NIGHTS OF CABIRIA (1957), dir. Federico Fellini
Magic and Loss: Fellini’s Autumn Tale
Poor Cabiria. An aging streetwalker who spends her nights selling her body beside the road, she dreams of romance. These dreams always seem to let her down. The proverbial hooker with a heart of gold (not to mention a tongue laced with acid), she has a tendency to let that beating organ run too fast, and for men who are less than worthy of it. Take Giorgio, the supposed beau who makes a brief appearance in the opening of the film. He embraces Cabiria, tells her to go stand by the river. Then he grabs her purse and pushes her in. Some eagle-eyed village boys save Cabiria from drowning. But that doesn’t seem to placate her much after she comes to and realizes what happened.
She’s incredulous over what Giorgio did. "Would he really have killed me for 7,000 lira?" she asks her friend.
"Men will kill for 500 lira," replies Wanda, a fellow prostitute. No doubt, she is correct, given the kind of men these prostitutes regularly encounter. Coke-dealing pimps, oily lotharios, johns who are only interested in appeasing their lust and loneliness. Each of them will take what they can from Cabiria, then abandon her by the side of the road (Or worse, in the case of Giorgio).
One cannot blame Cabiria for yearning after true love, given the degrading nature of her employment. Who can blame her for seeking out a man she can trust, someone who is interested in her, not just using her body? But alas, for a woman who is otherwise smart and independent, she manages her heart in such an impractical way. She is easily swept off her feet by style and good looks. The shrine to Giorgio that we see in her house implies she worshipped this slick-looking heartthrob much better than she knew him.
Anyway, what’s so great about love? Well, some might describe it as a kind of magic. If Cabiria is looking for magic, then she is in a movie by the right director. "Nights of Cabiria," which the legendary Fellini filmed in 1957, has some fantastical touches, even some surrealistic ones. It’s also a wonderful movie, with a great performance by Giulietta Masina as the title character. She convincingly plays an aging prostitute who falls in love, and actually turns back the clock thanks to that love. I assume the source of her metamorphosis must be somewhere within Masina. Directors are masters of many tricks, but even Fellini alone couldn’t have coaxed a smile as incandescent as the one in the final frame.
"Night of Cabiria" is assembled as a series of episodes. There’s a very loose main plot: Cabiria wants to leave the life of a prostitute behind. Events that precipitate this decision include a night at a fairy tale mansion where Cabiria only temporarily stands-in as Cinderella. Also, there is a morning encounter with a strange man near some caves. His kindness—and the appearance of a former prostitute now living like a Morlock—convince Cabiria to find a permanent spot in the light.
At first, an evening in the home of a famous actor named Alberto Lazzari (Amedeo Nazzari) seems like a dream come true. Cabiria is in the right place at the right time. Lazzari’s mistress runs off, and she happens to be selling her wares across the street. Primed for a good time, she soon discovers that Lazzari’s home, while full of lavish sights, is not necessarily built for mere mortals like her. The statues in his bedroom dwarf her; she nearly trips on one of the many dogs he has roaming the huge staircase. At one point, Cabiria even hits her head on a closed door, the glass being so clear as to render the door invisible.
And of course, Lazzari’s mistress returns. While Cabiria makes a good first impression on her host, she doesn’t stand a chance against the girlfriend. She’s blond, statuesque, beautiful—everything Cabiria isn’t. And unlike Cabiria, who looks thoroughly out of place in the house (thanks to Fellini’s clever framing), the girlfriend fits right in. The manor is grand in a dull kind of way, just like her. When she is photographed sleeping in Lazzari’s bed, Fellini lights her in the most flattering way.
Whatever magic exists in this palatial manner, it has been reserved for great beauties like Lazzari and his mistress. Cabiria must go elsewhere. Her next customer is no Alberto Lazzari, but will pay her all the same. On her way home the following morning, she crosses paths with a sad-looking young man. The youth has a loaf of bread sticking up out of his knapsack. He delivers food to the needy, who live in the nearby caves.
