Listening to Fellini: Music and Meaning in Black and White [1 ed.] 9780838643358, 9780838641750

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Listening to Fellini

The Fairleigh Dickinson University Press Series in Italian Studies General Editor: Dr. Anthony Tamburri, Dean, John D. Calandra Italian American Institute (Queens College-CUNY). The Fairleigh Dickinson University Press Series in Italian Studies is devoted to the publication of scholarly works on Italian literature, film, history, biography, art, and culture, as well as on intercultural connections, such as Italian-American Studies. Recent Publications in Italian Studies Van Order, Thomas, Listening to Fellini: Music and Meaning in Black and White (2009) Billiani, Francesca, and Gigliola Sulis, The Italian Gothic and Fantastic: Encounters and Rewritings of Narrative Traditions (2008) Orton, Marie, and Graziella Parati (eds.), Multicultural Literature in Contemporary Italy (2007) Scambray, Ken, Queen Calafia’s Paradise: California and the Italian-American Novel (2007) Polezzi, Loredana, and Charlotte Ross (eds.), In Corpore: Bodies in Post-Unification Italy (2007) Parati, Graziella, and Marie Orton (eds.), Multicultural Literature in Contemporary Italy (2007) Francese, Joseph, Socially Symbolic Acts: The Historicizing Fictions of Umberto Eco, Vincenzo Consolo, and Antonio Tabucchi (2006) Kozma, Jan (trans.), Grazia Deledda, Marianna Sirca (2006) Bouchard, Norma (ed.), Risorgimentoi in Modern Italian Culture: Revisiting The Nineteenth-Century Past In History, Narrative, and Cinema (2005) Cavigioli, Rita C., Women of a Certain Age: Contemporary Italian Fictions of Female Aging (2005) Amatangelo, Susan, Figuring Women: A Thematic Study of Giovanni Verga’s Female Characters (2004) Kozma, Jan (trans.), Grazia Deledda, Ashes (2004) Marazzi, Martino, Voices of Italian America: A History of Early Italian American Literature With A Critical Anthology (2004) Pedroni, Peter N. (intro. and trans.), Kossi Komla-Ebri, Neyla (2004) D’Aponte, Mimi Gisolfi (intro. and trans.), Theater Neapolitan Style: Five One-Act Plays By Eduardo De Filippo (2004) Feinstein, Wiley, The Civilization of the Holocaust in Italy: Poets, Artists, Saints, Anti-Semites (2003) Lewin, Alison, Negotiating Survival: Florence and the Great Schism (2003) Tamburri, Anthony Julian, Semiotics of Re-Reading: Guido Gozzano, Aldo Palazzeschi, and Italo Calvino (2003) Smarr, Janet Levarie, and Daria Valentini (eds.), Italian Women and the City: Essays (2003) Price, Paola Malpezzi, Moderta Fonte: Women and Life in Sixteenth-Century Venice (2003) http://www.fdu.edu/newspubs/fdupress.html

Listening to Fellini Music and Meaning in Black and White

M. Thomas Van Order

Madison • Teaneck Fairleigh Dickinson University Press

© 2009 by Rosemont Publishing & Printing Corp. All rights reserved. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use, or the internal or personal use of specific clients, is granted by the copyright owner, provided that a base fee of $10.00, plus eight cents per page, per copy is paid directly to the Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Danvers, Massachusetts 01923. [978-0-8386-4175-0/09 $10.00 + 8¢ pp, pc.]

Associated University Presses 2010 Eastpark Boulevard Cranbury, NJ 08512

The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials Z39.48-1984. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Van Order, M. Thomas, 1961– Listening to Fellini : music and meaning in black and white / M. Thomas Van Order. p. cm. — (The Fairleigh Dickinson University Press series in Italian studies) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-8386-4715-0 (alk. paper) 1. Fellini, Federico—Criticism and interpretation. 2. Motion picture music— History and criticism. I. Title. PN1998.3.F45V36 2009 791.4302′33092—dc22 2008022584

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

For Gloria, Matías, and Camila

12 Contents Acknowledgments

9

Introduction

13

1. Lo sceicco bianco: An Early Break with Neorealism

27

2. I vitelloni: Music and Social Ritual

40

3. La strada: Music and Redemption

53

4. Fellini Betrayed: The English-Language Sound Track of La strada

61

5. Il bidone: Metacinema and the Sound Track

73

6. Le notti di Cabiria: Music and Transcendence

87

7. Brecht/Weill, Respighi, and the Equivocal Tone of La dolce vita

100

8. 81/2: Music, Self, and Other

124

Conclusion

135

Appendix 1: Lo sceicco bianco

146

Appendix 2: I vitelloni

157

Appendix 3: La strada

168

Appendix 4: Il bidone

185 7

8

CONTENTS

Appendix 5: Le notti di Cabiria

196

Appendix 6: La dolce vita

213

Appendix 7: 81/2

228

Notes

238

Works Cited

269

Index

273

12 Acknowledgments THIS BOOK IS THE PRODUCT OF COUNTLESS CONVERSATIONS WITH colleagues and friends, but by far the most help from an individual was provided by Amanda McLane, a Middlebury College student who worked on this project full-time over a ten-week period during the summer of 2006 with funding from the Middlebury College Undergraduate Collaborative Research Fund. Amanda completed all of the musical transcriptions included in the book, engaged in significant original research, read multiple drafts of all of the chapters, and offered many insightful suggestions. I also would like to acknowledge the generous support of the National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH), which awarded a Fellowship for this project with funds to support my academic leave in the spring of 2007. I am immensely grateful for the generous support of Peter Bondanella and Millicent Marcus, who wrote letters for the NEH fellowship. Franci Farnsworth, Coordinator of Sponsored Research at Middlebury College, made helpful suggestions for completion of the NEH application. Many thanks also to Carol Rifilj, Dean of Faculty Development and Research, for her help and support. Ben Lawton, an external reader for Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, enthusiastically supported publication of the book, and his detailed reader’s report made final corrections an easy job indeed. My thanks also to Umberto Mariani, who read an early draft of the book and encouraged me to continue, and to Julia Blocksma of Blocksma Music Studios. I have found it immensely rewarding to work with my colleagues in the Italian Department at Middlebury over the years, and I would like to thank Pat Zupan, Sandra Carletti, Stefano Mula, Ilaria Brancoli-Busdraghi, Natasha Chang, and Giovanni Spani for maintaining a friendly and collegial atmosphere that has helped me face the many challenges of teaching and research. A special note of appre9

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ciation is due to Stefano Mula, who proofread the manuscript from beginning to end and offered help in formulating a conclusion for the book. The rights to publish transcriptions of Rota’s music have been granted by Francesca Lucia Molendini of C.A.M. S.r.l. in Rome, and by the heirs of Nino Rota—Marina Rota, Silvia Rota Blanchaert, and Nina Rota. Francesco Lombardi of the Fondazione G. Cini in Venice was an immense help in contacting his relatives in order to secure publication rights for the Nino Rota melodies, and I am profoundly grateful for all of his help. Parts of two chapters included in this book appeared previously: elements of the chapter on I vitelloni are from an article I coauthored with Faith Knapp entitled “Music in Federico Fellini’s I vitelloni” (Romance Languages Annual 10 [1998]: 387–97), while the chapter on 81/2 is taken from “Listening to Fellini: The Music of 81/2” (Romance Languages Annual 11 [1999]: 389–99). A final word of thanks to my wife, Gloria González Zenteno, who pointed me in the direction of examining the music of Fellini’s films years ago, and who—as the only accomplished musician in the household—has acted as an ideal sounding board for many of the ideas expressed in this book.

Listening to Fellini

12 Introduction NINO ROTA’S MUSIC FOR FEDERICO FELLINI’S FILMS IS SO REMARKABLY consistent and coherent in its development from film to film that listening to a compilation of this musical corpus one can imagine a single, ideal film extending in time from their first collaboration in 1952, Lo sceicco bianco, to La città delle donne in 1979.1 Why does Rota’s music fit so well with Fellini’s images? One reason might be that an overarching theme in Fellini’s cinema is the confusion between seeming and being and, as do Fellini’s images, Rota’s music reflects a certain ambivalence because it acts as a cultural gobetween in its obsessive referencing of visual popular culture: the circus, variety theater, melodrama, cartoons, cinema, and musicals.2 But this answer is not entirely satisfactory because he composed music for dozens of other directors, including Luchino Visconti, Mario Monicelli, Luigi Comencini, Lina Wertmüller, Francis Ford Coppola, and Franco Zeffirelli, and yet his compositions seem more profound in Fellini’s hands.3 Could it be that Rota composed better music for Fellini? Probably not—in fact if one were to separate the music from the context of the visual image, many would argue that some of Rota’s compositions for Visconti and Coppola are artistically superior to anything that he composed for Fellini.4 The strange truth of the matter is that the beauty of Rota’s music in Fellini originates in the editing room: it is not the music itself, but rather the magical encounter between image and sound. The importance of music in Fellini’s films is often mentioned but rarely methodically studied, and the many critics who refer to the sound tracks of the great Italian director’s films do so almost always in passing.5 This is not surprising: film music is often overlooked or undervalued in film criticism, considered lightly as a peripheral accessory to image and dialogue. In the case of Fellini, however, music functions as an important signifier that orders and classifies the visual images, thereby offering an important interpretive tool for 13

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films that often resist interpretation.6 As Sergio Miceli notes, “There is no doubt that the music of a film may have a marginal role, but if it’s possible to imagine a cinema in which music is indispensable . . . that would be Fellini’s cinema” (411).7 Unlike Roberto Rossellini’s neorealist classics from the period of Fellini’s apprenticeship to filmmaking in the 1940s—films in which music functions almost exclusively as an emotional cue and narrative reinforcement for the visual narration—music in Fellini’s early films often draws attention to its artificial relationship with the projected image. Borrowing from the conventions of musicals and cartoons, the sound tracks of these films are characterized by abrupt cuts, comic synchronization with the visual image, unrealistic passages between nondiegetic and diegetic musical sources, the coexistence of diegetic sources with nondiegetic musical accompaniment, and a transparently artificial quality of much of the diegetic sound. Fellini’s unique editing of music undermines the verisimilitude of the projected image, facilitates aesthetic distance by revealing the artifice behind the narrative apparatus, and emphasizes the disparities between representation and reality. These uses of music are clearly at odds with both neorealism and Hollywood, where the technical apparatus of sound production (music, sound effects, and dialogue) is carefully hidden behind the artifice of an autonomous narrative unity.8 As Mary Ann Doane notes: “In an industry whose major standard, in terms of production value, might be summarized as ‘the less perceivable a technique, the more successful it is,’ the invisibility of the work on sound is a measure of the strength of the sound track” (54). Both in most Hollywood films and in neorealist films, visibility of the work on sound must be prevented at all costs because it undermines viewers’ suspension of disbelief, making the distinctions between artifice and “reality” readily apparent. Questions of “realism” and Fellini’s relationship to neorealism have often framed discussions of his early work. Many conceive of these films as a gradual distancing from neorealism, often mentioning La strada as a turning point in the director’s development away from his neorealist roots, and sometimes identifying either La dolce vita or 81/2 as a definitive breaking point. Of course few today mistake Fellini’s first films as entirely neorealist, but the overwhelming tendency has been to create a narration around the director’s early films that defines them in relation to neorealism. One of the early conclusions of this study is that Fellini’s independence from neorealism is earlier and more manifestly apparent than is

INTRODUCTION

15

generally thought, and that music and sound editing are essential indicators of this distance from his postwar mentors. Through the use of on-location shooting, mobile hand-held cameras, available lighting, and nonprofessional actors, neorealism revolutionized many aspects of filmmaking, but one important cinematic convention that the neorealist directors did not alter substantially is the sound track. Indeed, Miceli goes so far as to affirm that genuinely neorealist music never existed (406). It is certainly difficult to define neorealist music, as Richard Dyer notes, because neorealist films sound like both earlier Fascist cinema and contemporary postwar popular cinema: The use of non-diegetic music in neo-realism is by and large indistinguishable from the music in popular cinema before and during the neorealist period. This is most vividly illustrated by the fact that, as David Forgacs notes, the music by Renzo Rossellini for perhaps the most famous moment in the whole of neo-realism, the death of Pina in Roma città aperta, is recycled from his score for a battle sequence in L’uomo della croce (The Man of the Cross, 1943), one of the most “overtly ideological” of Roberto Rossellini’s Fascist era films. Pointing chronologically in the opposite direction, Renzo’s music for the Sicily episode of Paisà (1946) is re-used to generate excitement in a scene in which a man escapes from the police in the thriller Una lettera all’alba (A Letter at Dawn, 1949). Quite apart from these explicit borrowings, the overall approach of Renzo Rossellini is identical across official Fascist cinema, canonical neo-realism, and commercial genre films; and the same can be said of Alessandro Cicognini and Nino Rota (except that, though they worked during the regime, they never did so for the official Fascist cinema). (Dyer 29)

The reason neorealism revolutionizes almost everything in filmmaking except the conventions of the sound track is quite simple: music’s primary function in most movies is to support the verisimilitude of the visual narration, and the importance of the sound track by 1945 is such that without music viewers would have difficulty believing the story. The “reality” of neorealism, paradoxically, requires the artifice of nondiegetic music (and postsynchronized diegetic music, dialogue, and sound) edited according to established conventions. In Roberto Rossellini’s masterpieces of the 1940s music is always subordinate to the visual image, and—unlike the many revolutionary innovations in shooting and editing the visual portion of the film—the editing of the sound track slavishly adheres to estab-

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lished conventions of film narration. Music in Open City, for example, has a secondary rhetorical function that attempts to convince the viewer of the historical authenticity of the visual narration: it is a hidden emotional guide to the manifest “truth” as revealed on the screen. But with the possible exception of La dolce vita, quite possibly the director’s most conventional film in terms of sound editing,9 Fellini’s films consistently subvert the conventions of the pairing of sound and image in ways that inhibit reading the films as fixed texts that faithfully reproduce “reality.” If Fellini edits music in such a way that his films cannot be mistaken for “reality,” what do they intend to represent? A close examination of the cinematic function of the sound track (by which I mean the additional meaning that music provides to the image as opposed to the inherent quality of the music alone) provides a vehicle for a substantial rereading of these films. Almost every critic who discusses Rota’s music for Fellini emphasizes the repetition of certain musical genres (circus marches and popular tunes, for example) and the consistent tone of his compositions throughout Fellini’s oeuvre. A close analysis of the editing of music in Fellini’s films, however, reveals an opposing tendency: although they may often sound similar, Fellini’s uses of Rota’s music in fact fulfill a dizzying array of narrative functions that evolve quite dramatically from film to film. Reflecting a profound aversion to artistic immobility, Fellini’s rapidly evolving visual style coincides with parallel developments in the editing of his sound tracks that have gone largely unnoticed. Before examining the innovative uses of music in Fellini’s early films, it may be useful to outline briefly the conventions of the dominant Hollywood model of the 1930s and 1940s. In Unheard Melodies, Claudia Gorbman identifies seven “principles of composition, mixing, and editing” for Classical Hollywood film music: I. Invisibility: the technical apparatus of nondiegetic music must not be visible. II. “Inaudibility”: Music is not meant to be heard consciously. As such it should subordinate itself to dialogue, to visuals—i.e., to the primary vehicles of the narrative. III. Signifier of emotion: Sound track music may set specific moods and emphasize particular emotions suggested in the narrative (cf. #4), but first and foremost, it is a signifier of emotion itself.

INTRODUCTION

17

IV. Narrative cueing: —referential/narrative: music gives referential and narrative cues, e.g., indicating point of view, supplying formal demarcations, and establishing setting and character. —connotative: music “interprets” and “illustrates” narrative events. V. Continuity: music provides formal and rhythmic continuity—between shots, in transitions between scenes, by filling “gaps.” VI. Unity: via repetition and variation of musical material and instrumentation, music aids in the construction of formal and narrative unity. VII. A given film score may violate any of the principles above, providing its violation is at the service of the other principles. (Gorbman 1987, 73)

The preceding “rules” for composing, editing, and mixing music in the classical Hollywood tradition serve a single master: narration— or more precisely, the emotional involvement of the viewer with the narration (Brown 23). Fellini’s films, however, regularly break Gorbman’s rules I and II and often bend rules III–VII in ways that thwart emotional involvement with the story. In Lo sceicco bianco, for example, music often becomes “audible” when its relationship with the diegesis is revealed to be unstable. In one case, a couple dances on a beach to a piano that has no rational diegetic source; in another scene, a diegetic drum is accompanied by a nondiegetic band playing a circus march; and in one of the film’s most famous moments, the sheik’s own diegetic song, belted out while swinging between two tall pines in the middle of the woods, is backed up by a full orchestra. Often in this film it is difficult to determine with any precision music’s relationship to the diegesis; indeed, most of the music that supports Wanda’s half of the film’s parallel stories flutters in a metadiegetic space half inside the narration and half without—the slippage between diegetic and nondiegetic sources10 reflecting her inability to distinguish fantasy from “reality.” On the other hand, the musical support for the provincial newlywed Ivan is relatively conventional in its clear distinctions between diegetic and nondiegetic sources, and this standard editing reflects Ivan’s rigid outlook, determined almost entirely by social rules. Beyond helping to circumscribe the sources of the characters’ worldviews, the sound track of Lo sceicco bianco is instrumental in developing a notion that all “realities” are combinations of complex narrative constructs loosely aligned and lacking an independent,

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objective perspective. Wanda’s understanding of “reality” is mediated by daydreams and imagination that are fueled by the many fotoromanzi she consumes every week, while Ivan’s “reality” is imposed by social notions of bourgeois propriety that he scrupulously obeys. With the help of the sound track, Ivan and Wanda, although caricatures with whom few viewers can identify, demonstrate that human “reality” is made up of a multiplicity of conflicting narrations that are simultaneously “objectively” imposed from external social forces and “subjectively” imagined within. After Lo sceicco bianco music in Fellini’s films continues to develop in surprising ways that break with narrative film conventions by constructing meaning rather than simply supporting the emotional involvement of the viewer. Unlike those of his neorealist predecessors, Fellini’s characters do not so much represent historical “reality” as they do the artifice behind the projection of identity— both personal and social. In I vitelloni, Fellini underscores the distance between collective identity and private truths by contrasting the unifying diegetic music of social rituals (beauty pageant, wedding, variety theater, carnival ball, cinema) with distinct nondiegetic musical themes for some characters. The exception to this rule is Moraldo, and the fact that he cannot be reduced to a musical motif supports the notion that the film is somehow aligned with his subjectivity. In La strada all three protagonists are musicians, and music in this film constructs meaning through ritual enactment in the circus acts of Gelsomina, Zampanò, and the Fool. Through ritual repetition, music forms the basis of memory and myth, becoming a leitmotif that eventually triggers Zampanò’s moment of epiphany and redemption when he hears the Fool’s musical theme at the end of the film. La strada also offers a fascinating case of comparative sound editing: the sound on the English language version of the film was completely reedited in New York without Fellini’s oversight. The new editors largely ignored the original sound track and edited sound in a much more conventional way—synching dialogue more closely, separating more clearly diegetic and nondiegetic musical sources, mixing music at a much lower volume than in Fellini’s original, and recreating ambient sound as if it were recorded at the point of narrative audition. The English language sound track of La strada offers an objective counterpoint to Fellini’s unique audio style, and an analysis of the many differences between the two films reveals

INTRODUCTION

19

the singular importance of music and sound for the director’s “cinema of poetry.” With Il bidone Fellini ventures into one of popular culture’s most enduring genres: the crime film. Fellini’s film, however, is about the genre itself more than about real criminals in society. Again it is the sound track that reveals the director’s intentions: when Augusto, the aging con man and protagonist of the film, himself goes to the cinema, he chooses Pioggia di piombo, the Italian version of Hugo Fregonese’s Hollywood gangster thriller Black Tuesday. Fellini not only slyly comments on the interpenetration of art and life here, he also inserts a metacinematic musical sign that subconsciously informs the viewer that this interpenetration is mediated by the artist himself: when Augusto sits down in the theater the diegetic sound from the film within the film is not from the American film, but rather from Fellini’s own Lo sceicco bianco. Music in Fellini’s films progressively distances itself from conventional functions and begins to transcend simple narrative and moral classification. In Le notti di Cabiria, for example, a melody twice accompanies moments of truth right before the protagonist is swindled and nearly killed. But rather than simply act as a redundant sign of danger or evil, the tune returns at the end of the film when Cabiria walks out of a forest, heads down a road in the middle of the night, and finds herself surrounded by a gay group of youngsters who play the very same tune on guitar and accordion. Cabiria is clearly not about to be robbed again (she has already lost everything), and therefore a moral reading of the music related to the protagonist’s position within the narration is not possible. Rather than act as an emotional cue to facilitate narrative development, the tune here opens the text to wider readings that allow the viewer to examine Cabiria as a sign of enduring innocence rather than as simply a victim of society. Indeed, without this tune Cabiria’s mysterious final glance at the camera would remain imprisoned within the superficial two dimensions of the projected image, incapable of expressing the profound lyrical depth that only the sound track can provide. La dolce vita represents a new form of narration for Fellini, free from the stages of an implicit voyage and subsequent climactic destination that characterize La strada, Il bidone, and Le notti di Cabiria. “The film’s ‘message,’ if we can call it that, is embodied less in the film’s content than in its aesthetic form” (Bondanella 2002,

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145). Similarly to the narrative style of the novels of Cesare Pavese, La dolce vita examines one immobile, existential point and expresses the essence of that fixed point through narrative rhythm rather than through linear development. While the overture for La dolce vita initially suggests an oriental exoticism, through repetition the tune eventually reveals the monotony and spiritual void into which the characters have fallen. Although it is common knowledge that Rota modeled this music on Ottorino Respighi’s The Pines of Rome, the artistic and philosophical implications of the similarities between Rota’s composition and Respighi’s have not previously been analyzed. By reading the sound track of La dolce vita through the lens of Respighi’s Pini presso una catacomba it becomes apparent that Fellini intended to represent Marcello and his companions as if they were shades from the underworld attempting to break free from eternal confinement. Returning to an audio aesthetic much closer to his first films than to La dolce vita, Fellini divides his sound track into two distinct categories of music in 81/2: the first is an “audible” music that viewers immediately recognize and consciously perceive (often classical “zingers” like Wagner’s The Ride of the Valkyries); the second category is made up of “inaudible” music that is clearly either diegetic or nondiegetic, and that viewers hear but perceive only subconsciously. These two types of music reflect the split between two oppositional classes of visual representation in the film. The “audible” music accompanies scenes of external chaos beyond the control of the artist/Self (Guido/Fellini) that portray “independent” Others, while the “inaudible” music accompanies images of fantasy, family romance, and personal mythology based upon a “dependent” Other who bends to the will of the Self. These two types of music reflect the anxiety of the artist confronted with the task of creation: he must reconcile fantasy, memory, and imagination with the external reality of conditions and limits that surround him. As the brief descriptions offered previously attest, far from a precise Fellini/Rota style, an analysis of cinematic sound in Fellini’s early films uncovers a surprisingly wide range of functions. The first, objective step toward examining the sound tracks of Fellini’s films is to plot out the audiovisual concordances, which can be found in the appendix for each film. These appendixes include all of the music in the films, much of it not analyzed in this work, and therefore they might also offer a starting point for further research. Each chapter includes skeletal transcriptions of the melodies, com-

INTRODUCTION

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pleted by Amanda McLane, but the essays themselves analyze the editing of music rather than the music itself and do not assume any specialized training in music or musicology. The transcriptions are intended only as a mnemonic device for musicians, but those readers who cannot read music will have no trouble understanding the text, which aims to describe the meaning that the sound track gives to Fellini’s images rather than the form of the music itself. Rather than analyze the musical qualities of the sound track—a critical approach that a significant body of scholarship on Nino Rota addresses11—the present study proposes to concentrate on the selection, editing, and mixing of music (and, to a lesser extent, voice and sound effects) in Fellini’s early works. In a nutshell, this book is much more concerned with the cinematic functions of music than music itself—and therefore much more about Federico Fellini than Nino Rota. It may seem strange to identify Fellini more than Rota with the sound tracks of his films, but there is little question that Fellini had a greater role than Rota in determining the cinematic value of music in his films: the director, and not his composer, made virtually all of the fundamental decisions regarding musical genres, music editing, and mixing. Although outside filmmaking Fellini would generally avoid music,12 in the studio he immersed himself in the smallest details of the music for his films and “would read the score note by note” (Alpert 267). In an interview with Gideon Bachmann, Fellini claims to exercise near complete control over his sound tracks: “I can tell the film’s composer what I want, I can listen to his various attempts, and can follow the genesis of [what] will become the music of the film. And so the music, too, becomes something I can fully control, something that will help my film to reach additional dimensions, but which at the same time is created totally out of myself ” (Cardullo 196). Some might argue that, by engaging in the self-aggrandizement and myth making typical of many of his interviews, Fellini here exaggerates his role in creating the sound track. Nino Rota’s own descriptions of his collaboration with Fellini, however, paint a similar picture to that offered by the director. In a separate interview with Bachmann, using the example of a tune from the sound track of 81/2, Rota explains how Fellini influences the final form of his compositions, “I wrote the theme earlier, but after I had him listen to it Federico said to me: ‘Why don’t you repeat this measure another time? At this point, before the repetition, another theme would go well.’ In this way he participates in the creation of the

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soundtrack” (Rizzardi 183).13 And in an interview with Sandro Ottolenghi,14 the Milanese composer contrasts the musical knowledge of Francis Ford Coppola with that of Fellini, noting that while the American director has a good abstract understanding of music, Fellini’s practical engagement with the details of the composition of the sound track is far greater: This is why, in recent years, I have agreed to work only with him [Fellini] or with Coppola. I repeat, they are two great directors. Fellini invents the tunes with me, while Coppola, being the son of musicians and having an extraordinary knowledge of music, knows how to tell me exactly what he wants, what is needed for a certain sequence. . . . For the theme of Amarcord: there were a few notes, which I had jotted down with Fellini after weeks in which we had sought inspiration for the music for the film. Federico took these notes and multiplied them, turning them into a repeating echo, a clever idea that’s quite striking. (Lombardi 172)15

Rota expounds in greater detail on the method and procedure of his collaboration with Fellini during an interview with Tullio Kezich, “We’ll sit down at the piano, like always, and make music. I’ll play some themes, if I have an idea ready I’ll play it for him. Sometimes we actually compose together. Fellini gives me an outline, not as a musician, but with a clear rhythmic foundation, maybe with a melodic entry. In short, he suggests an initial form of musical expression. . . . [Fellini] gives more weight to music than I myself would. In scenes with a musical comment, he often irritates the sound technicians by eliminating all natural sounds, all realism” (Borin x).16 These interviews with Rota demonstrate that Fellini’s role in composing the music for his films went well beyond simply describing the music; he was generally directly involved in creating the score.17 In this light, it is not all that surprising that Fellini collaborated with Rota on the music for films by other directors. In a 1978 interview with Bertrand Borie, for example, Rota states, “Fellini has also helped me with other films, directed by others, which is a sign of both his friendship and his interest in the inherent artistic problems of film music” (Lombardi 209).18 In an interview in Japan in 1976, Rota says: “When I worked with a director who did not have clear ideas about the type of music to include in a film I would always go to Fellini . . . for advice. Fellini was always willing to spend hours helping me solve the film’s and the director’s problems. To date Fellini has helped me in this way on 12 or 13 films” (Lombardi 186).19 An

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early example of this musical collaboration on films by other directors can be glimpsed in a 1958 letter Rota sent to his cousin, Titina Rota, in which the composer reveals that Fellini worked on the sound track of De Filippo’s film Fortunella: “Then I’ll go back to Rome to record Fortunella, the music of which I made with Fellini behind De Filippo’s back (who has jealous fits of hysteria over this film, half of which De Laurentiis wanted reshot by Fellini)” (Lombardi 78).20 Besides often being present when the tunes were composed, carefully describing the type of music required while sitting next to Rota at the piano (or even helping compose the tunes himself), Fellini selected preexisting music,21 oversaw the recording of the music,22 and was in direct control of both editing and mixing his sound tracks. Rota, in contrast, was almost entirely disengaged from the visual tracks of the films on which he worked.23 Fellini notes, for example: “Nino always surprised me. After having put into the film so much feeling, so much emotion, so much light, he would turn to me and ask, ‘But who is this man?’ ‘He’s the lead actor,’ I would reply” (Fellini 1995, 121–22). Francesco Lombardi, echoing Fellini’s ironic appraisal in a more direct language, describes Rota’s aloof relationship with visual tracks of the films on which he worked: It was mentioned above that Rota generally held and maintained a complete formal autonomy in his compositions for cinema, but we haven’t examined in detail how one of the motives for this autonomy was precisely the musician’s complete detachment from film as film. . . . In fact, Rota mostly worked from notes, and usually only saw the film in the Moviola, after having composed most of the music, and then only to resolve technical problems (timing, pauses, orchestration). He almost never watched the whole film, from beginning to end, even after it was released. (xvii).24

Unlike Rota, who had no artistic control over the visual elements of the Fellini films he scored, the director was intimately involved in all of the stages of constructing the sound track: he either selected the tunes or helped compose them and maintained complete control over recording, editing, and mixing. Evidence of Fellini’s control over the recording of his sound tracks can be found as far back as his first solo film, Lo sceicco bianco. Nino Rota’s mother, Ernesta Rota Rinaldi, attended the recording sessions and in her diary entry of March 13, 1952, writes: “Yesterday Nino was inside Fonoroma [a sound studio in Rome] from two until

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after midnight, efficiently doing his very best, because, when the only things left to do were guitar and mandolin, Previtali left, and Nino took over conducting, helped along by Fellini, who listened and suggested changes from behind.”25 The implicit control over the recording session that Ernesta Rota describes becomes more selfevident in Deena Boyer’s description of the working relationship among Fellini, Rota, and sound technicians during the recording sessions for 81/2—a description that emphasizes the director’s control of both the musical performance and the technical personnel inside the control room: Before the final mixing of the sound tracks, the music is recorded. Here again the days are endless, and the afternoons go deep into the night. Coming into the control room, glassed off from the huge recording studio by a triple window, is always exciting. The music pours into the control room through three speakers, which give each note its full value. In the studio outside the window, the big orchestra sits facing the screen, on which is projected each of the film strips to be accompanied. Whenever it is required, Nino Rota quickly adds a measure here or eliminates one there. Fellini sits in a chair at the window near the instrument panel, which is ruled over by a young man in a white blouse. The same piece of music is played over and over. “The violin comes on too strongly” Fellini tells Nino by telephone; then he turns to the young man, “You opened your gadget too far there.” (Boyer, 206–7)

The preceding documentation suggests a rather complex division of labor. Fellini and Rota “composed” together, but Rota was clearly the primary author of the music (Rota’s statements implying that Fellini composed some tunes without the composer’s help probably reflect Rota’s modesty). Once the melodies were selected, Fellini would describe the tone and general orchestration needed for each cue, and Rota would write the music for the studio performance (often at the last moment); at the recording sessions a conductor would lead the orchestra,26 Rota would be present to resolve last-minute compositional problems, and Fellini would oversee the entire process from the control room—often requesting subtle changes in orchestration. Once a piece was performed and recorded to Fellini’s satisfaction, sometimes after dozens of takes, Rota’s role in the sound track was for the most part over. In an interview with Miceli, for example, Rota states unequivocally that he has no role whatsoever in pairing music to image: “I never go to the mixing of Fellini’s films” (Miceli 462) (emphasis in original).27 Although he was not directly involved with

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pairing sound with image, during the process of editing and mixing dialogue, music, and sound effects, Rota would sometimes be called back to the recording studio in order to resolve unforeseen complications—creating links between themes, for example, or occasionally even composing entirely new tunes. All of Rota’s work on Fellini’s films, however, related exclusively to the musical quality of the music as opposed to the cinematic function of the music, and, as Rota himself freely admits, even the musical qualities of his compositions were in large part determined by Fellini. Emphasizing Fellini’s artist control over the sound track is not meant to diminish Nino Rota’s musical genius or his immense contribution to cinema,28 but rather to set that aside as a given. Obviously not only a director creates a film, but Fellini, as many have noted, is close to the ideal of an auteur: he oversaw almost all of the myriad aspects of his film projects—from the initial preparation of the script through the smallest details of postproduction. That said, the music as it is heard on the sound tracks of Fellini’s films depends upon countless individuals—composer, conductor, musicians, sound technicians—therefore the name Fellini can also be understood as a type of collective proper noun that does not exclude the many people involved with the production and editing of sound. While no one doubts Rota’s brilliance as a musician, his role in determining the cinematic value of his compositions has at times been exaggerated by critics unaware of Fellini’s control over the editing process. For example, when Donald Costello writes, “the piazza scene operates on both sight and sound: as the scene ends, Nino Rota brings up Zampan[ò]’s road music” (19), he erroneously implies that Rota rather than Fellini decides to include that theme at that moment in the film. And in a footnote to an otherwise very good article on music in neorealist films, Richard Dyer writes: “Film composers of course work in conjunction with directors and producers, but I have here for the sake of brevity mainly written as if composers made the decisions about the form and use of music in the films.” Dyer then identifies Rota as an example of a composer with control over the final form of music on the sound track: “Rota’s neo-realist films, on the other hand, were made with Castellani, Comencini, Fellini, Lattuada, Soldati and Zampa, and show an approach to music that remains consistent throughout all of his film music output (for 157 films)” (40). Leaving aside the thorny issue of whether or not these can all be lumped together as neorealist directors, there is no doubt that music functions differently in Fellini’s

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films than in the works of Castellani, Comencini, Lattuada, Soldati, Zampa, or any other director for that matter. The first scholar to examine Fellini’s unique uses of music critically was Claudia Gorbman, whose 1974 article “Music as Salvation: Notes on Fellini and Rota” analyzes the score of Le notti di Cabiria and demonstrates how Fellini pushes music toward the foreground of viewers’ consciousness by, among other things, creating ambiguity between diegetic and nondiegetic musical sources. More recently Sergio Miceli, in the chapter “Fellini e la musica come personaggio (1952–1963)” from his excellent book Musica e cinema nella cultura del Novecento, has reached similar conclusions, describing music in Fellini’s early films as a “personaggio” with a demiurgic function. The present work seeks to expand upon Gorbman and Miceli’s seminal scholarship by examining the essential role that the encounter between music and image plays in the construction of meaning in Fellini’s first seven films. While this book limits itself to a vertical reading of the functions of music and sound in each of Fellini’s black-and-white films individually, an analysis of music in the director’s color films will be the object of a second volume that will examine the intertextuality of music throughout Fellini’s oeuvre.29

1 Lo sceicco bianco: An Early Break with Neorealism THE OPENING SHOT OF THE WHITE SHEIK (1952) ESTABLISHES A MYSterious and equivocal atmosphere that foreshadows the film’s recurring interest in the nebulous boundaries between objective and subjective representation (seq. #1).1 On a nearly deserted beach, under dark and threatening clouds, a long shot of a sheik dressed in white astride a motionless white horse, sword dangling at his side, contrasts with foregrounded framing structures—scaffolding with a tripod and camera, later revealed to be the director’s platform in a photo shoot for a fotoromanzo,2 and a tall, precariously supported tent from which suspended fabric flaps in the wind. The juxtaposition of the motionless sheik with a still photography camera framed by flapping fabric hints at many of the themes the film explores: the shifting boundaries among effective reality, still photography, and motion pictures; the elastic relationships between character and actor; the ironic discrepancies between projected masks and inner truths. The iconographic sheik paired with the filming apparatus (camera, scaffolding, director’s chair) conflates art as process and art as product: this initial metacinematic representation immediately reflects a divided narration that is simultaneously projected outward and back inward upon itself. An analysis of the music of this opening shot begins to uncover the logic of this double narration. “From the beginning, Rota understands Fellini’s twofold aesthetic of cheer and melancholy. The opening music of Lo sceicco bianco already reflects this—a carnival fanfare that moves into sentimentalism” (Kezich 126). Three nondiegetic musical themes accompany the beginning of the film: Theme A, a raucous circus march similar to many of Nino Rota’s most famous compositions for Fellini;3 Theme B, dramatic and emotionally charged; and Theme C, harmonious, light, and popular. 27

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Appearing to follow established conventions of film narration, these three musical themes are paired with distinct characters and/or situations later in the film: Theme A occurs in metacinematic contexts and in moments of illusion and spectacle—for example, with the actors and crew shooting the fotoromanzo on the beach near Rome (seq. #8, #10, #12); Theme B accompanies Wanda in moments of distress—in particular in decisive moments that carry her further away from her husband, Ivan (seq. #3, #5, #7, #10, #12, #14); Theme C is associated with reconciliation and harmony in the context of sexual desire: it is paired with Wanda and Ivan at the hotel

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(seq. #3), with Wanda and the Sheik on the boat (seq. #10), with Ivan and a prostitute (seq. #13), and finally with Ivan and Wanda when they reunite at the end of the film (seq. #16). Although it may initially appear that these three musical themes function in a conventional way to provide subliminal structure to the visual narration (in which case Theme A would establish the mood of an initial state, Theme B would introduce a conflict that alters the initial state, and Theme C would reflect the resolution of conflict), in fact these three tunes substantially subvert established conventions of music editing in film narration. Theme A, for example, does not support an initial state of an immediately understandable narrative context (it is not associated with the newlyweds Ivan and Wanda at the beginning of the film and does not return to the sound track until sequence #5); on the contrary, Theme A is associated with manipulation, illusion, make-believe, and metanarrative references that act as mirrors of multiple representations that project onto a distant, indistinct, and unknowable vantage point. Theme B, likewise, does not cue the viewer to a departure from the tranquility of an initial setting but rather expresses the capitulation of a character (Wanda) to the lure of artificial narrations (the metacinematic scenes associated with Theme A). Theme B therefore reflects entrapment within Theme A, and not a departure from it. And although Theme C is the musical resolution of the first two themes, it does not reflect narrative resolution—indeed it is paired with three couples composed of either Ivan or Wanda or both. Tellingly, Theme C is never able to dominate the sound track for more than a few seconds at a time: it is always alternating with other music—most notably Theme A. The first scenes of the film, after the credits and the three introductory musical themes, show Ivan Cavalli (Leopoldo Trieste) and Wanda (Brunella Bovo), two newlyweds from the provinces, arriving for their honeymoon in Rome (seq. #2). Far from the harmony of an idyllic union that in a different film might be underscored with Mendelssohn’s wedding march, the sound track in the first scenes of The White Sheik establishes distinct subjective perspectives for the two protagonists, thereby emphasizing a split between, on the one hand, their prescribed social roles as newlyweds and, on the other hand, the private realities that undermine the narrative assumptions of ritual enactment that the viewer expects from a film about a couple on their honeymoon. Separate musical support for Ivan and Wanda parallels the highly fragmented visual style of these

