Bernardo Bertolucci, Still Dreaming

Bertolucci was in NYC last week for the opening of his retrospective at MoMA. I met some excellent people at the press conference including Italian Cultural Institute intern Chiara Capponi who took these photographs for me:

http://www.i-italy.org/16304/bernardo-bertolucci-still-dreaming

Pirandello's Muse: Marta Abba Unveiled

Okay, so my modernity work has taken a decidedly early turn of late ... but I am enjoying the 'wide angle' distortion in perspective.

http://www.i-italy.org/16149/pirandellos-muse-marta-abba-unveiled

Memory, History and the Literary Conscience

Radio3 Roma put together a fantastic line-up of authors and round tables in their "Libri come. Festa del libro" - The NYC Edition, this month. The program included readings from Jonathan Galassi's very excellent translation of Leopardi's "Canti" and a conversation between Benedetta Tobagi and Stefan Merrill Block about their books, "Come mi batte forte il tuo cuore. Storia di mio padre" and "The Story of Forgetting", respectively. Both writers explore the idea of memory, albeit from very different perspectives, as if they were pushing forward, probing a dark continent, looking for the edges and borders, discovery and meaning.

Benedetta's memoir, is as the title suggests, a story about her father - but the memories, or lack there of, are hers and the voice is very much that of a daughter struggling to chart her own course. Similarly, Stefan has written a "story", a fictional account of Alzheimer's disease, but the cluster of imaginary characters and situations which range from scientific and sociological to fantastical - give voice to the inspired enquête of a young man in search of third way. Clearly marked by his grandmother's illness, he is also candid about the possible corruption of his own DNA.

Here is a link to my article: http://www.i-italy.org/15990/memory-history-and-literary-conscience

The Secrect Life of Gabriele D'Annunzio

Speaking of 19th Century buildings and villas - here is my article on the Gabriele D'Annunzio exhibit at NYU's Casa Italiana Zerilli-Marimò : http://www.i-italy.org/node/15747. The show will be on view through December 15th.

Renaissance: Re-discovering Literature and Nicola

It is always a pleasure to hear Nicola Gardini speak. His unconventional approach - and indeed, challenges - to the literary canon and the academy are wholly refreshing. I met Gardini 10 years ago in Florence - I was barely 23 and Stefano Albertini's assistant - running around with 50 students at NYU's Villa LaPietra. I was all wild limbs and unseemly eye wear, flailing about with enthusiasm and chaotic mis-direction, discovering gelato alla frutta and campanili. Nicola, who was teaching a course in the program, took up lodging in a pensione near Piazza della Repubblica. How marvelously 19th century of him! I was instantly a fan.

Sadly, I haven't seen much of him in the last few years - he is now a professor at Oxford - save on the happy occasions of his book presentations at NYU's Casa Italiana Zerilli-Marimò.

Most recently, he was in NYC (and at the Casa) to discuss a new work - conspicuously (and perhaps provocatively) entitled "Rinascimento" [Renaissance], Einaudi 2010. I reviewed the book for i-Italy.

An incredibly prolific scholar, Gardini has penned a mountain of books, essays and translations. His writing can be as colorful and diverting as his conversation and his global perspective on the Humanities makes even an elusive and daunting topic such as the Renaissance seem relevant, accessible and exciting.

Italian- American Studies?

As a comparative scholar from an Italian Studies department - and a person without any Italian blood whatsoever - the concept of "Italian-American Studies" has always eluded me. Until Friday, that is, when I visited the John D. Calandra Institute (CUNY) for the conference - "Re-thinking Italian American Studies".

I found myself considering the way a hybrid definition of identity - entirely removed from either national political context - presents a challenge to the idea of an "imagined community" as shaped by geographic or linguistic borders.

I wrote on a piece on the opening panel discussion for i-Italy.org.

Sensual Cinema: Feminine Journeys, Eros and Otherness in Three Recent Releases

What do "Eat, Pray, Love," "Cairo Time," and "I Am Love" have in common? They all explore the universe as a feminine phenomenon: rejecting historical subject matters--business, politics, social institutions, organized religion, and even time itself--in favor of silent observation, soft silk fabrics, sensual smiles, beguiling landscapes and luscious culinary displays. The wandering plot lines of these films and the focus on a uniquely feminine approach to meaning and fulfillment give way to the kind of meditative "lenteur" Milan Kundera exalted in his 1995 novel, Slowness. The only trouble is that the search results are rather dissatisfying, leading to deserted places, unanswered questions and facile romantic solutions.