It is a strange, otherworldly sight, to see men and women crawling up from the dark crevices in the ground. Among them is a wreck whom Cabiria recognizes as one of the most famous prostitutes in Rome. That was a long time ago, of course. Since the height of her notoriety, she has lost her fortune, her looks, and her home. The sight of her causes Cabiria no shortage of distress. Having recently been rejected by Giorgio, then Lazzari, we infer that Cabiria is more than a bit self-conscious about ending up alone, penniless, living in a cave herself.
She is also moved by the Christian virtue of giving, displayed by the young man. It leads her to make a pilgrimage to Rome. There, alongside other whores, pimps, and sinners, she begs the Virgin Mary to bestow Grace on her. Cabiria’s journey to the Vatican, and her subsequent visit to the magic show, comprise the episodes of the film where she actively seeks out mystical answers. If there is a force that will turn Cabiria’s life around, she wants a piece. Unfortunately, she only finds disappointment, or worse.
Like the rest of the clamoring church crowd, Cabiria begs for spiritual direction, but her pleas go unanswered. Things get worse at the magic show. There, not only does Cabiria end up without any epiphany, she gets humiliated by the hypnotist. At first, the scene is played for comedy. The hypnotist invites men from the audience onto the stage, and entrances them, using a process that could be real magic. He tells them to pantomime rowing a boat, and the men make fools of themselves.
But then it is a woman’s turn. The hypnotist puts Cabiria under a spell. While she remains entranced, he removes his hat, revealing a second set of head ornaments that cannot be interpreted as a good omen. Under suggestion, Cabiria is introduced to a handsome young man for the first time. He invites her to dance, and a piano waltz begins to play in the background. The audience, which had bordered on rowdiness, falls silent, and watches as Cabiria glides across the stage, hand-in-hand with the air. The hypnotist provides the voice of the young man. In the ensuing conversation, Cabiria becomes so enraptured with the phantom stranger that the defenses around her heart drop completely. Her deepest longings are revealed, leaving her emotionally naked. The hypnotist awakens her, and the audience roars with laughter.
Embarrassed and confused, Cabiria hides backstage until the crowds have departed. There, a man named Oscar (Francois Perier) approaches her. Though shy in demeanor, he finds the courage to tell Cabiria how moved he was. He says something that sounds quite profound: "When we are faced with purity and innocence, the mask of cynicism drops."
Can Cabiria drop her own cynical mask, having suffered so much at the hands of other men? Oscar seems genuinely interested in her, but Cabiria is used to kissing frogs. She can’t help entertaining doubts, even when faced by what appears to be a genuine prince. Like the fellow prostitutes who learn of her good fortune, she has to wonder, "What does he really want?"
As viewers, we come to care about Cabiria. It helps that Fellini never shows her performing anything explicit. The closest are shots of her standing on the sidewalk. Only once do we see her getting into a stranger’s car. Because of this distance, and a focus on her non-professional life during the middle portion of the movie, we tend to think of her as a sassy gal, a keeper of hopes and dreams. We don’t imagine her as the performer of mechanical sex acts.
So we cheer for her to find happiness. Oscar's love seems to elicit a light from within her. During their initial meeting, he thought she embodied purity and innocence. As their courtship progresses, she becomes just that. But alas, remember the hypnotist and his headgear, and how nothing in this world is exactly how it appears. An ironic ending comes creeping around the corner. Since we care about Cabiria so much, we pray our instincts are somehow mistaken.
The thought of Cabiria’s dreams being shattered seems an intolerable cruelty. But as the saying goes, one cannot take the bitter without the sweet, and Cabiria’s parting smile is that of someone wiser, who has come to terms with life’s strange ways. It is the smile of someone transformed by true love, who found the source of that magic within her own beating heart. Her smile is a sliver of hope in a dark, cloudy future. It’s the perfect punctuation to a wonderful performance.
