Last night I headed down to the Kentucky Theater to catch a showing of Fellini Satyricon as part of the annual Rosa Goddard Foreign Film Festival. In the five years since I had first seen the film I had only a few strong memories, most of which involved extreme decadence. This second viewing certainly confirms that those memories were accurate but my impressions this time around center on the remarkable atmosphere Fellini created. All of the visuals are spectacular, to put it mildly, but it almost seems that he found a way to embody the spirit of debauched paganism to such an extent that even as a self-conscious viewer you begin to wonder if you are glimpsing a real snapshot of life in the early Roman empire.
From what I’ve read, this is what Fellini intended, even going so far as to describe the film as a “science fiction film projected into the past”. If ever a filmmaker was perfectly suited to explore the primitive spirit of antiquity, with all of its pageantry, sensuality, and brutality, it is most certainly Fellini. Like the ancient text it is loosely based on the film is fragmented, and like much of Fellini’s work it has no real plot but is rather a series of fantastical episodes whose strands are gracefully tied to one another.
I suppose you could debate whether the film is a warning against hedonism or a celebration of it, but seeing as how Fellini’s work for the past decade had abounded in sensuality, and of the emptiness that is found when it is sought as an end in itself, that seems unnecessary. Granted, the film is a bit messy, and may be, as Ebert affectionately referred to it “a reckless gesture”. Yet, coming from a man so fascinated with stylish excess, could we expect anything less?
From what I’ve read, this is what Fellini intended, even going so far as to describe the film as a “science fiction film projected into the past”. If ever a filmmaker was perfectly suited to explore the primitive spirit of antiquity, with all of its pageantry, sensuality, and brutality, it is most certainly Fellini. Like the ancient text it is loosely based on the film is fragmented, and like much of Fellini’s work it has no real plot but is rather a series of fantastical episodes whose strands are gracefully tied to one another.
I suppose you could debate whether the film is a warning against hedonism or a celebration of it, but seeing as how Fellini’s work for the past decade had abounded in sensuality, and of the emptiness that is found when it is sought as an end in itself, that seems unnecessary. Granted, the film is a bit messy, and may be, as Ebert affectionately referred to it “a reckless gesture”. Yet, coming from a man so fascinated with stylish excess, could we expect anything less?
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