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first sequences.4 During a carriage ride toward the hotel the sound track is immediately equivocal: the sound of horse hooves on cobblestone (obviously a percussion instrument rather than a horse) keeps perfect time with the lighthearted popular tune and even introduces a syncopated rhythm that no real horse could ever duplicate. Upon their arrival at a hotel (seq. #2), after a priest separates the couple as they approach the reception counter, a flute plays an ascending and descending pattern of notes that coincides with a medium close-up of Wanda. As Ivan talks on the phone with his relatives in Rome, and as Wanda gravitates toward a beckoning porter at the elevator, this seemingly nondiegetic music continues to develop. As is the earlier artificial sound for the horse hooves, the relationship of this music to the diegesis is subtly questioned when the sound of the elevator door closing behind Wanda claps with the musical beat, and then ascending notes coincide with the camera’s pan up following the elevator. The suspicion that this music reflects Wanda’s subjective perspective is strengthened when, inside the hotel room (seq. #3), the sound track develops into an exotic, “oriental” pattern when Wanda looks out a window before a cut to a subjective shot of a panorama of Rome, immediately followed by a reverse angle medium close-up of her astonished gaze. Throughout this sequence the sound track fades whenever Wanda momentarily leaves the dream world of her imagination (when she asks the porter about via XXIV maggio, for example). As soon as the porter leaves the room, Wanda begins to search furtively through her suitcase, and letters and papers fall to the ground. Theme B provides dramatic accompaniment to her mysterious attempt to hide these letters, and just as she has slipped the last paper up her sleeve Ivan enters the room. As the door opens, Theme B abruptly ends, cuing the viewer to Wanda’s return to effective social reality. The presence of Ivan, according to the logic of the sound track, inhibits her escape into fantasy. If Wanda is mysterious and her thoughts and motivations unclear in these opening scenes, Ivan is just the opposite in his transparency. Fellini presents Ivan as “a typical petit-bourgeois husband . . . trapped within a life of mechanical forms and conventions” (Bondanella 1990, 119). His fastidious preoccupation with appearances and the need to dominate his meek and passive wife reflect a falsely secure worldview founded upon external, received social values. Shortly after he enters the hotel room, nondiegetic music parodies Ivan as he announces a rigid and detailed schedule for the day: a

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bugle calls out as he mentions the altare della patria, and the sentimental Theme C accompanies his plans for an “intimate dinner” with its allusions to a prescribed conjugal union (seq. #3). The unexpected appearance of a maid, who abruptly enters the room without knocking, hints at the fragility of Ivan’s control over external events. In a technique identical to Ivan’s entrance a moment earlier, the nondiegetic music commenting upon his plans for the day stops precisely when the door opens.5 In both cases the sudden interruption of the musical accompaniment paired with a visual cue communicates potential obstacles to the desires of the protagonists. The synchronization of musical cuts with visual cues, typical of musicals and cartoons, is especially jarring in these two instances because it occurs before harmonic resolution. And indeed, nothing is resolved. Wanda, as the viewer will soon discover, is secretly infatuated with an actor/character from a fotoromanzo—Fernando Rivoli as the White Sheik—and she is hoping to slip away from her husband for just enough time to deliver a drawing she has made of the sheik to Rivoli at the production office of the magazine, located in via XXIV maggio. The sound track represents Wanda’s attraction to this destination, already evident in her queries to the porter, with tolling church bells (seq. #3, #4).6 The bells begin to ring out when she asks the porter, “Do you know where via XXIV maggio is?” and later accompany her distracted and distant facial expressions during Ivan’s theatrical announcement of his plans for the day. The function of the bells as an audible indicator of the pull Wanda feels for the mysterious via XXIV maggio becomes clearer when Wanda pretends to prepare for a bath before slipping out of the hotel while Ivan takes a nap. The bells become progressively louder as she nears her destination, and then fade out shortly after she enters a building (seq. #4). The fade of the bells, however, seems somewhat unrelated to Wanda’s insulation from an unseen diegetic source: the bells are still clearly audible as she ascends an internal stairway and enters an office. It is only when she articulates the reason for her presence by speaking to two workers cleaning the office that the bells completely fade out. The bells act as a subliminal musical projection of the attraction she feels for this place, but upon arrival communicating this attraction can be better expressed through dialogue. While in earlier sequences of the film Wanda is barely able to voice even the most elementary desires, here the protagonist exudes a passion and coherence that stand in sharp contrast to her earlier

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monosyllabic responses to her husband. Marilena Alba Vellardi, the creator of many of the fotoromanzo characters that Wanda admires, enters the room and engages Wanda in a discussion of the various fotoromanzi heroines and heroes. The honesty and spontaneity of Wanda’s discourse are accompanied by silence on the sound track: now that the subject can express her feelings verbally there is no need to communicate her hidden longings through music.7 Wanda’s momentary control over her voice is short-lived, however, and soon she becomes entrapped in her own fantasies. Theme A returns to the sound track for the first time since the opening credits when Wanda sees the characters/actors of the fotoromanzo at the production office (seq. #5). A diegetic drum introduces the nondiegetic Theme A as actors and members of the on-location crew descend the stairs of the production office and head for trucks that will take them to a photo shoot at a beach near Rome.8 This strange intermingling of diegetic drums with a nondiegetic orchestra mirrors the tenuous relationship Wanda has with effective reality: she is in Rome on her honeymoon (drums) and dreaming of the adventures of her White Sheik in Africa (orchestra) at the same time.9 Unlike Wanda, the actors are aware of the distinction between their effective social/historical realities and their costumes and roles, and therefore when Wanda, dumbstruck, stares at them in awe, mistaking their costumes for an exotic reality, the actors’ responses are curious glances at each other that seem to ask: “What is her problem?”10 The spell of Wanda’s self-deception is not broken, however, and she becomes swept away by her own projected narration. When an “Arab” boy with a strong Roman accent tells Wanda that Fernando Rivoli, the actor who portrays the White Sheik, wants her to board a truck with the other actors, she passively acquiesces, ignoring both common sense and her own time constraints—trusting, as do most film spectators, in sight (Arab costumes) more than in sound (Roman dialect). As the truck pulls out of via XXIV maggio the two diverging narrative threads of the film briefly inhabit the same space: Ivan enters the frame from the right and asks a worker for directions while Wanda passes out of the frame on the left on a truck together with the other “White Sheik” characters (seq. #5). While in the previous scenes conflation between diegetic and nondiegetic music reflected Wanda’s enchantment with the perceived authenticity of the fumetti characters and her inability to separate illusion from reality, the music that frames Ivan’s desperate search for answers that might explain

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the mysterious disappearance of his wife aggressively insists on diegetic sources. The regular pounding of the worker’s sledgehammer punctuates the sound track as Ivan reads a note he had earlier found on the floor of the hotel room when he first discovered Wanda’s disappearance. A subjective shot of the note begins to waiver back and forth and become blurred as the meaning of the words sinks in: a mysterious “White Sheik” has apparently invited Wanda to spend “unforgettable hours” together with him in Rome. As Ivan stares straight into the camera his shock is punctuated by trumpet calls that seem to comment upon his profound emotional distress nondiegetically. A moment later, however, a diegetic source is revealed: bersaglieri charge past marching in double time,11 trumpets blaring, and nearly knock Ivan off his feet. The marching soldiers and their music represent social ritual and nationalism as well as Ivan’s sudden separation from the social mores that define his outlook. While all of the other spectators line the street, join in applause, and harmoniously frame the military band, Ivan alone fails to reach the safety of the crowd and is run over by this sign of collective identity. The social implication of Ivan’s isolation could not be clearer: having lost his wife to another man on the first full day of his marriage, he has become an outsider, a misfit, and a failure; in short, Ivan is now what all of his best efforts had always resisted: different.12 Difference for Ivan is a nightmare that he cannot publicly accept; therefore his immediate goal is to protect the “honor” of the family name, mask his inner turmoil, and hide the reality of his wife’s disappearance from the relatives who have arrived at the hotel in order to meet Wanda and take the couple on an extended tour of the city (seq. #6). Ivan spontaneously invents a story to explain Wanda’s absence: she is not feeling well and therefore must rest in the hotel room. From this point forward the social conventions that Ivan had so scrupulously obeyed relentlessly prey upon him as he recites the part of a happy newlywed for his relatives. Unlike the sequences with Wanda, characterized by a nebulous confusion between diegetic and nondiegetic musical sources, the music that supports Ivan’s half of this split narration always clarifies itself as either diegetic or nondiegetic. When he first meets his relatives in the hotel lobby, the horns of the bersaglieri return to the sound track to remind the viewer of Ivan’s recent encounter and his precarious “honor.”13 Ivan’s uncle, a functionary at the Vatican and the personification of bourgeois propriety, tells Ivan: “You’re lucky. Today is a national holiday, and the whole city is draped with flags.” At the mention of the

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national holiday the horns of the bersaglieri enter the sound track as if commenting on his statement nondiegetically, but then the uncle asks: “Do you hear them?” and, as Ivan blanches remembering his earlier encounter with the soldiers, the viewer is again cued to the power that this diegetic source has to define Ivan’s isolation.14 The bersaglieri horns are the first of a series of examples of diegetic sound that intensifies Ivan’s bewilderment and sorrow, as if all of Rome were intent upon persecuting this example of provincial naïveté. Ivan’s slavish subordination to concepts of bourgeois propriety is ruthlessly mocked not only by the bersaglieri, but also by musicians at a restaurant who unwittingly parody Ivan’s sorrow with a mournful Neapolitan love song (seq. #9). Ivan himself partakes in the musical projection of his hidden sorrow when he is asked to recite a love poem that he had composed for Wanda (“Essa è graziosa dolce e piccolina / e tutti la chiamano”), only to be interrupted halfway through the second verse by a waiter who cries out, “Here are your fettuccine!” Later, in a moment of hilarious irony, Ivan goes to the opera with his relatives to see Mozart’s Don Giovanni (seq. #11), and we hear Zerlina, on her wedding day, as she is about to capitulate to Don Giovanni (Là ci darem la mano, / Là mi dirai di sì. / Vedi, non è lontano; / Partiam, ben mio, da qui).15 This aria publicly states Ivan’s private fears of his wife’s infidelity on their first day of marriage and slyly comments on the varying degrees of aesthetic distance a viewer may have before audiovisual representation. This particular performance means something very different for Ivan, his relatives, and viewers of Fellini’s film. For Ivan’s relatives it is a simple, middle-class diversion; for Ivan it is the representation of a terrifying reality; and for the viewer it is the understanding of the ironic distance between these radically divergent readings. The privileged perspective of viewers of Fellini’s film facilitates the identification of parallels between the characters of opera and film: much as Zerlina, Wanda will manage to avoid the advances of her seducer, but only by chance; and as Masetto, Ivan will have little control over his wife’s actions but still manage to maintain his “honor.” A similar layering of readings occurs in the beach sequences where Wanda meets the object of her repressed desires (seq. #7). But who is this man? The quintessentially Roman actor, Alberto Sordi, plays the role of a Roman actor, Fernando Rivoli, who plays the “White Sheik” for a fotoromanzo. Although Wanda seems to un-

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derstand that Rivoli is an actor, she assumes that he possesses the characteristics of the hero he represents. Wanda’s tendency to project artificial narrations onto her external surroundings is beautifully represented by Fellini in her first encounter with Rivoli: she adoringly looks up at the sheik as he floats on a swing suspended between two trees high above the ground. As the “sheik” sings diegetically while accompanied by a nondiegetic orchestra, Wanda’s subconscious desires are revealed through the repeated framing of the sheik’s crotch as he swings toward her (and the camera’s) vantage point.16 The unrealistically high swing (it seems to be fifteen or twenty feet from the ground) together with the artificial synchronization of diegetic and nondiegetic musical sources in the scene project Wanda’s warped subjectivity. Wanda perceives only the character she imagines from her countless hours of reading and ignores Rivoli’s Roman dialect as well as the incongruous lyrics of his song (“mia piccola, ti porterò a New York”—my little girl, I’ll take you to New York).17 By pairing dissonant and irreconcilable musical sources with subjective shots of a decidedly unlikely hero, Fellini immediately casts doubt on the authenticity of the sheik, cues the viewer to the illusion of Wanda’s subjectivity, and sends out a general warning against simplistic interpretation. When Wanda encounters the White Sheik, the object of her adolescent infatuation, she enters into a pulp fiction romance in which normal occurrences seem fantastic. Fellini reveals the artificial nature of Wanda’s subjectivity by manipulating the sound track in ways that emphasizes the selection of sounds that Wanda chooses to hear in accordance with her fantasy. Birds begin to chirp as soon as she first greets her idol. When the two walk to a kiosk to get a drink, a convertible pulls up with the radio on and brakes to a sudden stop, but the sound track reproduces the dreamlike state that Wanda has entered by excluding engine and tire sounds entirely (seq. #7). What is more, the volume and quality of the music from the car radio do not change as the car approaches, but the volume does change noticeably when the driver gets out of the car (again without the ambient sound of the car door) and raises the antenna.18 Because the volume of the music rises in unison with the rising of the antenna— which should determine sound reception rather than volume—the scene recreates Wanda’s entanglement within the implied narrations of Rivoli’s costume: the relationship between music and image reflects both her immediate visual perception and the reading

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she imposes upon the image. To extend Shakespeare’s phrase loosely, all the world might very well be a movie set, but it is not one unique film: each actress provides her own sound track. The relationship between cinematic narration and music is further developed when Wanda returns with Rivoli to the beach, puts on her own costume, and becomes Fatma, the White Sheik’s love interest (seq. #8). The fotoromanzo director reads the script to the actors in preparation for the shoot, indicates character placement and facial expressions for the sequence, and yells out, “Scatta!” (Shoot!) for each shot. The fotoromanzo camera’s first click coincides with the introduction of Theme A, and Rota’s raucous circus march19 continues through a series of quick motion picture cuts that correspond with the moments right before each still image is fixed with the director’s command “scatta!” Hours of still fotoromanzo photography are reduced to a matter of thirty seconds at twenty-four frames per second within Fellini’s film.20 The last shot of this quick montage is of Wanda/Fatma, who in the fotoromanzo story is being carried off by a predatory Moor, but Wanda, far from expressing terror at the possibility of being raped, seems incapable of entering into the role of her character. The director furiously screams at her to stop smiling, and when Wanda finally awakens from her reverie and obeys his command the director once again yells “Scatta!” Just as his first command to shoot had cued the beginning of Theme A, his final command to shoot coincides with the end of the tune. The fotoromanzo director’s order to fix the image coincides with the harmonic resolution of the song and with a cut back to Rome and Ivan’s struggles to hide his wife’s disappearance from his nosy relatives. After a brief sequence with Ivan at a restaurant in Rome (seq. #9), the film cuts back to Wanda at the beach during a lunch break on the set of both Fellini’s film and the fotoromanzo set within the film (seq. #10).21 Coinciding with the cut back to the beach, a piano version of Theme A begins, apparently nondiegetic since a piano has no place at an on-location fotoromanzo set about exotic oriental adventures.22 But two fotoromanzo characters enter the frame dancing to the tune, again underlining the artifice behind cinematic narration and again associating Theme A with this narrative apparatus. On the set within the set an adventure within an adventure is about to begin: Rivoli, in a moment of childish impulsiveness, sails off with Wanda on a sailboat that is a prop for the fotoromanzo (seq. #10). Out at sea Wanda’s identity further erodes as she slips toward

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the persona of the character Fatma. The mysterious violin and harp music in this sequence, unlike Theme A on the beach, maintains a strict nondiegetic distance from the action within the frame, thereby reflecting Wanda’s suspension of disbelief and immersion within the narration. Rivoli invents a story in order to seduce Wanda, telling her that his wife tricked him with a magic potion on the day that he was to marry his true love, Milena. Wanda believes the story and is about to kiss Rivoli when the boat’s boom swings and hits his head, knocking him unconscious. The suspicion that Rivoli’s misadventure on the boat represents some form of narrative logic rather than a chance occurrence is confirmed with an abrupt cut to an opera house in Rome, where Ivan and his family applaud along with the crowd at the end of a performance (seq. #11). This sudden applause, edited right after Rivoli’s deus ex macchina punishment, can just as easily refer to the film audience’s relief that Wanda has managed to remain faithful to her husband as to the internal opera audience’s pleasure with the performance. The strange synchronicity between the opera spectacle and Rivoli’s attempts at seduction is further developed when the opera singers begin an encore and viewers of Fellini’s film discover that the opera is Don Giovanni. Both Rivoli and Don Giovanni are master storytellers, both attempt to seduce women at the time of their weddings, and both are punished for their transgressions. Functioning as an ironic contrast to the opera (Bondanella 1990, 122), Fellini’s comic punishment, however, is far removed from the flames of hell. When Rivoli and Wanda return to shore, Rivoli’s imposing wife, framed with dark clouds in a low-angle shot, waits to confront them (seq. #12). Wanda misunderstands her position in this love triangle and remains in character as Fatma, holding on to her sheik’s sword—the phallic sign of her fantasy. Rivoli’s wife knows her husband well and does not live in any such imaginary world; she addresses Wanda in unmistakably clear terms (“sozzona”—filthy scum) and slaps her across the face. As the director’s command scatta does, the slap cues the same lively version of Theme A that had earlier accompanied the fotoromanzo shoot, and a new spectacle begins: Wanda and Rivoli’s wife struggle, Rivoli begs them to stop, and the actors and crew on the set become spectators, laughing at the confrontation between wife and lover.23 Wanda, however, has not yet sorted out all the narrations swirling in her head and runs away from the set in panic and disbelief. Wanda’s inability to harmonize

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her reading of events with the readings of those around her reveals an underlying concept that will regularly return in all of Fellini’s films: what we call “reality” is itself a narration, or more precisely a condensation and simplification of multiple “readings.” The multiplicity of readings in Lo sceicco bianco reflects a new cinematic poetics that intentionally opposes neorealism’s pretense to immediate, unfiltered representation. Indeed, both Wanda and Ivan can be read as parodies of neorealism’s conceit. They are equally convinced of the authenticity and value of their respective narrative constructs even though these narrations spring from opposing sources: Ivan represents “objective” collective mores and Wanda, “subjective” individual fantasy. Fellini, unlike his immediate neorealist predecessors, insists that layers of narration mediate individual and social “realities.” Unlike the uses of music in neorealism (and indeed in most narrative film in general) music in Lo sceicco bianco does not support the verisimilitude of the narration; on the contrary, it reveals the artifice behind all narration. Unlike the Italian comic tradition based upon la commedia dell’arte, the conflicting multiplicity of readings and misunderstandings in Lo sceicco bianco is not neatly resolved at the end of the film. Indeed, as the couple marches toward St. Peter’s, where they will be blessed by the pope, Ivan does not know whether Wanda has been faithful or not, Wanda has no idea that her husband has in fact been unfaithful (he sleeps with a prostitute), and the viewer can only imagine how the inconsistencies between private realities and public persona might play out in the future for this couple (seq. #16).24 And what music accompanies this final scene? Theme A, the same circus march that had underscored Wanda’s confusion between fantasy and reality at the photo-shoot. The pairing of Theme A with the couple’s march toward St. Peter’s undermines the spiritual authority of the church and insinuates that the pope’s blessing represents nothing more than a further level of narration that insulates the couple from the private narrations that each hides from the other. And this is not an isolated case: Ivan and Wanda disappear into a long line of dozens of similar couples equally eager to project the fantasy of a divine blessing onto the “reality” of their everyday lives. The artificial nature of the church’s narration is underscored by the return of the same pealing bells that had lured Wanda to the production office of the fotoromanzo at the beginning of the film. In this case, however, both Wanda and Ivan seem predisposed to believe in the story they are drawn to, and therefore the possibility of

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a harmonious future is not categorically denied. But harmony in this case implies self-deception. “Wanda embraces the social form of marriage as her new illusion, and in a sense, her solution merges the world of illusion and reality in an inauthentic and uneasy combination” (Bondanella 1992, 88). Marriage, a metaphor for all social contracts, requires the same suspension of disbelief of moviegoers, as Wanda’s final words demonstrate: “Ivan, tu sei il mio sceicco bianco!” (Ivan, you are my White Sheik!).25

2 I vitelloni: Music and Social Ritual

COMPARING THE SOUND TRACKS OF LO SCEICCO BIANCO AND I VITELLONI (1953) one is immediately struck by the sheer quantity of music in Fellini’s second film. Music seems to spill out of every angle of this provincial setting: from a variety theater, a carnival ball, a cinema, a beauty pageant, a church wedding. These disparate sources of music have in common a ritual function that informs the characters’ social roles: the variety theater mixes dance numbers of scantily clad women with nationalist rhetoric in an attempt to instill patriotism in the crowd;1 the carnival ball allows a moment of intoxicated suspension of inhibition where revelers can momentarily set aside their social masks by putting on a new mask, thereby dispersing the accumulated repression of a year’s worth of role play; the cinema offers idealized models of masculinity where passion and adventure are the norm, while both the cinema and the beauty pageant define an idealized femininity as the object of this masculine passion; and the wedding neatly sublimates the pervasive sexual tension inherent in all of these rituals by sanctifying it within the limits of monogamy. In all of these spectacles music acts as a Dionysian force that undermines individuation, breaks down aesthetic distance, and facilitates identification with the visual components of the ritual.2 It is important to note that the audience of Fellini’s film experiences this music differently than the characters on the screen. The spectator of I vitelloni has a great deal more aesthetic distance from these provincial rituals than the characters in the film, and this distance allows for a profound examination of the relationships between individual will (desires, illusions, self-deception, dreams) and the socializing narrations that both guide and limit each character. Unlike the dominant Hollywood model of the period, where the sound track’s primary function is precisely to limit aesthetic dis40

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tance as much as possible, music in I vitelloni often increases aesthetic distance by fragmenting narrative structure: at the beauty contest the band suddenly stops playing when Sandra faints; at the cinema the music seems to comment on the action among the spectators more than on the narration projected on an unseen screen (more on this later); at the carnival ball the camera lingers to capture the end of the party at dawn when a solo out-of-tune trumpet continues to play while the effeminate Alberto, staggering drunk, performs a grotesque dance with an enormous mask. Another way that Fellini’s camera separates the viewer from the implied narration of these rituals is by revealing musical sources. At the variety theater, for example, the camera cuts to the orchestra pit to show a drum as it clownishly punctuates a routine. The camera also distances itself from identification with ritual by wandering from the source of music: at the carnival, while the crowd dances frenetically on the floor below, the camera tracks back to reveal two old ladies asleep in a theater box. By meandering in and out of the narrations within the narration (the social rituals included in the film) the sound track establishes parallel dialogic relationships between spectator and film, individual and social ritual. These dialogic patterns reflect a vision of human society in constant movement, like an everevolving dance. The society evoked in I vitelloni is not controlled by a detached, monolithic force of oppression, but rather by complex cultural codes that function as a sounding board, collecting and projecting the countless narrations emanating from within. Characters in this film are not passive victims of society, like Antonio Ricci in Ladri di biciclette; they are active participants in the construction of their own social myths (beauty queen, Don Juan, intellectual, etc.). Analogously, viewers of Fellini’s film are not passive consumers of an easily digested, prepackaged narration; they must read between the lines of levels of narration (within the film and within themselves).3 Unlike the earlier diegetic songs that reveal the rhetorical mechanisms behind social rituals, Nino Rota’s nondiegetic score in the opening sequence of I vitelloni (seq. #1)4 seems to conform to established narrative conventions. A close examination of the editing of these themes, however, reveals an astonishingly sophisticated formal complexity in the pairing of music and image.5 Three themes are presented with the opening credits: Theme A, mysterious, dark, and foreboding; Theme B, romantic and emotionally charged; and Theme C, lighthearted and playful.

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As was the case in Lo sceicco bianco, these themes are associated in the film with specific characters and situations: Theme A accompanies Alberto’s psychosexual conflicts; Theme B is associated with the relationship between Fausto and Sandra; and Theme C is linked with the freedom and lack of responsibility that characterize the collective actions of the vitelloni.6 Unlike in Lo sceicco bianco, however, the nondiegetic music of I vitelloni does not draw nearly as much attention to itself through comic editing. The decision to edit the nondiegetic sound track in a way that substantially hides the narrative apparatus of the film reflects Fellini’s newfound interest in character development (in contrast to the comic book caricatures of his first film). This is not to say that Fellini follows established conventions of editing sound in his second film, but rather that he begins to conceal the ways in which he bends the rules. In the first sequence of the film after the credits (seq. #2), for example, the sound track immediately confuses diegetic and nondiegetic sources: on the terrace of the Kursaal, during the election of “Miss Sirena 1953,” the nondiegetic Theme C of the introductory music becomes diegetic music

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played by a small orchestra and sung by Riccardo (Riccardo Fellini), one of the five characters who make up the band of overgrown adolescents, or vitelloni.7 This transition from nondiegetic music in the introduction to diegetic music in the second sequence of the film subtly undermines the viewers’ desire to suspend disbelief—a hindrance further exacerbated by the intrusion of a voice-over narrator who directly comments on the scene. The result of this equivocal relationship between sound and image is a weakening of the independence of the visual narrative structure that reflects the fragile and inconclusive nature of the social ritual of this beauty pageant: Sandra (Eleonora Ruffo), the elected sirena, is not the ideal virgin queen the audience assumes her to be; she is an expectant mother, unwed, outside religious and societal codes. A sudden storm interrupts Sandra’s acceptance speech, and the crowd and musicians run into the Kursaal to seek shelter. The band members quickly set up their instruments in an attempt to recapture the festive atmosphere by playing the raucous Mambo dei Sioux.8 But this intensifying Dionysian expression of collective will stands in stark contrast to Sandra’s condition of private suffering and isolation: unable to bear the contradiction between her ritual social function and her private truth, she faints, and the music fades out.9 A doctor arrives to examine Sandra, and the audience at the Kursaal and the viewers of Fellini’s film meet behind a subjective shot of the patient as curious spectators with the same question: “What is wrong with the beauty queen?” Thunderclaps that highlight Fausto’s worried expression together with reverse angle shots between the revived Sandra and Fausto (Franco Fabrizi)—who a moment before had been attempting to seduce another of the beauty pageant contestants10—cue the viewer to Fausto’s involvement in Sandra’s mysterious ailment. Fausto retreats, and the nondiegetic Theme B begins —a musical theme associated throughout the film with his relationship with Sandra. Theme B intensifies as Fausto runs through the rain toward his home, then continues as he enters the house, then his bedroom, where he begins to pack a suitcase (seq. #3). In a technique identical to that employed in the opening scenes of The White Sheik, Theme B abruptly stops when Fausto’s father opens the bedroom door to confront his son. By means of this precise synchronization of image and music, the viewer understands that Fausto’s father represents an obstacle to Fausto’s plan to skip town. A moment later the other vitelloni arrive outside Fausto’s house (seq. #3) and call out to him, and a variation of Theme B resumes

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on the sound track. Sandra’s brother, Moraldo (Franco Interlenghi), enters Fausto’s room, where he confronts Fausto with the news of his sister’s pregnancy. When Fausto closes the bedroom door the music again abruptly stops, and the viewer is again denied a simplified musical code that might reveal the logic of narrative progression. Indeed, at this moment there is a plurality of possible narrative threads: (1) Fausto’s story of leaving in order to find a job so that he will be able to support Sandra, (2) the implicit truth that Fausto is running away in order to escape the responsibility of marriage and family, (3) Moraldo’s desire to believe his friend’s story, and (4) Moraldo’s hope that Fausto will not hurt his sister. The tension of this narrative ambiguity, punctuated by occasional thunder on the sound track, is neatly leveled when Fausto meets his father in the hallway: the father beats his son and, shaking with anger, exclaims, “Ti ci porto io in chiesa!” (I’ll bring you to the church!). As in many other similar instances in Fellini’s films, this moment of reckoning is not accompanied by music on the sound track. The exertion of patriarchal power and authority by Fausto’s father establishes a moment of conformity between social mores and personal will: in the following sequence Fausto and Sandra are married, and the highly ritualized nature of the religious ceremony is structured around the diegetic music of Schubert’s Ave Maria, sung by Riccardo,11 and Mendelssohn’s Wedding March (seq. #4). This transparent and immediately recognizable narrative, framed by equally recognizable ritual music, is fleeting: Fausto and Sandra immediately leave for their honeymoon in Rome, while the more aimless stories of the remaining vitelloni continue to unfold. Shortly after the departure of Fausto, their “spiritual leader,” the vitelloni wander around their provincial town at night (seq. #5). They join arms and march down the street singing out a call-andresponse song that underlines their collective identity. Eventually, however, they must separate and return home for the night. Voiceover narration describes their individual routines as each vitellone enters his private sphere. Alberto (Alberto Sordi) returns home to his mother and sister and secretly pours himself a drink; Theme A, associated with this character, implies a dark, hidden truth behind his carefree social mask. Riccardo returns home, stands before a mirror, and worries about his weight; Theme C identifies him as a generic vitellone. Leopoldo, “the intellectual,” returns to his two aunts, and, the narrator informs us, puts his favorite recording on the record player: Vola nella notte.12 Vola nella notte is nothing more

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than Theme C with lyrics, and the nondiegetic version that had just been heard on the sound track before Leopoldo plays the record develops, without a pause, into the diegetic song on the record player —the same song Riccardo had sung at the beauty pageant, and, later in the film, the same song that Fausto whistles while attempting to seduce the wife of his employer. Caterina, a maid who lives in an apartment adjacent to Leopoldo’s bedroom window, seems to refer as much to the film as to Leopoldo’s record player when she asks, “Why are you always playing that song?” The confusion between the nondiegetic versions of Theme C associated with the vitelloni and the diegetic versions of the same music produced by the vitelloni makes the viewer conscious of the close relationship between this music and this group of aimless young men; the song, rather than “invisibly” establish mood—as would be the case for a conventional sound track melody—functions as an anthem that overtly defines and identifies the vitelloni.13 Together with the temporal distance implicit in voice-over narration, this melding of diegetic and nondiegetic versions of Theme C pushes the narration away from a fixed historicity, as if the film were representing not the effective reality of what the image portrays, but rather the conscious imposition of memory and myth onto the visual narration. The result of this unusual sound editing is a tone that can best be described as ironic commemoration. There are numerous other instances of confusion between diegetic and nondiegetic musical sources in the film that help to confirm the distance in time between actual events and narrative reenactment. The light, popular music heard in the local bar that the vitelloni frequent (seq. #5, #14), ostensibly diegetic (Moraldo beats out the time of the tune with his hand in sequence #5), is used nondiegetically when Sandra’s father returns home furious after discovering that Fausto has attempted to seduce his employer’s wife, Giulia, and that Fausto and Moraldo have stolen a religious statue (seq. #15). This same tune, however, returns to the diegesis when a radio is turned on in a restaurant where Leopoldo reads his play to the homosexual actor Sergio Natali (seq. #18). In another case, a musical theme introduced diegetically when Sandra and Fausto go to the cinema (seq. #9) returns nondiegetically in many later sequences (more on this later). Guido, a boy who works at the railroad station and with whom Moraldo talks late at night, whistles a tune (seq. #5) that later is played by an orchestra at the carnival ball (seq. #10). Even the music in the film that is clearly defined as exclu-

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sively diegetic may have an ambiguous relationship to the diegesis. While Hollywood films in the 1940s and 1950s tend to use preexisting music for diegetic performances (for example, all of the tunes in Casablanca [1942] that are performed in Rick’s nightclub, including “As Time Goes By,” are preexisting popular songs), Nino Rota’s Mambo dei Sioux, written for I vitelloni and therefore music that would normally be edited nondiegetically, occurs exclusively diegetically in the film: introduced at the beauty pageant (seq. #2), it is later heard at the cinema (seq. #9) and is also played at the carnival ball (seq. #10) and again at the variety theater (seq. #18). The novelty of the diegetic mambo as well as the slippage between diegetic and nondiegetic sources in other tunes and the artificial repetition of diegetic music from disparate sources, taken together, seem to reproduce the memory of events rather than events themselves; the image appears objective but the sound track displaces the image from historical certainty by revealing the subjective reconstruction of the narration. A further confusion between diegetic and nondiegetic musical sources occurs in the sequence in which Fausto and Sandra return from their honeymoon trip to Rome (seq. #7). Fausto and Sandra meet the remaining vitelloni in the street, and Fausto, after a brief greeting, exclaims: “Hey guys, listen to this mambo!” Fausto produces a record player, sets it up on the table of a sidewalk café, places a record on the turntable, and commences to dance to the song with Alberto. The mambo we hear, however, is a Nino Rota tune composed for the film, and this fact—taken together with the unusually high quality of the sound and the absence of intruding ambient noise—significantly reduces diegetic verisimilitude. As a result, the viewer questions the harmony implicit in the dance. Far from an expression of spontaneous exuberance, the music and dance ostensibly reproduce a routine that Fausto had seen in a Wanda Osiris14 show in Rome, and therefore Fausto’s dance reflects subservience to models of popular culture rather than the individual artistic expression of the authentic dancer. Or so it seems if we isolate character from actor. Examining the actors dancing on the screen as actors, however, adds a metanarrative layer to the scene. The dance that Franco Fabrizi and Alberto Sordi perform may be much more authentic than it appears: they both worked for Wanda Osiris before (and during in the case of Sordi) the filming of I vitelloni (Kezich 133–34).

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The function of music as a sign of the fluid interactions between artifice and reality is especially evident in the sequence in which Fausto and Sandra go to the cinema (seq. #9). The nondiegetic Theme B, associated with the couple throughout the film, fades into Mambo dei Sioux as the two enter the cinema. The mambo15— apparently diegetic from the film projected within the cinema— establishes a mood similar to that of the film I vitelloni, and therefore this particular film music reduces the distance between the film within the film and the film itself. The distinction between the two films becomes more precarious later in the sequence when Fausto flirts with a mysterious woman sitting next to him: a new tune, which the viewer assumes to be diegetic from the film within the film, perfectly comments upon the scene within the frame of the film I vitelloni. A pattern of ascending and descending notes that alternately raise and lower tension forms the song (hereafter referred to as Cinema Theme).

The ascending notes correspond to Fausto’s attempts to touch the mysterious woman’s legs, while the descending notes correspond with Sandra’s interruptions that draw his attention back to her.16 The use of music that, although ostensibly diegetic, functions nondiegetically subconsciously informs the viewer that she is watching an artificially assembled narrative. As Claudia Gorbman notes (referring to a similar use of the sound track in Nights of Cabiria): Fellini achieves a degree of stylization by manipulating the characters’ actions so that they submit to musical division of time rather than dramatic or realistic time. The characters in the narrative film, whom we conventionally accept as subjects, become objects when their movements and speech coincide strictly with the music: for, again, musical rhythm—an abstract, mathematical, highly organized disposition of time —can be considered at odds with spontaneous, “real” time. We sense that the characters have been created, and they do not inspire us to identify with them. (Gorbman 1987, 24–25)

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This lack of identification with the characters on screen affords the viewer an ironic distance from the narrative that in turn allows for a more profound understanding of Fausto’s actions. The film condemns Fausto not so much for infidelity—which would fall within a traditional value structure and an “invisible” use of music within the narrative—as for inauthenticity. The sound track helps to define the nature of Fausto’s inauthenticity later in the same sequence (seq. #9). The mysterious woman, who has ignored Fausto’s advances, leaves the cinema in the middle of the film. Cinema Theme continues on the sound track, and Fausto also leaves in order to pursue this new adventure, telling Sandra that he will return right away. As soon as Fausto exits the cinema and steps onto the street Cinema Theme fades out, thereby returning it to the diegesis and undermining the verisimilitude of its nondiegetic function in the previous scene. Fausto follows the mysterious woman to the doorway of her home, where Theme C begins, thereby establishing the mood of happy-go-lucky freedom from social constraint associated with the vitelloni. Theme C stops momentarily as the two kiss, dramatically framing the moment. Theme C then resumes, the mysterious woman escapes up a stairway, and Fausto, clearly satisfied with the success of this latest conquest, heads back to the cinema. As he nears the cinema he sees Sandra waiting for him outside, and Theme B replaces Theme C. Fausto asks how the film ends and, ironically, Sandra answers, “Si sposavano.” Then, in a mise-en-scène repeated a number of times by Gelsomina in La strada, Sandra cowers against a wall and breaks down crying. At this point Theme B becomes emotionally charged with insistent violins that continue as the couple momentarily makes up. A neorealist reading of this scene might lead to an unequivocally moral interpretation: Sandra is the victim of the arrogance that Fausto’s name implies. I vitelloni, however, is not so much interested in creating and resolving conflict as it is in unmasking and revealing the ambiguous nature of its characters. “Reality” lies behind the juxtaposition of fictions, and not in neat narrative resolutions. Fausto is too weak to be evil. He is caught between the masks and roles he assumes: faithful husband and responsible wage earner (Theme B), passionate lover and seeker of adventure (Theme C). The common musical element between these two fictive worlds is Cinema Theme, a tune that shows Fausto juggling both roles contemporaneously. Cinema Theme helps to establish the artificial nature of Fausto’s conflict: it reveals Fausto’s inauthentic essence as

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one who assumes roles; one whose actions are always comic, never tragic—for the very idea of tragic destiny is predicated upon the uniquely determined actions of a hero who is authentic and true to himself. Fausto, however, is true only to the context in which he finds himself: he has no self-control. Cinema Theme becomes an emblem of this chameleonlike nature, and, unrealistically, it exits from its diegetic origins and follows Fausto and the other vitelloni nondiegetically for the remainder of the film. Cinema Theme, introduced as a commentary on an unseen spectacle in a confusing and mobile space between nondiegetic and diegetic sources, functions nondiegetically to comment on the theatrical nature of the vitelloni’s costumes and preparations for the carnival ball (seq. #10); it establishes the complex mood of reconciliation based upon narrative fabrication when Fausto lies to Sandra in order to explain why he stole a religious statue after attempting to seduce the wife of his employer (seq. #15); it is interspersed throughout the sequences in which Leopoldo and the homosexual actor Sergio Natali misunderstand each other’s intentions and desires (seq. #18, #19); and it returns as a refrain throughout the penultimate sequence in which Fausto searches for the missing Sandra (seq. #21). Although the film begins with an implicit conflict between two musical themes, Theme B (associated with the relationship between Fausto and Sandra, marriage, social constraint, employment, maturity) and Theme C (associated with the vitelloni, freedom, spontaneity, adolescence, friendship), Cinema Theme takes on an increasing importance toward the end of I vitelloni, mediating between the two earlier themes not in terms of narrative (or musical) resolution of conflict, but rather as a sign of the artificial nature of the conflict itself: if the characters do not know themselves and are not aware of the misunderstandings created by the interrelationships of their social masks, how can they choose between freedom and responsibility? Cinema Theme underlines the superficial and artificial nature of these characters’ lives: they pretend to create themselves heroically and to control events, but they are almost entirely determined by external forces. The sound track of I vitelloni reveals the tenuous nature of any narrative “conclusion.” The tension in the relationship between Fausto and Sandra throughout the film mirrors the uses of Theme B and Theme C, defining the characters in terms of a cyclical pattern of betrayal and reconciliation. Signs of Fausto’s infidelity are shown four times in the film—each time associated with Theme C:

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in the beauty pageant sequence (seq. #2); in the cinema sequence (seq. #9); with Giulia, the wife of Fausto’s employer (seq. #12); and with a dancer from the variety theater (seq. #20). Corresponding with each new conquest (or attempted conquest), Theme B comments upon Fausto’s return to Sandra (seq. #3, #9, #16, #22). Fellini comments ironically on the pattern of Fausto’s behavior when, in the penultimate sequence of the film (seq. #22), Fausto is beaten and spanked by his father before yet another reconciliation with his wife. Theme B again establishes the mood of this moment of harmony in marriage, but at the end of the sequence, where Sandra threatens Fausto, telling him that if he is ever unfaithful again that she will clobber him, Theme B develops into Theme C, and the viewer is subconsciously cued to the likelihood of the continuation of a pattern of betrayal and reconciliation.17 Theme A, associated with Alberto, has a similarly complex relationship with other music in the film. The tune occurs only four times in the film: in the introduction with the film credits (seq. #1); when Alberto returns home after a typical night out with his buddies and furtively gulps wine from a bottle (seq. #5); in the beach sequence where Alberto discovers Olga, his sister, together with a married man (seq. #6); and after the carnival ball when Olga leaves home with her lover (seq. #11). Theme A, as is Theme B, is generally presented in contrast or in conjunction with Theme C. The dark, foreboding, and frightening mood created by Theme A represents the weak and insecure reality behind Alberto’s patriarchal mask. Alberto assumes that he has the right to control his sister’s life— although she is the only person in the household with a job—and Theme A occurs when this control is revealed to be illusory. In the beach sequence (seq. #6), for example, Theme C develops out of stagnant music and then continues as Alberto casually chases after a German shepherd that has suddenly appeared. The dog belongs to Olga’s lover, and by following it Alberto discovers the two lovers hidden behind a shack on the beach. Theme A begins precisely when Olga’s lover enters the frame, and then alternates with the carefree Theme C for the remainder of the sequence when the other vitelloni arrive to witness the encounter. The contrast between the two musical themes creates a palpable tension, but—as in the case with the pairing of Theme B with Theme C—the inherent conflict between Theme A and Theme C is never resolved. For example, after the carnival ball, where he dresses as a woman, drinks himself into a stupor, and dances alone with a giant mask, Alberto returns home to

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discover that his sister is leaving town with her lover (seq. #11). Theme A begins as Olga departs, and then becomes louder with a quickening tempo as Alberto trips up the stairs to his mother. Variations on Theme A continue as Alberto and his mother discuss Olga’s departure, in particular the economic impact of losing the household’s only wage earner. Alberto boasts that he will begin to work, but when his mother asks him whether he has found a job he answers, “I’ll find a job” and collapses into a chair. The emptiness of this promise is communicated on the sound track: as he slides into the chair Theme A develops into Theme C in a minor key. Alberto, the music implies, remains fundamentally unchanged: he is a false patriarch with an insecure sexual identity and, as are the other vitelloni, he is irresponsible and unable to control the direction of his life. Much as in the relationship between Fausto and Cinema Theme, Alberto too is associated with a diegetic musical theme that reveals his hidden face. At the carnival (seq. #11) Alberto drinks furiously and dances to the frenetic rhythm of “Yes Sir That’s My Baby.”18 After a cut to the wee hours of the morning, we see Alberto continuing to dance with an enormous papier-mâché mask to the same song, now played by an out of tune solo trumpet. As Peter Bondanella notes: “No other image in Fellini’s works visualizes so clearly his interest in the clash of mask and face than this surrealistic dance between a man in drag and an empty mask” (1990, 128). The image and the music succinctly define this character: Alberto, unable to confine the moment of selfless intoxication to the parameters of ritual enactment, continues to dance after most of the musicians and nearly all of the revelers have gone home. The same music that had earlier marked the ritual of collective exuberance and freedom transforms itself into an individual expression of despondency and dejection.19 The dance and the wine that were meant to offer selflessness and indistinguishability become suffering and individuation: Alberto’s mask of patriarchal power is too big, too heavy, too awkward, and too far from the truth to cover his pathetic weakness and retarded emotional development. The moment of truth is near: beaten and resigned, Alberto quits the ballroom and, alone, enters a silent piazza at dawn.20 The function of music in revealing the hidden truth behind social masks is less pronounced in the cases of Leopoldo and Riccardo, in part because their stories are not as well developed. The case of Moraldo, however, is unique. Moraldo, unlike the other characters

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in the film, acts as a witness and is able to judge the actions of his friends because he is somewhat removed from the narrative; his function is to view rather than to act.21 Indeed, his only independent action is his decision to leave town at the end of the film. Somewhat as the camera eye itself does, and similarly to the intellectual perspective of the narrator, Moraldo projects a subjective perspective onto the narrative from within the projection of the narrative itself. In a certain sense, the music of I vitelloni is generated from this equivocal perspective: the confusion between diegetic and nondiegetic sources reflects the conflict between the narrative distance implicit in memory (revealed in the past imperfect of the narrator) and the identification of the narrator with the vitelloni (revealed in the use of the first-person plural noi). The dependence of the narration on the perspective of the viewer (camera, narrator, Moraldo), and the explicit presentation of images of memories rather than immediate action, create confusion between the diegesis and the means by which the diegesis is represented. The musical slippage between diegetic and nondiegetic sources reflects the primacy of narrative reconstruction over historical accuracy. This is the immediate distinction between Fellini and the neorealists before him: Fellini denies the independence of the image, insisting that what is real is the process of narration, and not the reproduction of static, effective “reality.”

