'The Conformist' is an engrossing, if extraordinarily difficult film; I haven't met a person yet who has been able to comprehend all the nuances and unravel all of its layers on a first viewing. The narrative is non-linear, making vivid use of flashback inter cut with the unfolding of the film's climax, creating a dreamy, hypnotic atmosphere, laced with menace, oppression and tension.
Many of Bertolucci's films explore politics: 'The Conformist', on the surface, is an obvious indictment of Fascism, using imagery, metaphor, irony and gallows humour to mercilessly expose its flaws while always retaining a sincerity and honesty in exploring how Fascism managed to function and progress.
The film could have been heavy handed, juggling such a massive topic with other secondary themes; but Bertolucci's success lies in the fact that he never wanders from the character of Marcello Clerici (played wonderfully by Jean-Louis Trintignant)and his personal strive for 'normality' - an ideal that Bertolucci with great care and precision shows to be misguided in its very concept: for what is normality? By concentrating on one specific storyline - that of Clerici's mission to assassinate his old professor, who is in self-imposed exile in Paris and engaging in anti-Fascist activities, Bertolucci manages to examine Fascism in more depth and with more success than any 'epic' biography of Hitler or historical drama.
It has to be the sign of a great director, then, that this is achieved at the same time as making a masterpiece of cinematic technique - and accolades here must also be shared with Vittorio Storaro, the cinematographer. His palette - of vivid, artificial blues, blacks, harsh whites, yellows, browns, and in the opening scene alone, neon red, makes for a visual feast so sumptuous that in a restored print, 'The Conformist' is breathtaking to behold. But unlike other films that boast beautiful cinematography for its own sake, here, even these opulent colours are used as extensions of theme and character.
Much has been written about Marcello Clerici, but it is undoubtedly Anna Quadri, played to perfection by Dominique Sanda, that is the great enigma of 'The Conformist'. What are her intentions? Her motivations? Why does she do the things she does? At times, she seems perfectly sincere: a vehement anti-Fascist who loves her husband and is disgusted by the far-right. I believe these ideals to be sincere. But Anna Quadri is a complex, mysterious character. Marcello notices that she resembles a prostitute he met earlier when receiving new orders concerning his old professor, Anna's husband. We notice the resemblance too – and also realise that she appears similar to yet another prostitute earlier in the film, whom a Fascist government official was toying with on his desk. It is ridiculous to suggest that Anna Quadri could possibly be either of these two women, but the resemblance was obviously meant to be noticed. It throws us off guard the moment we meet Anna; she is impetuous, dangerous, sphinxlike.
That she is playing games with Marcello, we have no doubt. Anna admits that she knew from the get-go (along with her husband) that Clerici was a Fascist spy. She is trying to trap him, to entice him, and persuade him to forsake his mission. Her husband uses small tricks and political speeches; she uses sex and emotional blackmail. That she is a ballet teacher is quite apt - she is a master of pose, performance, and seduction, and she knows it.
Marcello, of course, is the conformist of the title. This is his story and his tragedy; his speeches revealing his motivations and his confessions could have been written by a 21st century Shakespeare, in that they have a surface lucidity concealing beneath them universes of anguish and desperation. What impact have his parents had on his character? His sexual trauma at thirteen years old? What about Quadri leaving for Paris while the young Marcello was writing his thesis - he seems quite angry about this? Every scene in 'The Conformist' is lovingly realised and brought to the screen - together, Bertolucci and Storaro fill the shot with an abundance of detail, paying particular attention to the cold, impersonal geometry of Fascist architecture, the apartments of the middle classes and the mansions of the upper classes. Bertolucci proves his love for film in his references and homages to his heroes, the directors of the French New Wave (particularly Truffaut, Godard and Resnais) among others: these can be seen especially in the camera work and editing - the odd angles (reminiscent of Reed's 'The Third Man') as Marcello walks to his mother's decaying mansion, a painting fading into the scene it depicts, an amazingly inventive and tense chase through wintry woodland using a hand-held camera, accentuating the sound of a gun shot in contrast to the muted sounds of knives in an assassination vividly reminiscent of Shakespeare's 'Julius Caesar'.
My favourite scenes include Professor Quadri giving a speech to Marcello, heavily making use of metaphor to explain the workings of Fascism, accompanied with some inspired symbolic imagery involving a shadow on the wall dissolving in sunlight, the party of the 'blind' - an obvious pun by Bertolucci to imply the blindness of Fascism itself, and an amazing sequence in a dance hall later on which emphasises Marcello's role as an outsider. It is ironic to think that the more he tries to conform, the more he distances himself from society and falls deeper into isolation. As the film ends, and he peers behind him into the darkness, Italy's future after the fall of Mussolini murky and uncertain, Marcello is left angry, guilty and scared; but more than that, because of his flawed, doomed plight for 'normality', he is left desperately, painfully alone.