In "Cairo Time" (dir. Ruba Nadda, Canada/ Ireland/ Egypt, 2009, 90 min) a middle- aged American magazine editor, played by Patricia Clarkson, arrives in the Egyptian capital to meet her husband for a romantic vacation--only to discover that he has been held up indefinitely in Gaza. Juliette is met and then subsequently rescued by her husband's worldly former deputy, Tareq. All the while her spouse, a bleary-eyed New Yorker who runs a refugee camp for the U.N., seems to remain oblivious to the danger she faces alone in Cairo. Despite their apparent significance, the hints at political unrest are swept under the carpet of her lavish hotel room while her near affair with the dashing Tareq (played by Alexander Siddig) smothers a potential foray into Middle Eastern gender politics. Or perhaps, for Ms. Nadda, who both wrote and directed the film, all this subtlety is quite purposeful …

As the words in the title suggest, both time and place are significant themes. Juliette is suspended, not only in her waiting but also in space--as she inhabits what reveals itself to be a very foreign and mysterious city. The constraints of religious intolerance, gender inequality and child labor reach us in whispering pleas from the backdrop of an obscure otherness. The question of an intelligent order contained within the crowded markets, segregated cafés, and tidy sweatshops is left open. The honeyed waters of the Nile at dusk and the windswept dunes prove no easier to decipher. And further confounding the unsuspecting Juliette is her acquaintance with an unruly French emigrée, who appears, not only to have understood Cairo's secrets but to have, at times, embraced their treasure as well.

And yet, distinct from the characters I will discuss below, the well-behaved Juliette and Tareq, however much they are drawn to one another, keep their passions firmly rooted in the context of their love's impossibility. Tareq’s unwavering dignity, even in the face of heart-ache and desolation, stunningly evokes the archaic tragedy of his culture. Meanwhile Juliette’s trembling hold on his amulet suggests that, in the end, she may have experienced for herself the arcane ‘reasons for things’ buried within that ancient and most extraordinary place.

Juliette’s exploration of the unfamiliar, along with the unsolicited, overwhelming understanding it affords her, contrasts sharply with the idea of otherness found in Luca Guadagnino’s "I Am Love" (Io sono l’amore, Italy, 2009, 120 min). As a transplanted Russian bride in Milan, wife of a wealthy industrialist, and mother of three adult children, Emma Recchi (played by Tilda Swinton) is an uncanny mix of obliging and contemplative. She appears altogether lost in a world to which she does not belong. Carrying her sumptuous wardrobe with aristocratic grace, she also exercises extreme delicacy, as if to avoid shattering a fourth wall. In this role, Swinton's beauty is both mesmerizing and alienating; at times her face is splendid and, in other moments, frightening. The cinematography, especially of the French coastal landscape where she eventually finds love, seems to mimic an antique 8mm camera; the viewer is disarmed by attractively blurred prawns and tree blossoms, sunlight that skips and jumps and a muted soundtrack. Likewise, the camera's treatment of Swinton's strange and wonderful mutability remains intriguing throughout most of the film. However, while the actress, the Italian designers she wears, and the food she eats are deliciously engaging, the plot line leaves much to be desired. The impromptu drama which stands in for catharsis is dreadful and dreadfully unwarranted. The object of Emma’s thoughtfulness is never revealed, and both her irresponsible comportment and her daughter's blessing [of it] are contrived. The only convincingly written performance is that of the family's domestic servant--who alone seems to wade through the absurdity with appropriate concern.

Finally, "Eat, Pray, Love," (dir. Ryan Murphy, U.S., 120 min) is the least worthy of the three films insofar as the sum of its many faults equates to a rather tedious viewing experience. The adaptation of Elizabeth Gilbert's novel was perhaps a flawed notion from the get-go--as it would indeed be very difficult to translate the levity and irony of her "voice" into cinematographic language. I will grant that Gilbert’s box wine witticisms, regarding the long-term effects of too many boyfriends and too much carb-induced self-loathing, are as agreeable in Julia Roberts's delivery as they were in the author's prose. However, there is far too much going on for this woman's enquête to be considered serious or meaningful, and the attempt to cram it all into a feature length product merely exposes the fraudulence in Gilbert's original tale. Making love to pizza, worshiping photographs of an unknown ashram and studying toothless prophecies in tropical paradise make a travesty of Italian culture, faith and knowledge. It's fine to be ignorant of all these things, and even to profit from such egregious naiveté, but to ask your audience to imagine either a quest or certain fulfillment is somewhat preposterous. When taken as a charming woman's travelogue and the story of her discovery of true love (or more simply, a suitably dynamic mate), it is pleasant enough. In fact, the romance with Felipe (played by a ruggedly handsome yet comfortably sensitive Javier Bardem) is easily the most enjoyable part of the movie. Although, it should be noted that escaping reality is seldom as lovely and as handsomely rewarded as this movie about Ms. Gilbert’s crisis would have us believe.

