By The Butcher
You love ’em, he hates ’em! The Butcher carves up your favourite films, and this week, he applies his sharpened cleaver to Italian master Federico Fellini’s semi-autobiographical classic 8½.
“Oh, man, it was like something out of a Fellini movie!” Geez, how many times have these words been uttered by some arsehole who doesn’t know what they’re talking about? Like sports stars who exclaim, “Oh my God, this is so surreal!” when they win a match or final (um, no, it’s not actually surreal…it’s the obvious culmination of a lot of hard work, and while it might be exciting, surprising, bewildering, joyous, and amazing, it’s not surreal…unless the person saying it is a drugged-out rugby league player who thinks the scoreboard is melting or something), the use of this expression is a wholly inappropriate cliché. It’s also usually said by people who have probably been lucky enough to have never had to sit through a film by Italy’s greatest cinematic toss-pot, Federico Fellini. Newsflash, people: not every scene in a Fellini flick involves a fucking dwarf!
Like so many “great” international filmmakers, Fellini’s works are often referenced, but rarely seen. Everyone gabs on about the “fountain scene” from La Dolce Vita, and pompously intones, “It’s where the term paparazzi comes from”, but who has really seen this film? The biggest culprit, however, is Fed’s (can we just call him Fred?) 1963 flick, 81/2. If some tool starts talking about it at a party while adjusting their over-determined eyewear, you’ll likely hear statements along the lines of, “It’s a cinematic masterpiece about the personal torture inherent in the creative impulse” or “It’s a classic meld of reality and fantasy.” Yeah, whatever. So was that episode of The Brady Bunch where Bobby has a vivid dream that he’s playing football with his hero, Joe Namath, and leaps twenty feet in the air to catch a pass from the great man.
In this “semi-autobiographical” bilge from Fed, the director’s “on screen alter ego” (now, there’s another bullshit phrase…why is it always applied to partnerships like De Niro/Scorsese, but never equally valid ones like Sandler/Dugan?), Marcello Mastroianni, plays a film director (immediately: who gives a shit?) struggling with a creative block who starts reminiscing about his past loves. Self-absorbed, tedious, and pretentious, watching this will make you feel like you’re in a Fellini movie. Oh, wait a minute…
For a far more positive reading of 81/2, check out D.A Miller’s book-length appraisal of the film as published by BFI Classics and Bloomsbury. Click here for more information.