3 La strada: Music and Redemption LA STRADA (1954) MARKS FELLINI’S FIRST SIGNIFICANT COMMERCIAL and critical success, winning an Academy Award for best foreign picture, among many other prizes. It is also the first Fellini film whose sound track became almost as popular as the film itself.1 As in the director’s previous films, music in La strada often functions to create meaning rather than act as a simple emotional cue. However, Fellini’s use of sound in La Strada surpasses the innovations of his previous films, elevating music to a much higher thematic level.2 In fact, sometimes the visual images of La Strada clarify the meaning of the music rather than the other way around: music functions at times as the ends of narration rather than simply as a means of narration (Miceli 420). La Strada, a film that would be quite incomprehensible without its sound track, examines music as a metaphor for a type of lyrical communication that “accumulates and communicates meaning not explicit in the images or dialogue” (Gorbman 18). Far from the comic aesthetic surrounding the music of Lo sceicco bianco, and much more profound in its examination of character than I vitelloni, the sound track of La strada plumbs lyrical depths that allow the viewer to glimpse the sublime hidden within a most coarse character. Three musical themes introduce the titles at the beginning of La Strada: Il Matto, one of Nino Rota’s most famous compositions for Fellini, is slow, melancholy, and dramatically charged;3 Circus March, on the other hand, is upbeat, gay, and raucous; and La Strada Theme,4 with its subdued melody and moderate tempo, is an emotionally neutral compromise between the first two themes (seq. #1).5 A close examination of the uses of these three themes in the film reveals that Fellini has again eschewed conventional music editing: Il Matto does not reflect an initial state, Circus March has no association with conflict in the film, and La Strada Theme accompanies a repeating action rather than the resolution of conflict. Of these 53

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three themes La Strada Theme has the most conventional function: it occurs exclusively in traveling shots of Zampanò’s motorcycle and imbues these scenes with a sense of picaresque adventure. The uses of Il Matto are much more complex; the theme begins and ends the film, and three characters sing or play the song: a woman sings the theme toward the end of the film, Gelsomina (Giulietta Masina) sings the song once and often plays it on her trumpet, and the Fool (Richard Basehart) performs it on his tiny violin.6 Unlike La Strada Theme, paired exclusively with a specific action, Il Matto is associated with all three protagonists and reflects a sublime, mysterious connection among the characters rather than a single common trait. The third theme, Circus March, accompanies Zampanò’s chain breaking routine and the Fool’s high wire act, and its playful,

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farcical tone seems incompatible with the pathos of Il Matto. Indeed, these two musical themes may represent conflict between comic and tragic forces—a continuing tension that accumulates throughout the film. Zampanò’s inability to feel compassion, his refusal to recognize the equal validity of the Other, and his unwillingness to examine social practices or the natural world around him make him the perfect foil for Gelsomina’s innate generosity and childish curiosity. The sound track comments on his movement on the motorcycle with La Strada Theme and on the spectacle of his act with Circus March, but no music reveals the inner nature behind his impenetrable public mask. Indeed, neither of these two musical themes occurs without the presence of Gelsomina, a fact that underscores the lyrical void surrounding his physicality. Music implies progression, development, and resolution; it is a form of narration. But Zampanò (Anthony Quinn) lives according to the logic of motion upon the straight line of the road where ritual repetition is strangely divorced from myth, and therefore his music relates to action rather than being.7 Gelsomina, on the other hand, entirely transparent, innocent, and ignorant, wants nothing more than a narration that might clarify her purpose in the world—a mask that might protect the fragility of her exposed Self. The immediacy of her childish innocence is represented on the sound track by Gelsomina’s Theme.

This theme, unlike Il Matto, does not develop meaning through the film and is not likely even to be remembered by most viewers. It first occurs in the very first sequence, after Gelsomina meets Zampanò, when she kneels before the sea (seq. #2). Exclusively nondiegetic, this song expresses her essential, innate nature and acts as a redundant sign of her qualities. Gelsomina’s Theme is often interrupted or silenced in the presence of Zampanò, and in general the theme occurs progressively less often and at a lower volume throughout the film. In an early sequence, where Zampanò dresses Gelsomina with a clown costume and then teaches her to play the drum, Gelsomina’s Theme identifies her unambiguously while she stands in her

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own tattered clothes, but when Zampanò begins to place hats on her head, a new theme, Procession Theme, alternates with the earlier tune (seq. #4). Soon after, when Zampanò begins to bark orders, telling her where to sit and imperiously demanding, “Do only what I tell you to do,” Gelsomina’s Theme fades out entirely and Circus March takes over the sound track as an ironic contrast to her suffering as she learns to perform according to the strongman’s precise standards.8 Later that evening Zampanò forces Gelsomina to sleep with him, and the strident and pleading tone of Gelsomina’s Theme that marks her resistance to entering into his bed represents the primal fear of a subject acutely aware of herself (seq. #5). From this point forward Gelsomina’s Theme will often mark moments when Gelsomina distances herself from Zampanò: when she plays with children in a field after finding Zampanò passed out after he has spent the night with a prostitute (seq. #9); when she visits a disabled boy with a deformed head at a country wedding (seq. #10); when she leaves Zampanò the morning after the wedding celebration (seq. #11, #12); when, after running away from Zampanò, she kneels in a piazza at night and gazes up at the sky (seq. #14); when she sleeps alone in the back of the motorcycle while Zampanò spends the night in jail (seq. #18); when she joyously runs across dunes toward the sea (seq. #19). After Zampanò kills the Fool Gelsomina’s Theme returns to the sound track only one other time, in the sequence where Zampanò abandons Gelsomina by the foundation of an old house (seq. #24).9 As Gelsomina lies down to sleep the music is barely audible, a faint reminder of what she was before her painful adventures with the strongman. The music that comments upon the moment Zampanò leaves, however, is not Gelsomina’s Theme. Before Zampanò pushes his motorcycle away from the sleeping Gelsomina he notices her horn, and Il Matto begins on the sound track while he takes the instrument out of the back of his wagon, then places it by her side. For the first time in the film the sound track seems to reflect Zampanò subjectivity, and the tune becomes emotionally charged and insistent as he pushes his motorcycle away, definitively leaving Gelsomina behind.10 Leaving Gelsomina by the side of the road is relatively easy for Zampanò; freeing himself from the melody of her trumpet, however, will be much more difficult. If Gelsomina’s Theme expresses an essential, innate nature, Il Matto reflects what Gelsomina becomes over time: an artist and a

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musician. Zampanò shows her how to perform by banging on a drum, but the Fool teaches her to understand herself, and it is his lesson that this song projects. Unlike Zampanò, the Fool talks to Gelsomina, reasons with her, and listens to her. “While Zampanò’s sluggish intellect leaves him humourless and dull, Il Matto’s mind is agile, able to make the connections prerequisite to wit. Musically, the two men are also opposed, as il Matto plays the tiniest of violins and Zampanò blasts away on the trombone or beats on the drums” (Marcus 1986, 153). It is through the Fool’s complex music that Gelsomina is able to learn more than the physical timing of a comic act. With his help she is able to construct a story, a personal mythology: “Once the Fool has shown Gelsomina that she has an essential place in the universe, that her life has meaning and value, she somehow acquires his song” (Gorbman 1974, 18). But how does she acquire Il Matto? After Zampanò is imprisoned for brandishing a knife while chasing his rival, the Fool returns to the circus at night and informs Gelsomina that everything has meaning—even the smallest pebble. The music that supports the Fool’s parable of the pebble reflects the stages of Gelsomina’s acquisition of the Fool’s lesson (seq. #18). Il Matto, heard nondiegetically on the sound track for the first time since the opening credits,11 begins when the Fool tells Gelsomina that Zampanò might keep her because he loves her and continues as the Fool picks up a pebble and compares it to a star—explaining that everything in the universe has a purpose. Gelsomina’s Theme replaces Il Matto precisely when she takes the pebble from the Fool’s hand, and her tune continues as she ponders the stone, concluding only when she stands up and prepares to speak.12 Il Matto returns just as Gelsomina declares her intention to stand up to Zampanò, thereby cuing the viewer that this tune now reflects Gelsomina’s desire to relate to Zampanò as an equal. Unlike the uses of Gelsomina’s Theme in scenes with Zampanò, where the tune reflects Gelsomina’s ability to be herself in opposition to the strongman, in this scene Il Matto and Gelsomina’s Theme coexist harmoniously. The musical dialogue that accompanies the conversation between Gelsomina and the Fool subtly transforms Il Matto from a melodic tag that simply indicates the Fool’s presence into a complex musical leitmotif that at once represents the Fool, his parable of the pebble, and Gelsomina’s newfound sense of purpose.13 Il Matto is the musical theme that is most closely associated with the lyrical intensity of the film, and it is also the tune with the most complex relationships with characters and situations. It is reintro-

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duced (after the first pairing with the film credits) by Gelsomina relatively late in the film, at the end of the wedding sequence, when she attempts to speak with Zampanò after he has slept with the widow Teresa (seq. #11).14 Gelsomina’s actions surrounding this first use of Il Matto associate the tune with both her attempts at communication with Zampanò and her sorrow in the face of his infidelity and stubborn isolation.15 The music is introduced before the Fool appears for the first time and has no specific source from within the narration.16 Gelsomina asks Zampanò, “Do you remember that song, the one we heard that day in the rain under the window?” and then she begins to sing and dance alone to the melody. Zampanò, who rarely answers Gelsomina’s questions,17 remains self-absorbed as he tries on the new suit that he has “earned” from the widow, ignoring both Gelsomina and the music she produces. Gelsomina’s reaction to his aloofness is sorrow: she whimpers, huddles next to a wall, then stumbles and falls through a trap door into a cellar. Zampanò laughs at her misfortune and tells her to climb out, but when Gelsomina rebels and shouts out, “No!” he simply shrugs his shoulders and walks away. He has not yet heard her song. Zampanò does not hear Gelsomina’s music in part because he denies himself art’s consolatory potential. His chain performance repeats the mechanics of a craft with purely practical ends in mind: earning enough to eat, travel to another venue, and repeat the routine. Zampanò performs his act in accordance with the time of music, regularly breaking his chain with Gelsomina’s third drum roll, but he seems deaf to music’s emotional power. In this way he is not so unlike the Fool, who, although a virtuoso performer on his tiny violin, joyously dances as he plays—untouched by the melancholy notes of his own instrument. But although Zampanò and the Fool are equally aloof from music’s invisible emotional pull, they approach music from opposite perspectives. Zampanò moves in a purely concrete world of practical interactions and conflicts of will, and music for him has a marginal role that is subordinate to the primacy of physical strength that the ritualized enactment of his chain routine regularly confirms. The Fool, on the other hand, represents mind over matter: he defies the weight of the body as he walks high above the crowds or swings on the trapeze. The Fool plays beautiful music but parodies it as he performs. The first time he performs Il Matto on his miniature violin, for example, he holds a lit cigarette between the tuning pegs, interrupting the song for an occasional puff (seq. #15). Unlike this carefree angel, Gelsomina is transported

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into a state of trance by the beauty of the Fool’s song the very first time that she hears him play. Her reverie is interrupted when Zampanò, who does not seem to hear the music at all, rudely whistles and demands that she go to him. This critical moment in the film marks the first time all three characters inhabit the same space, and their relative positions and reactions to Il Matto reveal the singular importance of music in this sequence. The Fool sits on a stool, performing on his tiny instrument in the middle of an empty circus tent, self-sufficient and in complete control of the notes he produces. Gelsomina watches the Fool from an entrance to the tent— a liminal space between the spectacle within and the daily routine outside. Her hands clutch a rope that bars her passage and her head balances on the rope’s horizontal plane—a metaphorical high wire marking distance from her immediate physical surroundings.18 Zampanò, however, sits well behind her, outside the tent, talking business with the owners of the circus and apparently completely unaware of the music within. In this scene Gelsomina formally links the two male characters: she stands on a threshold, half inside the circus and half outside, in a neutral space between art (Fool) and social reality (Zampanò)—a divide she will attempt to bridge through music. Fellini is not particularly interested in narrating Gelsomina’s artistic development; indeed, the first time that she plays Il Matto in the film she is already an accomplished musician (seq. #20).19 When Zampanò and Gelsomina stop at a monastery seeking shelter from approaching thunderstorms, Zampanò tells Gelsomina to play a tune for the nuns as a sign of appreciation for their hospitality. Although a young nun declares that Gelsomina’s trumpet20 playing is beautiful, Zampanò tries to ignore the music and orders Gelsomina to wash the dishes. Zampanò for the first time reacts emotionally to Gelsomina’s song. Edward Murray describes the strongman’s tortured reactions to the tune, “Anthony Quinn’s eminently plastic features reveal the complex feelings suddenly experienced by this inarticulate boor. For the music seems to touch something heretofore undiscovered in Zampanò: he looks uneasy, humble, softened, bashful, embarrassed. Positive forces seem to be stirring inside him. However, perhaps Zampanò also feels threatened—not only by love, which would alter his whole personality, but also by jealousy, for he has always mocked Gelsomina and here she is playing in an admirable way” (Murray, 77–78). Later that night, when Gelsomina and Zampanò prepare to sleep in a barn, Gelsomina plays Il Matto

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on her horn after yet another failed attempt at communication with the strongman (seq. #21). This time Gelsomina asks more fundamental, urgent questions: “Why do you keep me?” “What good am I? “Do you love me?” Zampanò ignores her, barking out aggressively, “Shut up and go to bed!” Gelsomina reacts to Zampanò’s obstinacy by again playing Il Matto. The song projects her sorrow: she cries, lifts the horn to her lips, and produces the first notes of the tune. Zampanò, irritated at her insistence on self-expression, growls nastily, “Knock it off!” A pattern has emerged that pits Gelsomina’s musical voice against Zampanò’s will to exert absolute control over his apprentice. The song that might transform sorrow into beauty is stifled, and Gelsomina weeps alone, isolated within her silence. Tragically, Zampanò does not accept the message of Il Matto or comprehend the sorrow he inflicts upon Gelsomina until the end of the film, where the song unmasks his own terrifying loneliness and triggers tears of regret (seq. #25, #26). Years after he had abandoned Gelsomina he hears a woman singing Il Matto and asks her where she learned it.21 She replies that a strange woman showed up one day who would never speak to anyone but would often play the tune on her trumpet. She then informs Zampanò that this woman died some years earlier. For Zampanò, more than her death, the news that Gelsomina did not speak after he abandoned her has the effect of concentrating her every word into this song. “The survival of the song after her death makes Gelsomina a kind of spiritus loci” (Marcus 1986, 161); the tune underscores Gelsomina’s continuing metaphysical influence through time as well as her definitive physical absence in the present. What Zampanò understands of the melody at this point is beyond words and in any case is not nearly as important as the fact that he finally listens to it. Although he listens to Gelsomina for the first time when it is far too late to answer, he at last demonstrates the ability to recognize that the sorrow of her song—which includes the sorrow of the Fool’s untimely death—is his sorrow as well.

4 Fellini Betrayed: The English-Language Sound Track of La strada I feel I need to give sound the same expressive quality as image, to create a kind of sight and sound polyphony. And since they are opposites, I oppose using the face and voice of the same actor. The important thing is that the character have a voice that makes him even more expressive. For me dubbing is indispensable, a kind of musical activity which reinforces what the characters mean. Direct takes don’t work for me. The multiple sounds in direct takes are useless. In my films, for example, footsteps are almost never heard. Those are sounds the spectator adds with his mind’s eye and need no underscoring. If the spectator really heard them they would bother him. That is why the sound track is a job to do separately, after all the rest, along with the music. —Fellini 1988 The meanings and effects generated by synch sounds are usually chalked up to the image alone or the film overall. Only the creators of a film’s sound—recordist, sound effects person, mixer, director—know that if you alter or remove these sounds, the image is no longer the same. Chion 1999

THE FILM TRAILER FOR THE U.S. RELEASE OF LA STRADA BEGINS WITH an image of an Oscar statuette and the following bold title: “Academy award winner, best foreign picture, filmed on location in Italy in English.” A moment later, accompanying dramatic images from the film, voice-over narration states: “La strada, filmed entirely on location in Italy with an all English speaking cast, stars Anthony Quinn as Zampanò.” The insistence on English as the original language of La strada is doubly false: only two of the actors in the film, Quinn and Richard Basehart, were fluent English speakers, and in any case the film was shot without simultaneously recording the di61

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alogue, which was added later along with music and sound effects. Moreover, the English audio track of the film was made in 1956, two years after the release of the Italian-language version. Fellini had no control over the English audio track, which was completely reedited under the supervision of Carol and Peter Riethof at Titra Sound Studios in New York, and the English release had a new distributor, Trans Lux Pictures (Dino De Laurentiis distributed the film in Europe). Although the English-language version of the film was obviously not “original,” the U.S. distributors were apparently worried that American audiences would be less likely to want to see a dubbed version of a foreign film, and so they lied, passing off the film as an English-language production. The question of honesty in film promotion aside, the English-language version of La strada offers an objective tool for comparing sound editing in two versions of the same film.1 Possibly for technical reasons,2 the English version, although identical to the Italian visual track, reedited all sound in the film—dialogue, ambient sound, and music. There are dozens of instances in which the newer audio track alters or “corrects” the Italian version, and these changes, which tend to follow more conventional uses of sound, offer fascinating contrasts to Fellini’s editing of sound.3 There are three fundamental differences between the two versions: (1) different musical selections and different editing of music in many scenes, and a lower volume of music relative to dialogue throughout the English version; (2) different ambient sound in some scenes, as well as changes in the editing of ambient sound; (3) a much closer synching of speech in the English-language version, resulting in the elimination or addition of dialogue in many scenes. Because Hollywood sound conventions were built around direct takes well before the 1950s, it is not surprising that the American sound editors would want to synch dialogue more closely than Fellini. Unlike in Hollywood films at that time, postsynchronization was the norm in Italy in the 1950s, but Fellini pushes the envelope much further than other Italian directors in separating voice from image. In The Voice in Cinema Michel Chion comments on the unusual independence of dialogue from image in Fellini’s films: We need not look far to find the opposite tendency: the Italian cinema, with the vitality and generous approximativeness of its postsynchronizing, far removed from any obsessive fixation with the matching of voices to mouths. The freedom allotted in Italy for the synching of voices is al-

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ready enormous, but Fellini in particular breaks all records with his voices that hang on the bodies of actors only in the loosest and freest sense, in space as well as in time. (Chion 1999, 85) In Fellinian extremes, when all those post-synched voices float around bodies, we reach a point where voices—even if we continue to attribute them to the bodies they’re assigned—begin to acquire a sort of autonomy, in a baroque and decentered profusion. (Chion 1999, 129)

The English-language version of La strada implicitly repudiates Fellini’s loose synchronization of dialogue by pairing voice and image much more closely than in Fellini’s original. In an interview with Giovanni Grazzini, Fellini explains that he often finalizes the dialogue in the editing room, after the film has been shot: “As I progressed I acquired more faith in images and increasingly tried to do less with words while filming. During the dubbing I return to giving considerable importance to dialogue” (Fellini 1988, 101).4 While Fellini adds or changes dialogue in postproduction, the English dubbed version remains more faithful to the shooting script, and the two English-speaking actors, Basehart and Quinn, generally record for postsynchronization exactly what they had said on the set during filming. Even in the case of the Italian actors, the Englishlanguage version often goes to greater lengths to synchronize dialogue with movements of the mouth.5 As a result, the English version has somewhat less dialogue than the Italian original. For example, in the mountain scene where Zampanò abandons Gelsomina (seq. #24)6 the English version translates the Italian “fa freddo, siediti lì, prendi un po’ di sole” (it’s cold, sit down there, get a little sun) as “yeah, sit down.” Why such a drastic reduction? Because Anthony Quinn clearly does not pronounce anything remotely close to nineteen syllables, and the spot he indicates happens to be in the shade. In another case, when Zampanò and Gelsomina sleep in a convent during a thunderstorm (seq. #21), the English version eliminates Zampanò’s “che spirito di patata che c’hai” because the actor, reclining on the floor with his mouth visible to the camera, does not say anything on the set at that moment. Conversely, there are times in the Italian version of the film when secondary characters seem to be speaking on the set, but Fellini chooses not to emphasize their lines on the audio track. In the two scenes in which Zampanò chases after the Fool (seq. #16, #17), for example, the numerous circus hands who try to control the strong-

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man shout and struggle with him, but their words are not always understandable because Fellini lowers the volume of their voices relative to Zampanò’s furious outbursts. Of course in real life an individual does not normally have an unnaturally louder voice than those around him, and therefore the English-language editors increase both the volume and the clarity of expression of the voices of peripheral characters in an attempt to reproduce point of audition sound faithfully. The end results, unfortunately, are a diffusion of the aural attention of the viewer and a consequential undermining of the symbolic nature of the protagonists of the film. Another notable difference between the Italian release and the American dubbed version is the quality of the characters’ voices. Tullio Kezich offers an example of the importance of voices for Fellini when he describes how the director chose Arnoldo Foà to dub the voice of Zampanò: Fellini “isn’t convinced by the actor hired to dub Quinn and suddenly remembers the splendid work of Arnoldo Foà dubbing for Toshiro Mifune in Rashomon. He makes an urgent request to get Foà, who ultimately arrives at the last minute, and does the entire part to perfection” (150). Fellini is exceptionally particular about voices in his films because he uses them as musical instruments; and since dialogue in all of his films is postsynchronized, he often uses different people for acting and dubbing. In La strada, dubbing a different voice than that of the actor on screen is necessarily the case with Basehart and Quinn, since they do not speak Italian, but even with Italian actors Fellini often uses the voices of people who do not appear on screen. In Lo sceicco bianco, for example, Carlo Romano dubs the voice of Ivan, played onscreen by Leopoldo Trieste, while Rina Morelli dubs Wanda’s voice, played onscreen by Brunella Bovo (Kezich 123). It is interesting to note that the voices that Fellini chooses for Zampanò and the Fool both mimic the musical instruments most closely identified with each character and express their respective personalities and symbolic functions: Zampanò, associated with drums, represents the earth and animal instinct, and Arnoldo Foà’s bass voice is large, gravely, and—like a drum—defined by a limited range in pitch (he often sounds like a barking dog); in contrast, the Fool, closely identified with the violin, represents the lightness of air and intellect and has a thin, quavering voice that is characterized by abrupt shifts in pitch and shrill squeals. In the English-language dub, Basehart and Quinn do a good job of mimicking Fellini’s Italian “original,” but the voice of Gelsomina in the American version undermines the lyrical

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depth of Giulietta Masina’s strong, mature, maternal, and sweetly melodic voice—a voice that approximates the sublime pathos of her trumpet’s song. Instead of casting for a voice similar to Masina’s, the American sound editors—ironically—trust their eyes more than their ears: interpreting the movements of the character as childish and mentally challenged, they provide a voice that is childishly high, squeaky, and insecure. As a result of this voice, viewers of the Englishlanguage version of the film have more difficulty relating the sublime beauty of Gelsomina’s music to the character they hear. As is the more closely synched voices, the preoccupation with verisimilitude in the pairing of sound and image of the English version is also evident in the use of ambient sound, which the Italian version often edits according to the subjectivity of a character on screen (almost always Gelsomina). The American sound editors edit sound as a mechanical phenomenon related to the camera’s position—what Chion calls a “spatial sense of point of audition” as opposed to a “subjective sense of point of audition” (Chion 1994, 195). In Fellini’s version of the convent sequence (seq. #20), for example, the clucking and quacking of barnyard fowl evolve into chirping of songbirds when Gelsomina and a nun discuss their respective homes, a subtle change that reflects Gelsomina’s “subjective sense of audition” as it relates to her idealization of a newfound sense of purpose.7 In the English version, however, the ambient sounds of chickens and ducks remain constant throughout the sequence, apparently because chickens and ducks are visible on screen, while songbirds are not, and the American sound editors understand their job as recreating the sound that would have been picked up by an unselective microphone at the point of audition. As Mary Ann Doane notes, speaking of Hollywood sound editing, “in the sound technician’s discourse synchronization and totality are fetishes and the inseparability of sound and image is posited as a goal” (56). Unfortunately, by tying sound so closely to image the American sound editors make it much more difficult for viewers to understand the importance of Gelsomina’s conception of home. Another of many similar examples occurs at the wedding in the country when Zampanò and a widow, in the presence of Gelsomina, arrange a sexual encounter (seq. #10). In the nuanced Italian version the ambient sound of the wedding party reproduces Gelsomina’s subjective reception of sound. While she is interested in telling Zampanò about the strange boy with a huge head whom she had just encountered, and during the conversation that she follows be-

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tween Zampanò and the widow, the sound track offers no ambient sound from the wedding at all. The sound of the raucous wedding party returns only after Zampanò and the widow enter the house and Gelsomina belatedly understands their intentions.8 This manipulation of the ambient sound parallels Gelsomina’s passage from the contemplation of Otherness—the disabled boy and the mysterious dialogue between Zampanò and the widow—to the awareness of her own suffering. Ironically, Gelsomina returns to “hear” the effective reality of the present in order to witness what she is not: a part of a sanctified union. “The sacrament of marriage, the opportunities for childbearing, the consolation of the extended family and community life are all denied Gelsomina as she remains literally on the periphery of this festive space” (Marcus 1986, 150). By hearing the wedding celebration through Gelsomina’s subjectivity, the Italian sound track underscores her precarious marginality and distance from ritual enactment and social acceptance. The English version, hewing an aesthetic line closer to neorealism than to Fellini’s lyricism, “corrects” this subjective use of the sound track by maintaining the same level of ambient sound from the wedding party throughout the sequence. As a result the viewer of the American release experiences the scene from a greater narrative distance and has more difficulty identifying with Gelsomina’s isolation and sorrow. The English dubbed version of La strada is so preoccupied with realistic sound that it sometimes undermines narrative logic and obscures characters’ motivations. In the circus sequence (seq. #16), where the Fool brazenly interrupts Zampanò in the middle of his act, informing him that he is wanted on the phone just as the strongman is about to break his chain, the English version of the film eliminates the loud laughter from the crowd that Fellini had included in the Italian language release. The extras who make up the crowd, clearly visible in the frame, are in fact not laughing, possibly because they do not understand a word of what Richard Basehart is saying (he spoke English on the set). But this does not concern Fellini, who generally favors the ideas of his narration over realistic representation.9 The English audio track, attempting to reproduce faithfully point of audition sound, is more realistic in this one scene, but far less convincing in the sequence as a whole. After the act, when the enraged Zampanò throws people to the ground in his violent search for the Fool and screams out his desire to kill him, viewers of the English version are left wondering why this character has suddenly

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gone berserk—they have heard no indication on the sound track of Zampanò’s public humiliation. Another example in which the English version “corrects” the Italian original in order to represent the “reality” of the visual image more accurately is at the end of the procession sequence when a statue of Christ and a painting of the Madonna enter a provincial cathedral (seq. #12).10 This pivotal scene formally ties the religious procession, which Gelsomina has been observing, with the Fool’s high wire act, which takes place later in the evening in the piazza in front of the same cathedral. The final pan-up inside the church introduces the high wire act with a cut to an identical pan that ends on the Fool high above a crowd. In the Italian original, bells that are just as loud as in the previous shots outside the cathedral accompany the final shot inside the church. The unreality of a diegetic source of sound that does not change volume in the cut between the shot outside the cathedral and the interior shot adds a metaphysical atmosphere to the end of this sequence that prepares the viewer for the death-defying liminal nature of the Fool. The English release, however, eliminates the bells entirely from the final shot within the church, substituting for them a somber chord from an organ. The sound track that in Fellini’s hands had been mysteriously otherworldly becomes, in the English version, a mundane repetition of religious conventions. As is much of the dialogue in the film, diegetic music in La strada is loosely synched, and as is that of much of the ambient sound, music’s relationship to the diegesis is often equivocal. The mismatch in the synch of music is easily explained: the music that the actors play on the set is often different from the music Fellini chooses in postproduction (Rota’s Il Matto, for example, was composed after filming).11 As was the case in his earlier films, Lo sceicco bianco and I vitelloni, Fellini sometimes introduces music in La strada that cannot easily be identified as entirely diegetic or nondiegetic. The second time that Zampanò performs his chain-breaking act in the film, for example, Gelsomina’s diegetic drum functions much as nondiegetic music for the audience within the film narration: she is huddled near the motorcycle, out of sight, creating a tension that relates to the focal point of the spectacle—Zampanò’s mighty chest and the chain it is about to break (seq. #6). But then a strange thing happens: when she joins the showman, in a comic routine based on mispronounced words, she puts down her drum and steps into a circuslike ring that the crowd has made around the show. Gelsomina’s

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passage from an audio function to a visual function coincides with the introduction of the nondiegetic Circus March, a tune that continues through the routine. But just as her earlier drumming, although clearly diegetic, could be perceived nondiegetically by the crowd, this new nondiegetic music is perceived as somehow diegetic by viewers of the film. Although there are clearly no musicians in the frame, Fellini edits the music as if it were being performed by a circus band: when Zampanò shoots Gelsomina and both fall to the ground the song concludes with a resounding note. A moment later, when they get back on their feet, Circus March begins again from the first notes of the song. The volume of the music does not change (no fades), just as if the musicians were present together with the crowd. By editing nondiegetic music as if there were a diegetic source Fellini reproduces a circus aesthetic that relates as much to his film as it does to the comic act within the film. It projects the circus onto the work of art and onto society: when Zampanò and Gelsomina get up and Zampanò asks for donations from the crowd, Circus March comments on this moment just as it had commented upon their comic routine. According to the music, this too is an act, a narration that the audience will accept with varying degrees of aesthetic distance. The American sound editors must have been confused by this Mickey Mousing, or synchronization of nondiegetic music with movement in the frame. By the time of La strada strict synchronization between image and music was no longer common in American films,12 and therefore the editors at Titra Sound Studios may have worried that incredulous viewers would laugh at the unsophisticated use of music rather than at Gelsomina and Zampanò’s act. Although the American editors retain the same music for the sequence, they make an effort to define it as entirely nondiegetic. In the new version, for example, ambient sounds (cars and trucks passing by, etc.) are louder than in the Italian version, while Circus March is at a significantly lower volume than in Fellini’s version. In this way the English version represents diegetic sound more realistically while relegating the nondiegetic music to its conventional secondary role. What really reveals the American sound editors’ desire to keep Circus March out of the diegesis, however, is the editing of the sound track when Gelsomina and Zampanò fall down and then stand back up. Rather than conclude the song and start it again from the beginning, like a small circus band, the English release has the music fade out before harmonic resolution when the two fall and then fade back in the middle of the tune when they stand up. The

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artificial, cartoonlike reduction of the act to two dimensions that Fellini so brilliantly represents with his comic editing of music becomes, in the English version, more dramatic but less meaningful. Another significant difference in the American audio track of the film is a dramatically lower volume of nondiegetic music compared to the volume of dialogue. This change reflects Hollywood practice, where dialogue is treated as the primary means of communication on the sound track. Mary Ann Doane, describing Hollywood sound conventions, writes: “Dialogue is given primary consideration and its level generally determines the levels of sound effects and music. . . . Sound effects and music are subservient to dialogue and it is, above all, the intelligibility of the dialogue which is at stake, together with its nuances of tone” (58). Fellini, however, mixes music at such a high volume that he often clashed with his sound engineers. As Rota notes, in an interview with Sergio Miceli, Fellini “even clashes with his technicians, because a technician is always dedicated to defending dialogue, because the public notices when dialogue can not be heard, while on the other hand if the music can’t be heard nobody notices except the composer. [Fellini] asserts himself over the technician so that music will be heard, and he’s even willing to turn up the volume to cover a line of dialogue that bothers him. He’s the one turning the volume control of the music” (Miceli 462).13 While Fellini explores both the musical potential of voices to express emotion and the rational potential of music to express ideas, the American sound editors eliminate much of the musical quality of dialogue (in particular with Gelsomina’s voice) and undermine music’s capacity to express ideas (both by lowering its relative volume in mixing and by distinguishing more clearly between diegetic and nondiegetic musical sources). By relegating the various elements of the sound track to conventional subservient roles vis-à-vis the image track, the English-language version of La strada reveals sound’s hidden ideological function: “The ineffable, intangible quality of sound—its lack of concreteness which is conducive to an ideology of empiricism—requires that it be placed on the side of the emotional or the intuitive” (Doane 55). With La strada, Fellini definitively casts off the straitjacket of conventional editing in which music and sound must limit themselves to suggest the veracity of the image. Indeed, by the end of La strada it is image (Zampanò’s tears) that reveals the veracity of music (Il Matto) rather than the other way around. By pushing dialogue toward emotion and music toward logos, Fellini implicitly rejects the dominant cinematic ideologies of

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empiricism of his time—Hollywood and neorealism. The American editors, on the other hand, impose an empirical logic on the sound track, “translating” Fellini’s sound editing as much as the Italian of the original release. The most flagrant instances of intentional tampering with Fellini’s sound track occur when the English-language release substitutes one song for another. A case in point is Zampanò’s final act with the Medini circus (seq. #25) in which the English release substitutes the generic circus music that Fellini had included in the original Italian release with Nino Rota’s Circus March.14 Rota’s song is paired with Zampanò’s act three times in Fellini’s version of the film (seq. #4, #6, #16), but in Zampanò’s final act of the film the director wants to emphasize the strongman’s spiritual exhaustion, so he chooses a musical accompaniment that is generic, lacking in essential energy, and brief. Because Circus March represents a potential for narrative development, the Italian version substitutes for it a more generic melody with a skeletal performance as a means to express the futility of Zampanò’s attempts to break free of the metaphorical chains that bind him. The English version, on the other hand, tries to excite the viewer of the film in the same way that the circus music tries to excite the audience attending the show; it tries to be the real thing, the diegetic music from the show itself. The Italian version, in contrast, reproduces music that is one step removed from the show: it is commenting on the meaning of the spectacle from a vantage point halfway between what is represented on the screen and some other place that is contemplating this representation. While the music of the Italian version reveals Zampanò’s spiritual exhaustion, the English version attempts to manipulate the viewer with the continuation of a false narrative thread. The American sound editors, apparently considering Rota’s Circus March a leitmotif that should automatically be paired with Zampanò’s act, did not notice that the song occurs only in the presence of Gelsomina—and once when Zampanò is not even present (seq. #13). Unlike the Italian-language release, where the tired song quickly fades as soon as Zampanò enters the ring,15 the English version extends the music through much more of Zampanò’s act—as if it were trying to liven it up. These changes in the English-language sound track provide an energetic tone and a sense of narrative progression to Zampanò’s last chain-breaking routine that undermine the subsequent final sequence of the film in which he cries out in despair in the recognition of his profound loneliness.

