Bernardo Bertolucci
The Dreamers

1968. In a Paris that is becoming increasingly international and still only lightly touched by the early breezes of that intellectual, political, and social Revolution characteristic of the historical period in which Bernardo Bertolucci's 2003 film (based on a story and the screenplay by writer Gilbert Adair) is set, the Cinémathèque represents the favorite meeting place of many university students. These aren't just simple enthusiasts of beautiful black-and-white auteur films (like those that illuminate their entranced faces in the initial panoramic shots of the room, flooded with smoke and contemplation and which, with a series of learned quotations, punctuate the film and nestle into its plot, giving it an added value), but intrepid cinephiles, often intent on declaring which director is the best and prey to intellectually cutting discussions, while outside, in the streets, the agitation becomes ever stronger.

Matthew (Michael Pitt), an American student transplanted to the old continent, shy and almost still adolescent, meets in this dynamic and seductive environment a captivating and mysterious Isabelle (Eva Green) and her brother Théo (Louis Garrel), aloof and ambiguous. The encounter overwhelms his small and monotonous student stability, whisking him off, madly and as if by enchantment (the emotion, the excitement for the new friendship felt by the protagonist is palpable and for much of the film accompanies us also in the role of narrator) to the home of the eccentric siblings for an indefinitely long stay, after a dinner in which Matthew also participates and becomes witness to the departure of the two parents of the youths, themselves strange and contradictory, as well as harbingers of great impotence and insignificance in the lives of their children. In the maze of corridors of the house, bathed in warm and subdued light and strewn with malodorous liquids, among faded wallpapers, ancient furniture, and decayed walls, in the total disorder of objects (the extraordinary visual effect recreated by the director is as effective as a Balzacian description), the three young people barricade themselves from the outside world, enacting what will be their own Personal Revolution, discovering themselves in a game of roles in which the three protagonists "challenge" each other with film-related riddles, resulting in forfeit where erotism and emotion are often brought to the extreme. Matthew becomes the first witness to the secret of his two new "little friends": the incestuous relationship (though never culminated in the sexual act) that ties them, with evident morbidity, in a sort of symbiosis into which the blonde American student, willingly or unwillingly, finds himself involved.

Increasingly immersed in the love triangle and the whirlwind of his own feelings, in the exchange of roles that is part of the "game" setup by the two French (beautifully represented by the scene in the bathtub, where a play of mirrors reflects, each on the opposite side, the faces of the three lovers), Matt may realize too late how negative the significance of such a relationship is for Théo and Isa. He will be the first to launch the "provocation," he will make the first real cut (Théo and Isabelle, as demonstrated by a scar on the shoulder, are actually conjoined twins) between the two, by inviting the girl to go out, just once, with him alone. The evening, romantically perfect and seemingly flawless (seemingly because, leaving the house, the social life of France inevitably brushes against the protagonists' sensitivities, confronting them with a question - "What's happening in the street?" - which certainly won’t find an answer within the cramped walls of the house), is, however, destined for negative outcomes.

Théo, unknowingly in the grip of strong jealousy, brings a prostitute into the house and makes love to her while the two companions return home. Isabelle, who for the first time in her life manages to completely free herself from the veils hiding her true personality, leads Matt into her bedroom, revealing to him her hidden side: orderly, romantic, innocent. Yet she is forced in the end to face her feelings of guilt and the possibility of incriminating the incestuous relationship with her brother. Significant and loaded with premonitions is the scene where, driven by panic and tears, the girl yells at the one who by now is no longer the shy American boy of the past, phrases like "Who are you?", "Get out!". 

The last chimera to be destroyed is the relationship between the two male protagonists: drunk on vintage wine chosen with meticulous care by the ambiguous companion in the father's cellar, Matthew finds himself the object of Théo's now entirely explicit sexual attentions (although repressed, they are always very evident in the scenes of the feature). It will be Isabelle to snatch them from this new homosexual idyll of poètes maudits, thrusting them both back into that fiery wheel destined to once again, but for only a short time, sweep over their lives. After an unexpected and absurd return of the parents (who, discovering the three young, naked bodies entwined like snakes, leave again without saying anything, but leaving in plain sight the usual monthly allowance), Isabelle, suffocated by the awareness that mom and dad have discovered everything, decides to put an end to the life, hers, and her companions. 

Just as the gas is about to drown the fate of the three protagonists in tragedy, marking the end of that Personal Revolution carried out without much awareness, it is the street, with its Revolution, that bursts into the house. It is a heavy Revolution, fueled not only by the youth but by the entire nation, which, breaking the enchantment of the love triangle definitively, pulls the consciences of Matt, Théo, and Isa out of their "love nest." Here Matthew faces the ruin of his dreams: the twins abandon him definitively to his ideals and pacifist utopias, denying him their much-praised love and diving into the fray, increasingly enslaved by the burgeoning violence. As the final scene unfolds with Matt walking away from the flaming street and the riot police advancing threateningly towards the crowd of rioters, we cannot precisely state who the true dreamer of this film is: all, in some way, have seen their dreams shattered, vanished among the flames of a fiery street from which, perhaps, not even the bond between the two siblings will emerge strengthened. From the game of roles in "The Dreamers," from its multiple and complex parallels, no winner will emerge.

Bernardo Bertolucci stated he intended to show the younger generations "the true face of '68" with this film but, paradoxically, it is the social and political aspect that remains the longest in the background, resurfacing only at the beginning, the end, and here and there in the déroulement of the story. The true entity of '68 and its Revolution is thus filtered through a more intimate, psychological, yet equally unsettling perspective: that of the discovery of feelings, of one's interiority (elements that remind us of another work by the Parmese director, a student of Pasolini, "Stealing Beauty"). A deeper integration of the two Revolutions around which the film revolves might have rendered its ending less drastic, cold, and predictable, but this intriguing disparity of elements should not exempt us from appreciating, even with a healthy dose of the voyeurism typical of erotic films, one of the best Italian films of recent years.