also sexy playfulness. When Sandro makes his first move towards her, they contain lust tempered with confusion and guilty panic. It’s like she is saying “I shouldn’t be feeling what I am feeling”. Truly, Vitti is the anchor of this movie.

At the top of this commentary I mentioned Antonioni’s juxtaposition of the modern and the medieval. It’s interesting to note a sequence immediately after Claudio and Sandro leave the island, and set out by car on their quest. They pull into what seems to be a deserted town, and the contrast between the rocky island, and the clean sterile lines of architecture is striking, but then you stop and realize that in both cases, Antonioni has placed his characters in barren spaces by themselves. As emotional cues, the rocks and the smooth stucco are one and the same.

When the movie leaves the island, it in effect leaves Anna as well. Although Sandro and Claudia will speak of her, it’s clear that she is no longer important to them. It’s interesting that in the immediate aftermath of the disappearance, the two characters seem to be almost paying lip service to the hunt for the missing woman. Sandro approaches a journalist with the idea of publishing a phony story stating that Anna has been seen. Why do that? It seems like it’s just a ploy to get Claudia back together with him. It’s also instructive to watch Sandro in a scene where a sexy prostitute (Dorothy De Poliolo) comes to town and is ogled by everyone. Having a lover vanish, and starting to make moves on her best friend after only a few hours doesn’t seem to faze this guy. He is still on the hunt, and this particular quarry will show up again, and at a crucial juncture. As Youngblood notes, this is one of the first times we really start to see the scope of Sandro’s self-absorption.

My favorite sequence in L’Avventura revolves around Sandro. At one point he wanders into a courtyard where he sees an architectural drawing that a young man has been working on. Sandro studies it for a few seconds, and then intentionally destroys it. Why does he do this? Sandro is an architect, and has gotten rich through it, but this simple drawing, done by a person with no other motivation than the appreciation of beauty strikes a nerve. Whatever passion he once had for the art has long since withered, and this simple sketch reminds him that he is an empty husk. That’s why he needs to ruin it. When the young man wants to fight him over it, it’s an extra pinch of salt in the wound, because there’s really nothing that Sandro would fight for.

I admire how Antonioni is content to have his characters spent so much time alone, even when they are with one another. There are only a couple of instances in L’Avventura where there is any kind of hubbub of people, and they all have the paradoxical effect of concentrating our attention. The crown around the prostitute gathers our attention on her, of course, but it also calls attention to Sandro. That scene is mirrored later in the film in a scene where Claudia is suddenly surrounded by scores of leering men (Which Youngblood considers to be somewhat of a fantasy sequence). The final “party” occurs late in the film, and it flips directly from raucous to somber. And it leads directly to Claudia’s discovery of Sandro’s final, selfish betrayal.

Youngbloods’ commentary over the final minutes of L’Avventura is razor sharp, as he describes Claudias escape, and how the broken Sandro tries to go after her. Youngblood notes how after the initial shock, Claudia pulls herself together, essentially becoming a full person. As she approaches Sandro, she hesitates, and then gently strokes his head. Youngblood says that this gesture doesn’t necessarily mean that she still loves him or is going to take him back. Rather, it means that she forgives and pities him.

Thus, L’Avventura ends not on a big flourish, but on an exquisite scene of quiet acceptance. We don’t know where these characters are going next or what is going to happen to them. Probably, they don’t either. If this film is about something, it’s about how we can’t live just for ourselves, because that path leads to oblivion. That is the message in those rugged rocks, that spilled ink, and in the marvelous eyes of Monica Vitti.

Death of a Cyclist

Alex Proyas’ 1998 masterwork Dark City reaches into a lot of different bags for ideas. Unique and visually inspired, it borrows freely from such diverse sources as Fritz Lang, Edward Hopper, George Romero, early Bob Kane-era Batman, Blade Runner, and Marvel Comics’ Dr.Strange. This odd gumbo of looks and styles culminate in a film that is a marvel of originality and one of the best sci-fi/fantasy films of its generation.

The world of Dark City is one whose human denizens are unwitting puppets, being used nightly in an ongoing experiment by unseen alien overlords. The puppet masters here are The Strangers; a dying race of aliens who have taken mankind hostage and are observing us, the better to understand what makes us tick. Their method consists of shutting down the city every night at the stroke of midnight, and switching the citizens around. The shuffling includes having a whole new set of memories injected directly into the brain.

When we first meet John Murdoch (Rufus Sewell), he’s unconscious in a bathtub, and sharing an apartment with a dead hooker. How did he get there, and what happened to the girl? We don’t know, and neither does Murdoch. A sudden phone call advising him to get out of there doesn’t shed any light on things. Dark City is bewildering to the first-time viewer, and draws you in in a perverse way. Like Murdoch, the viewer wants to know what the hell is going on.

The film gradually brings some of the other players into view; Dr. Schreber (Keifer Sutherland), a psychiatrist whom the Strangers have forced to help them. Bumstead (William Hurt), a cold fish detective who is assigned the case of the murdered prostitute, and Emma (Jennifer Connelly), a nightclub singer who may or may not be Murdoch’s wife. There is also a character who we meet briefly in the early section of the film, who initially seems like a madman, but who takes on a greater significance later on – Walenski (Colin Friels), who was the detective who worked on the case prior to Bumstead.

