Federico Fellini | 1hr 47min
Every so often, something genuinely interesting happens in the coastal Italian village where idle womaniser Fausto stirs trouble with his friends, and Federico Fellini eagerly latches onto those fleeting breaks from the monotony. As for the moments in between, I Vitelloni’s mysterious narrator has no issue condensing entire months into a few seconds, briefly noting the facial hair that Fausto’s friends grow as the most exciting thing to happen between their ringleader’s momentous return from his honeymoon and his first scandalous affair. This first-person voiceover is tinged with nostalgia, assuming the perspective of the entire group looking back on their youth, while largely resisting being pinned down to any individual. Still, it very gradually becomes apparent which of them in particular its attitude most aligns with – the only one to have broken free from those small-town constraints, and whose reflections come from a poignant distance.
Moraldo is not the main character in I Vitelloni, let alone his own story, though he is clearly the most introspective of his friends. While the others are chasing women, fame, and glory with a middle-class arrogance, he finds himself wandering the town’s cobbled stone streets at night, recognising his immediate surroundings as the source of his listless discontent. The trivial drama of Fausto’s sleazy escapades can only keep one entertained for so long before they grow wearisome and the call of grander adventures become louder, fading his formative years into memories kept alive through stories like these.
It would be incorrect to label I Vitelloni as an autobiographical film for Fellini, though the essence of his own youth lived by the Adriatic Sea visibly carries from life into fiction. The meandering plotlessness of this hangout narrative would go on to influence everyone from Richard Linklater to the Coen Brothers, but first and foremost it left its mark on the global New Wave movements of the 1960s and 70s. The resemblance between Fellini’s work and Martin Scorsese’s breakout Mean Streets is especially striking, with Fausto’s philandering and Johnny Boy’s troublemaking both building towards a pair of crises that erupt with brutal consequences. Outside of these climactic reckonings, vignettes are also effortlessly strung together into landscapes of celebration and struggle, trapping characters in loops that continuously cycle between both.
Much like Scorsese’s film, I Vitelloni similarly marked the first true work of cinematic brilliance from Fellini as well, though the introduction of characters through a floating camera and descriptive voiceover is purely Goodfellas. Even if it diverges from Roberto Rossellini’s examinations of post-war destitution, this is a film to make his neorealist mentor proud, resourcefully shooting on location in small Italian towns and crafting tremendous visuals from their historic stonework.
The heightened emotions of classical Hollywood are nowhere to be found here, replaced by day-to-day interactions and complex relationships that are consistently developed in Fellini’s naturalistic blocking. There is also no external conflict in our characters’ walk down to the town’s deserted beach on a windy afternoon where they playfully consider of how much money they would jump into the water for, and yet the bleak beauty of his coastal scenery, the uneven arrangement of their bodies, and their impassive expressions reveal an unspoken, disenchanted aloofness. Fellini’s staging in such moments often illustrates the indolence of these men who are described in the film’s translated title as layabouts, and yet never quite so explicitly as his magnificent shot of them lounging across chairs outside a café, alternating directions far into the background.
At least the small routines and traditions of this community connect them to some sense of cultural identity, even if they don’t quite keep them out of trouble. Whether they are attending the annual Miss Mermaid beauty contest or preparing for the chaotic carnival season, these festivities simultaneously break up the monotony of everyday life, and yet paradoxically become part of that predictable annual cycle. It is often during these events that Fellini’s camerawork, editing, and mise-en-scène grow busier too as extras fill his scenery, enveloping Fausto in intoxicating atmospheres that spur him on to make poor decisions.
Not that it takes much for the playboy to rush headfirst into impulsive exploits and affairs, even after his shotgun wedding to Miss Mermaid contest winner, Sandra Rubini. His disloyalty borders on sociopathic, seeing him slyly flirt with another woman at the cinema while his wife curls up on his arm, before abruptly leaving and following the beautiful stranger home. Later when he is forced to finally get a retail job, he even tries on multiple occasions to seduce his boss’ wife Giulia, and retaliates with petty vengeance when he is fired in a far more gracious manner than what he deserves.
Of course, Fausto’s friends aren’t entirely blameless in all of this. They are enablers of the worst kind, convincing him to steal Signore Michele’s angel statue to compensate for the weeks of work he has lost, and directly lying to the hopelessly naïve Sandra about his cheating. They call him their “spiritual guide,” but it is clear that they are young men simply electing the coolest, most confident peer in their vicinity as their leader. Only when Sandra discovers his infidelity and runs away from home with their baby is Fausto forced to accept responsibility for his family, having thoroughly humiliated himself by crying to his old boss and being belted by his father. Whether or not he will fall prey to his lustful impulses in the future remains uncertain, and yet his illusion of self-composure has nevertheless begun to weaken, loosening his grasp over those who once held him as a paragon of masculinity.
The time has come to move on, these men realise, and yet only Moraldo has the motivation to set himself free from the past. He doesn’t know where his train will take him, but as he looks back for the last time, Fellini rapidly cuts through a montage of his friends lying in bed and becoming little more than distant memories. They too will grow old and perhaps even find success, but within I Vitelloni’s ruminations they are frozen in an eternal, static youth of idle recreation and empty pleasure, lazily hoping for the day that the world might finally give their lives greater purpose.
I Vitelloni is currently streaming on The Criterion Channel, the Blu-ray is available to purchase on Amazon.
Scene by Green 