The interest in a muliebral journey is a noble topic, but what is considered the domain of the feminine, traditionally speaking, is not limited to women and their dating woes. The 'feminine' carries with it a distinct kind of knowledge--irrational, spontaneous, mysterious--and yet also very real and important. Because certain things like love, faith, joy, loss and difference cannot be explained logically, does not mean they cannot be fully or sincerely explored.

Vendela Vida's The Lovers

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of Vendela Vida's new novel is the title. Strangely, the only "lovers" exist either in the protagonist's distant memory of Florence or in the suggestion of her landlord's kinky affair with a French mistress. The first of these - a middle-aged, recent widow's story - is reflected in happily coupled strangers, family legends and the woman's children. The second comes to light through a few fetish objects and an ex-wife's gossip.

Vida's strength lies in her ability to create both intimacy and immediacy. The novel is very much a feminine tale: a loving meditation which follows Yvonne (as she is called) through shifting feelings as simple as hunger and fatigue and as complicated as grief and guilt. We experience her terror as the young boy she befriends jumps into a cavernous ruin - and a heated flash of anger when he reappears a moment later, grinning at his own joke. We follow her as she tries to find something to eat in a remote Turkish city and we share her girlish embarrassment as she dons a mail-ordered canary yellow bathing suit.

Our intimacy with Yvonne is especially important when the inevitable tragedy strikes. In the end however, the central conflict is muddled and lost in a sandstorm (quite literally). The heroine is both courageous and ridiculous (perhaps her creator is overly indulgent?) and the resolution in the form of a veritable deus ex machina - however mortal and feminine - is somewhat unsatisfactory.

Still, overall, Vida's descriptions of the landscape and her devotion to Yvonne make for a pleasurable and engaging read. And, although the ending falls short of the glory suggested, it remains a thought-provoking challenge, providing a great deal of insight into the craft of writing itself.

New York Times Review
LA Times Review

Seeing Time and Imagining the Elements: Impressionism in San Francisco

Through September 6th, 2010, The De Young museum of San Francisco is home to a sizable portion of the Musée d'Orsay's Impressionist painting collection. The first of two installments to be shown in succession, "The Birth of Impressionism" encompasses the nascent movement as it progressed toward the formation of the Societé Anonyme des artistes, peintres, sculpteurs, graveurs, etc. or the group entity responsible for launching eight independent exhibitions between 1874 and 1882. The exhibition follows the various styles and approaches which characterize some of the more famous developments and innovations in late 19th century French painting. It is best understood when viewed in tandem with "Impressionist Paris: City of Light," now on display at the Legion of Honor (through 9/26). This show provides a cultural context for the 'birth of impressionism', examining the developments and innovations that can be seen to have influenced the new style. Transportation technology, financial prosperity and general improvements to the cityscape - such as enlarged boulevards and the installation of gas street lanterns - allowed for unprecedented mobility, comfort, safety, and ultimately, leisure. The architectural overhaul initiated under Napoleon III, one of the focal points of "Impressionist Paris: City of Light,” had created a much more open and hospitable urban center - not to mention a brighter and cleaner city. These factors not only improved life generally speaking, but they also changed the shape of the world and, more importantly, the ways in which people saw and looked at the world. Finally, the documentary photographs of Paris in this period remind us of another 19th century invention which altered and expanded the ways in which reality could be seen and explored - photography.

From the first, the "new painting" was associated with the spectacle of reality. Prominent art critic Louis Émile-Edmond Duranty wrote that a dedication to reality could be seen in the subjects, styles and methods of the independent artists. In one of the first paintings featured at the De Young, Jules Bastien Lepage's "Haymaking" (1877), a peasant woman at the center of the composition appears dazed, as if she had just arisen from sleep, still exhausted and not yet coherent. Her vacant stare, coupled with the monumental treatment of her figure, conveys a striking sense of intimacy.

Frédéric Bazille demonstrates a similarly frank and intimate treatment of reality in his "Family Reunion" (1867). The characters seem to be caught in the act of living but, even more interesting, the central figure - a young woman in blue – glances at the painter as she crosses the patio, as if captured in a snapshot. In another of Bazille's paintings, “Portrait of Renoir” (1867), his friend Pierre-Auguste is depicted in a meditative but relaxed posture, perched in a chair with both knees drawn up toward his chest. Given that formal compositions (the portrait, the still life, the monument, and the landscape) still dominated both painting and photography during this period of history- these casual ‘encounters’ are especially noteworthy.

