4 life-affirming-artistic-revelations out of 4
Paolo Sorrentino’s The Great Beauty is a film in which the entire universe conspires to ensure that a 65-year-old Roman man finally writes his second novel. The man is cultural critic Jep Gambardella, a socialite who so embodies the virtues of la dolce vita that his perfectly quaffed hair never has a strand out of place, and he is never caught out of a sharp linen suit.
Gambardella smokes almost as much as he drinks, but his speech is never unruly. He enjoys the finer things in life, but never fails to highlight the hypocrisy and ludicrous pursuit of popularity exhibited by his peers. In short, Gambardella is a rare breed of socialite—the kind who successfully rose from the pit of the working class, in order to indulge in things best described as fine and refined.
Sorrentino’s film, however, is no mere indictment of the Roman upper class. Though the characters we meet are pretentious and snobbish, they are flawed humans, motivated by simple matters of the heart. They are greedy and they are petty. They dance too much and openly criticize even more, and yet we are drawn to them because their flaws are our flaws as well.
As characters flit from scene to scene, as we learn more about what ails each of these individuals, we connect with them because we understand that one mustn’t too harshly judge those who have too much. Their ignorance is a product of their circumstance.
This information is delivered to us through lead actor Tony Servillo’s almost effortless performance as Gambardella. There is a nonchalant aloofness to Servillo’s method. His smirks, his quick-witted jabs, his smooth saunters—coupled with his hypnotic narration—lend him a trustworthy air of expertise and prestige. One need not wonder why this sarcastic misanthrope is the toast of the town—he notices everything, but disarms his peers before they can possibly rebut.
As many films argue, Rome too is a central character of her own. Gambardella spends much of the film walking through the ancient capital. He reflects on the circumstances of his youth, and waxes nostalgic about a period of time that could only be post-Second World War Italy.
Throughout these scenes, we are treated to Luca Bigazzi’s stunning cinematography. Soft lighting washes over scenes, as even softer colours walk us through Gambardella’s rose-tinted memories. The yellows, pinks, and whites of Gambardella’s suits stand out against dingy strip club reds and high-fashion greys and blacks.
In one sequence, Gambardella instructs a younger woman on how to dress for a funeral. As she tries on different shades of black, Gambardella effortlessly reclines on a marble bench—his yellow jacket and white pants cheerfully contrasting with the scene’s solemnity. The Great Beauty reminds its audience that one mustn’t take life too seriously, even when death is the subject.
Ultimately, Sorrentino’s script, co-credited to Umberto Contarello, is concerned with Gambardella’s choices now that he’s entered that so-called final chapter of his life. Will he write again? Will he love again? Will he continue living his life of casual decadence, or will he liberate himself from his privilege?
In short, it is a film about the choices we must make as we approach the end of life.
I began by saying that Sorrentino’s film is one in which the entire universe conspires to convince an aging man to pick up his pen and produce fiction again. This is not an untrue statement. Characters in The Great Beauty take little umbrage in reminding Gambardella of his first and only novel, The Human Apparatus. Though others claim that novel is a masterpiece of Italian fiction—a story that captivated and enthralled in equal measure—Gambardella remains unconvinced of his literary mastery until the film’s final moments.
The great beauty of the film’s name, however, is not Gambardella’s novel. Nor, for that matter, is it the city of Rome. Nor is it the countless portraits of modern art that are skewered, lambasted, criticized, and praised through Sorrentino’s lens.
As one can imagine, the great beauty of life is life itself. The Great Beauty captures this truth, and convinces us that there is no greater virtue than continuing to live and make choices—even in our greatest moments of sorrow and pain.
Photo courtesy of Medusa Films.