Giulio Brogi, the star of Bertolucci's SPIDER'S STRATAGEM and other key films of the early '70s, toplines MORIRE A ROMA (aka LA VITA IN GIOCO), a hard-hitting political drama from one of Italy's cinema golden ages. I'd like to see it again with English subtitles, but here's a preview of the film's merits.
SPOILERS ALERT:
Film begins with Brogi and co-star Mimsy Farmer (the expatriate U.S. actress who was Numero Uno in Europe during this period and remains one of my all-time favorite stars) taping up all the door cracks and windows in their kitchen, preparing for a double-suicide-by-gas. Not a promising "entertainment" opening, but signal we're in serious territory tonight.
Director Gianfranco Mingozzi, who was soon to develop an indelible style of romantic/sexy period cinema (notably FLAVIA OF THE TURKS and EXPLOITS OF A YOUNG DON JUAN) is humorless here, as he depicts the two leads' militant stance against a recalcitrant society, alongside their young buddy Paolo Turco (talented thesp who had an underachieving career, ranging from Metzger's THE LICKERISH QUARTET to the classic BREAD AND CHOCOLATE).
There's an odd confrontation of protesters with bikers, typical of the turbulent times at the end of the '60s. The American equivalent would be the "flower children" vs. the still extant motorcycle clubs who revere the memories of Vietnam War veterans.
The wonderful and still unsung versatile character actor William Berger, looking haggard, is cast as a troubled professor who in one telling scene covers his body in whiskey and sets himself afire, reminiscent of the Buddhist Monks' symbolic protests of the '60s.
Mingozzi includes many strange elements, even a visit to a film set where an Italian Western is being shot. Morbid imagery keeps intruding on the TV set, where violent documentaries are playing. The initial "getting ready for suicide" scene is mocked by a fantasy montage of Giulio and Mimsy trying all sorts of different methods including hanging, stabbing and slitting their wrists in a bathtub.
It all builds predictably to a completely negative conclusion, as hopeless as the opening. A mournful piano plays as a boy sits morbidly outside, cueing a lovely ballad sung-over.
Credits are all top-notch, from Nicola Piovani's moody score to Luciano Tovoli's fluid lensing. Tovoli is one of the reasons that this is my favorite period of Italian cinema, having reached his personal peak with the classic visuals of Antonioni's experimental THE PASSENGER, but also having shot brilliant movies for Ferreri, Brusati (aforementioned BREAD AND CHOCOLATE), Pialat (WE WON'T GROW OLD TOGETHER) and Argento's finest, SUSPIRIA.
SPOILERS ALERT:
Film begins with Brogi and co-star Mimsy Farmer (the expatriate U.S. actress who was Numero Uno in Europe during this period and remains one of my all-time favorite stars) taping up all the door cracks and windows in their kitchen, preparing for a double-suicide-by-gas. Not a promising "entertainment" opening, but signal we're in serious territory tonight.
Director Gianfranco Mingozzi, who was soon to develop an indelible style of romantic/sexy period cinema (notably FLAVIA OF THE TURKS and EXPLOITS OF A YOUNG DON JUAN) is humorless here, as he depicts the two leads' militant stance against a recalcitrant society, alongside their young buddy Paolo Turco (talented thesp who had an underachieving career, ranging from Metzger's THE LICKERISH QUARTET to the classic BREAD AND CHOCOLATE).
There's an odd confrontation of protesters with bikers, typical of the turbulent times at the end of the '60s. The American equivalent would be the "flower children" vs. the still extant motorcycle clubs who revere the memories of Vietnam War veterans.
The wonderful and still unsung versatile character actor William Berger, looking haggard, is cast as a troubled professor who in one telling scene covers his body in whiskey and sets himself afire, reminiscent of the Buddhist Monks' symbolic protests of the '60s.
Mingozzi includes many strange elements, even a visit to a film set where an Italian Western is being shot. Morbid imagery keeps intruding on the TV set, where violent documentaries are playing. The initial "getting ready for suicide" scene is mocked by a fantasy montage of Giulio and Mimsy trying all sorts of different methods including hanging, stabbing and slitting their wrists in a bathtub.
It all builds predictably to a completely negative conclusion, as hopeless as the opening. A mournful piano plays as a boy sits morbidly outside, cueing a lovely ballad sung-over.
Credits are all top-notch, from Nicola Piovani's moody score to Luciano Tovoli's fluid lensing. Tovoli is one of the reasons that this is my favorite period of Italian cinema, having reached his personal peak with the classic visuals of Antonioni's experimental THE PASSENGER, but also having shot brilliant movies for Ferreri, Brusati (aforementioned BREAD AND CHOCOLATE), Pialat (WE WON'T GROW OLD TOGETHER) and Argento's finest, SUSPIRIA.