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In the most egregious changes to the original sound track the English version manages to sentimentalize Zampanò’s violence against Gelsomina. After Zampanò sleeps with Gelsomina for the first time (seq. #5) Gelsomina wakes up in the middle of the night, cries, wipes her eyes, and then looks at Zampanò with an almost maternal smile before weeping again. In the Italian version there is no music to accompany this shot, and this silence reflects the emptiness Gelsomina feels after having been violated by Zampanò. The English version, however, sugarcoats this scene by reintroducing Gelsomina’s Theme as Gelsomina glances toward Zampanò with her mysterious smile. While silence in the Italian version underlines the solitude and confusion Gelsomina feels, the music of the English version allows the viewer to read Gelsomina’s smile and glance at Zampanò as a fond memory of the sexual violence she has just endured, thereby facilitating positive identification with a rapist.16 In a similar vein, the English version completely undermines the tone of the Italian original in the scene where Zampanò violently slaps Gelsomina and forces her back into the wagon after she had run away (seq. #14). In Fellini’s version Gelsomina’s Theme plays before Zampanò arrives when Gelsomina, kneeling on the ground in a piazza at night, looks up to the stars. Although she is in the company of loafing vitelloni who pester her, this music transports Gelsomina beyond the desolate piazza and fills her with a metaphysical potential that transcends her immediate historical condition. This potential, however, is stifled with the arrival of Zampanò’s motorcycle: the music fades out as the motorcycle arrives, Zampanò gets off the bike, ruthlessly strikes the resistant Gelsomina, and throws her into the back of the wagon. Silence on the sound track emphasizes the void into which she has been thrust, and the motorcycle departs into darkness. The English version of the film, however, manages to turn this scene on its head. Gelsomina’s Theme is eliminated altogether, and therefore Gelsomina’s gaze toward the heavens is reduced to a gesture without special significance. More disturbing, however, is the introduction of La strada to the sound track as the motorcycle leaves the piazza. This music, which in Fellini’s hands is associated exclusively with picaresque movement, effectively eliminates Gelsomina’s suffering from the sequence and adds a tone of adventure and narrative potential to Gelsomina’s victimization. While the Italian sound track helps the viewer identify with Gelsomina by suffocating the leitmotif associated with her when her violent master arrives and by creating a silence around

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her sorrow, the English version trivializes the violence she suffers and identifies more with the aggressor than with the victim.17 In a nutshell, the English-language sound track seems to read the film through the ideological lens of American male-centered road movies like The Wild One (1953) and Rebel without a Cause (1955). A couple of years after the release of the English-language version of La strada this ideological bias will be confirmed by the English dubbing of Le notti di Cabiria, which again translates the sound track of the film into Hollywood conventions (see the end of Appendix 5 for a complete list of the differences between the English and Italian versions of Le notti di Cabiria).18 The question of audience identification becomes essentially important by the end of La strada when Zampanò overhears a woman singing Il Matto and through this song receives a musical message from his past (seq. #25). The Italian version of the film, which edits sound in the equivalent of close third-person narration, has subliminally established for well over an hour a close identification with Gelsomina, and therefore the notes that Zampanò hears represent simultaneously both Gelsomina’s influence and the film’s poetics. The primacy of sound over image in this scene is reflected in the fact that the woman who sings is often out of view, hidden behind the sheets she hangs. Music here is not simply a narrative device that communicates Gelsomina’s absence in the present; it is also a lyrical summation of her significance over time. But because the English-language version edits sound from a conventional and more distant third-person narrative vantage point, viewers experience this sequence as a distinct moment in time rather than as a sign conveying an accumulated mythic weight. By tampering with the sound track the editors at Titra Sound Studios transform Fellini’s film, with its profound symbolic structure based on music, into a shiny exotic trinket—pretty to look at, but nearly meaningless.

5 Il bidone: Metacinema and the Sound Track Fellini was a consummate showman, not only an artistic genius but also a master magician and even something of a con man. —Bondanella 2002

WHEN AUGUSTO (BRODERICK CRAWFORD), THE WORLD-WEARY CRIMinal and protagonist of Il bidone (1955), takes his adolescent daughter, Patrizia, to the movies to see Pioggia di piombo (the Italian version of Hugo Fregonese’s 1954 Hollywood gangster film Black Tuesday) Fellini seems to invite his viewers to read his crime film through the lens of American popular culture. In Hollywood’s Black Tuesday an Italian American gangster, Vincent Canelli, breaks out of prison with the help of a convicted thief on the day of Canelli’s scheduled execution. The pair of criminals takes along hostages, including a Catholic priest and the daughter of a prison guard murdered during the escape. They retreat with the hostages to Canelli’s hideout, where shortly thereafter the police corner them. Canelli threatens to kill the hostages unless he is allowed safe passage, and to demonstrate his resolve he murders the priest. The thief who had helped in the jailbreak, appalled by the vicious act, kills Canelli, releases the hostages, and gives himself up to the law. Superficially Il bidone seems to share a great deal with a film like Black Tuesday: by casting Broderick Crawford as Augusto, Fellini associates his protagonist with characters Crawford had portrayed in similar Hollywood crime films of the early 1950s such as Big House, New York Confidential, Human Desire, and Down Three Dark Streets.1 Black Tuesday and other American crime films of this period often simultaneously reflect the values of a market economy based upon competition for resources and the transgression of fundamental ethical 73

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standards of this same society. Viewers may identify with the criminals’ desire for freedom and economic advancement, but they will not necessarily identify with the moral implications of the criminal means to these desired ends.2 The resolution of the conflict inherent in this split identification generally reaffirms the validity of existing social structures: the desire to get ahead is justifiable, but those who do not play by the rules will not escape some form of justice. Unlike these American films, where popular representations of class and ethnic stereotypes establish the logic of a conflict between a hegemonic culture and outsiders who threaten this hegemony by trying to break in, Fellini’s Il bidone evokes a stirring lyricism that is substantially indeterminate in its social and moral viewpoints. Fellini’s gangsters, unlike Hollywood’s, do not represent ethnicities or social classes or stock psychological types that combine to form a hermetic narration with historical and cultural specificity. The characters of Il bidone are not simply vehicles to examine social order or notions of justice; rather, they reveal the moral ambiguity of dissonant narrations formed around the multiplicity of the projected masks of swindlers. Cinema itself is a swindler, tricking the audience into accepting the verisimilitude of an artificial narrative projection in much the same way that Augusto tricks his victims into believing that they are in the presence of a powerful Vatican dignitary: both Augusto and cinema pass themselves off as something that they are not. Augusto’s name itself reveals a tension between etymological meaning and effective function: augustus means consacrato, but while the character invests the robes of a bishop, he only does so in order to swindle gullible peasants out of their life savings. The results of cinema’s swindle are not so dire, but the rhetorical power of audiovisual narration may be substantial, moving a crowd to laugh or cry in unison. Swindlers and film directors share a love of deception, and both require willing victims. Cinema needs two things in order to swindle an audience: the disposition of the audience to believe the narration—to suspend disbelief—and continuity and invisibility in the narrative apparatus. Each side has a part in the bargain: the viewer will agree to pretend that the narration is realistic as long as the narration follows established conventions of continuity. Fellini was never entirely satisfied with this implicit pact, and unlike American crime films of the 1950s, where narrative continuity determines form, Il bidone is self-consciously aware of its artificial rhetoric, just

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as the swindlers within the film are aware of the artificial nature of their costumes and speech. A case in point is the aforementioned cinema sequence, where the sound tracks of three films mingle in a strange metacinematic space (seq. #9).3 Augusto, an aging, jaded criminal, enters a darkened movie theater with his teenage daughter just as the first feature is about to end. Low, ominous notes from the film within the film fill the sound track. But the threat lurking in the shadows is closer than it seems: it is present in the theater of Fellini’s film together with the protagonist. The victim of a swindle involving fake medicine will soon confront Augusto, accusing him of almost killing his brother. The threat is not immediate, however, and the music quickly changes to a sentimental violin as an usher guides father and daughter to seats toward the back of the theater. Augusto, chuckling at the misunderstanding, comments that the usher must have mistaken them for lovers. The sentimental tune continues as the two sit down and Augusto informs Patrizia that he will give her a handsome sum of money so that she can continue with her studies. Patrizia, happy beyond words, smiles broadly, throws her arms around her father’s neck, and kisses him as the diegetic music from within the theater swells to a dramatic crescendo, commenting seamlessly on the actions of Augusto and Patrizia as if it were nondiegetic music artificially edited for Il bidone. Because viewers of Fellini’s film do not see images from the film Augusto and Patrizia watch, but only hear the sound track (without dialogue), the relationship between music and image pushes the sound emanating from the film within the film outside the diegesis and into a vague nondiegetic space, thereby creating an artificial synchronicity between the two films. Art might be imitating art (Il bidone borrows from Black Tuesday); or art might coincidentally reflect “reality” (Black Tuesday coincidentally comments upon this moment in the lives of Augusto and Patrizia); or Augusto, Patrizia, and the usher might be manipulated by art (the usher hears a sentimental tune and projects it onto the couple before him, finding them a seat toward the back of the theater, and Augusto, equally moved by the music, chooses that moment to offer money to his daughter). None of these suggestions, however, stands up to close scrutiny. We will never know exactly from what narrative space this music originates because Fellini is not interested in offering a static representation of social “reality”; rather, the ambiguity of the musical sources in this scene reflects Fellini’s longstanding fascination with the multiplic-

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ity of narrations that mediate understanding between Self and Other, art and life. The boundaries between life and art become even more porous and confused when the film within the film ends and the lights go on in the theater (seq. #10).4 Augusto, a heartless grifter who, however, projects the persona of an upright bourgeois father with his daughter, tries to hide from the victim of one of his scams who happens to be sitting a few rows away. The man notices Augusto just as the lights go down and the music from a new film within the film enters the sound track—Fellini’s own Lo sceicco bianco. Augusto, trying simultaneously to escape the wrath of his victim and maintain his daughter’s trust, tells Patrizia to wait while he goes to buy cigarettes. Both men get up and head toward the back of the theater while Theme A from Fellini’s earlier film, a light and lively circus march, establishes a dissonant tone for the imminent danger Augusto faces. But how dissonant is it really? This theme in Lo sceicco bianco represents Wanda’s inability to distinguish between fantasy and effective reality, while the distance between seeming and being is equally apparent in the public persona Augusto projects for his daughter—a narration that has little to do with the effective reality of his corrupt lifestyle. The circus march ends when the two men confront each other directly under the projection booth—a space that mirrors the unseen screen within the screen. The man, lit from below in a parody of expressionist evil, angrily confronts Augusto while Patrizia watches the movielike spectacle from her seat. The dramatic Theme B, which in Lo sceicco bianco marked Wanda’s moments of distress, begins when the two meet, functioning nondiegetically as an emotional indicator of Patrizia’s anxiety and of Augusto’s fear of being unmasked in front of his daughter. After complaints from members of the audience, who want to see the film they paid for and not the spontaneous drama under the projector, the two men retreat to a bar at the entrance of the cinema, with Patrizia following a moment later. At the bar Theme C from Lo sceicco bianco begins as the confrontation continues, but the music begins to slip from the diegesis: although a wall and doors separate this scene from the ostensible musical source, the song is just as loud as the first two musical themes heard inside the theater. While Theme C reflected harmony between lovers in Fellini’s earlier film, here it marks the end of an illusion of harmony: the tune fades out exactly when Patrizia enters the frame to witness her father’s being accused of fraud and arrested by the police. Unlike the editing of this music

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in the beginning of Lo sceicco bianco, the song fades prematurely before harmonic resolution, thereby definitively pushing it away from Lo sceicco bianco and toward a new nondiegetic status in Il bidone that relates to Patrizia’s changed understanding of her father’s moral character. The musical graft is complete, and Il bidone returns to the narration of one film rather than three. Viewers of this sequence might think that they are experiencing one film (Il bidone), but they are in fact entering a metacinematic space between films with exceptionally vague boundaries. They watch a Fellini crime film (Il bidone) in which Broderick Crawford, a famous American actor in Hollywood crime films, enters a cinema to watch a Hollywood crime film (Pioggia di piombo/Black Tuesday), whose sound track uncannily comments on his character’s (Augusto’s) actions and feelings within the theater; then a second sound track from an earlier Fellini film (Lo sceicco bianco) enters the sound track and again functions both diegetically for the film within the film (Lo sceicco bianco) and nondiegetically for the film itself (Il bidone). By framing his gangster film in a metanarrative space between music from a popular American model driven by conflict between archetypal characters (Pioggia di piombo) and music from his own complex comedy of errors (Lo sceicco bianco) Fellini frees his character from the constraining stereotypes of American popular culture and offers a layered narration in which characters define themselves between the lines of dissonant musical sources rather than through the two dimensions of the projected image.5 When Vincent Canelli is murdered by a fellow criminal at the end of Black Tuesday there is no doubt that justice has been served and social order preserved, but there is no similar sense of closure at the end of Il bidone when Augusto is murdered after trying to swindle members of his own gang of thieves (seq. #12). While in Black Tuesday the thief who kills Canelli redeems himself by removing a threat to society and by sacrificing his own freedom for the larger social good, in Fellini’s film redemption can be glimpsed in the death of Augusto, but that redemption transcends the implied narrations that form the moral assumptions of the audience and is entirely unrelated to the members of the gang who stone Augusto to death. Augusto redeems himself, struggling through the night to reach the top of an earthen embankment, by showing a moment of weakness and humanity. After calling out repeatedly to his partners in crime to return and save him, he finally pronounces the word that frees his tormented spirit and imbues his death with transcendence: his

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daughter’s name, Patrizia. The meaning of this death, on the side of a mountain in the middle of nature, transcends culture and speaks to the condition of all humankind. We are all deceiving and deceived in our subservience to socializing narrations, but we still retain— even the most jaded thief—an element of grace. Many have noted the similarities between Augusto’s moment of redemptive suffering at the end of Il bidone and Zampanò’s tears at the conclusion of La strada, but unlike the sound track of Fellini’s earlier film, where Il Matto functions as a leitmotif that triggers Zampanò’s moment of epiphany, the song that accompanies Augusto’s death at the end of Il bidone is rather enigmatic because it has not accumulated meaning through the course of the film. In the early morning, after he has called out for his daughter in the deep of night, two women carrying firewood together with three children pass by on the dirt road above the embankment that Augusto has struggled all night to climb. Church bells peel in the background as this small procession passes by, and one of the women sings a simple melody three times, once before reaching Augusto, once right in front of him, and once as the group, without noticing the dying man, moves away around a bend. The repetition of this tune at the climax of the film calls attention to its structural importance, but viewers will be hardpressed to recall the music from earlier in the film and therefore have few tools with which to comprehend its thematic function. Although viewers may not be able to recall this song, it has been subtly introduced earlier in the film. The tune the woman sings while passing by Augusto at his dying moment is Theme B, a slow and sentimental Rota composition that Fellini introduces with three other themes at the beginning of the film. The other introductory themes that accompany the credits are Theme A, a typically upbeat Rota circus tune; Theme C, a powerful march with blaring horns and overbearing percussion; and Theme D, similar in tempo to Theme B but less melancholy.

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Unlike La strada, where the medley of introductory themes functions much as an operatic overture does, these four tunes will have remarkably limited use in Il bidone. Indeed, for the first time in a Fellini film one of the introductory themes will not return to the sound track after its initial presentation. Theme C is an energetic yet predictable tune that would seem at home in an American gangster film, and its presence at the beginning of the film might simply serve as an indicator of genre, while its absence after its introduction with the credits may reflect Fellini’s rejection of the narrative constraints of conventional models. The slow and melancholy Theme B, on the other hand, acts as a counterpoint to the bombastic self-assurance of Theme C. Theme B is further emphasized through repetition: rather than simply stating four themes (ABCD), the second theme repeats, after the introduction of Theme D, (ABCDB). This repetition in the initial presentation of the musical themes is unusual in Fellini’s early films and seems to emphasize further Theme B’s importance, but the function of the tune changes all of the very few times that it appears on the sound track, thereby undermining its potential for association with specific characters or ideas. For example, in the ostentatious

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car of the rich swindler Rinaldo we momentarily hear Theme B on the radio as unobtrusive background sound (seq. #6). The only other time that Theme B occurs between the opening credits and the final scene is when Augusto gets out of prison, and here the tune comments on the simple kindness of a guard who offers the swindler a cigarette (seq. #10). Theme B is present on the sound track for a total of only about thirty seconds before the last sequence, and it is paired with three scenes that do not seem to be thematically linked; therefore it is difficult to imagine that Fellini intended the tune to elicit independently a specific thematic association. Although this is not unusual for incidental film music, it is the first case in Fellini of an introductory tune that does not accumulate some form of meaning through repetition: its functions in the film are independent one from the other, as if narrative logic were somehow divorced from the tune. Then again, maybe this is the point: Augusto’s moment of truth does not occur as the result of a struggle for redemption, but rather despite his yearning for isolation and material wealth. Since his moment of grace is entirely beyond reason, the tune that comments upon it should also be seemingly random.6 Indeed, opposing forces of randomness and artificial construction seem to be at odds within the sound track: the self-conscious editing of music that creates metanarrative confusion in the cinema sequence, where a strange synchronicity between internal and external narrations helps to reveal Augusto’s public masks but not the soul hidden deep within, stands in opposition to the touching simplicity of the sound track at the end of the film when Theme B comments on Augusto’s death (the ultimate leveler of narrations). As Frank Burke notes, speaking of Fellini’s evolution away from conventional narrative structures in the early 1950s, the “abandonment of plot is closely linked to the growing autonomy of characters and the growing emphasis on possibility over necessity” (Burke 1996, 81).7 Theme B evokes a possibility for transcendence that sharply contrasts with Augusto’s life story, based as it is upon weaving narrations as a means to cheat the gullible; indeed, the tune implies there may be such a thing as a universal truth beyond human narration.8 This profound truth, however, cannot be captured in concrete visual images with precise contours and meaning, but only glimpsed as a fleeting melody.9 If Theme B reflects a mysterious, sublime inner truth, Theme A is its musical antipode, implying seeming over being, social status over personal integrity, mask over face. The tune returns to the sound

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track only in two sequences after the opening credits and almost exclusively as the indicator of the presence of a secondary character, the wealthy swindler Rinaldo (seq. #6). Circus marches similar to this theme are often paired with the projection of a mask in ritual contexts in Fellini’s films: for example, with the actors on the set of the fotoromanzo shoot in Lo sceicco bianco or with the various circus acts in La strada. In Il bidone the projected mask associated with the tune reflects society’s ideal of material success: Theme A blares on the sound track as Picasso (Richard Basehart) and Augusto are almost run over by a huge American car driven by Rinaldo. The primacy of music in this scene is evident in the lack of ambient sound for the car’s engine or sudden braking. Rinaldo, an old acquaintance of Augusto’s, offers Picasso and Augusto a ride as they marvel at the beauty of the automobile. The superficial exuberance of Theme A is here paired with the signs of a successful bidonista: Rinaldo, a beautiful lover at his side, explains that his wife and kids are in Switzerland, and that his huge new car parks at an expensive home in an exclusive neighborhood. These trappings of wealth are nothing more than props for an enormous ego, but Augusto in particular seems enchanted with their appearance, so when Rinaldo invites him to a New Year’s Eve party that evening he accepts, provided that he can take along his partner Picasso, and Picasso’s wife, Iris (Giulietta Masina). When the three arrive at Rinaldo’s home Theme A again signals the wealthy swindler’s presence, but now the sequence evolves in perverse and disturbing ways (seq. #6). At the New Year’s Eve bash Rinaldo attempts to cheat on his lover, dragging a half-naked woman into his bedroom. At midnight a group of Rinaldo’s thugs strips off a man’s pants, sprays his face with soda, and dangles him by the ankles from a fourth-floor balcony as he screams for his life. The music, as the party itself, knows no boundaries: one loud popular tune follows another as the crowd washes down champagne and engages in behavior free of all social constraints. “The party reaches a pitch of cruel eroticism and has as its climax a parasitic dance where anything seems possible” (Solmi 171).10 Roberto (Franco Fabrizi), another member of the gang who represents a happy-go-lucky younger version of the jaded Augusto, kisses a woman thirty years his elder and later steals a gold cigarette case (seq. #7). Rinaldo, the model of success to which the other bidonisti aspire, punctuates midnight by unloading his pistol into the ceiling as the group loses all the individuality of its separate elements in the noise of explosions and in

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the frenetic pace of dance. The circus march that had at first ironically accompanied Rinaldo’s public persona in the presentation of his material wealth becomes, in the party sequence, the introduction to the revelation of a grotesque mask. Far from an ideal, Rinaldo’s prosperity is projected by Fellini as a sterile wasteland of loveless vanity that knows no limits. The antidote to this self-centered arrogance is communicated with a new tune, Theme F, momentarily introduced at the party when Iris and Picasso kiss and more clearly established when the two discuss Picasso’s future on the street outside Rinaldo’s building (seq. #7).

The tune is presented in contrast to the plethora of diegetic music11 emanating from the party: when Iris and Picasso kiss, Theme F comments on this intimacy nondiegetically even though many diegetic tunes from the party frame this moment (seq. #6). Picasso, unlike Roberto and Augusto, feels pangs of regret for cheating his victims and, as does Marcello in La dolce vita, expresses a desire to start a new life as an artist. Theme F represents this alternate possibility of honesty and self-definition that Iris hopes for her husband. The tune returns again outside the party when she confronts Picasso and tells him that she knows that his friends are crooks and that she is also well aware that he too is involved in criminal activity. Picasso promises that he will change and that he will begin painting again, but the song fades out as he speaks, implying that this is yet another empty promise. While Theme A introduces the self-sufficiency of Rinaldo and immediately leads to the party, defining its mood of hedonistic rapture, Theme F relates to Iris’s desire for a trusting, honest relationship with Picasso that she specifically defines in opposition to the partygoers. But while we can say that these two themes reflect selfish accumulation and selfless generosity, they do not have the weight of a leitmotif like Il Matto in La strada because they are introduced in such a fleeting way. Theme A will not return to the sound track at

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all, and when Theme F returns to comment on the relationship between Augusto and his daughter (seq. #7, #9) it is doubtful that the viewer consciously recalls its earlier pairing with Iris and Picasso. The one tune in Il bidone that does accumulate meaning through repetition regularly accompanies the scams of Augusto and his associates. Reflecting the film’s more spontaneous and “open” sound track, the tune—although far more important in unifying the narration than the first four themes—is not introduced with the titles.

Theme E accompanies the very first images of the film after the opening credits, immediately establishing an equivocal tone: it emanates from a paradoxical source that appears to be part diegetic and part nondiegetic (seq. #2).12 Barone, the leader of the gang of grifters, climbs an embankment near a desolate mountain pass as a car approaches from below, winding up a lonely road. Theme E begins with this first shot, a lively popular tune with exotic, “oriental” coloring. When the car stops, Barone angrily confronts Roberto, the youngest member of the band, complaining that he, Augusto, and Picasso are late. The light and superficial music at this point seems to act as a nondiegetic counterpoint to the tense mood in the frame, but then Roberto gets out of the car, performs a dance step in time with the music, and begins to sing along with the tune.13 There is no rational explanation for the music’s entering the diegesis. Barone’s car is parked thirty meters up the road, and the quality of the sound is much too clear and the volume too high to be emanating from that far off. The sequence takes place on a remote road in the countryside with no buildings in sight, and the car Roberto drives arrives from a significant distance, while the music contin-

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ues through the scene at the same volume; therefore it cannot emanate from the radio of that vehicle either. By placing the music both inside and outside the narrative apparatus of the film in this first sequence Fellini immediately draws attention to the relationship between sound and image, creating a space in which music can communicate intellectually as well as emotionally.14 Theme E dominates much of the sound track of the film, regularly accompanying all of the collective actions of the band of con artists (seq. #2, #3, #5, #8, #10, #11), but it does not cue the viewer to a recurring mood. Although the scams are all similar, as the film progresses the tune undergoes a gradual change in instrumentation and tempo that recasts the meaning of the images the tune supports. In the first sequence the music is upbeat with an oriental pattern of notes, but this exotic version of the tune that creates an initial mood of mysterious otherness never returns to the sound track. As the song repeats throughout the film it becomes slower and more predictable, settling on the same instrumentation over and over, expressing with this repetition the tedious weight of remaining true to a role rather than the thrill of the scam itself. By the end of the film Theme E, now entirely nondiegetic, takes on slow, dark, and ominous tones that express both exhaustion and doom. Although the tone of the sound track changes dramatically by the end of the film, the first and last sequences mirror each other, repeating the same scam with the same outcome: Augusto, dressed as a Vatican dignitary, convinces a peasant family that a treasure is buried on their land and that they only have to pay a fraction of the value of the jewels in order to keep the money. In both cases the peasants fall for the trick, paying months of their earnings for worthless costume jewelry, and in both cases Augusto and his partners drive off with the money. The sound track, however, asks the viewer to examine these two sequences from different vantage points. With the light, exotic music of the first sequence, emanating from a patently artificial source, the viewer experiences the scam superficially as comic theater and as narrative suspense. By the end of the film, however, Theme E has been repeated so often (twelve times) that the narrative suspense has largely dissipated, and therefore the tune no longer reflects the suspense surrounding the actions of the characters, but rather the spiritual turmoil of the protagonist. The separation of meaning from action at this point in the film is in evidence in the strange encounter between Augusto and the disabled daughter of the peasant family, Susanna. Although Augusto’s

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role of a Vatican dignitary diametrically opposes his actions as a thief, he is able to speak honestly to the girl: “You don’t need me. You are better off than a lot of people. Our lives . . . the lives of many people that I know lack beauty. You’re not missing much, you don’t need me . . . I have nothing to offer you” (Fellini 1969, 317).15 Here there is a paradoxical coherence between Augusto’s inner reality and the thief ’s self-deprecatory language. Susanna’s language, on the other hand, seems at first artificially formed by the projection of her public persona. She declares that she is perfectly content with her disability if that is God’s will but then chases after Augusto when he turns to leave, crying and begging him to pray for a miraculous recovery. Augusto, possibly angry with himself for almost being taken in by her story, sneers, “Leave me alone!” as he turns his back on the girl and walks away. In this scene morality and honesty do not coincide: there is no question that Susanna’s innocent “lies” are more pure than Augusto’s momentary truthfulness, and because of this ambivalence, meaning becomes substantially divorced from narrative action. Unlike Susanna, whose contradictory words and actions help form a strikingly complex character in a few brief moments, most conventional film characters have desires and motivations that inform their intentions, and these intentions in turn inform their dialogue, while dialogue generally relates directly to actions. In the opposite order, which is the conventional order for reading film, the meaning that viewers derive from a character’s actions normally relates logically to dialogue and the personality of the character (desires, motivations, intentions). Fellini resists this linear reading of character because it simplifies the immensely complex relationships among feelings, beliefs, thoughts, words, and actions—complexities that literature often reveals but that cinema, precisely because of its dependence on visual action, tends to simplify. One of the primary tools at Fellini’s disposal for expanding the cinematic potential for character development is the sound track. In his earliest films he broke down the conventional formation of character by editing the sound track as an ironic counterpoint to the action on screen (most of the music in Lo sceicco bianco, for example). The limitation of this approach to the sound track is the two-dimensional nature of characters, who are reduced to caricatures unable to free themselves from their own constricting roles. After Lo sceicco bianco, Fellini is able to create more fully developed characters in part by avoiding established genres. Il bidone is obviously an exception to

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this rule. The dilemma, in a genre film like Il bidone, is how to free a character like Augusto from his prescribed popular culture role as a gangster without reducing him to a caricature. Fellini resolves this problem in part with a hybrid sound track that first strips the character of his unique independence as the self-defined agent of his own actions, then slowly reveals the terrifying, empty solitude of his role. The ambiguous source of Theme E in the first sequence of the film (seq. #2) and the strange synchronicity of the sound tracks of three films in the cinema sequence (seq. #9) define Augusto’s character as an artificial construct, put together by the film itself (in the case of the initial presentation of Theme E) or informed by the consumption of popular culture mediated by the director’s reading (in the cinema sequence where Il bidone meets Black Tuesday and Lo sceicco bianco). Once Augusto has been defined as a narrative construct—part Roman society, part American popular culture, and part Fellini—the film is free to deconstruct the layers of masks formed by these forces external to the character not only in order to reveal the essentially negative reality that the character hides behind these masks, but more importantly to show the suffering humanity that even this type of negative role can incorporate. While the gangsters of American popular culture represent the social anxieties of class mobility and ethnic tensions where cinema reaffirms viewers’ preconceived notions of social order, Fellini reveals the artificial mechanisms behind cultural production, not in order to question or confirm social order, but, paradoxically, at once to parody the construction of these types of cultural archetypes and to reveal a kernel of humanity behind a character formed, in part, within this very culture. In order to reveal the soul of a gangster you must first destroy the readings the crime genre imposes on the character; only then, with a distant tolling bell, can a random peasant woman sing a vaguely recognizable tune that—unbeknown to her—shepherds a weak man’s soul from this life to the next.

6 Le notti di Cabiria: Music and Transcendence UNLIKE LA STRADA AND IL BIDONE, FILMS THAT IN PART EXAMINE THE possibilities for redemption in victimizers (Zampanò and Augusto), Le notti di Cabiria (1957) focuses on the beauty and grace within a naïve victim. Victimization is not random in this case: Cabiria (Giulietta Masina) can be taken advantage of because her immense need for love and companionship often clouds her judgment. She begins the film infatuated with Giorgio, a man who snatches her purse and attempts to drown her in the Tiber; the film ends with an analogous sequence in which Oscar (François Périer), a con man who has convinced Cabiria that he intends to marry her, steals her entire life savings and abandons her on a cliff. This elemental plot structure of an orphan-prostitute in search of love and a family might be confused with a Cesare Zavattini script for a De Sica film. Fellini, however, is far more interested in revealing the metaphysical nature hidden behind the superficial appearances of his characters than in examining social injustice, and the film’s sound track is once again an essential tool for understanding the lyrical depth embedded within a simple plot. Four Nino Rota tunes introduce the credits at the beginning of the film: Theme A, played on a carillon—slow, contemplative, and abstract; Theme B, emotionally charged with a moderate tempo; Theme C, jazzy, popular, and light; and Theme D (Lla Ri Lli Ra), fastpaced with dramatic horns.

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Theme A at first reflects Christian charity and generosity, but later in the film this tune denotes these spiritual qualities on a psychological (rather than ethical) level within Cabiria. Theme B and Theme C almost always occur together, and they reflect Cabiria’s subjectivity, often relating her romantic longing (Theme B) to quotidian domesticity (Theme C). Since these two themes are rarely separate and often depend upon each other for harmonic resolution, they will often be considered together as Theme BC. Theme D (Lla Ri Lli Ra) expresses both impending betrayal as well as hope: Cabiria sings the tune at the beginning of the film right before Giorgio pushes her into the swirling waters of the Tiber, and she again sings a few notes toward the end of the film when a guitarist plays the song at a restaurant shortly before Oscar runs off with everything she owns; paradoxically, the tune also accompanies Cabiria in a procession of irrational hope at the very end of the film when a group of young people, singing and dancing to its melody, surround the protagonist in a musical embrace. Confronted with this song yet again, Cabiria “is transformed . . . in a manner that defies logical explanation. Music thus offers Fellini a metaphor for salvation, for it is completely gratuitous, spontaneous, and unexpected” (Bondanella 1990, 139).1

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Theme D (Lla Ri Lli Ra), as does Theme B in Il bidone, has remarkably limited use through most of Le notti di Cabiria. With the exception of a brief quote in the picnic sequence (seq. #14),2 the tune enters the sound track only at the very beginning and end of the film: twice in the first few minutes (seq. #1, #2), and again in three of the final four sequences (seq. #21, #22, #24). Although the tune does not accumulate meaning through repetition, it has a singularly important role in revealing the underlying message of the film. This message is substantially removed from narrative logic, and, therefore, rather than simply interpret what is depicted on screen, the tune embodies unresolved tension.3 In the orchestral version that accompanies the opening credits, for example, prominent percussion and horns establish a threatening mood, while the strident string section, playing the melody, suggests an emotional suffering related to the menacing horns. This orchestration projects a tragic solemnity that contrasts with the previous Theme C, with its light, unsophisticated, and contemporary jazz sound. But in the very first sequence of the film, just a moment after the opening credits, Cabiria sings Theme D with the carefree tonality of Theme C: she is entirely unaware of the danger that Giorgio represents, and she smiles and laughs playfully while unself-consciously singing the tune that now reflects a spontaneous joie de vivre rather than suffering related to a lurking threat.4 The conflict inherent in the divergent moods that these first two versions of Theme D create cannot be easily reconciled: what seemed an idyllic walk in the countryside with her lover becomes, with one swift push, a terrifying near-death experience of brutal betrayal. Although this is the very first music in the film (excluding the initial themes with the credits), after Cabiria sings Theme D there will be eight minutes of musical silence from the sound track—a silence that reflects the bewildering void that the protagonist has entered. “Music prevails so much in Cabiria that its absence is quite noticeable. Take for example the film’s beginning and end, each of whose musical silence reinforces the other structurally” (Gorbman 1974–75, 19). Corresponding to this structural balance between silences, Theme D, other than a brief quote toward the middle of the film (seq. #14), remains entirely absent from the sound track until more than an hour and a half after Cabiria’s initial plunge into the Tiber. When Theme D does return, sung by a guitarist while Cabiria dines with her “fiancé” Oscar at a restaurant in the penultimate sequence of the film, it resolves the conflict between the first two versions of the tune in a melancholy Neapolitan

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love song: Lla Ri Lli Ra. This Neapolitan version of the song functions as a lyrical summation of Cabiria’s experiences throughout the film moments before she is yet again tricked and betrayed (seq. #21, #22). The choice of Neapolitan dialect5 allows Fellini to enunciate the moral of Cabiria’s misfortunes without the artificial imposition of voice-over narration—the dialect slightly distancing the language from automatic signification, thereby creating a mysterious, mythical aura around the text. In this case the lyrics speak directly to Cabira:6 “No one loves you anymore? Don’t worry about it. Dry your eyes. Come and sing like me: lla ri lli ra, lla ri lli ra. . . . Have you been betrayed by love, it wasn’t the way you dreamed it would be?”7 As Pier Marco De Santi notes, the song enunciates the message of hope implicit in the final sequence of the film: “These words also foretell that simple message of hope that a group of young people communicate to Cabira when she is shattered by disillusion” (85).8 The youths of the final sequence, however, sing the tune without words; the music alone, “a metaphor for salvation, . . . gratuitous, spontaneous, and unexpected” (Bondanella 1990, 139), expresses the lesson. The fact that Theme D (Lla Ri Lli Ra) acts both as a narrative cue for Cabiria’s victimization and as a sign of transcendence and grace reflects the distance between Fellini’s aesthetic interests, which champion “lyrical and symbolic vision over the material world” (Bondanella 1990, 141), and the more conventional musical narratives typical of neorealism.9 Toward the beginning of Rossellini’s Open City, for example, the disabled boy Romoletto whistles three notes to call his young comrades to action, and at the end of the film all the boys whistle the same simple tune as an Italian firing squad prepares to execute the partisan priest, Don Pietro. It would be difficult to imagine Rossellini’s musical indicator of spontaneous patriotic resistance associated with any nonpartisan character, however, because Open City is primarily concerned with history, ideology, and national identity rather than with the spiritual and psychological complexity of individuals. Music, in Rossellini’s film, is always subordinate to narrative logic. In Le notti di Cabiria, on the other hand, Cabiria walks down a road at the end of the film in the dead of night surrounded by an exuberant and joyous rendition of the same tune that twice earlier had signaled her betrayal. The spontaneous enthusiasm of the group of young people, who sing, play guitar and accordion, and dance along with the tune, undermines a sociological reading of Cabiria’s tragic loss. Unlike most ne-

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orealist characters, Cabiria does not represent a class (prostitutes, poor people, women, etc.); she is rather an aspect of the human condition—the child we all once were. While De Sica’s Antonio Ricci, in a state of utter dejection similar to Cabiria’s psychological condition after her second betrayal, becomes an “everyman” by disappearing into a crowd at the end of The Bicycle Thief, Cabiria remains unique in her moment of suffering: the youths encircle her and in so doing emphasize her individuality. Unlike her young companions, Cabiria does not produce music nor dance to its rhythm.10 Although Cabiria walks in the same direction as the exuberant youths, she seems strangely removed from their experience, and her isolation within the group of strangers imbues the scene with a mysterious, metaphysical aura. One of the guitarists, sensing the distance between his flittering Dionysian self-forgetfulness and the weight of her weary individuation, barks at Cabiria like a dog in an attempt to draw her out of her trancelike reverie. Right after he barks, the song the group plays changes from Theme D (Lla Ri Lli Ra) to Theme BC, a tune closely associated with Cabiria’s subjectivity (more on this later). With this musical transition, the Otherness of Theme D (Lla Ri Lli Ra) suddenly becomes the immediately recognizable Self of Theme BC. A moment later a girl addresses Cabiria, saying simply: “Buona sera.” Cabiria smiles in response, looks around, and briefly gazes directly into the camera—a gesture analogous to a stage actor’s directing a question to the audience.11 Coinciding with Cabiria’s glance at the viewer, Theme BC is taken over by an entire orchestra, while the young musicians within the frame continue to play along.12 The nondiegetic orchestral accompaniment for this rather unlikely diegetic band raises Cabiria’s condition to a narrative plane beyond effective historical events and through Cabiria’s glance relates her state directly to the viewer.13 By fixing Cabiria in the timeless beauty of her suffering, rather than in a precise moment in narrative time, the sound track helps the viewer to read Cabiria as a symbol of the irrational endurance of a universal childlike innocence rather than as a unique example of innocence betrayed.14 Theme BC, as Theme D (Lla Ri Lli Ra), does not establish a precise tone or cue a specific emotional response in the viewer, but Theme BC does seem to function as a general sign of Cabiria’s subjectivity. Theme BC first returns to the sound track, after the initial credits, when Cabiria attempts to make sense of Giorgio’s betrayal the evening after she almost drowns in the Tiber (seq. #4). She tries