The association with photography also sheds light on the very idea of impressionism. Coined by Monet himself when he entitled an 1872 tableaux - "Impression: soleil levant" - the term refers to the "impressions" or suggestions made by light in an interaction with both natural and man-made elements: precipitation, wind, steam, smoke – as well as material properties (color, density, absence, etc.). In Monet's painting, the harbour at Le Havre is depicted with loose brush strokes, such that the viewer might imagine the color of a rising sun diffused through the early morning fog. At the same time, the artist captures the traveler's dreamy "impression" of being suspended in another time and place. Just as photography recorded and created images of real things through the impression of light upon silver crystals, the "impressionists" sought to replicate not merely landscapes and subjects, but moments in time and the emotions and feelings a particular scene had stirred up within them.

In "The Magpie" (1868-69) - third gallery - Monet succeeds in illustrating both the luminous whiteness of the atmosphere and the muffled silence of a snowy dawn. The tiny magpie, perched left of center on a pasture fence, serves to emphasize the quiet and the stillness which allowed the painter to notice him. While Alfred Sisley, in his 1878 treatment of a winter landscape, "Snow at Louveciennes,” is more interested in the wind and his terse, bent brushstrokes, used to depict the immovable ground and exposed tree boughs alike, suggest a stormy post meridian. The lone figure advancing toward the vanishing point appears lost in a darkish reverie, as if she too, might soon belong to the wind. Sisley's interest in that particular squall is made clearer when we observe the much softer brushstrokes he used to depict the snow and the sky in other times and places. (One of which, “Snow-covered yard of a country estate in Marlyle-Roi,” 1876, is on display to the right of the Louveciennes painting.)

As a consequence of their interest in time, there is (perhaps quite necessarily) an ephemeral quality in the artists’ treatment of material objects. On this point, Monet’s work is most illustrative. His "The Regatta at Argenteuil" (1874) is an exercise in capturing light in all its effects on the diaphanous substances of air and water; the sky and the river are secondary. Likewise,"The Tuileries" (1876), is a study in the tonalities of afternoon; the things portrayed are absorbed into color, tone, and intensity. Finally, in “The Seine at Vétreuil” (1879), his trees are nearly transparent and the houses appear as though they might lift to join the pinkish clouds at any moment. Monet is not alone however and, in a similar vein, Pissarro and Renoir’s abstractions evoke the fleeting, adventurous beauty of temporality. Camille Pissarro’s “Path Through the Woods in Summer” (1877) captures the essence of a passage – a tunnel-like opening of light through a mass of green – the trees and shrubbery are rather indistinct. And Renoir’s dappled light and vibrant color in “The Swing” (1876) convey the lighthearted excitement of a Saturday in the countryside.

The presence of time in the works described above, vaguely measured as a collection of intimate moments, develops into a sense of immediacy in Degas. Time is not merely the moment as static space but movement, happening: horses are neighing, young ballerinas practice and stockbrokers whisper. For Paul Cézanne, the impressions have the more enduring quality of charged emotion or of desolation: the sinking shapes and broken brushstrokes in “The Hanged Man’s House” (1873) are estranging. Further, the converging planes in the canvas offer a unique perspective, as if we were peering, with some trepidation, at an empty house.

The idea of capturing a moment in time, or the essence of something – that which might have escaped the passing glance or the untrained gaze –, is perhaps inherent to pictorial study but, theoretically speaking, it was a development of the late 19^th century – one which ultimately produced many enthusiastic theorizations of photography and film in the early part of the 20^th century. The notions of sincerity and frankness tentatively explored in the Impressionists’ work, are elaborated, tested and investigated with great vigor and fascination throughout the first half of the 20^th century. Nonetheless, among the tableaux featured at the De Young, one already detects something beyond the carefree voyeurism generally associated with the impressionist style. The historical and political urgency in Manet’s “The Escape of Rochefort” (1881) – on display in the first gallery – reminds us that impressionism was a radical movement, inevitably inspired by a great deal of political turbulence. Henri Rochefort, heroic journalist, politician, and friend of Victor Hugo, was an important figure in the struggle for the 1^st Republic of France and he famously escaped from an island prison in March of 1874. In painting that event, Manet gave historical importance to a very recent past - which was, in and of itself, a great deal revolutionary. Thus, it is important to remember that the Impressionists sought to depict not only the everyday, but also to ennoble and immortalize the present (day). Édouard Manet, passionate protector of these establishment outcasts, summarizes the movement in terms very familiar to the lover of the 20^th century avant-garde, especially in photography and film: "It is sincerity which gives to works of art a character which seems to convert them into acts of protest."