I prefer the dry comic tone of Jacques Tati from this era (Trafic, Parade) over the broad burlesque of Federico Fellini, yet there is no denying that Fellini’s Amarcord (or I Remember) nearly matches Tati—not only in wry social commentary, but also cinematic scale. Drawing from his own childhood, Fellini turns a seaside Italian town in the 1930s into a vast stage, across which parade an endless supply of exaggerated characters: the distracted priest (Gianfilippo Carcano) who cares more about flower arrangements than confessions; the town beauty (Magali Noel) who enjoys swinging her hips in stylish outfits; and a raging father (Armando Brancia) who launches dinnertime tirades against his troublesome sons, to name just a few. One of those sons, Titta (Bruno Zanin), runs with a pack of perpetually horny teenage boys, whose fantasies (some of which nearly come to fruition) provide the movie’s most amusing and honestly adolescent moments. (The film’s attitude toward women may not always be progressive, but it’s certainly appreciative—and often gives the women the final say in their scenes.) Some of the vignettes go on far longer—and louder—than necessary, but just as Amarcord begins to wear out its welcome, Fellini turns down the volume and allows a soft sense of magic to seep in. Much of this is tied to the film’s imaginative use of the weather (wind, fog, rain, and snow all play a part, the latter of which offers the iconic image of a peacock spreading its brilliant feathers in a blizzard). Meanwhile, the playful score by Nino Rota (a Fellini veteran who also scored The Godfather) floats along like one of the “puffballs” that dance in the air every spring. Even the arrival of fascism registers, for the most part, as something silly. (There’s a great gag involving a giant billboard of Mussolini’s head that’s made of flowers; one of the teens imagines the mouth moving, officiating the boy’s marriage to his crush.) Even in such dark times, Amarcord seems to suggest, universal urges soldier on.
(1/23/2023)