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to comprehend her misfortune by telling her friend Wanda that she slipped into the water, and that Giorgio panicked and ran off, but Wanda does not buy the story and insists that Giorgio intentionally pushed her. Theme BC begins with a cut back to Cabiria as she finally accepts the probability of Giorgio’s deception. The music is ostensibly diegetic: Cabiria had been listening to a portable radio earlier in the sequence, and the previous popular tune had the same unsophisticated jazz instrumentation as this version of Theme BC. Moreover, the previous tune ends a few seconds before Theme BC begins, just as would be the case with music broadcast over a radio.15 But the diegetic source seems somewhat weak: the volume of the music remains constant inside and outside the shack, even when Cabiria walks away quite some distance. “Should we assume it to be another tune on the radio, or external to the character’s universe? The film provides no clear answer: it has set up the diegetic/ extra-diegetic ambiguity with the first music” (Gorbman 1974–75, 20). Rather than commenting on Cabiria’s actions from outside the diegesis or accompanying her from within the narration, sound here seems both to comment on Cabiria and to project from her consciousness. Although a radio is prominent in the first shot of the sequence, the sense is that we do not hear the physical translation of the sound waves that Cabiria hears through a precise reproduction of point of audition sound; rather, we hear a subjective reproduction of the protagonist’s experience of sound. Just as one might hear a song on a passing car radio and then be surprised still to be humming the tune ten minutes later in an entirely different setting, Theme BC seems to emanate in part from Cabiria herself. Following a pattern established by its coincidence with Cabiria’s acceptance of Giorgio’s betrayal, Theme BC occurs exclusively in scenes in which Cabiria finds herself in an unfamiliar situation, contemplates something new, or understands past assumptions in a different light. Theme BC comes through the window of the Kit Kat nightclub when she leaves her normal workplace (Passeggiata Archeologica) and ventures into the fancy neighborhood around Via Veneto (seq. #6). Later, outside the same nightclub, the song returns when the famous actor Alberto Lazzari invites the hesitant Cabiria to take a ride in his enormous American convertible (seq. #7). When Lazzari takes her to his pretentious home, Theme BC coincides with Cabiria’s realization that no one will believe that she spent the night with the actor and concludes when she picks up a lobster from a silver dinner cart and wonders what it might be: “I

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think I saw one of these in a film” (seq. #9). The relationship between Theme BC and Cabiria’s subjectivity becomes more apparent when Lazzari’s fiancée, Jessie, shows up at his house unannounced, and Cabiria is forced to hide in a bathroom adjacent to the bedroom (seq. #10). In a mise en scène reminiscent of countless cinematic love scenes, Jessie and Lazzari tearfully reconcile and then passionately embrace.16 Theme BC begins with a cut to Cabiria looking through the keyhole of the bathroom door and swells dramatically with a subjective shot of Jessie and Lazzari kissing, framed by the keyhole. Early the next morning, when Lazzari finally opens the bathroom door to let Cabiria out, Theme BC coincides with a subjective shot, from Cabiria’s perspective, looking back at Jessie asleep on Lazzari’s bed. The music here communicates Cabiria’s longing for a similarly intense romantic encounter. Indeed, the next time Theme BC returns to the sound track will be to underscore Cabiria’s nascent feelings for Oscar during their third meeting (seq. #17). When Cabiria finally lets down her guard and falls in love with Oscar, accepting his proposal for marriage, the tune swells in intensity as Cabiria shouts out to Wanda, “He loves me!” (seq. #20). Theme BC, however, does not simply reflect Cabiria’s love; indeed, it is first used to comment on Cabiria’s understanding of a love lost (seq. #4). As is the case with Theme D, Theme BC’s lack of relationship to a particular emotional tone or theme seems to be determined by its ambiguous relationship with the diegesis. In front of the Kit Kat club, for example, Cabiria looks through a window and contemplates a scene within that viewers of Fellini’s film do not see but moves her hips in time with music viewers hear (seq. #6).17 When she steps back to dance alone on the sidewalk, we have no reason to doubt the existence of a club orchestra, but when Cabiria walks away from the window and around a corner, the volume of the music does not change. Stranger still, the tune begins to function nondiegetically when Cabiria encounters the doorman to the club, who looks her up and down, then arrogantly gestures for her to leave: the movements and expressions of the two are choreographed perfectly with the melody and beat of the song. Theme BC ends precisely when the doorman tells Cabiria to leave, and a moment later Jessie, an elegant woman with an extravagant white fur over her shoulders, hurries out of the club. “Blue Moon” in a minor key begins when Jessie appears and, although ostensibly diegetic, as is the earlier Theme BC, the tune establishes an appropriate mood for the ensuing lovers’ quarrel with Alberto Lazzari. When Lazzari appears

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a moment later, slapping Jessie after she refuses to leave with him in the car, “Blue Moon” concludes as Jessie runs alone down a street. A moment later Theme BC returns to the sound track when Lazzari notices Cabiria and arrogantly orders her to get into his car. Is the band playing the same song twice in so short a time, or is the tune a projection of Cabiria’s subjectivity as she decides whether she should accept Lazzari’s invitation? At this point there is no clear answer, but when the car zooms off through the streets of Rome and Theme BC continues on the sound track, changing to a much louder orchestral instrumentation, the music that had earlier been floating in a liminal diegetic/nondiegetic space suddenly seems clearly nondiegetic. But can this music now be defined as entirely nondiegetic? Because Theme BC is so closely related to Cabiria’s perceptions even here a significant diegetic trace remains.18 The sound track’s ambivalent relationship to the diegesis, together with Fellini’s longstanding practice of mixing music at a high volume relative to dialogue, draw attention to the artificial nature of the pairing of music and image, a pairing that harks back to the silent film era, in which musical accompaniment was more “audible” because it was manifestly an external comment (often a piano or small orchestra off to the side of the screen). While in 1950s Hollywood a sound track’s effectiveness is generally understood as proportionate to its invisibility and inaudibility (i.e., the less you notice it the better), Fellini quite purposefully places music in the foreground, on a more equal footing with the visual image. The desire to engage music more directly with image is revealed in the way Rota composed the sound track. Tullio Kezich, describing the postproduction of Le notti di Cabiria, notes: “Work with Nino Rota on the score also proceeds in an unusual way. They move the piano into the screening room and compose music to follow the rhythm of the images, just like an accompanist would have done in the days of silent film” (184). Theme A, unlike Theme BC and Theme D (Lla Ri Lli Ra), establishes a relationship with a specific theme throughout the film: a vaguely Christian charity or, more generally, selfless generosity. Reflecting its function as an indicator of a specific motif, Theme A, unlike all of the other musical themes in the film, retains the same instrumentation and slow tempo each time it occurs on the sound track. The tune first appears, after its introduction with the opening credits, when Cabiria, lost in the middle of the night in the coun-

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tryside near Rome, encounters a man distributing clothing and food to the homeless (seq. #12).19 Cabiria does not understand his motivation: he does not seem to work for an organization or for the church, and there is nothing self-righteous in his demeanor or in his language. Theme A on a carillon begins when “the man with a sack” first calls out to an elderly homeless man living in a cave and continues as he distributes food, blankets, and clothing. Cabiria and “the man with a sack” next meet Elsa, a prostitute with whom Cabiria had worked in the past and whom she knows as “Bomba.” Theme A continues until Elsa/Bomba begins to talk about the riches that she had before growing old. The music fades out as Elsa lists the money, clothes, and jewels that are no longer hers, thereby associating the music with the generosity of the mysterious man rather than with her loss. As “the man with a sack” walks away from Bomba/Elsa Theme A returns to the sound track, again emphasizing conscious sacrifice over random misfortune. Pier Marco De Santi identifies Theme A as an indicator of the moral of Cabiria’s story: “It accompanies the episode . . . of the encounter between Cabiria and Brother Giovanni on the dusty road of Acilia—a fragmentary scene which Fellini, initially, wanted to serve the function of a fabula docet whose narrative gist might evoke the parable of the pebble from La strada” (85).20 In this later sequence De Santi mentions,21 Theme A begins inside Cabiria’s shack when she puts on her robe, and the music follows her outside, seeming to comment as much on Cabiria as on the monk (seq. #18). When Brother Giovanni asks Cabiria whether she is in God’s grace she shakes her head no, explaining that she even went to the Santuario del Divino Amore to ask for help from the Madonna, but without success. Giovanni comically smiles like an idiot savant, noting that Cabiria might already possess grace without knowing it, and Theme A fades out as the monk walks away. A short time later, Theme A returns to the sound track after Oscar proposes to Cabiria, when she goes to the Franciscan monastery in order to seek out Brother Giovanni in order to confess (seq. #20). Cabiria rings a bell, and Theme A begins when a monk stands up to answer the door. After learning that Giovanni is out, Cabiria decides to wait for him because she prefers his uncultured, spontaneous simplicity.22 Theme A continues for a moment while she waits, until a fade to Cabiria’s shack, where Wanda helps Cabiria pack up her few remaining belongings. In the shack Theme A begins shortly after Cabiria explains that she

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has sold nearly everything in order to marry Oscar and start a new life in a different town. This is the last time the tune occurs on the sound track, and it is the first time that no spiritual gesture or religious imagery accompanies the music. Although the viewer has no visual clue that Cabiria is about to lose everything to a ruthless con man, the sound track associates the liquidation of her assets with charity, as if the significance of her impending victimization were more spiritual than social or historical. Defining Cabiria’s precise spiritual significance is nearly impossible, but there are indications on the sound track that help determine what it is not.23 The melancholy and mysterious Theme A occurs with the spontaneous generosity of a solitary Christian (the “man with a sack”) and with Franciscans, but never in relation to rituals related to the church as institution—not when pilgrims pass by the prostitutes on the street in the middle of the night, singing “Mira il tuo popolo” on their way to the Santuario del Divino Amore (seq. #11); not in the long sequence at the sanctuary where Cabiria and many of the prostitutes ask the Madonna for guidance (seq. #13); not when Cabiria notices a small procession of pilgrims passing by at a picnic outside the sanctuary (seq. #14). Indeed, the long Santuario del Divino Amore sequence emphasizes the material over the spiritual: Amleto, one of the pimps who join the prostitutes on the trip to the sanctuary, makes a point of buying the largest candles from one of many vendors conducting a brisk business outside the sanctuary; Amleto’s disabled uncle purchases thirty masses for 35,000 lire, agreeing with Amleto that it is money well spent if the Madonna grants him the use of his legs; a long line of worshipers waits to touch and kiss a small reproduction of the immense image of the Madonna that stands high above the altar, as if the reproduction of an image of a deity held the magical powers of the deity herself. Commenting on the absence of transcendence, all of the music in this sequence is unambiguously diegetic: the sequence begins with a close-up of a speaker amplifying the prerecorded sound of pealing bells, and many groups of pilgrims sing various religious songs, most notably “Mira il tuo popolo.”24 In contrast, as soon as Cabiria and her friends leave the sanctuary to eat a picnic lunch in a nearby field the sound track returns to a more ambiguous relationship with the diegesis (seq. #14). Prostitution Theme, a tune associated with the street and prostitution, plays as the camera pans across a field littered with blowing paper.

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A guitar and accordion enter the frame, revealing a diegetic source, and one of the prostitutes dances with a man, thereby further affirming the existence of the music within the narration. The camera follows the dancers for a moment before a cut to Amleto’s uncle, who is lying down while eating a sandwich. The juxtaposition of the dancers with Amleto’s prostrate uncle, who had just asked the Madonna for the use of his legs, reveals that the trip to the sanctuary has not miraculously cured the characters. Unlike in the first sequence in which Prostitution Theme is heard, where Cabiria dances in the street in an uninhibited style (seq. #5), here she sits looking away from her friends and seems upset. When Wanda offers her a glass of wine and asks what is wrong, Cabiria responds, “I’m thinking!” A moment later Prostitution Theme ends and Theme D, associated with Cabiria’s victimization, begins. Unlike at the beginning of the film, where Giorgio functions as an antagonist thwarting Cabiria’s happiness, here the oppression Cabiria feels cannot be personified. It is nonetheless real. Cabiria seems to be trying to comprehend her sudden malaise, and, as if representing her concentrated thought, Theme BC enters the sound track as she sits and ponders her trip to the sanctuary. Just as in the sequences in and around her shack Theme BC seems to emanate from both Cabiria and the space she inhabits, here too Theme BC both accompanies Cabiria (from the musicians playing) and expresses her perspective on the scene. Shortly after Cabiria gulps down a glass of wine, Theme BC ends when she turns to confront Amleto angrily. With her sudden outburst the musicians begin Prostitution Theme again with the same tempo as earlier in the sequence. Amleto ignores Cabiria, jumps up, and runs over to the musicians saying, “Hey guys, we’re sick of this music; how about some rock ’n’ roll?”

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He then grabs a chair and begins to beat the seat as if it were a drum while children nearby join the band and clap hands. The sound track, however, does not include the corresponding sounds for the drum or the clapping hands and continues with the same folk-tone instrumentation of the same song—Prostitution Theme.25 The music does not reproduce the appearance of the visual image; it projects a more profound essence of the characters that transcends their actions. Cabiria, with her monotonous musical theme in the background, makes a similar observation when she turns toward the camera and proclaims: “We have not changed; none of us has changed!” Burdened by the weight of this knowledge she drunkenly stumbles away from her companions, searching for a different narration that might transform her. A procession of pilgrims passes by and Cabiria at first taunts them, inviting them to come and dance, but Wanda arrives and holds her back. Cabiria escapes Wanda’s grasp and walks alone to the side of a bus parked nearby, kneeling down beside it. Prostitution Theme slowly fades out and a liturgical chant the pilgrims sing fades in with a point of view shot of the procession passing in front of Cabiria. Musicians playing in a field do not normally slowly fade out their instruments, just as pilgrims singing religious chants do not slowly fade in. The sound track here reproduces Cabiria’s conscious act of listening, that is, not what she “hears” but what she contemplates.26 The editing of the music surrounding Cabiria’s encounter with the procession of pilgrims heading toward the sanctuary seems subjective because there is no logical explanation for these particular diegetic sources to fade in and out, but there is also an objective, nondiegetic logic to the editing. Prostitution Theme almost always occurs in the film when the protagonist projects her public persona as a prostitute: for example, on the street with other prostitutes (seq. #5, #6, #11, #18) and in the Piccadilly nightclub with Alberto Lazzari (seq. #8). Prostitution is a form of theater, with its own stylized makeup, costumes, and ritual movements. Since Prostitution Theme often functions as a cue for Cabiria’s performance as a prostitute, the use of the music in the picnic sequence reminds the viewer how difficult it will be for Cabiria to leave behind this role that has increasingly defined her over time. She does not remember how she began, she tells Oscar shortly before he betrays her; she only remembers that her mother did not ask any questions as long as she brought home money. The desire to change does not imply the ability to change, as Amleto demonstrates when he is unable to change

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the music from Prostitution Theme to rock ’n’ roll. Music here seems to conform to a narrative logic that the characters within the frame cannot control. The “monophonic, arhythmic, ‘pure’ music” of ora pro nobis, sung by the pilgrims as they pass by, evokes a “simple purity” in the image of Cabiria huddled near the bus that contrasts with the “polyphonic, rhythmic music” of the accordion and guitar associated with the society of prostitutes (Gorbman 1974–75, 22). Cabiria wants to be good, wants to be pure (ora pro nobis), but socializing pressures push her toward a role in which she must constantly compromise her ideals (Prostitution Theme). Far from self-righteous moralizing, however, the sound track of Le notti di Cabiria implies that a certain amount of “prostitution” (role play, mask) is necessary and even positive.27 Prostitution Theme accompanies Cabiria in moments of exuberant joy (dancing the mambo), simple solidarity (the many friendly conversations between the prostitutes), as well as violence (Cabiria’s fight with her nemesis, Matilde). Just as Prostitution Theme can both identify a profession that society defines as immoral and at the same time emphasize the enduring childlike exuberance and innocence within a prostitute, the “piety” of ora pro nobis may reflect a projected narration entirely at odds with the singer. This ambivalence reflects Fellini’s desire to avoid the logical constraints inherent in conventional film narration, where a series of actions and conditions determine the outcome of a precise conflict. There is nothing rational in Cabiria’s mysterious smile when she looks straight into the camera at the end of the film, and therefore the meaning of this smile cannot be reduced to a musical theme that harks back logically to her previous experiences. By helping to free the film from overly determined associations, the sound track of Le notti di Cabiria prepares the viewer for the miracle that Il divino amore could not supply: transcendence through song.

7 Brecht/Weill, Respighi, and the Equivocal Tone of La dolce vita Providing examples of illustrious composers, [Rota] paradoxically maintained that in some cases plagiarism does not exist, and that only the mediocre modify while the great “steal”; the only thing that matters are the results. —De Santi

PINI PRESSO UNA CATACOMBA

MOST CRITICS WHO MENTION NINO ROTA’S INDEBTEDNESS TO OTTOrino Respighi’s The Pines of Rome for the main theme of La dolce vita (1959) seem to think that the Milanese composer’s borrowing from the 1924 Pini presso una catacomba represents nothing more than some sort of sly, inside joke.1 Royal S. Brown, for example, writes in Overtones and Undertones: “Rather cutely, in the 1960 La Dolce Vita, Fellini and Rota bring in quotations from Ottorino Respighi’s The Pines of Rome to tie the decadence of modern Roman society in with the ancient” (Brown, 222).2 There is no question that the film relates modern society with the decadence of ancient Rome, as the Caracalla nightclub sequence makes abundantly clear (seq. #10),3 but the parallels between the two musical pieces are more profound than a simple historical juxtaposition. Respighi’s Pini presso una catacomba, the second of the four symphonic poems of Pini di Roma, begins by establishing the dark mood of the underworld with a slow chant before introducing a more vibrant theme that represents the voices of spirits rising up from underground: 100

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This theme, at first slow and somber in the lower registers of the string section, repeats dozens of times, gradually intensifying as it reaches ever higher pitches. The strident emphasis on this melody communicates a desire to transcend the dark underworld penetrated by the roots of the pines, a transcendence that gradually liberates the song of the dead from the confines of matter. The pulsing theme intensifies and seems about to break out of the entrance to the catacomb and wander freely in the sunlight. But just when the chanting spirits become most insistent, reaching a climax that seems capable of breaking down their material prison, they begin to fade, slowly and steadily retreating back into darkness. The voices of the underworld return to their proper home, and the listener of Respighi’s beautiful contemplation of the afterlife recognizes the great distance between her ear and that distant call from below. When, in the introductory music of La dolce vita, Nino Rota introduces a theme almost identical to Respighi’s chanting spirits (seq. #1), he covertly acknowledges his source for the first theme of Titoli di testa, which is melodically and rhythmically related to Pini presso una catacomba.

Rota, however, creates an initial mood of exotic expectation and movement with Titoli di testa that seems far removed from the metaphysical meditation of the underworld that characterizes the

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beginning of Respighi’s piece. A closer examination of Rota’s tune, however, reveals that he has simply inverted the order of Respighi’s musical dialogue, placing the chanting spirits first, before the evocation of the underworld. In fact, Rota alternates the fast tempo and “oriental” sound4 of the beginning of Titoli di testa with a slow, somber, plodding melody that acts as a counterpoint to the tone of adventure and possibility of the initial theme. This musical tug-ofwar between exuberant movement and resigned stasis continues, with the substitution of the Respighi quote for the “exotic” introductory notes of Titoli di testa. When Titoli di testa nears its conclusion, Rota’s “oriental” melody follows the Respighi quote and repeats, as if emphasizing that the immobility of the static counterpoint to the initial theme has been overcome. But this apparent musical victory of adventure and movement over stasis and failure is denied by the desperate yearning of the coda, beginning with a twonote lament that seems to cry out for help. The final notes definitively cancel the mood of potential and freedom, dragging the tune down into darkness:

Rota has transformed the layered structure of Respighi’s piece, where spirits inhabit the darkness of the underworld and slowly release their chanting voices from within that space before returning to stillness and silence, into a pattern of quick, contrasting themes that seem to imply the momentary victory of a vital impulse but then conclude with the hopeless resignation of the coda. The structure is significantly different (and this difference can be explained by the time constraints inherent to film music), but the overall mood of the two pieces is surprisingly similar. Titoli di testa returns to the sound track for the first time after the titles when Maddalena (Anouk Aimée), a rich heiress on the prowl for new thrills, drives away from Piazza del Popolo with Marcello (Marcello Mastroianni) and a prostitute they had encountered a moment earlier in the square (seq. #4). The tune establishes a mood of limitless freedom that characterizes much of the amoral

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frolicking of the leisure class and concludes when Maddalena’s Cadillac convertible arrives at the prostitute’s modest apartment building on the outskirts of Rome (seq. #5). Maddalena and Marcello make love in the prostitute’s bed, and the film at this point seems to identify more with their transgressive exploits than with the prostitute’s social condition as revealed through her bleak, flooded basement apartment. When, after leaving Maddalena at dawn, Marcello races back to his apartment in his own English convertible, the film reveals an unexpected human cost of Marcello’s freedom: Emma (Yvonne Fourneaux), his fiancée, has swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills in a moment of jealous despair and lies semiconscious, crumpled on the floor (seq. #6). Functioning much as the coda of Titoli di testa, the sound track surrounding the presentation of Emma contrasts with the lively tone of adventure that the tune initially presents with Marcello and Maddalena.5 The cut from Maddalena’s Cadillac to Emma’s apartment coincides with the sound of breaking glass and Emma’s labored breathing (seq. #6). Tonal monotony and unnatural, harsh sounds inhabit this sequence: church bells peal a single note in the distance as Marcello climbs an external staircase, an alarm goes off when he lifts Emma, tires squeal when his car arrives at the hospital, a buzzer sounds shortly after the car stops. These unmelodic sounds6 suggest limits and mortality that stand in stark contrast to the self-indulgent pursuit of pleasure that the lively Titoli di testa introduced in the preceding sequence with Maddalena. While Marcello kneels over the prone body of his fiancée in an austere hospital room, kissing her hand and expressing profound worry, a bass drum softly beats with the rhythm of a heart. A moment of truth seems to be at hand. But Marcello reveals that his gestures of concern toward Emma are nothing more than cheap theater when he leaves the room and asks to use a phone. After dialing, a loud ring corresponds with a cut to Maddalena’s bedroom. With this cut Marcello’s inherent weakness is revealed: by attempting to contact his lover while his fiancée recovers in an adjacent room from a suicide attempt, he immediately rejects the limits that Emma represents, but he also refuses to be honest with himself and leave her. More than Emma’s attempted suicide, it is the shallowness of a man unwilling to assert coherence between social expectations and individual desires and actions that the sound track exposes as a barren wasteland.

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The initial presentation of Titoli di testa reveals one of its primary functions, which is to cue flamboyant public posing that degenerates into a much more dreary, private tawdriness. In the shot where Maddalena’s Cadillac pulls up to the public housing project where the prostitute lives, Titoli di testa blares on the sound track, drowning out the ambient noises of the car (seq. #5). This music seems to function nondiegetically, commenting on the novelty of bored rich people helping out a streetwalker, but as soon as the car stops the prostitute complains: “Turn that radio off! Everyone is asleep here!”7 Outside the ostentatious convertible and beyond the arrogance of the loud radio lies a society of schedules, work, bills—in short: the social reality of the vast majority of Romans.8 But Marcello is only a part-time member of the glitterati class: the public projection of beauty and riches of the tune and the enormous car contrast not only with the prostitute’s poor neighborhood, but also with the bare walls of his nearly empty apartment where Emma waits in quiet desperation. At the end of the hospital sequence Marcello is left suspended between two women and two approaches to life, between selfindulgent decadence and stifling domesticity. The sound track helps to define this split in a number of ways. The melancholy Notturno communicates Maddalena’s loneliness in Piazza del Popolo, coinciding with her conversation with Marcello about her unhappiness and concluding shortly after she states that she feels content only when making love (seq. #4). The following two songs, the jazzy Cadillac and the popular Canzonetta, formally associate Maddalena with sex and prostitution and reflect her rejection of conventional solutions to loneliness—monogamy and marriage (seq. #4, #5). Cadillac begins when Maddalena addresses a prostitute, inviting her to take a ride, and concludes when she drives off with the prostitute in the back seat; Canzonetta begins a moment later, coinciding with a cut to a later time in Maddalena’s car, where Maddalena asks the prostitute about her clients.9 These two tunes occur elsewhere in the film exclusively in scenes that reflect the objectification of the female body. The only other time that Cadillac will return to the sound track is when Marcello tries to find a place to make love with Sylvia (seq. #11), and Canzonetta occurs just three other times in the film: when Marcello and Paparazzo try to get phone numbers from women sunbathing on the top of an apartment building in the opening sequence (seq. #2); at an outdoor photo shoot with a model

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in haute couture (seq. #13); and when Fanny, a prostitute10 who dances at the nightclub where Marcello takes his father, shows a trick in which she folds a napkin to look like a brassiere (seq. #22). The three tunes that initially accompany Maddalena describe both her spiritual suffering (Notturno) and the cause of her suffering (Canzonetta and Cadillac), which is in part determined by limiting her experiences to the physical/sensual. Opposed to the musical variety and complexity that support Maddalena, the grating mechanical noises surrounding the introduction of Emma reflect Marcello’s fear of entrapment in a relationship based upon habit rather than passion. Maddalena is like the first lively theme of Titoli di testa, while Emma is similar to the second theme, which acts as a monotonous counterpoint to the first. Or, to extend the analogy back to Respighi, Maddalena is the vibrant chant of the spirits, while Emma is the immobility of the underworld itself. But the polarity that the two women represent is relative: just as the musical equilibrium is based upon the interdependency of two contrasting themes in Titoli di testa and Pini presso una catacomba, Marcello needs each woman to counterbalance the other. A cut to the next sequence, where a plane carrying the American actress Sylvia (Anita Ekberg) lands at Rome’s Ciampino airport, seems to separate Marcello’s story from the somber mood of the hospital, but the sound track implies that the relationship between the two vignettes is more than simply sequential (seq. #7). As in the earlier sequence with Emma, no music accompanies the introductory scenes of Sylvia at the airport, and similarly to the many mechanical noises in the previous sequence, loud airplane engines dominate all of the shots of the American sex symbol’s arrival. Just as the sound track for the hospital sequence expresses the dissonance between Marcello’s effusive emotional “sincerity” with Emma and his phone call to Maddalena, here the loud engines clash with the sacred choreography of the arrival of a goddess-diva. The engines and screaming paparazzi drown Sylvia’s voice—much as in the opening sequence of the film in which loud helicopters overwhelm the statue of Christ and its sacred message (seq. #2). Within this confusion of airplane engines and popping flashbulbs, Sylvia is reduced to an image over which she herself has little control.11 She is not capable of defining herself, and in any case what matters most is not the authenticity of her actions in the present, but the future manipulation and reproduction of her image. She is captured on the

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film of the reporters’ still cameras (that are contemporaneously captured by Fellini’s movie camera) but has no further relationship to the distribution and consumption of her public persona. In the following sequence, when Titoli di testa next returns to the sound track, a conflict between public persona and private reality emerges when the tune accompanies a procession of cars filled with dozens of photographers and reporters covering Sylvia’s arrival in Rome (seq. #7). The initial mood is carefree and carnivalesque, but the public celebration of Sylvia’s sexual energy collides with her private reality a moment later, at a press conference without any musical accompaniment on the sound track, when her boyfriend, Robert (Lex Barker), stumbles in drunk. Sylvia’s solution to this apparent conflict between her public image and her private life is indicative of fame’s indirect relationship with the Other: she directly and publicly confronts her boyfriend because she knows full well that every word she pronounces will appear in the next day’s papers. By denying this sequence the vitality of musical accompaniment, Fellini emphasizes the private poverty of this relationship, which is almost entirely determined by public consumption rather than intimate passion. What matters most for the famous is not the immediate experience in the present, but the knowledge of a future public reading of the experience. In this sense an alcoholic boyfriend is not necessarily a liability, as long as his nightly drunken escapades end up in the morning gossip columns. Sylvia and Robert are not exceptions to the rule, but rather signs of a more pervasive alienation that inhabits nearly all of the characters of the film. “We are about to see a series of masked people, hiding from themselves as they search for themselves. Disguises, costumes, role-playing, image-making—all attempts to deceive others and to deceive the self—will play before our eyes” (Costello, 74). In this sense Respighi’s spirits are not so different from Fellini’s characters: an overwhelming force separates them both from direct engagement with the world in the present and slowly but surely drags them down into an abyss. The dialogic structure of Titoli di testa, with its quick alternations between bursts of exuberance and plodding ennui, represents both the characters’ rebellion against their existential condition, determined by abstraction and alienation, as well their fundamental inability to break free. The tune not only establishes an overarching tone for the entire film, it also mimics its episodic narrative structure. Just as the vivacious first theme of Titoli di testa contrasts with the slow tempo of the second theme,

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each vignette begins with a lively adventure that eventually concludes with immobility and death (symbolic or real): Marcello and Maddalena’s night of lovemaking ends with Emma’s suicide attempt (seq. #3, #4, #5, #6); Marcello and Sylvia’s long night of adventures concludes with Marcello’s kneeling on the sidewalk, doubled over in pain after being punched in the stomach by Sylvia’s fiancé, Robert (seq. #9, #10, #11, #12); the “miraculous” sighting of the Madonna by two children ends with the death of an elderly man (seq. #14, #15, #16); the seemingly refined intellectual banter at Steiner’s party contrasts with the brutal murder of his two children and his suicide (seq. #17, #18, #28); Marcello’s encounter with his father ends, after another long night on the town, when his father, having attempted to sleep with a young nightclub dancer, quickly departs at dawn after suffering what appears to be a mild heart attack (seq. #20, #21, #22, #23); and both of the parties toward the end of the film, one at a Renaissance villa in Bassano di Sutri (seq. #24, #25, #26) and the other at a modern house in Fregene (seq. #29, #30, #31, #32), conclude at dawn with an overwhelming sense of emptiness and anguish. Titoli di testa eventually evokes the bareness of the characters’ awkward attempts to anesthetize themselves from their fundamentally meaningless lives well before the hangover at dawn. Although the tune tends to occur on the sound track toward the beginning of new episodes, coinciding with the expectation of exotic adventure (seq. #5, #7, #10, #17, #24, #29), over time the pattern of the visual narration undermines the tone of the music as the viewer becomes subconsciously aware that each new adventure will most likely end in failure. While in the first sequences the “oriental” sound of the tune establishes a tone of exotic adventure, as the cyclical pattern of the film unfolds the tune begins to evoke the hopeless superficiality of the characters’ actions rather than their potential for change. Reflecting Fellini’s increasing faith in the ability of the visual image to stand on its own without corresponding musical development, the instrumentation and tone of Titoli di testa often repeat with little or no change throughout a vignette. Even more noteworthy in this regard, the somber second theme of Titoli di testa never coincides with the melancholy conclusions of the vignettes, and the funereal coda does not return to the sound track at all after its initial presentation with the credits. After its introduction with the titles, the exotic novelty and “oriental” coloring of Titoli di testa accompany three scenes of literal

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movement, reflecting the theme’s initial function as an indicator of the potential for narrative development. After being paired with Maddalena and Marcello as they drive off with a prostitute toward a tryst in the prostitute’s bed (seq. #5), it returns to the sound track in the sequences with the American actress Sylvia: first with a procession of cars heading toward her press conference in Rome (seq. #7), and then when Sylvia climbs up to the top of the cupola of St. Peter’s (seq. #8).12 In each of these three cases the tune anticipates discovery at the end of a “voyage,” but the discovery is always an anticlimax because the voyage itself is cyclical rather than linear, returning regularly to a state of solitude and separation. While the first three uses of Titoli di testa (Maddalena’s car, the procession of cars with Sylvia, Sylvia’s ascent of St. Peter’s) coincide with images of movement and the implicit possibility of discovery, the fourth translates this literal searching into a form of psychological expectation that reflects Marcello’s desire for a relationship with Sylvia. When Titoli di testa accompanies the fight between Sylvia and Robert at the Caracalla nightclub, a scene that normally would imply limits rather than potential, the sound track suppresses identification with the couple’s troubles, cuing the viewer to the potential for Marcello to take advantage of the couple’s conflict (seq. #10). Just as the first uses of the theme reflect an expectation that the movement of cars (Maddalena’s Cadillac and the procession of cars accompanying Sylvia) corresponds with a destination and a transition to a new adventure, here the tune sets the stage for Sylvia’s passage from public spectacle to a private dialogue that might spark intimacy. A private conversation is what Marcello had been hoping for at the club, but Sylvia ignores his attempts at communication: while Marcello wants to dance as a couple, Sylvia prefers to lead the entire crowd through two songs: Caracalla’s and Ready Teddy (performed by Adriano Celentano). When Sylvia finally returns to her table at the nightclub the band plays La Dolce Vita Theme (a variation on Kurt Weill’s “Mack the Knife”—see the extended analysis of this song later in this chapter), but when Robert insults Sylvia and the two begin to fight, La Dolce Vita Theme develops into Titoli di testa. Titoli di testa corresponds exactly with the fight, and the suspicion that the tune reflects a subjective reading of the fight rather than a coincidental synchronicity between the diegetic band and action within the frame is confirmed when the tune develops back into La Dolce Vita Theme as soon as Sylvia turns to leave the club.13 The introduction of Titoli di testa resolves the

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conflict between Sylvia’s public display and Marcello’s hope for intimacy by cuing a new narrative direction. The story, however, does not unfold as Marcello expects, because Sylvia is not entirely what she appears to be in public. Alone with Marcello she seems incapable of engaging in dialogue, revealing a personality that is spontaneous yet aloof, and strangely lacking personal sexual initiative (as opposed to public display). Reflecting her status as object rather than subject, she seems to be more in tune with nature than with her suitor: in the countryside, with crickets chirping in the background, she howls in response to dogs in the distance (seq. #11). Marcello, ill at ease with the chorus of barking dogs, quickly whisks Sylvia back to human culture and the city. He has a very specific and simple plan for the evening: get Sylvia in bed. When he stops at a bar to call a friend for keys to an apartment, Cadillac overwhelms the sound track, subconsciously reminding the viewer of Marcello’s erotic desires through the tune’s earlier pairing with Maddalena and a prostitute. But his friend is not home, and when Marcello, in desperation, calls Maddalena to see whether he can use her home, she informs him that her father is in town, and therefore her house is not available either. Through all of this Sylvia seems entirely oblivious to Marcello’s efforts to seduce her, paying more attention to a kitten than to Marcello and wandering aimlessly through the streets of Rome before bathing in the Trevi fountain. But the fact that Marcello and Sylvia do not kiss, much less make love, does not stop Robert from violently slapping and punching Marcello the next morning when the two finally return to Sylvia’s hotel: he does not bother to find out what actually happened between Sylvia and Marcello because his immediate fear is how their night out will be “read” by the public. A fade from the paparazzi vying to get the best angle on the fight between Robert and Marcello to the next sequence contrasts the superficial construction of journalistic stories with higher forms of art. After the fade, Canzonetta plays on the sound track as Marcello, evidently bored, sits reading a paper while a photographer takes pictures of a model and a horse (seq. #13). Out of the corner of his eye, Marcello notices a friend and intellectual role model, Steiner (Alain Cuny), entering a nearby church.14 Marcello hurries across a piazza to meet Steiner, and the two, between silent pews, briefly discuss Marcello’s work in hushed tones. “Throughout the scene, Fellini emphasizes the emptiness and stillness of the church surrounding the two men. At one point, a high shot of Marcello and

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Steiner makes both of them seem small and insignificant” (Murray, 121). When, a moment later, Steiner goes upstairs in the church to play (after a few mischevious notes of jazz) Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D minor on the church organ, Marcello seems strangely oppressed by the music. Although the shooting script does not conform entirely to the film, it does reveal the complex sources of Marcello’s distress: As if overcome by a sudden feeling of shame, Marcello remains frozen and serious, bowing his head next to the organ. . . . Marcello is overwhelmed, as if crushed by that sonorous wave, so precise and able to evoke a mystery that he cannot unravel, that presents itself to him almost as anguish. His eyes, his entire expression alternates between the surprise and pleasure he feels for the music and the discomfort, almost remorse that the sight of Steiner causes—so calm and attentive to his keyboard. (Fellini La dolce vita, 56–57)15

Besides providing an example of the exacting attention to diegetic sound that Fellini, Flaiano, Pinelli, and Rondi often elaborated in preparation for shooting, this passage also describes in detail Marcello’s complex reactions to the music. While Marcello’s work is neither creative nor particularly demanding (in the scene before he enters the church he reads a newspaper while his photographer takes pictures), Steiner’s intense concentration and artistic ability produce something that is both mathematically perfect and manifestly beautiful. Marcello’s contradictory reactions to the Bach piece express envy of the individual artist, appreciation and admiration for the music, and self-deprecation. Steiner, at this point, represents a kind of idealized father figure who seems to offer a model of intellectual creativity, but Marcello’s own inferiority complex thwarts his ability to engage in the disciplined self-sacrifice necessary to any meaningful artistic endeavor. Steiner seems to provide an isolated oasis of private authenticity that differentiates itself from the all too public lives of the glitterati. At a party in his home, poets, musicians, artists, and various other intellectuals discuss aesthetics, play guitar and sing, recite poetry, and relate travels to distant continents (seq. #17, #18). Some critics have wondered over the years how Steiner could murder his children and kill himself after such a “positive” portrayal at his party (these very same critics, however, are often intellectuals very much like the guests at Steiner’s party, and therefore they may not have enough aesthetic distance to comprehend the sequence fully). The

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sound track provides clues to Fellini’s intentions for this sequence, and indicates that Steiner’s party, far from a positive model, is just as inauthentic and false as any of the other vignettes in the film— indeed, maybe even more so.16 No other sequence in the film is so entirely dominated by Titoli di testa. A woman at the party sings the tune as Marcello and Emma arrive, and as soon as she stops singing, a guitar begins variations on the tune. The tune ends when a travel writer proclaims that Western women no longer know how to make love and begins again a moment later when Marcello states that he would like to have children born from women of all races. Although the tone of the discourse at the party is refined, the content is strikingly similar to that of the other vignettes in the film: freedom from sexual constraint defines both the decadence of the rich in Via Veneto and the conversations of intellectuals at this party. When Steiner notes approvingly that nothing happens by chance in an artist’s work, Titoli di testa stops, underlining his words that define absolute control as his ideal. A poet declares that those who live intensely become younger every year and then punctuates her declaration with a loud whistle. Titoli di testa again returns on guitar right after her whistle and continues while the poet asks Emma what she likes to do. The obvious answer to this question in the context of the other conversations at the party is “make love.” But Emma represents an older, more conventional morality, and she is not able to engage in this sort of public display of sexual banter. When, a short time later, a guest at the party plays guitar and sings the traditional folk song “He’s Gone Away,” with its refrain “Look away, look away,” the words of the tune seem to suggest Marcello’s need to leave behind both Emma’s intellectual immaturity and the gutter journalism that keeps him out all night. With the song prominent in the background, Emma whispers into Marcello’s ear: “The two of us are made for each other,” and Marcello, visibly upset, looks away from her, then walks out onto a balcony to confess to Steiner his desire to write serious literature. Although it is certainly true that the film criticizes both the suffocating conventionality of Emma and the shallowness of Marcello’s journalism, the sound track makes clear that Steiner represents a false solution to these weaknesses. Just as Titoli di testa had in earlier sequences accompanied exploits that are at first presented as exciting but are later revealed to be essentially superficial and incapable of sustaining meaning, here too the presence of the song at first establishes a tone of intellectual vitality but also prepares the viewer for the unmasking and disman-

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tling of the initial tone. At the end of the sequence, when Steiner takes Marcello into the dark bedroom17 where he will later murder his children, the same bass drum beats with the rhythm of a heart that accompanied Emma in the hospital after her suicide attempt. Well before his irrational, destructive violence, the sound track reveals that Steiner is not so different from Emma after all.18 As in Respighi’s Pini presso una catacomba, where the chant of the spirits slowly recedes back into darkness at the end of the piece, by the final sequences of the film Titoli di testa returns only as brief quotes that are constantly interrupted by other tunes. In the aristocratic party sequence, Titoli di testa alternates with Via Veneto when Marcello runs into Nico and looks for a ride to Bassano di Sutri (seq. #24), and later at the party the tune never manages to develop for more than a few seconds before being taken over by La Dolce Vita Theme (seq. #24, #25). The sense that the film is approaching a different musical logic is confirmed when the melancholy Notturno accompanies the end of the party at dawn as the group of revelers forms a procession back to the main villa.19 This pivotal change in tone is confirmed in the next sequence where Marcello and Emma fight in the middle of the night in a deserted street (seq. #27). A long, quivering electronic B flat, stretching toward a breaking point throughout the sequence, expresses the emotional void they have entered. And a breaking point seems to arrive when Marcello shoves Emma from the car and drives off, screaming vicious insults as he goes. But the long note does not describe the breakup of the couple; rather it defines their spiritual emptiness. The electronic noise recedes with a fade to dawn as Marcello returns to accompany Emma back home, and the violent emotional transition that seemed to have occurred returns to a latent, sublimated state, waiting to explode into yet another B flat crisis. The following sequence confirms the spiritual checkmate that Marcello has encountered: an early morning phone call informs him that Steiner has murdered his children and killed himself. The silence on the sound track reflects a narrative impasse: Marcello is entirely unable to imagine a motive for such a terrible crime. As at the previous aristocratic party, La Dolce Vita Theme and Titoli di testa alternate on the sound track at the beginning of the final party sequence (seq. #29), neither able to dominate the other, reflecting an inherent conflict that the narration has yet to resolve. When a transvestite prostitute requests “Jingle Bells,” the two earlier tunes quickly end, and the sound track definitively abandons the resistance to stasis that Titoli di testa represents. The new mood

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is organized around the annulment of Nadia’s marriage, and the sound track now expresses negation rather than resistance. The transvestites’ dance to “Jingle Bells” represents a further amplification of sexual transgression and a corresponding diminution of sexual mores. Nadia’s striptease to Patricia acts as a ritual that annuls not only her marriage, but also the exclusive relationship between her body and her new boyfriend, who jealously looks on from a distance. Beyond the immediate tension between Nadia and her boyfriend, Patricia also clashes with its earlier associations with the virginal Paola (seq. #19). Its jarring pairing with the striptease denies the tone of innocent exuberance that Patricia initially projects when Paola plays the song on a jukebox and cancels as well Marcello’s artistic aspirations (this is the only scene in the film where he works on his novel). Even the tune’s ability to affirm the negative is undermined when Riccardo, the owner of the villa, returns, lifts the needle from the record player, and announces that the party is over. After Patricia stops, Blues, a tune that had earlier commented on the funereal mood at the aristocratic party, reveals the inherent boredom lurking behind the public masks of the revelers. Marcello, who in earlier vignettes had generally followed the lead of others, now takes on the responsibility of reenergizing the party by announcing that he will pair up couples for an orgy. Recognizing the power of music to establish mood, he orders a brunette to put on a new record. As Marcello continues to announce couples for the orgy, African drums begin to beat insistently, reflecting both the desire for transgression and the unmelodic sterility of that desire. With the drums pounding, Marcello breaks a caricature of himself drawn on a glass ball, then jumps onto the back of a drunk, provincial blonde, ripping the shoulder straps of her dress, pulling her by the hair, and slapping her face. The slap seems to cue the beginning of the end, and La Dolce Vita Theme takes over the sound track, functioning as a recessional that guides the revelers away from the self-defined culture of their party and toward the beach—a space that is beyond culture in its existential universality.

