Two friends – Alfredo Berlinghieri (Robert De Niro) and Olmo Dalcò (Gérard Depardieu) – come from two different social classes. The former is an aristocrat who is relatively good to his subordinates, while the latter is a bastard peasant's son believing in communism. Their social stances entail clashes between them in the first half of the 20th century during which numerous disturbances occur
This glossy, contentious epic directed by Bernardo Bertolucci and stunningly shot by the great Vittorio Storaro is occasionally enchanting, unremittingly ambitious, frequently perplexing as well as overflowed with concepts and self-indulgent monologues. Viewing this imposing film is like peering at a dilapidated ancient temple – the further a visitor steps in, the more constructional damages he beholds. As usual in case of Bertolucci's efforts, the ensemble is displayed in a non-linear manner, beginning on the day of the liberation of Italy in 1945 and successively recurring to the moment of two protagonists' birth – they are born on the same day. This time the composition is not to blame forasmuch the entire action unfolds in a relatively straight-forward way, evading any unnecessary intervals and being one huge flashback itself. Upon being regaled with an enviable artistic freedom, Mr Bertolucci executes his tale about political maelstrom in fascist Italy with indubitable meticulousness and surgical precision. The first act is particularly ravishing and owing to the length of the movie, Bertolucci is able to render characters sufficiently profound and their intentions and needs plausible. There is a fine role of Alfredo Berlinghieri the Elder (an uncle of the protagonist played by De Niro) acted by Burt Lancaster which conveys psychological depth to the motion picture and resembles Prince Don Fabrizio Salina from Il Gattopardo (1963) by Luchino Visconti, likewise performed by Lancaster. Alfredo Berlinghieri The Elder cannot disclose any consolation in his old age and feels desolated by his family which is generally preoccupied with their inheritance. But for this poignant character, it would have appeared a mere communist propaganda. In the second half, the realistic tone is upended by a virtually caricatural couple of fascists played by Donald Sutherland and Laura Betti. Their relationship which is prefaced by an excessively pompous monologue proclaimed by Sutherland seems unrealistic and the nature of their first sexual experience involves a young boy who supposedly is raped by them (nothing is exposed explicitly). The entire sequence transpires in one of the rooms of the Berlinghieri's mansion as though it was a perfect place to perform forbidden acts such as paedophilia. It's likewise far-fetched that the publicly-recognised fascist dares to debauch a small boy as if he wasn't apprehensive of possible consequences. The entire event which is supposed to be disturbing is very contrived, forced and improbable – the entire situation's purpose is concealed by a backdrop of incomprehensibility. Possibly it is intended to be a reference to Salò (1975) by Bertolucci's mentor – Pier Paolo Pasolini. If it is so then this is an extremely awkward connection.
Still, insipid instants are few and far between, despite being rather leisurely paced. Mise en scène is quite strong, despite some foibles regarding flick's climax. The auxiliary cinematography by Vittorio Storaro is delightfully flamboyant as well as one of the biggest advantages of Novecento, even though it is not one of Storaro's finest efforts. Storaro succeeds in dousing every scene in an adequate portion and colour of the lighting, imbuing the celluloid with disparate hues, ranging from cold (grey and blue) to warm ones (yellow and red) to the extension that at one point, flowing water in a river reminiscent of orange juice. The cast is simply remarkable and Mr Bertolucci must have been ecstatic about possessing such actors as Burt Lancaster, Robert De Niro, Gérard Depardieu, Dominique Sanda, Romolo Valli, Donald Sutherland, Stefania Sandrelli and Laura Betti at his disposal.
Novecento undoubtedly implicates a marvellous appearance and impressive décor, nevertheless in the middle, it embarks on being at a loss for a specific direction and Mr Bertolucci ultimately steers the material onto cinematic shallows. The main topic of mutual relationship between Alfredo and Olmo nearly becomes a background to the events occurring on the screen and after some time, one is likely to forget what it was all about. Mr Bertolucci unabashedly relishes with film's grandiloquence and themes, not making allowances for the possibility that it is all too greasy and there is too much of this opulence and monumentality. Personally, I think it was occasionally engaging, even delightful, but towards the denouement it gets too pulpy, too obviously communistic as well as virtually devoid of main heroes. It almost feels as if one was teleported to a gathering of left-wing revolutionaries wielding Kalashnikovs and willing to assassinate you in any minute inasmuch you are not holding a red flag, not to mention the confounded resolution which leaves its viewer confused.