Overall rating: **** (out of ****)
Poor Cabiria. An aging streetwalker who spends her nights selling her body beside the road, she dreams of romance. These dreams always seem to let her down. The proverbial hooker with a heart of gold (not to mention a tongue laced with acid), she has a tendency to let that beating organ run too fast, and for men who are less than worthy of it. Take Giorgio, the supposed beau who makes a brief appearance in the opening of the film. He embraces Cabiria, tells her to go stand by the river. Then he grabs her purse and pushes her in. Some eagle-eyed village boys save Cabiria from drowning. But that doesn’t seem to placate her much after she comes to and realizes what happened.
She’s incredulous over what Giorgio did. "Would he really have killed me for 7,000 lira?" she asks her friend.
"Men will kill for 500 lira," replies Wanda, a fellow prostitute. No doubt, she is correct, given the kind of men these prostitutes regularly encounter. Coke-dealing pimps, oily lotharios, johns who are only interested in appeasing their lust and loneliness. Each of them will take what they can from Cabiria, then abandon her by the side of the road (Or worse, in the case of Giorgio).
One cannot blame Cabiria for yearning after true love, given the degrading nature of her employment. Who can blame her for seeking out a man she can trust, someone who is interested in her, not just using her body? But alas, for a woman who is otherwise smart and independent, she manages her heart in such an impractical way. She is easily swept off her feet by style and good looks. The shrine to Giorgio that we see in her house implies she worshipped this slick-looking heartthrob much better than she knew him.
Anyway, what’s so great about love? Well, some might describe it as a kind of magic. If Cabiria is looking for magic, then she is in a movie by the right director. "Nights of Cabiria," which the legendary Fellini filmed in 1957, has some fantastical touches, even some surrealistic ones. It’s also a wonderful movie, with a great performance by Giulietta Masina as the title character. She convincingly plays an aging prostitute who falls in love, and actually turns back the clock thanks to that love. I assume the source of her metamorphosis must be somewhere within Masina. Directors are masters of many tricks, but even Fellini alone couldn’t have coaxed a smile as incandescent as the one in the final frame.
"Night of Cabiria" is assembled as a series of episodes. There’s a very loose main plot: Cabiria wants to leave the life of a prostitute behind. Events that precipitate this decision include a night at a fairy tale mansion where Cabiria only temporarily stands-in as Cinderella. Also, there is a morning encounter with a strange man near some caves. His kindness—and the appearance of a former prostitute now living like a Morlock—convince Cabiria to find a permanent spot in the light.
At first, an evening in the home of a famous actor named Alberto Lazzari (Amedeo Nazzari) seems like a dream come true. Cabiria is in the right place at the right time. Lazzari’s mistress runs off, and she happens to be selling her wares across the street. Primed for a good time, she soon discovers that Lazzari’s home, while full of lavish sights, is not necessarily built for mere mortals like her. The statues in his bedroom dwarf her; she nearly trips on one of the many dogs he has roaming the huge staircase. At one point, Cabiria even hits her head on a closed door, the glass being so clear as to render the door invisible.
And of course, Lazzari’s mistress returns. While Cabiria makes a good first impression on her host, she doesn’t stand a chance against the girlfriend. She’s blond, statuesque, beautiful—everything Cabiria isn’t. And unlike Cabiria, who looks thoroughly out of place in the house (thanks to Fellini’s clever framing), the girlfriend fits right in. The manor is grand in a dull kind of way, just like her. When she is photographed sleeping in Lazzari’s bed, Fellini lights her in the most flattering way.
Whatever magic exists in this palatial manner, it has been reserved for great beauties like Lazzari and his mistress. Cabiria must go elsewhere. Her next customer is no Alberto Lazzari, but will pay her all the same. On her way home the following morning, she crosses paths with a sad-looking young man. The youth has a loaf of bread sticking up out of his knapsack. He delivers food to the needy, who live in the nearby caves.