“MACK THE KNIFE” Although it only occurs momentarily on the sound track, hummed by one of the aristocrats heading toward an abandoned villa in the Bassano di Sutri party sequence (seq. #26), Kurt Weill and Bertold

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Brecht’s sardonic “Moritat for Mack the Knife” from The Threepenny Opera was often used on the set during the filming of La dolce vita (Miceli 428), helping to create a complex mood both transgressive and mundane. The song seems particularly suited to Fellini’s artistic sensibilities because it relies for effect on the description of a conflict between the refined outward appearances of a man and his heinous deeds.20 Macheath, the image of bourgeois propriety with his “white kid gloves and a stick with an ivory handle and spats over his patent leather shoes and a nice polite manner” (Brecht 1964, 12), is a thief, murderer, and rapist, but his crimes do not stain his clothing: “When the shark has had his dinner / There is blood upon his fins. / But Macheath he has his gloves on: / They say nothing of his sins” (Brecht 1964, 3). The tension between music and words in “Mack the Knife” creates an immediately recognizable ironic discrepancy that reflects the playwright’s unwillingness to unify the narrative devices of his work. One essential innovation in Brecht’s play was to reveal the role of music completely by emphasizing its artificial relationship with the stage. Brecht himself notes that “the Threepenny Opera . . . was the first use of theatrical music in accordance with a new point of view. Its most striking innovation lay in the strict separation of the music from all the other elements of entertainment offered. Even superficially this was evident from the fact that the small orchestra was installed visibly on the stage. For the singing of the songs a special changing of lighting was arranged; the orchestra was lit up; the titles of the various numbers were projected on the screens at the back . . . ; and the actors changed their positions before the number began” (Brecht 1957, 85). While in both The Threepenny Opera and La dolce vita music helps establish aesthetic distance from the narration, in the case of The Threepenny Opera the role of music is much more easily perceived because its function is transparent and because it works in harmony with the larger well-defined allegorical form that reflects a Marxist ideological understanding of class struggle throughout history. Fellini’s unwillingness to engage directly in the ideological battles of his times may explain Nino Rota’s musical transformation of “Mack the Knife” into La Dolce Vita Theme, although the precise motivation for this transformation is not clear.21 Rota is candid about borrowing from Kurt Weill’s song in composing the theme,22 however, and a comparison of the two tunes reveals a similar musical structure.

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Rota simplifies Weill’s melody, softening the original’s more dramatic shifts in pitch that highlight the biting sarcasm of Brecht’s lyrics. The result is “lush overripe music with a sweetness of decay” (Costello, 71). The song is subdued, mildly ironic rather than aggressively sardonic, and significantly harder to correlate rationally to the visual narration. Of course a significant reason for the irrational nature of Rota’s tune is the absence of an accompanying text, but the song is also edited in a way that purposefully complicates its relationship with Fellini’s narration. While in Brecht’s play an organ grinder performs the piece onstage among the society of thieves, beggars, and whores who populate the work, in La dolce vita Rota’s variation of Weill’s original has a much more tenuous relationship with the diegesis. In the Caracalla nightclub sequence (seq. #9, #10), for example, La Dolce Vita Theme and Titoli di testa are the only two songs that are not immediately recognizable preexisting tunes. “Arrivederci Roma” and “Ready Teddy” are the sort of contemporary popular hits that nearly everyone would hear regularly in the years immediately before the film’s release, while “Caracalla’s” is a famous military march performed with a Latin rhythm.23 Unlike these three immediately recognizable zingers, La Dolce Vita Theme, although a variation on a popular tune, is different enough from the original to have as its primary association the film itself rather than the social milieu the film represents. Unlike the other popular preexisting tunes, La Dolce Vita Theme seems to emanate from a metadiegetic musical source that cannot be construed as either completely diegetic or nondiegetic.

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While the nightclub band seems to be a plausible source for the song, the musicians never enter the frame while the tune plays. On the other hand, the band prominently enters the frame for nearly all of the other tunes in the sequence.24 At the club, La Dolce Vita Theme is heard twice in the space a few minutes, which would seem improbable for a nightclub band; and while the band plays the other songs from beginning to end as distinct pieces (“Arrivederci Roma,” “Caracalla’s,” “Ready Teddy”), La Dolce Vita Theme is never fully developed, and when it returns to the sound track for the second time it artificially alternates with Titoli di Testa in a way that undermines the verisimilitude of the band as the musical source. While the previous tunes organize the harmonious movement of dance, La Dolce Vita Theme and Titoli di Testa seem to comment on the fight between Sylvia and her boyfriend rather than determine the action. Pushing the theme even further from the diegesis, La Dolce Vita Theme is mixed at a significantly lower volume compared to the songs heard with musicians within the frame. On the other hand, La Dolce Vita Theme has the same jazz instrumentation as the songs that the band clearly plays, so the viewer might very well assume that the off-screen band plays the tune even though the music seems to function as a nondiegetic comment. While it may at first appear that La Dolce Vita Theme contrasts with the harmony implicit in the dances that accompany the popular tunes “Arrivederci Roma,” “Caracalla’s,” and “Ready Teddy,” the mise-en-scène of the dances undermines narrative unity by emphasizing the heterogeneous: a young oriental woman with outlandishly enormous earrings dances with an elderly man, while nearby a young man dances with an elderly woman; another couple dance with blank stares, expressionless, as if asleep; a tall woman with a white fur coat and huge black-rimmed glasses dances with a much shorter man.25 The insistence on grotesque difference rather than artificial narrative simplification intensifies with each song. The slow jazz version of “Arrivederci Roma,” with its emphasis on melodic solos (saxophone and later guitar), accompanies dancing couples, but while the couples are physically close they are clearly emotionally aloof.26 During the song, Marcello tries to seduce Sylvia by defining her in a series of metaphors, but he speaks mainly in Italian—a language she does not understand. Rather than respond to this flirting, Sylvia ignores Marcello completely and hums along with the melody. Far from facilitating intimacy, the song seems to estrange her from her dance partner. With the entrance of the satyr-

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like Frankie, the faster tempo of “Caracalla’s” begins with its soaring horns, and the veneer of intimacy present with “Arrivederci Roma” slips toward more vicarious enjoyment as the couples split apart and dance in a circle around Frankie and Sylvia. A demonic clown, Frankie picks up Sylvia on his shoulders, sets her back down, and then stands on his hands while Sylvia dances with his feet. Marcello, meanwhile, stands alone at the edge of the dance floor, unsure whether to participate or retreat. When “Caracalla’s” ends, Marcello decides to return to Sylvia’s table, and the sound track offers the discreet La Dolce Vita Theme as a means to contrast this more private space with the public spectacle of the raucous “Caracalla’s.” But like the heterogeneous dancers, the static figures sitting around the table are also not willing or able to integrate into a unified narrative thread: Sylvia’s drunken fiancé, Robert, complains to a waiter that his Roman costume is all wrong; an unidentified elderly man speaks offscreen, but his relationship to the group is unclear; Sylvia’s producer looks on with a plastic smile, avoiding all meaningful dialogue; Sylvia’s personal assistant worries that Robert drinks too much, and her reward for expressing concern is to have Robert transform her into a caricature by drawing her with a mustache. As if responding to the narrative dispersal and subsequent isolation of the individuals surrounding the table, the crowd begins to chant, “Rock ’n’ roll! Rock ’n’ roll!” The young rock star Adriano Celentano materializes out of the blue, grabs a microphone, and begins a frenzied version of “Ready Teddy,” shaking so violently that he tumbles off the stage. At this moment the distinctions between stage and spectator as well as between diegetic and nondiegetic musical sources disintegrate: when Celentano falls, the music dies down, only to begin again when he and the band members join Sylvia and the crowd in a processional dance that mixes musicians and revelers. But what is the source of sound for this second rock ’n’ roll performance? Celentano leaves his microphone behind on the stage and is evidently no longer singing, and the musicians also have abandoned their microphones and amplifier jacks, and some are not even pretending to play their instruments. “Ready Teddy” inexplicably resumes, however, with the same instrumentation and at the same volume as before. By stepping off the stage and revealing the postsynchronization of sound, Celentano’s performance, as do many of Brecht’s dramatic devices, subtly breaks the fourth wall. Through this subversive pairing of music and sound, the scene subconsciously presents not

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something that actually happened in a real nightclub, or even the recreation of something that may have happened, but rather a symbolic reenactment that relates artificially to imaginary events.27 Because this sequence evokes society indirectly through the artificial construction of an imagined ritual, it is not coincidental that the progressive breakdown of intimacy between individuals through the space of the three songs is proportionally opposed by the increasing attention on Sylvia—the object of worship of this particular group of revelers. Even during the slow dancing of “Arrivederci Roma” many look in her direction. But by the time “Caracalla’s” begins, all eyes are on her alone as the group claps together with the tune in order to encourage the diva further. The concentration of attention on Sylvia reaches its climax with “Ready Teddy” where Sylvia leads not only the dance of the revelers, but also the music and dance of the musicians. The manifestly artificial relationship between sound and image in this final processional dance emphasizes its ritual form in relation to the goddess/diva rather than its spontaneous occurrence in “reality.” The dance is not a celebration of the group, but rather the exaltation of its leader. The dance is a ritual form that defines the vitality of the glamorous superstar in the eyes of the public and through the lens of the camera. In her dance Sylvia moves away from dialogue, away from Marcello, away from love and sex, and toward the intoxicating gaze of the great indistinct public. She shines and shimmers in the illusion of existing in the imagination of her spectators. The sweet life of the song’s title does not support this illusion but rather reveals the bitter alienation hidden behind the veils of the illusory show. After Sylvia triumphal procession, La Dolce Vita Theme returns to the sound track when the pitiful Robert, unable to hide his jealousy before Sylvia’s very public display, snidely remarks that she should continue to undress for the crowd. The manifest clash between her public ecstasy and private dreariness causes her to flee, with Marcello following close behind. As they get into Marcello’s car the tune fades away, marking the boundaries between one narrative setting and the next. When Marcello and Sylvia find themselves alone, away from the noise and the crowd of the nightclub, the assumption is that personal dialogue will now take the place of public display. The sound track, however, functions as an ironic counterpoint, undermining the potential for intimacy of this nocturnal adventure. Just as La Dolce Vita Theme frames Sylvia’s exuberant dance to “Ready Teddy” as a musical contrast—commenting on the boredom and isolation

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of the “in” crowd as soon as they stop dancing/acting and revealing their inability to define themselves as independent subjects—when the tune returns with Marcello and Sylvia alone at night, it colors the overriding tone of failed expectations that characterizes the sequence. After Marcello and Sylvia leave the club and elude Paparazzo and his gang, the song accumulates meaning through repetition in dissimilar contexts rather than through redundant pairing with similar images or situations. It first establishes a mood of magical potential when Sylvia wanders alone through the streets of the historical center of town with a white kitten; it then returns to comment on the failure of intimacy shortly after the water of the Trevi fountain suddenly turns off just as the two are about to kiss; and, in the final frames of the sequence, it establishes a dissonant, lighthearted tone that contrasts with the violence inflicted upon Sylvia and Marcello by the jealous Robert. Although the instrumentation (solo harp), tempo, and volume of the song are identical in the three scenes, the cinematic tones of these three moments in the film diverge dramatically. In the first case, with Sylvia and the white kitten, the harp seems to comment earnestly on the magical wandering of this goddesslike creature through the deserted streets of Rome. The tune returns directly after the water turns off in the Trevi fountain, when Marcello and Sylvia, about to kiss, suddenly become aware of the larger space around them. This awareness thwarts the potential for intimacy, and an abrupt cut from the close-up of their (almost) kiss to an extreme long shot cues the beginning of the theme, which now gently mocks the inability of these characters to tie momentarily a narrative thread around their nocturnal meandering. The tune continues through a fade to Robert passed out in his convertible, with paparazzi crawling around in search of the most humiliating photographic angle. The use of the theme here not only bridges a complex cut between night and dawn, private and public, fantasy and reality, but also formally links Marcello’s attraction to Sylvia with her official love interest. When Marcello drives up, the tune fades out but then returns a moment after Robert strikes Sylvia and orders her to go to bed. As Robert walks back to confront Marcello, La Dolce Vita Theme starts up again, and the ethereal harp flutters lightly while Robert viciously slaps Marcello twice before punching him in the stomach. The sarcastic sting of the incongruous tone of the music culminates when Paparazzo asks Marcello to lift his head from the sidewalk so that he can get a better angle on his partner’s pain.

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In Fellini Lexicon, Sam Rohdie writes: “The music in Fellini’s films is more than his stories require. This excess, which exceeds sense and function, is the essence of the stories. The film is not told so much as felt and physically so by hearing and seeing” (Rohdie 141). Because of the overabundance of La Dolce Vita Theme in the sequences with Sylvia, it is difficult to define with any precision the narrative function of the song because the tune repeats with static redundancy through visual tones that range from magical wonder to disillusionment to violence and intense physical pain. What matters, it seems, is the trajectory of the song rather than its unique pairing with a precise image. This trajectory traces the stages of a fall from grace that begins by framing the manifest powers of Sylvia’s allure (her rock ’n’ roll procession), then hints at transcendental potential (her walk through Rome at night), then dismantles both her public allure and private transcendental meaning by accompanying a series of ever more discordant images. The first of these images is the failed intimacy of Marcello and Sylvia in the fountain; the second, which immediately follows the first with a cut to the inebriated Robert asleep in his car outside the hotel, reminds the viewer of Sylvia’s relationship with her pathetic fiancé; and the final image that the tune colors in a culminating dark brushstroke of failure occurs when Marcello falls to the sidewalk in pain after Robert violently strikes him. Through accumulated associations rather than through any inherent qualities, the theme has finally neared the tone of Weill’s “Mack the Knife”: the sardonic disparity between music and image as Marcello gasps for breath on the sidewalk reflects not only the distance between his previous fantasy of sexual pleasure and his present reality of intense pain, but also the essential misreading of this moment by a public that will see photographs of the confrontation between Robert and Marcello in the scandal sheets and envy Marcello’s nonexistent exploits.28 The sweet life is characterized first and foremost by alienation; pleasure is not a primary desire, but rather an indirect survival mechanism intended to prevent a confrontation with existential emptiness. Intoxication and rapture are the social projections of a protective screen that masks personal emptiness. Incapable of creating meaning through direct, personal relationships, the rich and glamorous find meaning in the attention of a largely invisible, imagined public. They are not unlike Pirandellian characters, inasmuch as they are defined by roles substantially limited to outward projection.

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The limits of outward projection are revealed in Paparazzo’s photography, images that capture precise moments and reduce them to the essential narrative simplicity of sex partners (real or imagined). Paparazzo’s pictures do not fix reality so much as simplify the immense narrative complexity of a visual moment in time by ignoring everything that went before or that will follow. Much as “Mack the Knife” does in The Threepenny Opera, where Brecht’s lyrics reveal the inconsistency between Macheath’s elegant clothes and his heinous crimes, La Dolce Vita Theme accentuates the gap between the outward appearances of the protagonists’ sweet, limitless freedom to pursue pleasure and the interior meaningless void lurking behind their futile gestures. As are Paparazzo’s photos, the tune is immediately accessible, with an unmistakably catchy popular tone that is at first beautiful in its simplicity, but becomes progressively more superficial and monotonous through repetition.29 After tracing a trajectory of failure in the encounter between Sylvia and Marcello, La Dolce Vita Theme returns to the sound track in only two late sequences in the film: the aristocratic party at Bassano di Sutri, and the final party near the beach in Fregene.30 In both cases the tune simultaneously fulfills paradoxically opposing functions: while its overall light and celebratory tone seems to support a narrative logic that leads steadily toward sexual transgression, the unconventional editing of the song frees the sound track from the narrative constraints of the visual track and undermines the dolcezza of the climactic images. When Marcello arrives at the aristocratic party in Bassano di Sutri, Rota’s lugubrious Blues establishes a tedious mood that the lifeless partygoers embody. But when two aristocrats, Giulio and Nico, begin to dance, Blues suddenly transforms into La Dolce Vita Theme.31 With this musical transition, the sound track immediately generates ambiguity regarding the musical source because, although there is a record player in the room, it seems unlikely that the two songs would be together on the same track of a record. Indeed, La Dolce Vita Theme, Titoli di Testa, and Blues continue to alternate on the sound track throughout the party without the natural pauses between songs that one would expect from songs on a record. The dominant song here is La Dolce Vita Theme. It accompanies the various presentations of new characters and dramatically brackets Marcello’s surprise encounter with Maddalena. The tune eventually fades out when Maddalena takes Marcello to a nearly

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empty room, then returns momentarily when Maddalena leaves Marcello sitting alone and goes to a small fountain. This editing subliminally informs the viewer that the music is diegetic: it fades out when the camera enters a room isolated from the musical source and returns as soon as Maddalena leaves the room and near the musical source. As she approaches the fountain the tune again fades out, giving dialogue a heightened importance, an importance further emphasized by the fact that Marcello has no spatial reference point for Maddalena’s voice. In this state of separation the two characters are finally able to express romantic longings for one another, but their inability to act on these longings, represented by the walls that separate one from the other, becomes immediately apparent when Maddalena begins to kiss another man just as Marcello reveals a desire for a relationship. When Maddalena does not respond to Marcello’s effusive monologue, Marcello leaves the room and begins to search for her, but instead of Maddalena he encounters a group of revelers heading off to an abandoned villa. Marcello is swept up with the crowd, and La Dolce Vita Theme returns to the sound track, now artificially edited nondiegetically and therefore more clearly intended as a comment on the actions of the denizens of the sweet life. The tune fades out at the villa, and inside, shortly after one of the revelers whistles “Mack the Knife,” Marcello makes love with Jane, an American woman he had met a little earlier at the party. The next morning at dawn, as the group returns to the main villa, Rota’s mournful Notturno casts a long shadow over the night’s events. Although the freedom of the sweet life knows no limits, Fellini implies with this foreboding song that too much freedom undermines self-knowledge and disperses meaning. La Dolce Vita Theme once again nears the sardonic tone of the Brecht/Weill original in the final party sequence at a beach house in Fregene. At the very end of the party, after windows have been broken, after the orgy, after Nadia’s striptease, Marcello concludes the night’s activities by inflicting a series of humiliations on a drunk provincial woman who seems entirely out of place in this decadent setting: he rips her dress, slaps her repeatedly in the face, rides her like a donkey, and finally applies feathers to her wet face. La Dolce Vita Theme coincides with the most egregious moment of Marcello’s base behavior, beginning precisely with a vicious slap. The ironic distance between the popular melody and Marcello’s actions produces an overall tone similar to that of “Mack the Knife”: the images of violence and humiliation function similarily to Brecht’s lyrics of mur-

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der and rape, while the lighthearted tone of the music creates a dissonance between text/image and sound that forces the viewer to read between the lines. Far from celebrating Marcello’s amoral hedonism, the song finally identifies the impulse and source of the characters’ actions as confined to the body and animal instincts (the slap, riding the woman like a donkey, covering her with feathers). In hindsight, the song had already reached two climaxes earlier in the film that established its relationship with a denial of human reason (when Marcello is punched by Robert in the final scene of the Sylvia sequences) and a denial of human emotion (when Maddalena kisses another man while Marcello declares his love for her). What is left is a material reality that opposes any form of morality or socializing force. As if baptizing new members into this nihilistic cult, Marcello showers each partygoer with feathers as they leave, and coinciding with this recessional ritual, La Dolce Vita Theme abandons its diegetic popular jazz sound for a louder orchestral instrumentation. The orchestral swelling of a theme is a common technique used to underline closure at the end of a film (and something that Fellini himself uses to great effect at the end of La strada and Cabiria, for example), but here the tune creates a false ending rather than real closure. The emphasis is not on the values this class creates within the confines of the walls of a home that provide an illusionary barrier to scrutiny from the outside world, but rather on the essential emptiness of these values. The practitioners of the sweet life cannot leave behind what they have become once the party is over: the emptiness is not existential; it is within. Outside, as the characters each leave the party and head for the beach, the music slowly fades out. A moment of truth is near. Marcello and his followers enter a space they no longer control, and the timelessness of wind and waves emphasizes their mortality. As Zampanò does at the end of La strada, Marcello falls to his knees before the sea, but out of boredom rather than as an expression of sorrow. When Zampanò clutches the sand and cries in desperation, he embodies the yearning for transcendence of Respighi’s chanting spirits, but Marcello’s passive shrug toward the beckoning Paola on the beach at Fregene expresses a capitulation to a “sweet life” based upon distraction, noise, movement, inebriation. Unlike for Zampanò, Augusto, and Cabiria, music cannot redeem Marcello’s spirit, and his character walks away from Paola and away from the camera toward the darkness and silence of a catacomb of his own creation.

8 81/2: Music, Self, and Other UNTIL 81/2 (1963) THE TENDENCY IN FELLINI FILMS IS TOWARD A STYLE that, generally speaking, develops ever more sophisticated and subtle uses of the sound track. La dolce vita and Lo sceicco bianco occupy two poles in the stages of this development: while the director’s first film draws considerable attention to the sound track through comic synchronization of sound and image, in La dolce vita music substantially retreats behind the image, and viewers are much less likely to become consciously aware of the artificial technical apparatus of the sound track. 81/2, however, returns to the comic duality of Lo sceicco bianco, pushing music to the forefront of viewers’ attention.1 As in the opposition between clearly defined diegetic musical sources for Ivan and confusion between diegetic and nondiegetic sources for Wanda in Fellini’s first film, there are two distinct categories of music in 81/2: the first is an “audible” music that draws attention to itself and often blurs the distinctions between diegetic and nondiegetic musical sources; the second is a more “inaudible”2 music that is usually distinctly either diegetic or nondiegetic and remains inconspicuous and subordinate to the visual image. These two types of music often correspond to two ways of seeing or two types of representation. The “audible” music accompanies images of a relatively independent Other, which is to say an Other that is not willing or able to conform to the will of the Self.3 “Inaudible” music, on the other hand, accompanies images of a personal mythology based upon a dependent Other, which is to say an Other that largely conforms to the will of the Self. These two categories of Other and the music associated with them reflect the dual gaze of the artist as he stands before the task of creation: one gaze is directed outside himself toward a world of conditions and limits; the second is directed inward toward a world of memory and imagination.4 Often in 81/2 Guido (Marcello Mastroianni) seems unable to reconcile the internal with the external or, at times, even to dis124

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tinguish between the two. Music establishes parameters, however vague, that circumscribe the internal and the external, offering the viewer a means to isolate the terms of conflict and thereby classify the visual images in ways that facilitate signification. The use of Wagner, Rossini, and Tchaikovsky in the opening spa sequence (seq. #2, #3)5 of the film is a good example of “audible” music in 81/2.6 The relationship between the music and the visual image is the inverse of traditional film grammar: the movements of the camera and the characters in the frame are directed by the music, reversing the normally subordinate role of music in relation to image. This music insists on its independence: it is imposing, recognizable, indiscreet, and it is simultaneously diegetic and nondiegetic. It is nondiegetic in its initial presentation: Wagner’s The Ride of the Valkyries begins with the image of Guido in a robe in the hotel bathroom looking at himself in a mirror.7 After a cut to the outdoor area of the spa, this nondiegetic state is broken when a conductor and small orchestra unexpectedly enter the frame.8 This confusing passage to a diegetic source is further complicated when Guido appears outside completely dressed, a condition that, in terms of time, would seem to negate the possibility of the diegetic musical source. The viewer confronts a dilemma: either believe the time of the musical source, which denies narrative time, or believe the narrative time, which denies the time of the musical source. This technique of creating irrational chronologies, used frequently in 81/2, undermines narrative verisimilitude, denies the visual image the aura and continuity of myth, and implies a lack of synchronization between Guido and the world around him. In the first spa sequence of 81/2 there is a great deal of irony in the distance between the music and the images coupled with it. In Nietzschean terms—as presented in The Birth of Tragedy—this music is in many ways Apollonian, extending horizontally as appearance rather than plumbing mysterious Dionysian depths. The music of Wagner, however, was admired by the young Nietzsche as profoundly Dionysian; it expressed the will of nature in all of its inherent sorrow; it expressed the formidable, the sublime; it freed the heroic aspirations of a people. In Fellini’s hands, however, Wagner is “employed only to provide an absurd counterpoint of grandeur for this scene of quiet boredom” (Boyer, 54), functioning as a vehicle for light comedy and a parody of social myth in general. The characters in the frame, marching to the music, are old, feeble, orderly, polite, and decidedly not heroic.9 These grotesque dancers repre-

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sent limits rather than potential: they are ill, and outdated, and the music orders their horizontal march through time, and toward death —the implicit protagonist of this sequence—rather than their profound significance in timeless, mythic action. From the subjective perspective of the camera, which is closely associated with Guido— the artist attempting to create—the juxtaposition of this music with these images of people without individual will seems to imply an inadequacy of social myth as a basis of artistic creation. The Ride of the Valkyries ends and the overture to Rossini’s The Barber of Seville begins10 as Guido—an indistinct and unwilling member of an infirm class—waits in line for the water that might cure him (seq. #2). As do the others who wait with him, Guido steps forward to the beat of the music, frustrated, stuck. Not satisfied with his place in this social order, Guido escapes inwardly and creates the image of a perfect woman who might be able to save him: Claudia in white (Claudia Cardinale). As Claudia appears, the Rossini overture suddenly stops, cuing the viewer to the altered status of the visual image. The frame now reflects Guido’s imagination as Claudia, alone and moving freely in silence, floats across the screen. Abruptly, Claudia disappears, and a more real middle-aged woman asks Guido to take his glass of water. With the return of an independent Other who imposes herself, the internal voyage of the Self is interrupted, and the “audible” music begins again, right where it had left off. The Rossini overture continues, and the critic Daumier, Guido’s grating rational conscience, enters the frame as yet another external intrusion. With Rossini in the background, Daumier criticizes Guido’s film project harshly, finding in it no redeeming values. Suddenly, Guido notices an old friend, Mario Mezzabotta. The Rossini overture ends and, as the two shake hands, a piano begins to play a refrain included in two Nino Rota songs for the film, Carlotta’s Gallop and La Passerella di Addio.11 This music contrasts with the preceding orchestral renditions of Wagner and Rossini: it is discreet and subservient to the image; it creates a background mood that the viewer does not consciously perceive.12 This music even inhibits the aesthetic distance of film critics: although it is mixed at almost the same volume as the earlier music, critics who discuss the classical zingers fail to mention this momentary transition to more traditional nondiegetic music. Unlike the use of Wagner and Rossini, this “inaudible” music is somehow imperceptible, and it communicates a harmony between music and visual image that reflects harmony

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between Self and Other. Nino Rota’s musical theme here supports the visual image as a piece in a construction of myth; it creates Dionysian depth that cannot be grasped rationally; it frees the viewer to suspend his or her disbelief in order to enter into the narration. The subtle tune reflects Guido’s belief that his old friend represents something with which he can identify: Mezzabotta, like Guido himself, is a middle-aged married man, and the two have a common experience that seemingly allows them to understand each other. Or so Guido believes while we hear this music on the piano. The moment of harmony between Self and Other is disrupted when Guido discovers that the woman accompanying Mezzabotta is not his daughter, but his fiancée. The piano stops precisely when Mezzabotta says, “Non è mia figlia” (She’s not my daughter) and the appearance of Gloria’s face within the frame, in close-up, coincides with the dramatic beginning of The Dance of the Reed Pipes from Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker Suite. The return of “audible” music— loud, insistent, and choreographed with the visual image—marks the renewed distance between Guido and the Other. By ordering movement within the frame and by attracting the conscious attention of the viewer, the first three well-known orchestral pieces by Wagner, Rossini, and Tchaikovsky undermine the viewer’s ability to suspend disbelief; this “audible” music reveals the visual image for what it is: a two-dimensional projection, manipulated, real as itself, but somehow inauthentic. Subordinate to music, the projected image is flattened in its self-conscious attitude as the surface dances in time with the orchestra. As The Dance of the Reed Pipes ends, Daumier, offscreen and assuming the role of the viewer, asks, “And the bizarre appearances of this girl at the spring, what might they mean?”13 In these scenes, characterized by a transparent and consciously perceptible relationship between music and image, meaning is largely limited to process—to the film as film.14 In the following sequence Guido meets his lover, Carla (Sandra Milo), at a train station (seq. #4). The sound of a train whistle punctuates this meeting, a sound that expresses a vague sense of expectation. And Carla somehow fulfills Guido’s expectations: as a mistress she satisfies his desires without making many personal or social demands. While Carla acts as the incorporation of Guido’s desires, the sound track complements the visual image with “inaudible” music that does not impose itself or conflict with narrative logic and chronology. In the dining room of Carla’s hotel (seq. #4), for

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example, the voice of a woman offscreen is heard singing Ricordo d’infanzia, a song associated later in the film with Guido’s idealized memories of his grandmother’s farmhouse.15

As the earlier Rota tune accompanied Guido’s meeting with Mezzabotta, Ricordo d’infanzia helps to create an atmosphere of harmony between Self and Other—a harmony, however, that shows signs of stress. This stress is created when Carla acts as an independent Other, imposes herself, and makes demands on Guido. In this case, Carla is hoping that Guido will be able to help her husband find a job. When Carla asks Guido whether he will do her this favor, Guido begins to hum the Rossini overture that in the previous sequence had been associated with Guido’s problematic relationship with society and with the criticism of Daumier. A closer examination of the editing of the music in this sequence reveals the strategies that Fellini uses to communicate Guido’s changing perceptions of the Other. Ricordo d’infanzia, apparently sung offscreen by one of the waitresses, begins when Guido embraces Carla in the lavatory near the dining room of Carla’s hotel.16 This subtle, “inaudible” music corresponds with Guido’s subjective gaze, which views Carla as a sexual object. The image of Carla is dependent upon this gaze, and in this dependence the Other unproblematically reflects the desires of the Self. But when Carla begins to speak of her husband, at first by mentioning her wedding ring, and then by reminding Guido of the promise he had made to find him a job, the music momentarily stops. In the next scene Carla and Guido are seated at a table in the dining room, and Carla continues to discuss her husband, and music remains absent on the sound track. Suddenly, she changes the subject and exclaims that it is terribly hot in the room. She wiggles her body and pats herself on the breast, and Ricordo d’infanzia resumes in the background to ac-

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company these gestures that return Guido’s attention to Carla’s body. Carla, however, has not given up on getting her husband a job. She continues to insist upon the subject, and Guido engages in a strategy of evasion. He plays solitaire, he swings Carla’s purse, and he picks up and begins to read a newspaper. When these tactics fail to thwart Carla’s entreaties, Guido begins to hum the Rossini overture heard earlier in the spa sequence. Just as Rossini had earlier reflected Guido’s inability to escape external conditions and the demands of others, here too it acts to express his desire to avoid external pressure. The two types of music in the sequence at Carla’s hotel cue the viewer to Guido’s changing perception of the Other. Harmony between Self and Other is represented by the inconspicuous, “inaudible” music of Ricordo d’infanzia, while conflict between Self and Other is represented by the conspicuous, “audible” Rossini overture. While the background music of Ricordo d’infanzia promotes continuity and emotional depth, the Rossini overture fragments narrative development and separates the characters within the frame into two distinct realities. This is not primarily caused by the inherent quality in the music itself. The distinction between “audible” music and “inaudible” music is determined by editing and presentation more than by the tone of the music. For example, in the production office sequence, which is accompanied by variations on many of the musical themes of the film, Nell’Ufficio di Produzione di Otto e Mezzo initially reflects harmony between Self and Other because it is “inaudible,” apparently nondiegetic, and appropriate as an accompaniment to the visual image (seq. #11). But this harmony is disrupted through self-conscious editing when at the end of the three-minute sequence the viewer discovers that the music is not nondiegetic, but mysteriously diegetic. The original harmony between music and visual image reflects the production staff ’s subservience to Guido. The production staff is busy, in the dead of night, working on Guido’s film: a seamstress sews a dress; Agostini dictates expenses to an accountant, who dutifully types; Cesarino asks about the location of a farm in a picture; and the room is full of props, photographs, and set models. The music that accompanies these visual images of productivity is light and celebratory, and the harmony between Guido and his production staff is synthesized in a metaphor of dance when Cesarino performs a little dance step, salutes Guido, and exclaims that the production crew never sleeps. Nino Rota’s Nell’ufficio di Produzione di Otto e Mezzo continues; Conocchia en-

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ters the frame, gestures disapprovingly toward Cesarino’s dance, and begins to ask Guido a series of prying questions. Unlike the rest of the film crew, Conocchia is an independent Other intent upon asserting himself. His entrance creates a conflict that reaches a climax in the hall outside the production office when Guido insults Conocchia, calling him an old fool (seq. #11). Cesarino and Agostini, attracted by the commotion, look on from the office doorway, but Guido, angered by this further intrusion, yells at them and tells them to go back inside. When they close the door the music suddenly stops, and the viewer, consciously or subconsciously, suddenly realizes that the music in the production office sequence was not nondiegetic, as it had appeared to be, but diegetic, with an unknown source within the office.17 What began as “inaudible” music is transformed into “audible” music, and this transformation, in light of the manifest conflict between Guido and Conocchia, retroactively casts doubt on the harmony that the sequence seemed to present. There seems to be an implicit moral hierarchy in the examples considered so far: from the perspective of the Self, as revealed in part through the music on the sound track, the dependent Other appears superior to the independent Other. Certainly, in the context of filmmaking, which is the immediate context of 81/2, the director of a film, as the conductor in Prova d’orchestra, must have control over the many people involved in creating an artistic work that, although inherently collaborative, requires a unifying voice of authority and discipline. 81/2 , however, is not only about making a film, but also about making meaning in film. And meaning, for Guido—at least in life if not always in art—is intricately related to the independence of the Other. While music in 81/2 is fairly consistent in defining the Other as dependent or independent, the value of this dependence or independence is not automatically assured. The Saraghina sequence is a case in point (seq. #14). It is hard to imagine a more independent Other than Saraghina as she performs the Rumba for little Guido and his friends.18 The raucous music of the Saraghina sequence mixes diegetic and nondiegetic sources: it is implicitly diegetic because Saraghina dances and the boys clap their hands, but at the same time there is no rational diegetic source on the beach. Although Saraghina is mysterious and threatening, she is clearly an object of desire. Desire is implicit in little Guido’s willingness to join the dance, which is then interrupted by the arrival of the priests, who cart him back to the school to be punished. The priests, in effect, snatch little Guido away from fantasy and

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imagination, from the potential for movement, development, and resolution implicit in music and dance, and return him to a static reality limited by the regular tolling of a bell. Guido is accused before his mother, he is punished before his peers, he confesses, he prays, and through it all the only music heard is the monotonous call of the bell. This church bell, in contrast to Saraghina’s dance, expresses the sterility of myths that are perceived to be incapable of guiding the Self in relationships with the Other. This bell does not resolve the desire stirred in little Guido by the Rumba. Although Saraghina is at first presented with “audible” music that disrupts narrative continuity and separates the Other from the Self, her enduring power over Guido is expressed in “inaudible” music when he later returns to her (seq. #15). At this second meeting Saraghina gently sings Rumba, transforming the tune into a lullaby that expresses harmony between Self and Other. The Saraghina sequence demonstrates that Guido’s desire is not always to limit the independence of the Other, but also to reach the Other, dialogically, in life and in art. This is possible in memory, but more difficult in the present. In the present Guido fragments the Other into distinct, noncommunicating categories: his lover Carla is the dependent Other as body; his wife, Luisa (Anouk Aimée), is the independent Other as mind. Guido’s relationship with Carla is simple because little is asked of him, and this simplicity of their relationship is reflected in Carlotta’s Gallop, a lighthearted musical leitmotif modeled on Aram Khachaturian’s Sabre Dance that represents Carla’s presence or influence.

