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Some classics only require the courage to start them. Because sometimes the status can be intimidating, if not off-putting. However, once you've taken that first step over the threshold, they demonstrate why they have assumed such a rare and coveted title. They speak to an eternal present, not just because of the themes, but also and above all because of the forms, the style, the technique. Study (now years ago) and watching so much cinema pays off today as I savor a title like this, which - at least in my feelings - evokes a certain sense of heavy historical-literary emphasis, spread over three hours of grandeur. It pays off because I feel I have the tools to understand its greatness.
Simplicity and Depth
The classic is such precisely because it always remains young: even at 59 years old, it is more agile and cunning than me. It knows how to glide lightly over the worlds it narrates, without burdens. A story that is simple, essential, and at the same time vast, all-encompassing. The facts, the plot nodes, are essential and clear, but from them flourish profusely the psychological, symbolic, social, and historical implications. And thus we have a story that flows easily but still ponderous, laden with meaning.
Similarly, the script alternates very simple, almost trivial constructs with sudden metaphorical surges, philosophical pearls scattered amidst normal chatter. Without emphasis, almost never touching solemn tones. On the contrary, more often hitting almost comedic, ironic ones, like a comedy. A sly wisdom uttered under the breath amid the many banalities of the people.
The frankness of Fabrizio Corbera, his concreteness that does not ignore nuances, is the same as the directorial eye, which articulates the story through two essential dimensions: space, the vision, in the wide shots of the Sicilian countryside or in the lavish halls of the noble palaces. And time, the rhythm, the music.
Wide Shots, Close-Ups
The shots mark a dichotomous alternation. There is the reason of State, History with a capital H, which lives in the medium and long shots, where individuals assume an external role, where we see the masses clashing, being forced and bent by the great motions of History. The Garibaldini, the soldiers of Franceschiello's monarchy, the people of Donnafugata, the citizens of Sicily. But also the nobles, the salons full of elegant women and men in tails. A gaze that fixes roles and hierarchies, schematizes processes. Great tableaux that amaze for their composed vastness. On the screen, there is really so much, there is room for the complexity of the world that is transforming.
In this tumultuous mass, only a few characters (in reality few) have the privilege of being approached by the camera. And several of these remain caricatures, pseudo-comic masks that ultimately reveal the insignificance of individuals, who simply adapt. Don Calogero remains comical, even if he is mayor, even if he is wealthy. The princess lacks deep psychology, struggles to see beyond the times and roles she already knows. The close-ups become denser in the second part, when the affair of Tancredi and Angelica takes over. Here is the love story, but it is not lived as such, it is almost taken for granted, narrated elliptically. Because that is not the point.
The Leopard
All that matters is given to us in the reflections and choices of the Prince of Salina, who is a character, symbol, and acute narrator of historical changes. His complexity of thought is the legacy of an entire era, a condensation of generations facing a momentous turning point and contemplating its implications and immobility. Ultimately, it's clear at the final ball, Fabrizio's melancholy is that of a caged lion, watching his era fade, knowing that his successors (Tancredi) do not approach his stature. The prince steps aside, knowing that “everything will be worse” also because there will be no others like him.
The Rhythm
These themes do justice to the book, but it is something else that truly strikes in terms of cinema. As I said, it's the lightness of the narrative, the ability to flow very agilely. And here we return to the dimension of time: it is profoundly dilated, from a certain point of view. The events we see happen are actually very few (what matters is the reflection) but the rhythm is pressing, almost syncopated. A fine strategy of lightening, with cheerful marches that underline the comedic and anachronistic implications of events, even the most dramatic ones. There's rhythm in the almost slapstick cut of certain movements, in the very physical scanning of scenes, the sequences veering rarely hinge on static postures. Some scenes are almost presented elliptically, to relieve them of excessive weight. There is also a lot unspoken, in such a vast work a certain minimalism is not lacking. Rhythm and ease are also ensured by the clarity of the plot, which simplifies and explains instead of complicating.
Nobility and Bourgeoisie in Dialogue
Cleanliness confirmed by some masterful scenes, which seem to recall certain Manzoni excellences. The dialogues between the prince and Father Pirrone, or the one in which he asks Don Calogero for Angelica's hand for the nephew. Every word says everything about the thought, the character, the strength or weakness of the characters, which is the strength or weakness of whole classes: the clergy, the nobility, the bourgeoisie. The deeply wise concreteness of the noble devours the priest's ravings, dismantles the mayor's frivolous ambitions. It almost seems like it's he, the noble destined for decadence, doing a favor with that marriage. These are sequences of capital importance because they illuminate general historical concepts. Angelica bursts onto the scene as the bourgeois woman, energetic, knows what she wants, hits the mark, and has no qualms about laughing at a vulgar joke.
The Grand Ball
It's not just the grand, famous ball that embodies a work like Il Gattopardo. In fact, it might mislead a bit. A film that does not live only on complex central scenes, indeed. It thrives on a lot of comedic de-escalation, on scenographies that seem like paintings, perfectly still, on deeply expressive, seductive faces: incredible actors who seem born for those roles. The grimaces, the movements, the costumes already say so much. There is an essential grammar in Visconti's work that does not require difficult, complicated readings. It does not entail effort. It is the joy of cinema in its genial and artistic dimension, of pure talent and love for what is being done, without ever diminishing the rigor and content.
In my opinion, the ball scene is emblematic, yes, but in an oblique way. A colossus of 44 minutes, with endless logistical difficulties, the filmmaker's manic accuracy, rich scenography, yet our vision flows with utmost harmony, because the directorial talent hides the complexity, bears the burdens, and gives us only the pleasure of seeing and enjoying everything.
There is never an exhibitionistic emphasis focusing on the material data of cinema, despite the well-known financial stories of the film. No, the extreme richness of the mechanism is completely subservient to the simplicity and clarity of feelings. Such an elaborate beauty, yet so immediate and intuitive, that it cannot help but move.
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