• Rating:
We are in 1992, and the great Robert Altman comes from a decade (the 80s) that wasn't as sensational/fruitful as his 70s.
I'm not saying the genius of Kansas City was stranded in the 80s, but due to differences of opinion with the Majors, he dedicated himself more to low-budget theatrical productions.
But in the 90s (a decade of general renaissance of American cinema and, in my opinion, one of the most interesting decades of the 20th century) Altman makes a grand comeback, and he does so with an extraordinary film: The Player (I Protagonisti).
With the subsequent Short Cuts (America Oggi) of '93, it will form a solid diptych on cinema and America, on its contradictions, its glory, and its corruption, which will become a model (in a short time they became two classics).
I Protagonisti, at first glance, might seem like a tribute, a hymn to cinema and Hollywood, and in some ways it is.
Take the beginning for instance: 8 minutes of a sequence shot, with the actors strolling, chatting in the studios, the screenwriters pitching ideas verbally to the producer, and so on.
A long tracking shot of that world, and in those conversations, they talk about cinema, of course, of sequence shots (remember the famous sequence shot from Quinlain's inferno?) right while they, the actors, are themselves inside a film in a long sequence shot. In short, it's all about showboating and elbow nudging (in a barbecul sauce, watch out because Altman te pia per cul!).
The cinema that proudly displays itself, therefore, that devours itself, digests it, and regurgitates it, in a prismatic, changing, restless, and impetuous mirror game. Another trademark of our man is Overlapping, which is the technique of overlapping actors' voices, a challenging choice in cinema due to the difficulty of following dialogues that start in the middle, that don't begin and don't end, a technique in which Altman, Cassavetes, and Allen, just to name 3 big shots, were pioneers and masters.
65 actors playing themselves, something never seen before, masterfully directed by a formidable orchestra conductor, in the early 90s, with some superstars at the peak of popularity (Bruce Willis and Julia Roberts, just to mention a couple).
The protagonist is Tim Robbins, in a state of grace, winning the Palme d'Or at Cannes for the best male performance. The film also won the Palme d'Or for best direction. The following year Altman will win the Golden Lion for Best Film (America Oggi). Considering that in 1970 he won the Palme d'Or with M.A.S.H. and in 1976 he won the Golden Bear in Berlin for his Buffalo Bill and the Indians, Robert Altman holds a singular record: he is the only one to have achieved the triple crown in the 3 most important and prestigious European film festivals in the world.
Griffin Mill (Tim Robbins) is a powerful, rich, and respected producer, at the top of a film company.
One day, Mill begins to receive anonymous letters threatening him with death. Investigating, he traces them back to David Kahane, a screenwriter he had promised a call to months earlier, which he never made. He looks for him and Kahane's girlfriend, June Gudmundsdottir, tells Mill that Kahane is at a theater in Pasadena. He finds him there watching Bicycle Thieves. Griffin tries to smooth things over, but the writer doesn't play along. A fight breaks out between the two, and the screenwriter is killed. Mill then sets up the scene to make it look like a botched robbery…
A thriller then, but be aware that the story is just a frame, a beautiful golden frame—who would deny it—but the film (within the film about the film) that is, the whole picture, is a bit of what I wrote before. A tribute to cinema but above all, a critique of that world, his world, that world of plastic smiles, poisonous tongues, of appearances that no longer deceive, but are deception itself. That cinema that, for a long time now, is no longer just "art" but is above all business, commerce, moneymoneymoney. And in the name of the god money, art bends, shapes, transfigures, flattens, adapts… and so away with the sad ending, let's put in the happy ending and call those two stars, it will be a sure success… and in I Protagonisti even the subject eats the subject, digests it, and regurgitates it in a circular game of Anvedi! Accipicchia! Uuuh hai capitooo? (see to believe and understand this cryptic-crap I have just announced… and what am I telling you for!).
Altman lays bare all the distortions and contradictions of the jet-set and does so using the art of comedy, of satire, mercilessly ridiculing Hollywood and its band. And you laugh, sometimes a lot, it goes into comedy (good shot Robert) but you also smile, often bitterly.
In I Protagonisti, you capture certain dynamics, jokes, idioms, ways of being, or rather, of appearing, that will become clichés in the 90s (which I already said became a model).
And in the end, our guy allows himself to close with a touch of Lubitsch (actually telegraphed, I think Altman wanted to gag the audience good-naturedly) which inevitably "lit up" the spectators in the theater, who, having caught on, responded with their shouts and witty laughs of approval…
And in their enchanted and plastic world, the protagonists will get away with it, they think they are powerful and get away with it, said a Master…
Loading comments slowly
