Five years after his death, and on the centenary of his birth, Michelangelo Antonioni seems to have fallen out of fashion. When he died in 2007, on the same day as his contemporary, Ingmar Bergman, Antonioni was considered by obituarists to be the junior genius of the pair, even though the Swede's work fell predictably in step with the wintry, neurotic output of Edvard Munch and August Strindberg, and lacked all formal dynamism. Antonioni, meanwhile, was a formal innovator in a way the plodding Bergman never could be. Since they're both dead, it hardly matters. But it does seem that you either love Antonioni or you hate him. I'm in the first column.
So are Stanley Kubrick, Wim Wenders, Miklós Jancsó and Edward Yang, who learned from Antonioni the