There is no similar musical theme associated with Luisa, and for good reason: Luisa’s relationship with Guido is much more complicated. Luisa is first introduced at the end of the cemetery sequence, with Rota’s disquieting Cimitero (seq. #5). The music expresses a forewarning and tension that do not dissipate because the music ends on the second to last note, before harmonic resolution. Luisa’s arrival at the spa, however, is accompanied by “Nostalgico Swing,” an innocuous popular tune that expresses a moment of bourgeois

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harmony in marriage (seq. #17). This sense of happiness culminates in a dance by Guido and Luisa at an outdoor club, but the harmony implicit in this dance is short-lived. Later that same evening, at the launch pad, the distance between the two is emphasized: Luisa climbs the launch pad and criticizes Guido while he remains on the ground wondering why she has suddenly become cold and distant (seq. #18). Throughout this scene one quivering note is held, like a rope stretched to the point of breaking. In the next sequence the rope does break, figuratively, and the music stops: at the hotel that evening Guido and Luisa have a bitter fight, and the silence on the sound track reflects the emotional void they have entered (seq. #19). The silence and distance between Guido and Luisa are fantastically transcended in the following sequence, in which Carla, Guido’s mistress, arrives at an outdoor café where Guido, Luisa, and Rossella are seated (seq. #20). Carla’s arrival is accompanied on the sound track by the frenetic tempo of Carlotta’s Gallop. In conventional film editing, the encounter of a wife and her husband’s lover would normally be punctuated with an abrupt musical transition. In this case, however, the opposite occurs: Carlotta’s Gallop continues over Guido’s feeble excuses and denials. Confronted with the meeting of these two distinct parts of his life, Guido at first attempts to deny his relationship with Carla: “È finita da tre anni. Basta!” (Enough! It’s been over for three years), and Carlotta’s Gallop, as if obeying Guido’s command, abruptly ends. Then, as Ted Perry notes, “The tone of the scene changes dramatically as Guido slouches down in his chair, puts on his sunglasses, touches his Pinocchio nose, and the music becomes more carefree and humorous. The camera then reverses angle and dollies in on Carla, who is singing with great accomplishment. That the mode of experience has somehow changed is quickly confirmed as Luisa enters the frame, compliments Carla, and begins to dance with her. . . . Two disparate aspects of Guido’s life are united, dancing together to a variation of the 81/2 theme” (Perry 53). This union is clearly dependent upon the fantasy of the subject rather than the will of the object, and the potential of this fantasy appears to be far greater than the potential of objective reality (seq. #21). The fantasy develops further in the harem sequence where the music is “as much a concatenation of various tunes heard throughout 81/2 as the harem itself is a mixture of all the women in Guido’s life” (Perry 53)—as if the improbable nature of the fantasy demanded all of the musical support possible.19 This fantasy, al-

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though unlike other sequences in the film, follows an established pattern: the harmony of a relationship with an entirely dependent Other is shown to be illusory and breaks down in chaos and confusion. At first all of the women are subservient, and Nino Rota’s L’Harem reflects this simple relationship by remaining nondiegetic and “inaudible.” But when the women declare their independence and revolt, The Ride of the Valkyries returns to the sound track, this time to mock the heroic fantasy of the Self. The desire to control the Other completely is revealed to be childish if not perverse. The unconditional love that Guido had experienced as a boy at his grandmother’s farmhouse, expressed in the music of Ricordo d’infanzia, is apparently not reclaimable, and Guido’s search within himself, as his search without, has led him to a dead end. Although Guido, like a fly attempting to pass through glass, repeatedly fails to harmonize his internal reality with external conditions, he eventually learns to distinguish the two. At the end of the film, through the gift of grace offered by an unseen hand, he is able somehow to accept the Other as well as ask for acceptance (seq. #26). Throughout 81/2 music helps distinguish the Self from the Other, as well as the objective independent Other from the subjective dependent Other. In the film’s conclusion, however, music brings the Self and the Other together in celebratory dance. The sequence begins with the apparent demise of the film project: Daumier covers Guido in an avalanche of criticism as the two sit in a car at the launch site. Guido does not respond, his internal passive state reflected in the silence on the sound track. Out of the blue, Maurice, the master of ceremonies, arrives to tell Guido to prepare himself for the beginning. Guido, in a moment of epiphany, accepts himself and the people in his life. He asks Luisa to accept him, and Luisa responds that she will try. With Luisa’s response music returns: the two small steps that the Self and the Other have taken toward each other have opened a world of potential expressed in La passerella di addio and the circle dance it orders.20

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Before he accepted the Other, Guido’s crisis was characterized by the failure of a discriminating principle: he was generally unable to chose, and in those few moments when he was able to do so, his choices were patently self-serving. In this concluding moment Guido indiscriminately accepts all, but the price of this acceptance, for the Other, is the willingness to be directed. Little Guido leads a small band on the flute, and all take their places in a circular dance. After the dance is formed by Guido, he too enters the circle and follows the rule of the melody—an irrational force of repetition and renewal. Dionysian intoxication is achieved as the members of the group, seen in extreme long shot, lose their individuality and form a single unit. This union is balanced by the final shot of the film in which little Guido separates from the members of his band and, alone in the frame and surrounded by darkness, blows the last unaccompanied notes of the song on his flute. Guido is saved: he is alone and in company.

Conclusion FORM AND MEANING

ALTHOUGH FEDERICO FELLINI IS ALMOST UNIVERSALLY ADMIRED AS one of the twentieth century’s most influential directors and countless scholarly publications examine his works, far too little attention has been paid to formal analysis of his films. Why do so many critics eschew an examination of the formal elements of Fellini’s films? One reason might be that Fellini criticism has often fallen prey to the “great director” discourse that Fellini himself was so adept at promoting, and therefore, rather than examine the craft behind the construction of cinematic language, much Fellini criticism prefers to concentrate on the figure of the director himself—as if the films’ primary value were limited to understanding artistic genius. The present study—although admittedly sometimes falling into the trap of “great director” discourse—attempts to trace a new approach to Fellini’s works in which content should ideally relate to form. An analysis of the editing of music in Fellini’s early films reveals extraordinary innovation in the pairing of music and visual image, and the sophistication and complexity of music editing far surpass the neorealist models that are often assumed to form the foundation of Fellini’s earliest works. Because the uses of music are so unique in Fellini’s cinema, they also reveal aspects of Fellini’s philosophical and artistic concerns that the visual images alone fail to convey. Functioning as an ironic, often dissonant counterpoint to the narrative structure of the visual images, Fellini’s sound tracks question the verisimilitude of the narration by revealing the interpenetration of representation and reception, being and seeming, history and story, “truth” and fiction. Although few would argue with the idea that Fellini’s cinema reflects equivocal and at times discordant relationships between real and imagined, life and art, present experience and memory, many may very well be surprised to discover how much these fundamental conflicts depend upon music for their expression. 135

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Some might argue that music has a fundamental role in the vast majority of films, and not just in Fellini’s—just think of the audience reaction in a theater when the sound suddenly cuts out during a film’s projection. The film might even have subtitles, but the reaction is nonetheless predictable: people suddenly become aware of the space around them, some look back over their shoulders toward the projection booth, and someone will usually shout out something along the lines of “Sound!” Now try to imagine a similar hypothetical situation in which dialogue and ambient sound somehow continue uninterrupted, and only the musical comment stops. Those who have seen the film before might have a vague feeling that something is wrong, but most people would probably not immediately be conscious of music’s absence. Moreover, the audience would still in all probability be able to distinguish hero from villain; identify conflict, climax, resolution; and walk away with a reasonably clear understanding of the film’s underlying message—if not its tone. The absence of music would significantly inhibit an emotional response to this hypothetical film, but the point here is to distinguish between emotional and intellectual understanding. In other words, if the musical accompaniment were somehow magically to disappear, many films would remain understandable—albeit less enjoyable. But how different the same situation would be for Fellini’s black-and-white films: not only would they be less enjoyable, they would also be much more difficult to comprehend. Sergio Miceli makes a similar point when he defines music in Fellini’s early films as a personaggio—an independent character with a role that relates dialogically with the visual characters. Music does not so much comment on the visual characters’ actions, or invisibly project an intended emotional response, as enter into the narration on a nearly equal footing with the visual components of the film. One example of this independence of music is the frequency of slippage between diagetic and nondiegetic musical sources in Fellini. While nearly all neorealist films and most Hollywood films from the 1940s and 1950s establish an impenetrable wall between diegetic and nondiegetic sources, Fellini continually confuses musical sources to the extent that viewers become much more aware of the artificial manipulation of sound and music and their equally artificial pairing with visual images. Another sign of music’s importance in Fellini is the exceptionally high volume at which it is mixed. Far from its playing a subordinate, supportive role, Fellini often mixed music at a noticeably higher vol-

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ume than dialogue—to the extent that music sometimes covers the actors’ voices. Fellini’s insistence on turning up the volume of the music caused quite a few arguments with technicians at Cinecittà over the years: the sound editors in the studio, reluctant to emphasize music at the expense of dialogue and ambient sound, were often convinced that such a high volume of music would be perceived by viewers as a manifest blunder that would compromise the entire sound track. Another remarkable characteristic of the sound tracks of these early films is how varied the editing of music can be from one film to the next. Although there is a distinct Fellini/Rota sound that repeats throughout these early films (characterized by the prevalence of Rota’s beautiful circus tunes that somehow—miraculously—express both levity and weight, carefree freedom and melancholy destiny, popular superficiality and timeless beauty), there is not a corresponding unique style of music editing that regularly repeats. This explains why the present study, rather than analyze patterns between films, concentrates on the relationships between sound editing and signification within each film. But patterns in the editing of musical genres from film to film clearly exist in Fellini, and these patterns offer the logical next step for further research on music in Fellini. What might this intertextual approach to analyzing music in Fellini look like? What follows—an examination of the uses of mambo in I vitelloni, La strada, Le notti di Cabiria, and La dolce vita—offers one example.

FELLINI AND THE ITALIAN HYBRIDIZATION OF MAMBO Shortly after its origins in Cuba in the 1930s, the music and dance of mambo swept the world in the late 1940s and early 1950s in one of the earliest examples of a global popular culture phenomenon. The genesis of the mambo dance craze is a fairly simple story: Cachao López and his brother, Oreste, invent a protomambo in 1938, and later Dámaso Pérez Prado, among many others, popularizes mambo as a distinct musical form and dance in the 1940s, first in Havana, then in Mexico City, and finally in New York. A variety of factors facilitated the dissemination of mambo across geographic and cultural borders. The historical moment was propitious: the col-

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lective relief at the end of World War II and the new optimism and coinciding postwar economic expansion were in synch with mambo’s spontaneous exuberance. Just as important, perhaps, were technological innovations that facilitated the spread of both the sound of the music and images of the dance: recordings, radio transmissions, cinema, and television. The new postbellum geopolitical order, with hundreds of thousands of U.S. troops stationed in Europe, Asia, and North Africa, also facilitated mambo’s popularity because these soldiers were fed, through live concerts, recordings, radio broadcasts, and film, a steady diet of American popular culture. Because the United States and its allies also controlled much of the technology of cultural dissemination in occupied countries, large swaths of the world were simultaneously exposed to similar broadcasts. And since the infusion of redevelopment funds through the Marshall Plan had strings attached, countries were forced to open their markets to U.S. cultural as well as industrial production. The immense popularity of mambo, therefore, reflects not simply its intrinsic artistic qualities, but also its fortuitous historical context. In all probability, any popular culture phenomenon that could take hold of the masses in New York and Hollywood in the late 1940s would be destined to become global. Mambo became popular in Italy for all of the aforementioned reasons, with the additional factor of hundreds of thousands of Italian immigrants living in North America. As does Hollywood cinema from the same period, Italian films in the fifties often include mambo on the sound track as a musical indicator of the film’s connection with current events, and in some cases mambo was the current event, for example, in Robert Rossen’s Mambo starring Silvana Mangano (scored by Rota and Angelo Francesco Lavagnino). The 1950s in Italy are years of dramatic economic and cultural change, and spectators of the time perceived mambo as a musical sign of this change, representing the dynamism of youth and potential as opposed to tradition. This reading of Mambo was not so much determined by its “foreignness” or its novelty as by a more general and complex relationship with all New World jazz. Four ideological factors shape the reception of mambo by the Italian public of the 1950s: the earlier Fascist denigration of all jazz as primitive and artistically base; the church’s condemnation of the prurient dances often accompanying jazz; the postwar antifascist model, in neorealist films such as Rome, Open City, and Bitter Rice, where American jazz often functions as a negative cultural sign that represents capitalism

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and U.S. hegemony; and finally Hollywood films that unabashedly celebrate the erotic potential of jazz. Mambo’s immense popularity in 1950s Italy therefore reflects the triumph of U.S. popular culture over the church’s moral authority as well as a rejection of both fascist and neo-Marxist cultural aesthetics.1 When Fellini includes mambos on several of the sound tracks of his early films, he engages many of these ideological tendencies but subscribes to none, using the music as a means of critiquing popular culture without projecting or rejecting it. The inclusion of mambo in these films facilitates a reading of American popular culture from the peripheral perspective of displaced consumption rather than of production, but, unlike the polarized ideological battle lines surrounding the reception of American popular music in Italy from the 1930s through the 1950s, Fellini’s reading of mambo remains generally detached, philosophical, and above the fray. Because mambo is almost always diegetic in Fellini, emanating from visible musical sources within the narration rather than artificially edited after shooting, the films offer precise examples of the dissemination of this music in Italy. In the director’s films from the 1950s there are numerous diegetic sources for mambo: In I vitelloni mambo is played by a small band at a beauty contest (seq. #2); it emanates from the sound track of a film within the film when the protagonists enter a cinema (seq. #14); it is played by a variety theater orchestra (seq. #26), by an orchestra at a carnival ball (seq. #17), and on a phonograph (seq. #11); in La strada a mambo is briefly heard over a radio at a restaurant (seq. #7); in Le notti di Cabiria the musical sources include a car radio (seq. #5), a nightclub band (seq. #8), and two musicians in the countryside (seq. #14); and in La dolce vita mambo is heard on a jukebox (seq. #15) and on a phonograph (seq. #20). The insistence on diegetic sources for mambo in these films emphasizes the music’s relation to the mythical structures of the characters rather than the artificial cinematic narrative structure that nondiegetic music supports. Or, more simply: since the characters themselves often select this music, we can infer that mambo informs their identity. The original Cuban source of these characters’ identification with mambo is lost in layers of cultural hybridization and reproduction. A case in point is a scene in I vitelloni where Fausto and Sandra return to their provincial town from their honeymoon in Rome (seq. #11). As soon as Fausto meets his fellow vitelloni, he sets up a phonograph in an outdoor café, plays a mambo for his friends, and teaches

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them the dance. Sandra tells the assembled group that the couple heard the music and saw the dance at a Wanda Osiris show—a live stage production with a huge descending staircase and dozens of dancers similar to an extravagant Hollywood musical. as Osiris’s namesake, the Egyptian god of death and rebirth, mambo itself originally evoked a transcendental conversation with the gods, originally referring to “liturgical songs in the Afro-Cuban Palo (or Kongo-derived) subculture” (Austerlitz 82).2 It is a fascinating coincidence that this Osiris/mambo passes through a number of incarnations before reaching the Italian countryside: the Cuban original, itself based on European contra dance, traditional African rhythms, and swing; the New York dance craze at the Palladium and other clubs, led primarily by Cuban expatriates; the Hollywood spectacle of the dance, influenced by the elaborate staging of musicals; the Wanda Osiris theater production in Rome that imitates the Hollywood model; and finally the dance by a spectator at the Osiris show later in his provincial hometown. The question of authenticity here is manifestly problematic. In any case, what is authentic for the Italian provincial couple is the Roman stage production, not the Cuban original, and as an ironic sign of this cultural displacement, the mambo we hear on the sound track of Fellini’s film is not one of the many popular songs penned by Cuban composers, but rather a tune composed specifically for I vitelloni by Nino Rota.

The title of Rota’s tune, Mambo dei Sioux, embodies an equivocal cultural irony: what on earth does the Native American tribe of the northern Plains have to do with mambo? Naming their mambo after indigenous North Americans does not reflect a cultural misunderstanding on the part of Fellini or Rota, but rather an ironic projection of the misreadings of this music by the characters in the film (and the Italian public). For these characters, mambo does not represent Cuba, but rather America in the largest possible sense, including Hollywood, liberation, casual sexual mores, social mobility, the informal spontaneity of youth: in short, their own desired future. Beyond the title of the tune, Amer-

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ica and mambo are linked numerous times in I vitelloni. Moraldo dances to Mambo dei Sioux at a carnival ball while dressed as a cowboy straight out of a Hollywood western (seq. #17). In the opening sequence, Mambo dei Sioux accompanies Sandra’s election as “Miss Sirena 1953,” a beauty contest that is a transparent imitation of Miss America (seq. #2). And when Fausto and Sandra go to the movies, Mambo dei Sioux plays on the sound track of the film within the film for a publicity reel—the equivalent of television advertisements today (seq. #14). As Nicholas Cook notes: “Musical styles and genres offer unsurpassed opportunities for communicating complex social or attitudinal messages practically instantaneously; one or two notes in a distinctive musical style are sufficient to target a specific social and demographic group and to associate a whole nexus of social and cultural values with a product” (Cook 16–17). Although viewers of Fellini’s film do not see these advertisements, we do see Sandra’s wide-eyed expression as she watches her screen and exclaims, “Che bel frigorifero!” (What a nice fridge!), to which Fausto replies, “Ce lo faremo anche noi” (We too will get one). Like a sexy woman in an automobile advertisement, mambo here is an irrational rhetorical support that links cultural and economic ideals, expressing the invisible consumer confidence that drives il miracolo economico of 1950s Italy. Although the uses of mambo in I vitelloni at times seem to conform to neorealism’s Marxist critique of the new economic order imposed on Italy after World War II, Fellini does not engage in overt criticism or self-evident symbolism, limiting himself to reveal the musical conflicts that reflect contrasting socioeconomic myths. Indeed, one could even say that Fellini uses mambo for his own artistic needs in the same way that the United States appropriates many elements of Latin American culture as its own. In Fellini’s musical grammar, mambo comes to signify material exchange in general rather than the influence of a particular nation or ideology. Mambo is associated with a very precise type of economic exchange in two later films, La strada and Le notti di Cabiria: namely, prostitution. In La strada mambo enters the sound track only once, when “Rossa,” a prostitute Zampanò and Gelsomina meet in a restaurant, admires the money that the strongman has earned with his act before the two of them abandon Gelsomina for the night (seq. #7). The suspicion that the pairing of mambo and prostitution is not casual is confirmed in Le notti di Cabiria where a mambo functions repeatedly as an indicator of the locus of Cabiria’s trade as a

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streetwalker, emphasizing the protagonist’s public role as prostitute in contrast to the private reality in her small shack. A Catholic reading of this prostitution mambo would imply a condemnation of the musical form as well as the protagonist’s trade, but the tune often highlights the solidarity of the prostitutes, and also twice accompanies Cabiria’s exuberant dance (seq. #5, #8). On the other hand, these dances seem similar to Hollywood’s erotic representations of mambo, but Giulietta Masina wears very modest clothing and dances in the innocent style of Charlie Chaplin rather than in the overtly sexual fashion of Silvana Mangano (in Mambo) or Brigitte Bardot (in Roger Vadim’s And God Created Woman). Unlike in Hollywood-inspired representations of mambo, Cabiria dances for her own pleasure as Subject rather than as a means to attract clients (or film spectators) through her own objectification. Paradoxically, although mambo occurs as a sign of her social function, reflecting her public mask and her marginal profession, it also projects her underlying childlike innocence. The fact that mambo represents both innocence and prostitution in Cabiria reflects Fellini’s desire to dismantle the superficial conventions of popular music in relation to cinematic narration in order to plumb new lyrical depths. Unlike the conventions of editing sound in the dominant Hollywood model—where music generally has a subservient role to plot, and plot relates unambiguously to stereotypical conflicts determined by class, ethnicity, and gender— Fellini often uses popular musical genres ironically, thereby undermining viewers’ expectations regarding the “reading” of sound. For Fellini, the internationalization, hybridization, and constant transformation of popular culture represent both a threat and an opportunity. Foreign music reflects a crisis of modernity in which regional and national myths are undermined by the new rituals of exotic transplants (mambo and its dance), but also an opportunity to break free from centuries of calcified values. In this sense there is no contradiction in the association in Fellini’s films between mambo and prostitution and the innocence of the prostitute. But by the time of La dolce vita, in 1960, the fear of losing traditional values has evolved into the fear of capitulation to new, entirely material values. At this point mambo no longer reflects a conflict between external cultural intrusion and national identity, but rather fear of what modern man is becoming. Dámaso Pérez Prado’s famous mambo Patricia accompanies the climax of the film where Nadia celebrates the annulment of her marriage by performing a striptease at a party of

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socialites (seq. #20). The party degenerates into an orgy, and the hope for the future that mambo had represented in I vitelloni as well as the innocence that it had been miraculously able to evoke in Cabiria seems definitively lost to an age in which spiritual being and romantic love have lost their moorings. But is all hope really lost? In the final frames of the film an innocent teenage girl whom Marcello, the protagonist of this slow descent into hell, had met earlier at a seaside bar stares directly into the camera with a wistful smile (seq. #20). With this ending the viewer is subconsciously reminded that Paola had earlier played Pérez Prado’s tune on a jukebox (seq. #15), and the thematic tension between her innocent gaze and the striptease coalesces around this mambo as an equivocal sign of both sacred and profane love.3 On the cusp of the 1960s, a time in Italy when materialism has definitively replaced the subsistence foraging of the war years, mambo represents both despair in the face of a culture that seems to deny spiritual significance and hope that the music’s vital energy might portend rebirth and renewal.

FUTURE RESEARCH ON MUSIC IN FELLINI Although the present study generally limits itself to a vertical analysis of individual films, the author is well aware that this is hardly the final word on music in the work of Fellini and represents only a necessary, objective first step before engaging more abstract horizontal concordances. A horizontal reading of music between films, as the preceding example of mambo implies, offers a tool for relating individual films as unique works of art to what Millicent Marcus calls the director’s hyperfilm, an abstract notion of filmic interrelatedness that “hovers above Fellini’s works like a Platonic ideal” (Marcus 2002, 182).4 These horizontal musical concordances not only relate individual films to the director’s oeuvre, but also communicate cultural codes that place each film in a historical context. Beyond mambo, other musical styles/genres that might be read horizontally in Fellini include circus music (which could include most of Fellini’s films and might be grounded in an analysis of I clown), African American jazz (beginning with a discussion of the American band that plays in front of the billboard of Anita Ekberg in Le tentazioni di Dottor Antonio), discotheque music (Ginger and Fred, La voce della luna), and classical music (8 1/2, Prova d’orchestra, and many other films).

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Sometimes Fellini uses the same preexisting song in different films, and an analysis of the editing, mixing, and instrumentation of the same music in different works might very well reveal thematic parallels that are otherwise not self-evident. Is there a link, for example, between the uses of “Stormy Weather” in La dolce vita and Amarcord? Is there a connection between the uses of the “Westminster Chime” in Le notti di Cabiria and 8 1/2? And what to make of the presence of Julius Fucik’s Einzug der Gladiatoren in so many of Fellini’s films? Another horizontal approach to Fellini’s later films might examine the uses of musical variations. In Amarcord, for example, the main theme has five variations that establish a similar mood through almost identical instrumentation and tempi.5 Rather than emphasize the uniqueness of each memory, these variations express a single overarching mood that unites diverse vignettes—the mood of the subject remembering. Reflecting the fluid and imprecise nature of memory, these variations mark the great distance in time between the events that are remembered and the present. Do variations function similarly in other Fellini films in which memory plays an important role (I vitelloni, E la nave va, Ginger e Fred)? Even such an elemental component of music as rhythm might link very different musical styles between films. For example, is there a link between the regular, monotonous, and utterly predictable disco music in Ginger and Fred and the clocklike rhythm of the musical accompaniment of the protagonist’s sexual exploits in Casanova? Can the emphasis on the predictability of rhythm be related to the lack of romance and mystery in rituals of desire? Beyond music there are other ambient sounds that Fellini regularly returns to in his films, and what is unusual about these sounds is their rather generic quality. There are a surprisingly limited number of natural sounds (fire, wind, water, birds, dogs), and even the sounds of urban, mechanized life are fairly limited (fountains, pealing and tolling church bells, crowds, cars, trucks, planes, boats, trains). Why does Fellini prefer generic ambient sounds that often seem artificial? Is it possible to read one sound across many films horizontally? For example, can the roaring train sounds that accompany the sex scene in La voce della luna act as a guide to reading trains in earlier films? In the case of the train in Città delle donne the reading is fairly simple (the train entering a tunnel at the end of the film is obviously a metaphor for intercourse), but in earlier films the train/sex association is less evident. Guido’s lover,

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Carla, is first presented at a train station in 8 1/2; trains often pass behind the prostitute Cabiria’s shack in Le notti di Cabiria; the newlyweds Ivan and Wanda arrive on a train in Rome on the first day of their honeymoon in Lo sceicco bianco; and trains play a prominent role in the tangled romantic relationships among actors in Luci del varietà. Do all of these circumstantial associations between trains and sex constitute a rule? If so, what are the exceptions, and what might these exceptions mean (the train that Morlado boards at the end of I vitelloni, for example)? There are, of course, dozens of other possible horizontal readings of music and sound in Fellini, and the examples offered here are but a small sample of what a future project on music in Fellini might cover. The next project the author of the present study intends to complete will concentrate on Fellini’s color films, reading them not as individual works, but rather as pieces of a larger artistic project.

Appendix 1 Lo sceicco bianco 1. “Logos/Opening credits” Platform with large camera under canopy. Motionless white horse with sheik dressed in white in background. Dark clouds. Credits.

Theme A, a circus march, interspersed with dramatic Theme B and ending with light, popular Theme C. A sound like thunder ends sequence.

2. “Rome” Tracking shot of buildings from train. Reverse angle of Ivan looking out train window. Arrival at station in Rome. Ivan gets off train and has Wanda hand down luggage through window while a scout troop creates chaos around them.

Subjective low-angle shot of carriage driver. Driver asks passengers where they want to go. Reverse angle shot of Ivan and Wanda. Ivan answers: “Albergo tre fiori.” Tracking/panning shot of statue of naked woman in fountain. Abrupt cut to hotel receptionist. Confusion of surname: Cavoli or Cavalli? Furio, the porter, takes the key to their room. Receptionist asks Ivan whether he wants a postcard. Ivan asks to use the phone. Ivan and Wanda are separated by a priest approaching the reception counter. Medium close-up (MCU) of Wanda with a strange expression of wonderment. Ivan on phone with relatives. Wanda goes to elevator with the porter. Ivan tells interlocutor on

Thunder sound revealed to be train. Sound of train whistle. Confused voices of scouts and others. Loudspeaker announcement of arrival of train. No music. [The original shooting script calls for a priest to lead a group of pilgrims in a religious song in this sequence (Fellini 1969, 23)]

Light, carefree, nondiegetic tune begins with Ivan’s answer. Slight confusion of diegetic and nondiegetic sources: the sound of horse’s hooves on street accompanies the music with the same tempo and rhythm (the “horse” sound is obviously a percussion instrument). Abrupt cut in music before melodic resolution coincides with cut to receptionist. No music.

Oboe in ascending and descending pattern of notes begins with MCU of Wanda. Music continues and develops.

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phone “now I’ll pass you Wanda” but she is already on her way to the room. Elevator door closes with Wanda and porter inside. Pan-up with elevator. 3. “The honeymoon itinerary” Shot from outside hotel of window as porter opens. Wanda looks out widow. Point of view (POV) shot of Rome. Wanda to Porter: “Excuse me.” Porter misunderstands and thinks Wanda is looking for bathroom. Wanda insists: “Where is via XXIV maggio?” Porter answers, “Right near by” and indicates direction from window. Porter leaves. Wanda opens suitcase: papers fall out; she furtively hides them. Ivan enters angry at W’s sudden disappearance—scolds her for going to room alone with porter. Wanda looks out window. Ivan begins meticulous examination of suitcases, drawers, etc. Ivan informs Wanda that he has obtained an audience with the pope for that morning. Wanda, as if awakening from a dream, asks, “Will we have to speak?” Ivan reads long list of program for the day. Wanda has a distracted, distant look. Ivan’s program continues: he mentions the altare della patria and then a romantic dinner before bedtime— alluding to the consummation of the marriage. Maid opens door. Wanda asks for a bath. Ivan allows Wanda to bathe while he takes a nap. Wanda looks out window.

Cut to Wanda leaving as Ivan sleeps. 4. “Via XXIV Maggio” Wanda leaves hotel. Tracking shot of Wanda walking down sidewalk in front of movie posters.

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Sound of elevator door closing coincides with musical beat. Ascending notes as elevator goes up. Previous music continues. Orientallike pattern of notes (exotic) with panorama of Rome. Music stops with W’s question.

Sound of church bell with new question. Previous music resumes at end of dialogue. Theme B begins as Wanda hides letters. Theme B abruptly ends when Ivan opens door. Church bells peal as Wanda looks out window.

Church bells continue.

Bugle call coincides with altare. Theme C with dinner plans.

Theme C abruptly ends with entrance of maid. Church bells continue to peal. Previous music (same as beginning of this sequence) resumes as Wanda looks out window. Silence except for gurgling of water. Church bell pealing resumes as Wanda exits hotel.

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Wanda arrives in via XXIV maggio. Wanda enters building, runs up stairs, enters an office. Wanda asks men cleaning office for Fernando Rivoli. They reply that he is out. Marilena Alba Vellardi, a photo-novel writer, arrives. Wanda, suddenly very animated, talks to Marilena about her favorite photo-novel characters. Marilena: “You are right: our real life is in our dreams.” Wanda says that she must leave. Marilena convinces her to stay and the two continue to discuss characters. Assistants enter office to discuss latest episode that is about to be shot. Assistants look at Wanda’s portrait of White Sheik. Boy made up to look like an Arab enters office. Wanda mistakes him for a real Arab. Marilena asks Wanda for advice for dialogue of new episode. Marilena sends Wanda downstairs with boy to meet Fernando Rivoli (the White Sheik). 5. “Dear Passionate Dolly” African priest knocks at Ivan’s door complaining of water flooding over from bath in an incomprehensible language. Ivan finds letter in pool of water on floor and picks it up. Ivan goes to bathroom to turn off water. Maid arrives screaming. Priest continues loud, incomprehensible complaints. Ivan yells out for Wanda. Abrupt cut to hotel receptionist behind counter. Porter explains that Wanda asked about via XXIV maggio. Ivan leaves hotel and heads for via XXIV maggio. Cut to fotoromanzo office. Wanda and “Arab” boy descend stairs to meet Rivoli. Production assistants yell for Felga and Oscar (names of characters) to get on truck to photo shoot. Felga, Oscar, and others in costumes descend staircase. Actors

Bell much louder. Bell continues. Bell stops with dialogue. No music.

Sound of typewriter.

Diegetic clock strikes hour right before Wanda says she must be going. No music.

Diegetic typewriter in background as Wanda and Marilena discuss dialogue.

The loud knocking has the same beat as the typewriter from previous sequence. Sound of water spilling out of tub.

No music.

No music. Diegetic drums begin as Wanda sees preparation for transport to shoot.

Theme A as actors enter frame.

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head toward trucks, and Wanda, as if in a trance, follows. Wanda is told to get on a truck. Trucks leave and drive past a worker pounding with sledgehammer. Ivan arrives in frame and asks worker whether this is via XXIV maggio. Worker continues to pound hammer. Ivan finds letter from pool of water in his pocket, takes it out, and reads it. In letter the White Sheik invites “Bambola Appassionata” to spend unforgettable hours with him in Rome. MCU of Ivan’s distress as he stares directly into camera. Cut to crowds applauding. Cut to bersaglieri running down street while playing instruments. Bersaglieri nearly run over Ivan. 6. “A very bad headache” Ivan returns to hotel and asks receptionist whether Wanda has returned. Receptionist tells Ivan that his relatives have been waiting for an hour in the lobby. Ivan greets relatives. Uncle mentions that it is a national holiday. Uncle asks Ivan whether he hears the horns of the bersaglieri.

Uncle tells Ivan that it is time to leave. Group leaves lobby. Ivan heads outside. Relatives ask for Wanda. Ivan, surrounded by relatives against a wall, explains that Wanda does not feel well. Aunt leaves to find Wanda in her room. Ivan chases after to stop her. Ivan runs up stairs as aunt takes elevator. Ivan knocks over a pail on the stairs. Various hotel workers scream to each other as Ivan’s relatives look on. Ivan returns to lobby in elevator and pushes aunt out. He explains that Wanda is sleeping but that she will be awake for lunch.

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Drums as actors get on trucks. Theme B as Wanda gets on truck.

Sound of hammer unnatural (drum).

Sound of hammer (drum).

Sound of bersaglieri horns with MCU seems nondiegetic. Hammer (drum) continues in time with horns. Horns become diegetic.

Bells pealing.

Light popular music interspersed with bells as Ivan greets relatives. Hereafter Hotel Theme. Horns of bersaglieri with mention of national holiday. Horns become diegetic when uncle asks Ivan whether he hears them. Bells return. Ominous descending notes. Hotel Theme returns. Hotel Theme ends as Ivan exits hotel. Bells.

Hotel Theme returns with shot of aunt inside lobby. Music with comic staccato typical of cartoon chase scenes. Music louder and faster as Ivan rushes up stairs, and then slower and softer as he descends in elevator. Music ends when elevator door opens.

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7. “The White Sheik” Dirt road near beach. Trucks arrive with actors. Wanda asks, “Where are we?” Sign: “Rome 26 K.” Director tries to establish order. Wanda explains that she must return to Rome, but no one can help her. Actors head toward beach. Wanda heads in different direction. Wanda alone in woods. She sees White Sheik on high swing. Wanda sighs and says: “Lo sceicco bianco!” Director, off-screen, calls out “Fernando!” White Sheik looks off into distance, then effortlessly jumps off very high swing. Sheik takes his sword left hanging on tree. Wanda: “Signor Rivoli!” Wanda gives Sheik portrait of him that she has drawn. Rivoli/Sheik invites her to nearby kiosk for a drink. Wanda and Sheik at kiosk with drinks. Patrons ask Sheik for autograph, info about photo-novel. Wanda mentions again that she must return to Rome. Car pulls up with top down. Sheik says: “Oh! La music!” Man gets out of car and puts up antenna. Man in car changes into bathing suit. Sheik and Wanda dance. Men and women at kiosk look on in admiration. 8. “More oriental” Fotoromanzo shoot. Fade to close-up of drum and hands beating. Felga dances, swaying hips. Man from car enters frame, admires Felga’s dance. Man asks Felga, “Are you shooting a scene for a film?” Felga replies, “Almost.” Director screams for actors’ attention. Drums again in frame. Director narrates to collected actors the story to be shot. Director asks man in bathing suit to leave. Felga continues to dance to drums— bothers director. Some actors begin to act out the story; others do not. Director tells story of faithful slave,

Dreamlike notes of chime and then harp. Music ends when trucks stop. No music. Birdsong.

Sound of drums as actors head toward beach. Theme B as Wanda separates from group. White Sheik sings “Ti porterò a New York.” Nondiegetic musical accompaniment to Sheik’s song begins when Wanda recognizes him. Birds sing.

Birds continue. A song begins when Wanda says she must return to Rome. Music louder when antenna goes up: diegetic source revealed. Sheik whistles to music.

Drum beat (same as in sequence #5, but now more clearly diegetic). Music from previous sequence fades out slowly.

Drums. Sound of wind with narration.

Wind louder.

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Fatma. Cut to Wanda, dressed as Fatma, reciting her lines—the same lines she had suggested at the production office. Director orders all to their places. For the first time we see the director’s platform from the opening shot of the film. Sheik mounts white horse (also from opening shot). Wanda/Fatma with huge smile (out of character). All prepare for first shots. Man from car in bathing suit asked to leave. Director commands cameraman, “Shoot!” The film (White Sheik) reproduces “stills” (the actors do not move but are being filmed at 24 frames/second) from photo-novel shoot. Director yells at Wanda/Fatma to stop smiling. She finally understands, and the director cries out, “Shoot!” 9. “Graceful, sweet, and teeny” Abrupt cut to restaurant. Ivan pretends to talk to Wanda on phone while actually talking to hotel porter. Relatives surround him to hear Wanda’s voice. Cuts between hotel and restaurant. Table with relatives and Ivan. Musicians enter frame. Uncle asks Ivan to recite poem composed for Wanda. Ivan begins poem but is interrupted by arrival of pasta, and then by the arrival of the musicians, who surround Ivan and sing. Ivan visibly upset. 10. “At sea with the Sheik” Fotoromanzo shoot. Pan of director’s platform. A couple dancing. Mysterious man in dark suit enters frame. Man in bathing suit offers Felga a cigarette. Actors eat. Horse eats. Sheik skipping stones with Wanda. She offers him her sandwich. Sheik talks of his attraction to the sea. Drum enters frame. Sheik grabs

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Wind continues. Drums begin with director’s order.

Wind.

Introductory horns of Theme A begin with “Shoot!”

Theme A ends with director’s final “Shoot!” which also coincides with cut to next sequence.

Mandolin and guitar throughout this sequence.

“Ella è graziosa, dolce, è piccolina”

Musicians sing: “O cielo, o mare!”

Theme A on piano (no logical musical source for couple dancing).

Music stops with dialogue. Sound of waves. Drum begins before entering frame.