It is a strange, otherworldly sight, to see men and women crawling up from the dark crevices in the ground. Among them is a wreck whom Cabiria recognizes as one of the most famous prostitutes in Rome. That was a long time ago, of course. Since the height of her notoriety, she has lost her fortune, her looks, and her home. The sight of her causes Cabiria no shortage of distress. Having recently been rejected by Giorgio, then Lazzari, we infer that Cabiria is more than a bit self-conscious about ending up alone, penniless, living in a cave herself.
She is also moved by the Christian virtue of giving, displayed by the young man. It leads her to make a pilgrimage to Rome. There, alongside other whores, pimps, and sinners, she begs the Virgin Mary to bestow Grace on her. Cabiria’s journey to the Vatican, and her subsequent visit to the magic show, comprise the episodes of the film where she actively seeks out mystical answers. If there is a force that will turn Cabiria’s life around, she wants a piece. Unfortunately, she only finds disappointment, or worse.
Like the rest of the clamoring church crowd, Cabiria begs for spiritual direction, but her pleas go unanswered. Things get worse at the magic show. There, not only does Cabiria end up without any epiphany, she gets humiliated by the hypnotist. At first, the scene is played for comedy. The hypnotist invites men from the audience onto the stage, and entrances them, using a process that could be real magic. He tells them to pantomime rowing a boat, and the men make fools of themselves.
But then it is a woman’s turn. The hypnotist puts Cabiria under a spell. While she remains entranced, he removes his hat, revealing a second set of head ornaments that cannot be interpreted as a good omen. Under suggestion, Cabiria is introduced to a handsome young man for the first time. He invites her to dance, and a piano waltz begins to play in the background. The audience, which had bordered on rowdiness, falls silent, and watches as Cabiria glides across the stage, hand-in-hand with the air. The hypnotist provides the voice of the young man. In the ensuing conversation, Cabiria becomes so enraptured with the phantom stranger that the defenses around her heart drop completely. Her deepest longings are revealed, leaving her emotionally naked. The hypnotist awakens her, and the audience roars with laughter.
Embarrassed and confused, Cabiria hides backstage until the crowds have departed. There, a man named Oscar (Francois Perier) approaches her. Though shy in demeanor, he finds the courage to tell Cabiria how moved he was. He says something that sounds quite profound: "When we are faced with purity and innocence, the mask of cynicism drops."
Can Cabiria drop her own cynical mask, having suffered so much at the hands of other men? Oscar seems genuinely interested in her, but Cabiria is used to kissing frogs. She can’t help entertaining doubts, even when faced by what appears to be a genuine prince. Like the fellow prostitutes who learn of her good fortune, she has to wonder, "What does he really want?"
As viewers, we come to care about Cabiria. It helps that Fellini never shows her performing anything explicit. The closest are shots of her standing on the sidewalk. Only once do we see her getting into a stranger’s car. Because of this distance, and a focus on her non-professional life during the middle portion of the movie, we tend to think of her as a sassy gal, a keeper of hopes and dreams. We don’t imagine her as the performer of mechanical sex acts.
So we cheer for her to find happiness. Oscar's love seems to elicit a light from within her. During their initial meeting, he thought she embodied purity and innocence. As their courtship progresses, she becomes just that. But alas, remember the hypnotist and his headgear, and how nothing in this world is exactly how it appears. An ironic ending comes creeping around the corner. Since we care about Cabiria so much, we pray our instincts are somehow mistaken.
The thought of Cabiria’s dreams being shattered seems an intolerable cruelty. But as the saying goes, one cannot take the bitter without the sweet, and Cabiria’s parting smile is that of someone wiser, who has come to terms with life’s strange ways. It is the smile of someone transformed by true love, who found the source of that magic within her own beating heart. Her smile is a sliver of hope in a dark, cloudy future. It’s the perfect punctuation to a wonderful performance.
Overall rating: **** (out of ****)
Labels: ****, 1957, Federico Fellini, Giulietta Masina
posted by Phil | 1:03 PM
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