Italian neorealism season - Germany Year Zero

These "Seasons" effectively constitute an excuse for me watch/rewatch then write about a series of films, connected by a particular genre, movement, era, theme, director or actor (anything really). I'm going to start off with everybody's favourite cinematic movement: Italian neorealsim.

Germany Year Zero, the third instalment in Roberto Rossellini's war trilogy, is a bleak, raw, uncluttered, cinematic slap in the face. Set amidst the ruins of post-WWII Berlin, the film follows the twelve year old boy Edmund as he struggles (I'm noticing a theme with this neorealist stuff) to support his family. Via Edmund's attempts to come to terms with the crippled world he has been thrust into, Rossellini unpacks a brutal, profoundly pessimistic plot that makes the likes of Bicycle Thieves for example seem light and fluffy in comparison. Perhaps the highlight of this though is the immediacy with which the the dilapidated decay of Berlin  is captured - all towering rubble and abandoned buildings - it is the perfect setting for the unforgiving tale of disillusionment and deprivation that plays out. Interestingly, Rossellini achieves this whilst rarely straying from his subject Edmund - played with uncomplicated candour by Edmund Moeschke - whose slight innocence emphasises the imposing inhumanity of the world with which he is surrounded. Germany Year Zero is a mournful howl of a film, not necessarily a lot of fun to watch, but certainly affecting. 

Italian neorealism season - Gomorrah

These "Seasons" effectively constitute an excuse for me watch/rewatch then write about a series of films, connected by a particular genre, movement, era, theme, director or actor (anything really). I'm going to start off with everybody's favourite cinematic movement: Italian neorealsim.

Although Matteo Garrone's gritty adaptation of Roberto Saviano's account of organised neapolitan crime comes about 60 years after the movement was in full swing, there is no denying its place as a neorealist film. Indeed, one can see the influence of neorealism throughout this film from the casting of non-actors in some roles to the steadfast, unforgiving gaze of Garrone's camera. In Gomorrah, Garrone unpacks the plot through a collection of interlocking stories; via mob middlemen, aspiring teenage gangsters, and government officials, he guides us, with brutal rigour, through the inner workings of a social housing block, detailing the hardships subjected on its inhabitants and the pervasive influence of the mob. So just to be clear, with Gomorrah, Garrone has made something relentlessly grim: a grungy tale of economic deprivation and systemic corruption, devoid of any of the romanticism of American gangster classics such as The Godfather or GoodFellas, where the most positive emotion I felt towards any of the characters was tragic pity.  Probably not for the faint hearted.

Italian neorealism season - Umberto D.

These "Seasons" effectively constitute an excuse for me watch/rewatch then write about a series of films, connected by a particular genre, movement, era, theme, director or actor (anything really). I'm going to start off with everybody's favourite cinematic movement: Italian neorealsim.

Umberto D., directed by Vittorio De Sica and written by Cesare Zavattini, is a film that is no doubt rooted in the neorealist tradition, depicting faithfully the hardships of the life of the working class. This film does differ from some neorealist films though. Here, the tragedy of the consequences of insufficient support from the state is shown through the lens of nothing more extreme than the gradual degradation of a man's dignity. However, nothing more extreme than the straightforward, goodnatured candour of Umberto is needed to communicate the story; every mundane detail of his life is shown, summing up with beautiful simplicity the struggles of the Italian working class. As is often the case in films such as this, professional actors were not cast in the main roles; Umberto is played by a university lecturer named Carlo Battisti here whose proud proper look works perfectly. Much like the film, his performance is uncomplicated yet heartrending, full of mournful stares and humble indignation, his understated manner compliments the forthright sincerity of the film well. One final note: this is one of the better dog movies you're likely to come across, I'd definitely take it over Marley & Me.