The world that Proyas, production designers George Liddle and Patrick Tatopoulos, and cinematographer Dariusz Wolski create to contain this fantastic tale is a mesmerizing admixture. Virtually the whole film takes place at night, and the look crosses over many styles. I mentioned Fritz Lang earlier – the Dark City has soaring art deco skyscrapers and elevated trains that look like they could have come directly from Lang`s Metropolis. The Strangers, with their long coats and Homberg hats, also look like refuges from the German expressionist cinema of Lang or Robert Weine. Practically every frame of the film is stuffed with detail, and it makes DC a joy to look at. Take the syringe that Schreber uses to inject his subjects: it is an ornate art-deco contraption with wings. Could he have just used a normal syringe? Sure, but who would remember that? That is the level of attention that went into the creation of this world.

Early and often in the film, Shell Beach comes up. An old postcard triggers memories in Murdoch of a bright beach community, and he is able to ascertain that it is where he grew up. Trying to get there is another matter. Everyone he asks has heard of Shell Beach, but when he asks how to get there, people suddenly realize that they don’t know. The experiments of the Strangers provide people with what seem to be memories, but they are not connected to any sort of physical experience. They think they know, but they don’t – And that applies to everything.

Bumstead knows early on that Murdoch was with the most recent murdered girl, and is looking for him as the prime suspect, but there is something that doesn’t add up. Murdoch doesn’t seem like a serial killer, and as they talk, the detective gets questions thrown back at him that he can’t answer. When Murdoch asks Bumstead “When was the last time you did something in the day-time?”,Bumstead looks like he has been slapped in the face. He never thought of it. His memories are what the Strangers tell him that they are, and he has no reason to question what he remembers.

The only character that seems to connect Murdoch to any kind of reality is Emma, who is supposed to be his wife. Schreber contacts her early on when he is looking for Murdoch, and she claims to have not seen him either. She tells a story of him discovering an affair she was having, and leaving her. If Dark City has taught us anything to this point, it is that things aren’t what they appear. It seems possible, probable even, that this story is a fabricated memory. When Murdoch and Emma meet, that’s the big question that is hanging in the background; yes, you have memories of our life together, but are they real, or did we just meet for the first time right now?

Murdoch isn’t like the others in this world. He shares the Strangers ability to “tune”; a telekinetic ability to move stuff and bend shapes with his mind. He is just beginning to understand this as the film progresses, and discovers it almost by accident in a couple of anxious situations. The tuning power is also the reason that he doesn’t fall asleep with everyone else, thus enabling him to see how the Strangers’ experiments unfold.

And what a visual wonder those experiments are! The Strangers use a massive machine buried under the city to switch stuff up every night, and the scenes where it is engaged are a comic-book nerds dream. While the city skyline is morphing into something new, the Strangers and Schreber are moving selected people into new identities. The idea of identity changing is not new to Science Fiction; you can go right back to Metropolis, and up to stuff like Invasion of the Body Snatchers or Total Recall, but Dark City’s take on it is unique and thought provoking. At its core, the film is asking the big question of what makes us what we are.

The former detective Walenski is eventually sought out by Bumstead, who is finding out for himself about the bizarre aspects of his case. Walenski was once a top cop, but has suffered a breakdown, and when Bumstead visits him, he sees a man long gone over the edge into madness. Walenski is holed up in him room, still feverishly working on his case, and when we see him, we also see some familiar signs, like drawings of the spiral pattern that was found carved into the flesh of the murdered women. Despite his delusions, Walenski was on the right track. He is the only one who really realizes that the world as everyone understands it doesn’t exist anymore, and that knowledge eventually leads to his destruction.

The most interesting and complex character in the film, however is probably Dr. Scherber. As played by Sutherland, Scherber seems constantly out of breath, like every sentence threatens to kill him. Scherber has been forced by the Strangers to betray the whole human race, and when he realizes Murdoch`s true nature, he begins a delicate tightrope walk. On the surface he needs to help the Strangers find this man who is a danger to them. At the same time, he needs to protect Murdoch, who he knows may ultimately be mankind’s salvation. It`s a strange, brilliant performance by Sutherland.

The apocalyptic final showdown of DC is shot through with explosions and fire, and is about the only place where the film denigrates itself to the style of a typical Hollywood comic actioner. That is not to disparage this sequence – it`s very well done. The highlight for me is Dr. Schrebers double cross of the Strangers, as he trains Murdoch in a dream on how to fight them, and when he intones ``You can defeat them, but you must…act…now``, it`s a brilliant kick-starter into the final battle.

In listing all the influences for this movie, I forgot one: The Bible. The films final passages borrow heavily from the book of Genesis, and I give the makers full credit for such an audacious idea. As he decides to ``fix things up`` with his new-found tuning ability, Murdoch is evocative of nothing less than a God surrogate. That`s what makes Dark City a special movie; it has big, big ideas, and the courage to follow them as far as they will go. And what a fun ride it is.