Written by Stanley Kauffmann
Translator: Chen Sihang
Proofreading: Issac
来源：The New Republic
Like most autobiographical works, Federico Fellini's brilliant new work, titled Eight and a Half, reveals something that exceeds the creators' expectations. We've already seen this from the title — to date, Fellini has made six full feature films and contributed three "half" films to three collection films.
Before we walked into the theater, the title told us that he was smart and that he saw the title as part of his own private history. It also tells us that he found himself in trouble taking the title. The story of the film focuses on a director who is stuck in the bottleneck of conceiving the story, an artist who is in a creative downturn, and he faces the familiar "Divine Comedy"-style crisis.
Located in a lavish health hotel, the director tries to comb through the script of his next project. His screenwriter stayed with him, a typical literary con artist who was attached to the European film industry and played both a supplicant and an ascetic. The director's married lover also came to accompany him, and she stayed at the hotel next door. His producer also came here with his entourage.
His wife also came, and she was not deceived by the mistress's affair. One of the best moments in the film is the scene where he lies to his wife in order to conceal his mistress's identity, and his expression is so sincere that his wife realizes this and is disgusted by it —mainly because he can appear so sincere when he lies—and then the director goes a step further and makes him aware of her "consciousness."
He sensed the gulf between moral myths and moral facts, and then his mind drifted into some kind of harem-like fantasy scene. The work is entwined with a multitude of fantasies — through memories, images and wishes— and a dreamlike woman who is constantly replayed in the film. After months of hesitation about the script and casting, the producer harassed him and urged him to make a final decision.
However, the feeling of indifference and burnout made him feel extremely powerless, and eventually he decided to abandon the film. Then, in further fantasies, he begins to face all the realities of the past and the present, then accepts them and decides to make this new film based on what we have witnessed.
On an executive level, I can't think of any other film better than it. Its graphic and visual originality, rhythmic subtlety and ironic humor are all shocking. We see a sorcerer whose sorcery is at its peak, and if we were to quote a current report to describe this effect, it would be "Liszt playing Liszt".
The film opens with a silent illusion, and the director is trapped in the suffocating atmosphere of a car in a traffic jam. He floated up and made his way through the roof of the car into the air, and then we saw Dalí's Crucifixion-like perspective—we looked down and saw his legs, a kite line attached to his legs, and a man standing on the beach, with his hand pulling on that line. He fell—and woke up in his hotel bed.
This kind of illusion, which is full of amazing imagination, pours in one place after another. In one of the dreams, his dead mother suddenly kissed him passionately, and when she moved her head away, she became his wife. When his screenwriter quoted too many "wise quotes", the director raised a finger tiredly, and under this "command", two outlaws suddenly appeared, and they put a black turban on the screenwriter's head and hanged him on the spot.
When some meaningless few words reminded him of his childhood, we returned to his home— a building that was spacious and safe for him at the time — and he and his brothers trampled grapes in a vat, and then they were washed, taken to bed (they all had clean sheets), and thrown into the arms of the nurse.
There's no point in making a table of contents – we just need to know that the details are rich and intense. Dreams do not subside or penetrate, they are also elements inherent in the structure. You may take the time to wonder whether the scene in front of you is a dream, and this confusion is also part of the film's structure.
But when we ask about the film's themes, what the director has learned from the crisis, or the meaning of the final solution, the answers we get may not be so satisfactory. He concludes by showing that he has learned to live with the past as he watches his life's "playmakers" dance in a circus parade. But by this time, there was little indication that he had failed to "live with the past."
This ending seems to be a relatively convenient way to end the film in a pleasant way. (It's easy to argue that his fantasy suicide near the end should be the real ending, which is also a logical conclusion: in reality, this all-encompassing, happy ending is itself a fantasy.) The real meaning of the film's survival is that it provides Fellini with certain opportunities—and it's mostly to prove that Fellini is a brilliant film master.
What Eight and a Half parts shows may be beyond Fellini's consideration: it is not about a creative crisis, encounter, or survival, it shows a coherent movement that exists in his work, a movement that was first apparent in La Dolce Vita.
La Dolce Vita (1960)
Since then, Fellini has continued to articulate method and meaning, in fact, in "Wandering" he has used this technique (it has always been one of my favorite works). In La Dolce Vita, this strong sense of thematic nature is primarily used as an opportunity, not as the main focus. And this texture is reinforced in "Three Yan Frolic Spring".
"Three Yan Frolic Spring" (1962)
But the moment it finally bloomed still appeared in "Eight and a Half Parts". When I make this series of observations, I am not trying to destroy certain works, but to evaluate the process. This masterpiece has its own set of aesthetics and values, whether it is a flower song, a stunning whirling dance or a complex painting, when it overwhelms everything like Fellini's masterpiece, the audience can also be moved by it, almost the same effect as when they are moved by the art of what is "said".
Actually, I don't think "Eight and a Half" "says" much, but it's also a suffocating work. One cannot escape such a work, just as they cannot escape the best works of Bergman and Renoir – these images create a continuous, inner experience. One must recall them over and over again and remember the effects they bring. But it can be said to be an easy task, because the experience is unforgettable.
The film's star list should include director of photography Gianni de Velikonzo and editor Leo Catozzo, who forged a series of interconnected wonders. Marcelo Mastruani, who plays the director, injects a certain portenteuristic and existentialist meaning into this role.
In Italian Divorce, he has proven something that will become apparent years later: he is a skilled comedian. In this film, he intertwines this technique with his ability to touch ordinary life with serious poetry.
Italian Divorce (1961)
Sandra Milo plays another serious, stupid and empty mistress, and Anuk Aimé's role as wife is also convincing, and the other characters in the film's grand cast also show another of Fellini's talents: he can be perfectly portrayed even the smallest.