Many of Bertolucci's films explore politics: 'The Conformist', on the surface, is an obvious indictment of Fascism, using imagery, metaphor, irony and gallows humour to mercilessly expose its flaws while always retaining a sincerity and honesty in exploring how Fascism managed to function and progress.
The film could have been heavy handed, juggling such a massive topic with other secondary themes; but Bertolucci's success lies in the fact that he never wanders from the character of Marcello Clerici (played wonderfully by Jean-Louis Trintignant)and his personal strive for 'normality' - an ideal that Bertolucci with great care and precision shows to be misguided in its very concept: for what is normality? By concentrating on one specific storyline - that of Clerici's mission to assassinate his old professor, who is in self-imposed exile in Paris and engaging in anti-Fascist activities, Bertolucci manages to examine Fascism in more depth and with more success than any 'epic' biography of Hitler or historical drama.
It has to be the sign of a great director, then, that this is achieved at the same time as making a masterpiece of cinematic technique - and accolades here must also be shared with Vittorio Storaro, the cinematographer. His palette - of vivid, artificial blues, blacks, harsh whites, yellows, browns, and in the opening scene alone, neon red, makes for a visual feast so sumptuous that in a restored print, 'The Conformist' is breathtaking to behold. But unlike other films that boast beautiful cinematography for its own sake, here, even these opulent colours are used as extensions of theme and character.
Much has been written about Marcello Clerici, but it is undoubtedly Anna Quadri, played to perfection by Dominique Sanda, that is the great enigma of 'The Conformist'. What are her intentions? Her motivations? Why does she do the things she does? At times, she seems perfectly sincere: a vehement anti-Fascist who loves her husband and is disgusted by the far-right. I believe these ideals to be sincere. But Anna Quadri is a complex, mysterious character. Marcello notices that she resembles a prostitute he met earlier when receiving new orders concerning his old professor, Anna's husband. We notice the resemblance too – and also realise that she appears similar to yet another prostitute earlier in the film, whom a Fascist government official was toying with on his desk. It is ridiculous to suggest that Anna Quadri could possibly be either of these two women, but the resemblance was obviously meant to be noticed. It throws us off guard the moment we meet Anna; she is impetuous, dangerous, sphinxlike.
That she is playing games with Marcello, we have no doubt. Anna admits that she knew from the get-go (along with her husband) that Clerici was a Fascist spy. She is trying to trap him, to entice him, and persuade him to forsake his mission. Her husband uses small tricks and political speeches; she uses sex and emotional blackmail. That she is a ballet teacher is quite apt - she is a master of pose, performance, and seduction, and she knows it.
Marcello, of course, is the conformist of the title. This is his story and his tragedy; his speeches revealing his motivations and his confessions could have been written by a 21st century Shakespeare, in that they have a surface lucidity concealing beneath them universes of anguish and desperation. What impact have his parents had on his character? His sexual trauma at thirteen years old? What about Quadri leaving for Paris while the young Marcello was writing his thesis - he seems quite angry about this? Every scene in 'The Conformist' is lovingly realised and brought to the screen - together, Bertolucci and Storaro fill the shot with an abundance of detail, paying particular attention to the cold, impersonal geometry of Fascist architecture, the apartments of the middle classes and the mansions of the upper classes. Bertolucci proves his love for film in his references and homages to his heroes, the directors of the French New Wave (particularly Truffaut, Godard and Resnais) among others: these can be seen especially in the camera work and editing - the odd angles (reminiscent of Reed's 'The Third Man') as Marcello walks to his mother's decaying mansion, a painting fading into the scene it depicts, an amazingly inventive and tense chase through wintry woodland using a hand-held camera, accentuating the sound of a gun shot in contrast to the muted sounds of knives in an assassination vividly reminiscent of Shakespeare's 'Julius Caesar'.
My favourite scenes include Professor Quadri giving a speech to Marcello, heavily making use of metaphor to explain the workings of Fascism, accompanied with some inspired symbolic imagery involving a shadow on the wall dissolving in sunlight, the party of the 'blind' - an obvious pun by Bertolucci to imply the blindness of Fascism itself, and an amazing sequence in a dance hall later on which emphasises Marcello's role as an outsider. It is ironic to think that the more he tries to conform, the more he distances himself from society and falls deeper into isolation. As the film ends, and he peers behind him into the darkness, Italy's future after the fall of Mussolini murky and uncertain, Marcello is left angry, guilty and scared; but more than that, because of his flawed, doomed plight for 'normality', he is left desperately, painfully alone.