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Journey to Italy (1954)

Viaggio in Italia (original title)
Not Rated | | Drama, Romance | 20 December 1954 (France)
An unhappily married couple attempts to find direction and insight while vacationing in Naples.

Director:

Writers:

(story and screenplay), (story and screenplay) | 1 more credit »

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Cast

Complete credited cast:
...
...
Alexander 'Alex' Joyce (as Georges Sanders)
Maria Mauban ...
Marie (as Marie Mauban)
Anna Proclemer ...
La prostituta
...
Paul Dupont
Anthony La Penna ...
Tony Burton (as Leslie Daniels)
Natalia Ray ...
Natalie Burton (as Natalia Rai)
Jackie Frost ...
Betty
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Storyline

Catherine and Alexander, wealthy and sophisticated, drive to Naples to dispose of a deceased uncle's villa. There's a coolness in their relationship and aspects of Naples add to the strain. She remembers a poet who loved her and died in the war; although she didn't love him, the memory underscores romance's absence from her life now. She tours the museums of Naples and Pompeii, immersing herself in the Neapolitan fascination with the dead and noticing how many women are pregnant; he idles on Capri, flirting with women but drawing back from adultery. With her, he's sarcastic; with him, she's critical. They talk of divorce. Will this foreign couple find insight and direction in Italy? Written by <jhailey@hotmail.com>

Plot Summary | Add Synopsis

Plot Keywords:

capri | villa | pompeii | museum | italy | See All (24) »

Taglines:

A Dramatic and Unusual Love Story!

Genres:

Drama | Romance

Certificate:

Not Rated | See all certifications »
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Details

Country:

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Language:

|

Release Date:

20 December 1954 (France)  »

Also Known As:

Journey to Italy  »

Filming Locations:

 »

Company Credits

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Technical Specs

Sound Mix:

Aspect Ratio:

1.37 : 1
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Did You Know?

Trivia

Included among the "1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die", edited by Steven Schneider. See more »

Goofs

During the religious procession, when the crane lifts the camera and camera pans up to view the crowd, you can see the shadow of the camera on the ground. See more »

Quotes

[first lines]
Alexander 'Alex' Joyce: Where are we?
Katherine Joyce: Oh, I don't know exactly.
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Connections

Featured in Prevodachkata na cherno-beli filmi (2007) See more »

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User Reviews

 
No longer bodies, but pure ascetic images
6 August 2011 | by (Greece) – See all my reviews

This is the film that Truffaut writing for Cahiers proclaimed 'the first modern film', going on to praise Rossellini as the father of New Wave. If we don't want to be stridently literal about these things, I agree with him. A bunch of filmmakers who changed the face of cinema in the 60's are all connected to Rossellini and flow out from this film.

At the heart of it we have the familiar trope of a marriage falling apart, melodrama stuff. But modern, meaning understated and without the soaring emotion. We fill the gaps, providing our own understanding of how a relationship works. We participate as players.

So it's about this affair whose nothingness is revealed by the surrounding world, it withers away; the lavish villa with endless views of far horizon, the large, empty veranda where the two of them languish in comfortable lounge chairs. A little outside, it's the countryside of Naples that engulfs them with languid time and hot, lazy weather, a tabula rasa dotted with old ruins.

We're taken on a pilgrimage of these ruins, as the woman looking for a portent that will divine her predicament. The museum filled with statues, the old Roman fort, Vesuvius and Pompeii; Rossellini presents them as mute, ascetic images, images all pertaining to some austere representation into which the woman projects her own world coming to pass. None of them, of course, hold any answers, except as what they are - reminders of the perishable, impermanent world in which we try so hard to grow roots.

Meanwhile, back in Capri, the cynical husband is squandered in his own aimless voyage for something that will fill the time. He courts a woman, much like he did his wife perhaps all those years ago. He feigns and thrusts for desire. Finally he returns home with the same void gnawing inside. Passable stuff, as in La Notte some years later, but the important stuff is with the woman's journey; the Stromboli part of the film as it were.

It is all about the painful process by which ruins are made, time into memory. We are privy to one such enactment in ancient Pompeii (then still being excavated): into the hole once occupied by a dead body, that holds nothing now and is hollow except with shape, the archaeologists pour plaster in order to surmise the shape of that past. Yet what they retrieve is merely the replica of empty space.

Oh, there's the stupidly saccharine finale, no doubt imposed once again on Rossellini by his Italian distributors at Titanus. It's something to be on the lookout for, for how marvelously Rosssellini confounds his censors.

As the couple magically decide they finally love each other, the mob of peasants that surrounds them - participating in some local religious ceremony - cries out in jubilee about 'il miracolo!'. The two lovers are swept aside by people rushing to see, reunited in this nonsensical miracle. The final shot is of police offers looking stern as they inspect the scene, like the censors would the film. Whether or not we choose to accept the one miracle, boils down to whether or not we would the other.

I want to summarize Rossellini here; he's largely forgotten now - probably because when the cinema he envisioned finally took hold, he had already abandoned it. But he's one of the most important filmmakers we have known. You find out that so much of what eventually blossomed with film, grew first roots with him. His transcendent vision was exceptional.

The only misgiving - slight, very slight - is that everything is relatively precise with meaning. Empty space abounds here, the pure ascetic images, yet is mostly filled for us. We're left with simply unearthing the cast, reading the signs. Perhaps I'm saying this because he envisioned so far ahead that I'm comparing him in my mind with later filmmakers who abstracted deeper. No matter, Rossellini ushered cinema far enough.

Now it would be Antonioni's turn to shoulder it; he would supply the breathing, incomplete space into which the imagination can pour into. There is no cast that explains away with him, only the means of immersion into a space empty, waiting-to-be-filled with us (not by us). The ensuing voyage that finally brings us to The Passenger is one of the most fascinating that I know of, but that is covered elsewhere.


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