This glossy, contentious epic directed by Bernardo Bertolucci and stunningly shot by the great Vittorio Storaro is occasionally enchanting, unremittingly ambitious, frequently perplexing as well as overflowed with concepts and self-indulgent monologues. Viewing this imposing film is like peering at a dilapidated ancient temple – the further a visitor steps in, the more constructional damages he beholds. As usual in case of Bertolucci's efforts, the ensemble is displayed in a non-linear manner, beginning on the day of the liberation of Italy in 1945 and successively recurring to the moment of two protagonists' birth – they are born on the same day. This time the composition is not to blame forasmuch the entire action unfolds in a relatively straight-forward way, evading any unnecessary intervals and being one huge flashback itself. Upon being regaled with an enviable artistic freedom, Mr Bertolucci executes his tale about political maelstrom in fascist Italy with indubitable meticulousness and surgical precision. The first act is particularly ravishing and owing to the length of the movie, Bertolucci is able to render characters sufficiently profound and their intentions and needs plausible. There is a fine role of Alfredo Berlinghieri the Elder (an uncle of the protagonist played by De Niro) acted by Burt Lancaster which conveys psychological depth to the motion picture and resembles Prince Don Fabrizio Salina from Il Gattopardo (1963) by Luchino Visconti, likewise performed by Lancaster. Alfredo Berlinghieri The Elder cannot disclose any consolation in his old age and feels desolated by his family which is generally preoccupied with their inheritance. But for this poignant character, it would have appeared a mere communist propaganda. In the second half, the realistic tone is upended by a virtually caricatural couple of fascists played by Donald Sutherland and Laura Betti. Their relationship which is prefaced by an excessively pompous monologue proclaimed by Sutherland seems unrealistic and the nature of their first sexual experience involves a young boy who supposedly is raped by them (nothing is exposed explicitly). The entire sequence transpires in one of the rooms of the Berlinghieri's mansion as though it was a perfect place to perform forbidden acts such as paedophilia. It's likewise far-fetched that the publicly-recognised fascist dares to debauch a small boy as if he wasn't apprehensive of possible consequences. The entire event which is supposed to be disturbing is very contrived, forced and improbable – the entire situation's purpose is concealed by a backdrop of incomprehensibility. Possibly it is intended to be a reference to Salò (1975) by Bertolucci's mentor – Pier Paolo Pasolini. If it is so then this is an extremely awkward connection.
Still, insipid instants are few and far between, despite being rather leisurely paced. Mise en scène is quite strong, despite some foibles regarding flick's climax. The auxiliary cinematography by Vittorio Storaro is delightfully flamboyant as well as one of the biggest advantages of Novecento, even though it is not one of Storaro's finest efforts. Storaro succeeds in dousing every scene in an adequate portion and colour of the lighting, imbuing the celluloid with disparate hues, ranging from cold (grey and blue) to warm ones (yellow and red) to the extension that at one point, flowing water in a river reminiscent of orange juice. The cast is simply remarkable and Mr Bertolucci must have been ecstatic about possessing such actors as Burt Lancaster, Robert De Niro, Gérard Depardieu, Dominique Sanda, Romolo Valli, Donald Sutherland, Stefania Sandrelli and Laura Betti at his disposal.
Novecento undoubtedly implicates a marvellous appearance and impressive décor, nevertheless in the middle, it embarks on being at a loss for a specific direction and Mr Bertolucci ultimately steers the material onto cinematic shallows. The main topic of mutual relationship between Alfredo and Olmo nearly becomes a background to the events occurring on the screen and after some time, one is likely to forget what it was all about. Mr Bertolucci unabashedly relishes with film's grandiloquence and themes, not making allowances for the possibility that it is all too greasy and there is too much of this opulence and monumentality. Personally, I think it was occasionally engaging, even delightful, but towards the denouement it gets too pulpy, too obviously communistic as well as virtually devoid of main heroes. It almost feels as if one was teleported to a gathering of left-wing revolutionaries wielding Kalashnikovs and willing to assassinate you in any minute inasmuch you are not holding a red flag, not to mention the confounded resolution which leaves its viewer confused.