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Wanda and carries her to sailboat. Pushes boat out to sea. Director and assistants call for Sheik to come back. Out at sea. Wanda: “I feel so strange!” Sheik, without turban, smokes a cigarette. Sheik talks of his and Wanda’s previous lives as pirate and mermaid. Wanda responds by crying and saying that she is happy and crazy. Sheik invites Wanda to sit next to him. Tries to kiss her. Wanda refuses advances. Sheik tells story of how his wife tricked him into marriage with a magic potion. Sheik and Wanda are about to kiss when he is hit in the head by boom. 11. “A delicate matter” Opera house. Cut to high-angle shot of audience at opera. Conductor of orchestra and then singers in frame. Ivan leaves his seat, disturbs audience. Usher tells him to be quite. Ivan asks for phone. Phone at Opera. Close-up (CU) receptionist at hotel: “Pronto?” Cut to Ivan asking for Wanda. (Don Giovanni poster behind phone). Ivan asks receptionist at hotel whether Wanda has returned. Receptionist angrily replies,”No!” Cut to police station. Long shot (LS) tracking in on police Jeep in front of station. Cut to similar shot inside station tracking to a man whispering to commissioner behind a desk. Ivan meets commissioner. Ivan tries to tell story of Wanda’s disappearance. In background assistant looks through files in file cabinet and then sits in front of a typewriter. Ivan shows commissioner letter to “Bambola Appassionata.” Ivan reveals his name to commissioner and assistant types loudly—then names of father and Wanda. Commissioner leaves with others to discuss case—

Theme B as Wanda is carried to boat. Musical resolution to Theme B similar to that of opening credits with fade of boat sailing out to sea. Mysterious notes of chimes and harp and variations of Theme C throughout scenes on the boat. Notes of Theme C coincide with the Sheik’s narrations (stories of pirates and magic potions).

Loud applause with cut to this sequence. Act 1, scene 9, of Mozart’s Don Giovanni. (“Ti darò la mano”) Act 1, scene 9, continues. Music lower with cuts to hotel (as if heard over the phone). Dialogue with hotel receptionist coincides with Zerlina’s capitulation to Don Giovanni’s advances: (Zerlina) “Presto . . . non son più forte.”

Ominous and dramatic notes on piano backed by orchestra. Music ends with beginning of dialogue. No music.

Typewriter (very loud) with each of Ivan’s answers.

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apparently thinks Ivan is insane. Ivan understands that the police think he is crazy and he flees, passing through Kafkaesque hallways filled with dusty piles of documents (unsolved cases?). He rushes down stairs at police station. Two men call out his name from the floors above. Ivan leaves station and mixes with marching police. 12. “Rita” LS of beach with director’s platform and sea behind. Sheik and Wanda return in boat. Director furious at lost time. Low angle shot of Sheik/Rivoli’s imposing wife. He argues with crew, actors; he blames Wanda for absence. Then he sees his wife. Wanda carries Sheik’s sword from boat, greets wife. Wife insults Wanda and slaps her, begins fight. Confusion. Wanda tells wife story of how she tricked Sheik into marriage with a magic potion. Sheik/Rivoli insists that Wanda is inventing the story. Wanda, crushed, runs away. Cut to late evening: director is calling out for Wanda. Rivoli and wife leave on scooter to go back to Rome. Director and other prepare to leave. Man in bathing suit accuses crew of stealing his clothes. Actors and crew leave. Swing at night where Wanda first saw Sheik. Wanda alone in woods crying. Man arrives with camel, asks her what she is doing all alone.

13. “Cabiria” Cut to outside hotel. Horse-drawn carriage with Ivan and relatives pulls up in front of hotel at night. Uncle goes over plans for the following day, including the postponed visit to the pope in the morning. Questions about Wanda. Ivan gets out of carriage.

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Previous music begins when door closes.

Music reaches climax of high notes as Ivan rushes down stairs. Music ends with his name called out by men above.

Wind.

The first few notes of Theme A (slow and ominous) with appearance of wife. Music fades out with argument. Wind. Theme A begins with slap. Theme A softer as Wanda tells story until it fades out as wife gasps in disbelief and Rivoli denies authorship.

Theme A as scooter leaves. Theme A fades out with argument between man in bathing suit and director. Chimes/harp with swing. Theme B variation with man with camel. Silence with dialogue between man and Wanda. Owl hoots.

Horse hooves and traffic noise. Hotel Theme with plans.

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Carriage leaves. Ivan enters hotel, asks receptionist whether Wanda has returned. Mysterious woman with receptionist witnesses dialogue. Receptionist asks what has happened. Ivan responds, “Nothing.” Cut to low-angle shots of two bell towers at night. Cut to Ivan going to a fountain at a deserted piazza at night. Cats. Ivan sits at fountain, touches water to forehead, looks up to stars, and then cries. Two prostitutes arrive. Cabiria (G. Masina) tells other prostitute, Assunta, of a dance she saw in a film (performs it and sings). Prostitutes notice Ivan and go to him. Ivan explains that his wife has run away. He tries to tell story, sobs. Cabiria sees confetti from wedding and Assunta understands that Ivan is on his honeymoon. Ivan shares pictures of Wanda at different ages. Arturo the flame-thrower arrives. Flame in air.

Ivan leaves with Assunta. Cabiria stays with Arturo. Final flame.

14. “An evil fate” Cut to outside hotel at night. Man in swimsuit arrives in car with Wanda. Invites her home for some food. Wanda. declines. Man leaves, angry: “(Stizzito, pertendo): ma va là, bajadèra!” (Fellini 1969, 78). Wanda alone, looks up at hotel, then at her clothes (she is still dressed as “Fatma” under her coat). Porter steps out. Wanda realizes that she is unable to explain her attire and her absence and flees yet again. Cut to hotel porter waking up to answer phone. Wanda attempts to leave a complicated message of apology for Ivan that the porter in part

Music fades as carriage leaves. No music. Sound of clock ticking.

Bells striking hour.

Cats meow. Bell strikes hour (3). Mysterious notes of organ. Theme A plucked on violin as prostitutes enter piazza. Music fades for dance. Sound of water.

Theme C at end of story when prostitutes understand that Ivan is on honeymoon. Theme A very slow with photos. Theme A more lively with Arturo. Flame functions as visual division between Theme A and Theme C. Theme C becomes Theme A as two walk away. Organ with final flame.

No music.

Theme B begins as she looks at hotel.

Bells toll as Wanda leaves. Phone rings.

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does not hear and in part does not understand. Wanda expresses desire to end her life. Cut to bank of Tiber River. Wanda at bank of river near bridge. She nears the water. She looks back: cut to a statue of an angel on the bridge. Wanda puts hands together to pray, crosses herself, and jumps into very shallow water. A man on opposite bank notices her in water. Cut to POV mobile shots of Rome from ambulance. (The shooting script includes a scene after this sequence in which the ambulance siren wakes up Ivan, who had been sleeping with the prostitute he met that night). 15. “Ward 5” Cut to Ivan returning to hotel in the morning disheveled from his long night out. Receptionist tells him that there is a note for him. Cut to relatives waiting in lobby. Phone call for Ivan. He takes phone and then faints after talking. Ivan carried upstairs by porter and relatives. Just as the door to his room is to be opened Ivan regains consciousness and blocks the door, telling uncle and others to wait for him at St. Peter’s square. Relatives leave. Ivan enters his room, prepares clothes for Wanda, and then runs down stairs, then outside, where he calls for a taxi.

Cut to entrance of insane asylum. Taxi passes through gates and stops. Ivan runs to find Wanda. Taxi driver yells for fare. Ivan meets a doctor, the man who “saved” Wanda, and all

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Chimes and harp.

Same chimes and harp, but now faster and with variations of Theme B mixed in. Music faster and more intense as Wanda nears water. Dog barking. Music stops as she looks back at angel. Theme B with her preparations to jump. Musical resolution of Theme B coincides with jump. Dog barking. Siren.

Hotel Theme (slower).

Music ends when receptionist speaks.

Hotel Theme returns when Ivan faints.

Music stops when Ivan regains consciousness. No music. Hotel Theme (faster). Music even faster with cartoonlike staccato as Ivan runs down to street. (This is one of the only scenes in the film in which the shooting script includes a note for the nondiegetic music: “COMM. MUSICALE” (Fellini 1969, 86). Hotel Theme from previous scene, without break. Music fades to stop when taxi stops. Theme A drowns out dialogue as group enters (the shooting script: “Le sue

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enter asylum. Various insane people, nuns, and the police commissioner from sequence #11, who says: “Did you see that we found her? Now we’ll find that sheik too!” Doctor invites Ivan to enter room where Wanda is held. Wanda embarrassed by clothing. Both sob and cry. Ivan glances at watch, tells Wanda that he does not want an immediate explanation, but that she must dress quickly in order to make appointment with pope. 16. “St. Peter’s Cathedral” Relatives waiting for Ivan and Wanda. Other couples begin to arrive. Taxi arrives. Wanda meets relatives. Aunt notes that Ivan kept her away from Wanda’s hotel room. Ivan turns away, upset, only to face taxi driver, who is still looking for his fare. Taxi driver says: “Buona fortuna.” All begin to walk across square toward papal audience. Wanda cries and attempts to explain to Ivan that she has done nothing wrong, and that she is pure. Ivan notes: “Me too.” Wanda to Ivan: “You are my White Sheik!” Ivan with perplexed and worried expression. Uncle: “Faster!” LS St. Peter’s and pan to statue of saint blessing those below in the square.

parole sono coperte dalla musica di commento” [Fellini 1969, 87]. Theme A fades out with commissioner’s words.

Bell clangs.

Bells pealing.

Bells. Theme C with aunt.

Low, ominous notes with “Buona fortuna.” Bells and then Theme A very slow. Theme A develops into Theme C with reconciliation.

Theme A much faster to match group’s fast pace. Music ends with clarinet trill and harp.

Appendix 2 I vitelloni 1. “Logos/Opening credits” Piazza/street at night. The five vitelloni, arms linked, joyously sing while marching and swaying across the frame. Film credits.

Diegetic: five vitelloni sing call-andresponse song. Nondiegetic: the three main themes of the film: Theme A (associated with Alberto), Theme B (associated with Fausto and Sandra), and Theme C (associated with the freedom and lack of responsibility of the vitelloni).

2. “Beauty Pageant” Large crowd for the election of “Miss Sirena 1953.” The five vitelloni— Alberto, Leopoldo (“the intellectual”), Moraldo, Riccardo, and Fausto (“our spiritual leader”)—are introduced individually by voice-over narrator.

Off camera: small orchestra with a man singing Theme C (Vola nella notte). It is not clear that the music is diegetic. Vitelloni introduced with voice-over narration. Narrator describes beauty pageant. When the narrator introduces Riccardo, the orchestra and Riccardo (who is singing) enter the frame, and the music is revealed to be diegetic. The woman Fausto attempts to seduce hums Theme C. Music stops before election. Thunder when Sandra reaches microphone. Inside the band sets up and plays Rota’s festive Mambo dei Sioux.

Fausto attempts to seduce one of the contestants. Sandra, Moraldo’s sister, is elected “Miss Sirena.” A sudden downpour forces the crowd inside, disrupting Sandra’s acceptance speech. Leopoldo attempts to speak with the “famous” actress from Rome (Lilia Landi, the actress who played Felga in The White Sheik). Sandra, surrounded by admirers, faints and is carried to an adjacent room. Doctor examines Sandra.

Alberto hits cymbal with drumstick.

Music fades out after Sandra faints.

Sandra sees Fausto and begins to cry: “voglio morire.” POV shots between Sandra and Fausto. Fausto retreats, then runs toward home.

Thunder and sound of rain while doctor examines Sandra. Thunderclap as Fausto approaches. Silence when Sandra says, “voglio morire.” Thunder with shot of Fausto. Theme B begins with Fausto’s retreat. Theme B intensifies as he runs away.

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3. “A job in Milan” Fausto enters his home, and then his bedroom, closing door behind him. He begins to pack a suitcase. Fausto’s father opens bedroom door. Fausto explains to his suspicious father that he is leaving town. Vitelloni call out for Fausto from outside. Moraldo and Fausto’s father meet at front door. Moraldo and Fausto enter Fausto’s bedroom. Moraldo tells Fausto that Sandra is pregnant. Fausto, the father of the child, explains why he must leave town. He tries to convince Moraldo (Sandra’s brother) to leave with him. Fausto leaves bedroom with suitcase and confronts his father in the hall. Father beats Fausto: “Ti ci porto io in chiesa!” Fausto opens front door where the remaining vitelloni laugh at him.

Theme B continues (less intense with cut to home).

4. “Fausto and Sandra” Wedding ceremony. Riccardo enters frame singing. Sandra and Fausto kneeling before priest. Ceremony over, Fausto stands. The couple begin to leave the church (separately). Photo (Sandra obscured by Alberto). Cut to train station. Couple leaves for Rome. POV reverse angle shots between couple on train and crowd. Giudizio introduced. Train leaves and crowd leaves station. Moraldo alone at platform of station. Cut to horse and carriage and crowd near station. Fathers of the newlyweds shake hands. Sandra’s mother is bitter. Vitelloni left alone in street.

Diegetic: Ave Maria—Schubert. Voice and organ. Voice-over explains wedding. Voice revealed to be Riccardo’s.

Theme B abruptly stops when door is opened. Thunder. Rapidly ascending notes repeat. Theme B resumes.

Music stops when door is closed. Thunder, sound of pounding rain. No music and occasional thunder for the rest of this sequence.

Wedding March—Mendelssohn.

Train whistle. Sound of train. Train whistle. Riccardo sings a couple of notes. Moraldo’s Departure Theme. Theme B. Music fades with handshake.

Train whistle.

APPENDIX 2 /I VITELLONI

5. “A late night” Cut to bar with billiard table. Vitelloni imagine exotic honeymoon destination and exotic wives. Cut to street at night (like seq. #1). Remaining vitelloni discuss Fausto. One mentions that Fausto has a beautiful voice. Alberto responds: “Che c’entra la voce? La voce c’è l’hanno tutti.” Vitelloni kick a can around. Prostitute walks by. Alberto and other vitelloni bother her. Vitelloni join arms and march down the street singing. Alberto returns to his mother and sister. Secretly pours a drink. Riccardo returns home. Worried about his weight. Leopoldo returns to his two aunts. Puts a record on the record player and sits down to write his play. Leopoldo knocks on the window of the maid next door and talks to her (Caterina). Caterina asks him why he always listens to the same song. Moraldo left alone in the street late at night. Moraldo sits on a bench. Little Guido appears skipping down the street. Conversation Guido—Moraldo. Guido leaves to work at the station.

Cut to inventor and flying machine. Alberto goes to his sister’s office to ask for money. Olga gives him 500 lire. Riccardo arrives. Both leave to bet on horses. 6. “A surprise on the beach” Five vitelloni on deserted beach. German shepherd appears. Alberto follows it. Alberto discovers Olga and married man.

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Bar Theme—light popular music, apparently diegetic (although it fades in a moment after cut to bar). Moraldo seems to be beating time with his hand. Church bell rings four times. No music. Riccardo sings two notes.

Vitelloni whistle and call out, “OH OH.” Vitelloni sing call-and-response song. Voice-over explains where each lives. Voice-over and Theme A. Voice-over and Theme C.

Voice-over: “Ha messo il suo disco preferito: ‘Vola nella notte.’ “ This song is the same as Theme C and there is no musical cut between the previous nondiegetic version and the diegetic record player. Voice-over. Church bell. Moraldo’s Departure Theme. Train whistle and sound of train. Guido’s Theme. Guido whistles offscreen before he appears. Guido’s Theme will later be heard at the carnival ball. Variation on Theme C. Same music as sequence #3 when vitelloni arrive outside of Fausto’s house. No music after cut to new scene. Mechanical sound (printing press?).

Slow variation of Theme C develops out of stagnant music. Dog barking. Theme C continues.

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Alberto and Olga argue. Vitelloni arrive to witness.

Cut to Alberto’s house at night. Olga at home working at typewriter. Rain pours down window behind Olga. Alberto arrives. The two argue about Olga’s relationship. 7. “Fausto returns” Outdoor cafè. Vitelloni sit in winter sun. Massimo arrives on bike, Fausto and Sandra appear. Fausto has a record player. Sets it up and puts on a record. Fausto dances. Alberto joins him. Cut to interior of religious shop. Sandra’s father and Fausto meet the owner—signor Michele.

Signor Michele’s wife, Giulia, opens a door and enters from the rear of the shop. Fausto is fitted with an apron for working. Fausto walks toward Giulia and storage room of shop. 8. “An honest day’s work” Cut to interior of shop (later). Vitelloni arrive at shop window to watch Fausto work. Fausto tries to hide. Signor Michele stands and turns on light. Cut to Sandra in a crowded street. Sandra meets two “friends.” “Friends” ask when the baby is due, how Fausto is. “Friends” leave Sandra. Fausto appears outside religious shop. Sandra runs to him.

Theme A when Alberto sees his sister. Theme A and Theme C alternate for the rest of this sequence (with sound of the wind). No music. Weak ambient sound for rain.

Church bells. Bike bell. Voice-over and then Massimo reports that Fausto and Sandra have returned. Mambo. The quality of the sound is far superior to the diegetic setting. Voice-over: Fausto’s father-in-law’s strange idea—that Fausto should get a job. Music: clocklike rhythm, three notes. Music stops. Theme C begins with the appearance of Giulia (reflecting Fausto’s subjective view). Music slows and drops to lowest register; no flutes. Theme C slow. Church bells over fade to next sequence. Pealing church bells over fade-in. Signor Michele whistles a tune similar to Theme C. Theme C loud and insistent with vitelloni. Theme C quieter as Fausto tries to avoid being seen, then louder when Signor Michele stands. Theme B (with clarinet solo) Theme B stops when “friends” arrive.

Theme B (clarinet solo) resumes when “friends” leave. Theme B with complete orchestra as Sandra runs to Fausto.

APPENDIX 2 /I VITELLONI

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Sandra and Fausto leave for the cinema.

Theme B fades to mambo to begin next sequence.

9. “The Movies” Sandra and Fausto enter cinema and take their seats. Sandra talks about family, house, being together. Mysterious woman next to Fausto asks for a light. Cut to later at the cinema. Fausto attempts to touch mystery woman’s foot. Camera alternates between Fausto’s attempts to flirt with mystery woman and Sandra’s attempts to communicate with Fausto.

Mambo dei Sioux, apparently diegetic from the film in the cinema (not the same mambo as in sequence #11). Short bits of film dialogue.

Mysterious woman leaves theater. Fausto leaves to follow mystery woman to the entrance of her home, where he speaks to her.

Cinema Theme fades and ends when Fausto steps from cinema onto sidewalk. Dog barking. No music. Introductory music for Theme C in front of woman’s home. Silence. Theme C returns as woman escapes up stairway. Theme B at the sight of Sandra.

Fausto kisses mystery woman. Woman retreats up a stairway. Fausto return to the cinema, where Sandra waits for him outside. Fausto asks how the film ends. Sandra answers, “Si sposavano.” Sandra cries. Sandra alone against wall. The couple makes up. 10. “Carnivale” Barber shop. Alberto has grown sideburns; Riccardo, a mustache. Cut to religious shop; Fausto has shaved his mustache. Cut to Leopoldo’s house; Leopoldo has grown a goatee. Outdoor procession with larger-thanlife masks. Alberto’s house. Vitelloni prepare their costumes. Alberto dresses as a woman.

Romantic film music from sound track at cinema. (This music, which will return often in the film, will be called Cinema Theme.) Cinema Theme alternates in an ascending and descending pattern that coincides with Fausto’s split attention between the mystery woman and Sandra.

Theme B becomes slower and emotionally charged with violins while Sandra cries. Theme C. Voice-over describes changes in facial hair. Clocklike music. The same harmony as Theme C (half-time) but without the melody. Theme C (Vola nella notte). Voice-over describes carnival. Theme C circuslike with lots of cymbals.

Cinema Theme.

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Alberto goes to his mother’s room to find a hat. His sister is present, and his mother is crying. Alberto leaves room. Alberto finds hat in trunk. Cut to carnival ball. All vitelloni present. Sandra and Fausto dressed as an elegant bourgeois couple. Crowd dances. Leopoldo with Gisella in Chinese costume meet Caterina, his neighbor. Sandra and Fausto go to bar. Sandra wants to eat. Fausto asks her not to eat so much. Sandra and Moraldo leave to dance. Giulia arrives at bar and meets Fausto. Fausto eyes Giulia. Fausto notes that the orchestra is playing Mambo dei Sioux and Giulia responds that it is a beautiful song. Signor Michele arrives; Giulia leaves with him. All dance. Fausto looks for Giulia while dancing with Sandra. Kisses in the attic. Hat falls to dance floor. All dance frenetically. Camera pulls back to reveal two old women asleep. Cut to much later: Alberto dances with a large mask followed by a trumpet player. Alberto leaves building.

Music stops when Alberto enters his mother’s room.

11. “The morning after” Cut to piazza at dawn. Alberto alone in piazza. Moraldo and Gisella accompany Alberto home. Car waiting in front of Alberto’s house. Olga leaves with married man.

Music ends with cut. Wind. Horse carriage bells.

Alberto runs up to mother. Alberto and mother (crying).

Theme A louder and faster when Alberto runs upstairs. Variations on Theme A. Theme C in a minor key with discussion of job.

.

Alberto says, “I’ll find a job” and collapses in chair.

Alberto sings out, “Sognando di te!” (music heard before orchestra enters frame). Orchestra plays Guido’s Theme with Latin overtones and changes in rhythm.

Guido’s Theme ends when waiter offers Sandra a sandwich. Mambo dei Sioux begins when Sandra and Moraldo leave to dance. Mambo dei Sioux is a song Rota composed for the film and there is no logical explanation for the characters’ knowledge of the tune.

Hat falling cues the beginning of a new song: “Yes Sir That’s My Baby” (1925) by Gus Kahn and Walter Donaldson. Piano accompanies trumpet playing “Yes Sir That’s My Baby” (both instruments out of tune).

Wind. Pealing church bells. Alberto makes the sound of a boat horn. Theme A. Elements of music from sequence #6 (beach) and a moment of Theme C.

APPENDIX 2 /I VITELLONI

12. “Signora Michele” Religious shop. Fausto enters late for work. Fausto speaks with Signor Michele. Signor Michele is mad because Fausto is late for work. Fausto goes to storage room; drops boxes. Giulia arrives to help with boxes. Fausto throws confetti at Giulia. Fausto attempts to embrace Giulia. Giulia runs away. Cut to storage room of religious shop (later). Giulia makes entries in ledger. Fausto arrives. Fausto again attempts to embrace Giulia. Giulia slaps Fausto. Signor Michele returns to the store. Fausto returns to the front of the shop. Customer enters. 13. “Have a drink with us” Religious shop (later). Signor Michele locks up, then invites Fausto up to his apartment for a drink. Living room of Signor Michele and Giulia’s home. Conversation Signor Michele/Fausto. Signor Michele fires Fausto. 14. “Master Salesmen” Bar with billiard table. Vitelloni present. Fausto tells Moraldo the “story” of his dismissal (that Giulia was in love with him). Cut to Fausto and Moraldo in a piazza at night. Fausto and Moraldo approach a fountain. Moraldo drinks; Fausto does not. Fausto tells of his plan to get even with Signor Michele. The two crawl over a roof and break into the storage area of the religious shop.

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Theme C louder than previous sequence. Theme C slower. Theme C stops. Sound of music box, weakly diegetic, alternates with Theme C, then music box alone. Music box continues.

Music box stops. No music. Fausto whistles Theme C. No music.

Door bell. No music. Door bell.

Threatening musical introduction crawling around in low register evolves into Theme C and then back to threatening music. Eerie music of repeated descending notes that sound like a clock chime. No music.

Bar Theme (same as in sequence #5). This music will return in a new setting in sequence #15.

Train whistle; church bells; sound of water.

Music starts with plan (same threatening music as with Signor Michele in sequence #19). Theme C (on roof) evolves into Religious Theme.

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Fausto uncovers statue of an angel. Moraldo hesitant when he understands that Fausto wants to steal the angel. Fausto convinces Moraldo. Fausto again shows Moraldo the statue. Cut to early morning: Giudizio with the statue on his cart. Fausto and Moraldo follow Giudizio. Convent. Fausto tries to sell statue to a nun. Giudizio yells out. The three next try to sell the statue to a monk. Again no sale. End of day. Giudizio left alone at beach with statue for the night.

Giudizio takes out statue and places it in the sand. 15. “Around the dinner table” Moraldo and Sandra’s house. Father returns angry. Father tells the truth (that the statue was stolen, that Fausto attempted to seduce Giulia). Fausto denies all. Goes to garden. Sandra cries. Goes to her room. 16. “Moraldo and Sandra” Moraldo goes to Sandra’s room. Moraldo tells Sandra Fausto’s version of the “truth”: that Giulia attempted to seduce Fausto, etc. Sandra goes to garden. Takes a sandwich for Fausto. Sandra and Fausto cry, embrace. 17. “Little Moraldo” Sandra and Fausto walk back toward Sandra’s house. Cut to Sandra’s house (later). Sandra takes a trip to her father-inlaw’s house with her baby. Cut to Moraldo and Guido together at night (as in sequence # 5).

Notes of chimes; these notes will be associated with this statue. No music.

Notes of chimes with statue. Giudizio’s loud horn. Religious Theme from #21. This theme will appear again in sequence #31 when Fausto sees a line of schoolchildren on the beach.

Voice-over narration explains that Giudizio was entrusted with the statue for the night. Religious Theme continues interspersed with chimes when Giudizio looks at statue. Harp with statue in the sand.

Bar Theme (from sequences # 5 and #14). Bar Theme continues.

Bar Theme stops when Moraldo enters his sister’s room.

Theme B begins when Sandra offers Fausto the sandwich.

Cinema Theme when Sandra and Fausto embrace. Cinema Theme continues. Voice-over narration explains that Fausto was forgiven by Sandra’s family. Voice-over continues from previous scene. Cinema Theme continues, with high notes of chime for baby.

APPENDIX 2 /I VITELLONI

They leave in the direction of the train station. Empty piazza, fountain.

18. “A great artist” Varietà. Numerous dance numbers. The “famous” actor Sergio Natali recites verses that become a song. Shots of piano, orchestra pit, drums. Sexy dancers sing and dance. Cut to backstage (later). After the show vitelloni go to Sergio Natali’s dressing room. Leopoldo speaks of his admiration for the actor. Cut to restaurant. Leopoldo reads his play to Natali in the presence of the other vitelloni. Varietà dancers enter restaurant. Vitelloni, with the exception of Leopoldo, join the dancers’ table. Radio is turned on. Fausto dances with lead dancer. Leopoldo and Natali leave restaurant, head for the sea. 19. “This town is blind to art” Cut to street outside restaurant. Natali and Leopoldo walk and talk. Natali has praise for Leopoldo’s play. The two walk toward the water. Natali descends stairs toward the dark waterfront. Leopoldo understands Natali’s intentions and runs away. Cut to Moraldo alone in piazza at night. 20. “Lipstick on your face” Cut to hotel room of dancer. Fausto dresses. Outside, Moraldo waits. Fausto leaves dancer and meets Moraldo.

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Cinema Theme with vibraphone. Moraldo’s Departure Theme (same as in sequence #5). Church bells tolling. Voice-over narration explains that spring is arriving. Mambo dei Sioux—same music as Miss Sirena contest and the carnival ball (sequences #2 and #11). Various tunes from the 1940s and 1950s: “Vola fanfara mia,” “Vola colomba” by Nilla Pizzi (winner at San Remo 1952 with this song, “Faville d’amor.”) Orientallike music. Music stops when Natali enters frame. Cinema Theme starts when Leopoldo speaks. Throughout most of the restaurant scene we hear Leopoldo’s rapid-fire, overly dramatic reading of his play. Sudden wind and laughter when dancers arrive. Bar Theme from sequences #5, #14, and #15 on radio until cut to next sequence.

Sound of wind (loud). Cinema Theme from sequences #9, #15, #17, #18. Music stops. Wind, waves. Cinema Theme returns, stronger, as Leopoldo runs. Wind. Sound of water.

Breathing of sleeping dancer. Church bell. Sound of water. Fausto sings and whistles: “come si stava meglio prima.”

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The two arrive home. Fausto goes to his bedroom, where Sandra waits with baby. Sandra upset. Sandra and Fausto, fight. Sandra wakes up very early crying. Sandra looks at Fausto who smiles in his sleep. 21. “The search is on” Next morning: Sandra leaves with baby. Cut to vitelloni, who meet Moraldo. Vitelloni take Fausto to countryside to search for Sandra. Vitelloni discuss birdsongs. Fausto at farm looks for Sandra. Fausto returns to town on a bike. Fausto at Sandra’s house. Inside the house. Maid informs Fausto that Sandra is not there. Fausto alone on street. Fausto encounters mysterious woman from cinema. Woman invites Fausto home. Fausto sees a group of schoolchildren. Fausto returns to Sandra’s house, meets an angry Moraldo. Fausto again alone in street. Fausto at religious shop with Signor Michele. Cut to vitelloni in car. Alberto makes an obscene gesture at a group of workers. The car breaks down. The workers chase the vitelloni and hit them. 22. “Allow me to shake your hand” Fade to Fausto’s father’s house. Fausto arrives with Signor Michele. Sandra is there. Father between Fausto and Sandra. Sandra and baby go to next room with Signor Michele. Father beats Fausto. Camera takes POV of father.

Theme C when the two arrive home (low register). No music with Sandra.

Rooster crows. Ticking clock as camera pans to Fausto, smiling.

Birds chirp. Voice-over narration explains her departure. Theme B begins as she leaves. Theme B from previous scene. Church bells with Moraldo. Theme C as car leaves town. Sounds of birds, real and whistled. Cinema Theme from sequences #9, #15, #17, #18, #19. Theme B when Fausto shouts, “Sandra!” Theme B Music stops. Cinema Theme. Theme C in a minor key. Religious Theme with children. Theme B. Cinema Theme. Music stops. No music.

Theme C begins when car stops Theme C.

Theme B with fade. Theme B louder. Music stops. No music. Theme B resumes.

APPENDIX 2 /I VITELLONI

Beating ends. Sandra and Fausto, together again, leave. Fausto skips down the street as he does with vitelloni in sequences #1 and #7. 23. “Moraldo’s story” Cut to Moraldo at train station. Train arrives. Reverse angle shots between Guido and Moraldo. Mobile, high-angle shots of the other vitelloni asleep in their beds. Train leaves. Guido freeze-frame on the train rail.

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Theme C as Fausto leaves. Voice-over narration explains that the story could end at this point. Moraldo’s Departure Theme before cut to next sequence.

Station bells. Train whistle. No music. Train noises. Moraldo’s Departure Theme. Theme C.

Appendix 3 La strada 1. “Logos/Opening credits.” White titles over black.

Fade to black. 2. “Ten thousand lire.” LS of beach. Gelsomina in foreground walks away from camera. Children arrive telling Gelsomina to return home to her mother. Gelsomina’s home. Gelsomina’s mother explains that Rosa, Gelsomina’s sister, has died, and that Zampanò has paid 10,000 lire for Gelsomina to take Rosa’s place. Mother explains to Zampanò that G. is strange but good. Informs G. that she will learn how to sing and dance and perform with Z. Gelsomina leaves group and kneels facing the sea. G. returns to group, informs them that she will go with Zampanò and learn a new trade, then turns her back on her family, climbs an embankment, and climbs into the back of Z.’s motorcycle/van. Motorcycle leaves and children chase after. Reveres angle shots between G. (medium shots) and her home (long shots). Cut to a panning shot of motorcycle traveling on a road on the outskirts of a town.

Three themes are introduced: Il Matto, which begins about ten seconds before the first titles appear, melancholy and dramatic; Circus March, gay and raucous with sour notes; and La Strada, an emotional compromise between the first two themes. Music fades out with fade to black. Sound of waves.

No music. Waves in distance.

Gelsomina’s Theme as G. kneels before the sea. Gelsomina’s Theme continues as she informs group that she will leave. La Strada begins when G. turns her back. Sound of motorcycle. La Strada louder with departure. This tune continues for the rest of this sequence

Music fades before cut to next sequence.

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APPENDIX 3 /LA STRADA

3. “The strongman.” Zampanò walks in a circle with chain and explains to a crowd that he will break it with his chest and lungs. Gelsomina in back of motorcycle watches passively. Z. breaks chain. 4. “Tools of the trade.” Side of road. G. and Z. eat dinner. Esso gasoline sign in background. G. surreptitiously throws her food away. Z. goes to back of motorcycle to find a costume for G. Carries out hats and coats together with drum and horn. Offers clothes to G. and places 2 hats on her head.

Z. tries to teach G. to say, “Here he is, Zampanò!” Z. and G. sit in front of motorcycle while Z. shows G. drum and horn. Z. blows a few notes on horn. G. tries horn, but Z. grabs it back, yelling, “Do only what I tell you to do!” Z. gives drum to G. G. knocks on drum with her knuckles. Z. shows G. a drum roll before repeating, “Here he is, Zampanò!” G. tries unsuccessfully to mimic Z. Z. gets a switch from a nearby bush and punishes G. when she makes a mistake. G. recoils in pain. Eventually, crying, G. performs to Z.’s expectations. 5. “Di Costanzo, Gelsomina.” Same location by the side of the road at night. Z. sits on motorcycle while G. recites ritual phrases in front of a fire. Z. tells G. to get into the back of the motorcycle. G. walks toward bike, goes to the back, then changes her mind and asks to sleep outside. Z. walks

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No music. (Most of Z.’s other performances in the film will have some sort of diegetic musical accompaniment and at times also nondiegetic accompaniment). Road sounds including passing motorcycle and truck horn during performance. Applause with broken chain. Church bells.

Gelsomina’s Theme begins with a medium shot of G. throwing food behind her. Gelsominas’s Theme continues (softer). Procession Theme is briefly introduced to the sound track for the first time when Z. offers costumes to G. and then alternates with Gelsomina’s Theme while G. tries on hats. Gelsomina’s Theme continues. Nondiegetic music fades out as they sit down. Church bells in background. The notes that Z. plays are the first notes of Circus March. G. produces a sour note similar to sound in act with the Fool in sequence #17. The diegetic sound of the drum introduces the nondiegetic Circus March, which begins with the same notes that Z. had played a moment earlier on the horn. Circus March continues for the remainder of this sequence.

Church bells. Car noises.

Gelsomina’s Theme as she walks toward the motorcycle, and then toward the back.

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near G. and asks her what her name is. G. replies with her entire name. Z. accompanies G. toward back of motorcycle. G. again resists entering, but Z. throws her inside, then enters. (Later that same night). G. sits up and gazes at Z. while he sleeps, then dries tears from her eyes. Horn is clearly visible behind G.

Gelsomina’s Theme emotionally charged on violin as Z. escorts G. toward the back of the motorcycle and his bed. No music. Road sounds and dog barking.

6. “Farce.” Z. about to break chain. G. with clown makeup plays drum. Z. announces comic routine. G. walks out of the shadow of the motorcycle and presents herself to the crowd. Z. and G. perform comic routine based upon mispronouncing words, e.g., ciufile instead of fucile. Z. hunts G. with rifle, shoots her, and both fall to the ground. Crowd applauds and both stand up. Dissolve to next sequence.

Drum roll continues until chain breaks. Road noises in background. Circus March begins when G. steps toward crowd.

7. “Lamb and veal.” Trattoria. Z. and G. enter and sit down. Z. pounds on table for service. Waiter arrives and G. orders two entrees for herself. Z. orders and asks for wine. Z. puts toothpick in his mouth and G. mimics him. Dissolve to G. wiping her plate clean with bread. Z. obviously inebriated. G. asks Z. about his origins; he evades answers. Z. notices a woman (“Rossa”) and invites her to the table. Z. and Rossa talk. All three get up to leave. Z. pays and takes two more bottles of wine. Z. and Rossa drive off on motorcycle, leaving G. behind in the middle of the street.

No music. Ambient sounds of customers.

8. “Waiting.” Later at night on the same street. Gelsomina sits alone on the curb. Horse enters frame from right and continues past G. and down the street. The next morning on the same street.

No music.

Loud report with rifle shot. Circus March concludes with rifle shot, but then begins again from beginning when Z. and G. stand up. Music fades with dissolve.

Popular music, weakly diegetic, fades in with image of G. wiping her plate and continues for the remainder of the sequence. Much less ambient sound than before. Mambo with Rossa at table. Mambo now clearly diegetic: music lower as the three leave trattoria. Rossa sings along with the tune. Sound of motorcycle fades as it leaves, then silence as G. stands alone.

Sound of horse before horse enters frame.

APPENDIX 3 /LA STRADA

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Gelsomina in the same position sitting alone. Children stand and stare at her. Woman walks up and asks G. why she has not eaten anything. Another woman talks from an open window nearby. She tells G. that Z.’s motorcycle is in a nearby field. G. rushes off to find Z.

No music. Pealing church bells until end of this sequence.

9. “Tomatoes.” Field with motorcycle. G. arrives and finds Z. passed out in the grass. She calls out his name but he does not answer. G. listens to his chest for a heartbeat, then opens one of his eyes, at which point Z. stirs. Z. goes back to sleep. G. smiles wistfully. G. stands up and frowns in sorrow. Turns her back on Z. and steps toward motorcycle. A girl appears behind motorcycle. G. and girl remain separated but walk in the same direction. G. picks flower, then mimics the shape of a tree. The girl laughs. G. encounters a boy sitting in the sand, who points to a garden and says, “That’s where a dog died.” G. walks over and looks through a fence at the garden, then listens to the buzz of electricity of a phone pole. Dissolve to high-angle shot of Z. waking up. Z. stumbles toward motorcycle. G. informs Z. that she has planted tomatoes. Z. tells G. to get in the motorcycle. Dissolve to motorcycle traveling down a road. G. asks Z. whether he slept with other women when he was with her sister Rosa. Z. at first does not hear G. over the noise of the motorcycle. Z. tells her to keep quiet and mind her own business. POV shot of sheep in the middle of the road. Fade to black.

No music.

10. “The wedding party.” Z. and G. dance with bells attached to head, feet, and hands. Guest throwing food and chasing each other around the

Sound of bells.

Gelsomina’s Theme begins with her smile, slow and melancholy. Music more lively with interactions with children.

Variations of Gelsomina’s Theme continue.

Gelsomina’s Theme fades out. Buzzing sound. Sound of motorcycle passing by when Z. awakes. No music.

La Strada (loud). Music lower before conversation and then fades out completely when Z. finally understands what G. is asking. No music for remainder of sequence.

Sound of horn (apparently from Z.’s motorcycle).

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table. Toast to the couple. Z. sits down with a drum and G. announces the next act: La colpa è del bajon. G. dances while Z. plays drums with his hands. Children dance along. A man offers G. a glass of wine. She accepts and then gives the glass to Z., who stops playing the drum. Teresa, a middle-aged woman, exits the house and asks Z. and G. whether they want to eat. Children grab G. and ask her to follow them. They take G. up an external stairway and into a room where Osvaldo, a strange boy with an enormous head, lies in a bed. G. imitates a bird for the boy. The children clap, laugh, and dance about gaily. G. stops her imitation and nears the boy with an expression of amazement and curiosity. A nun enters the room and chases out G. and the children. Wedding party, outside the kitchen. The widow stands and eats pasta. Z. sits and eats his meal. Widow tells Z. that she married twice and that both men died. Z. asks why she does not marry again. Widow tells Z. that her first husband was big and strong like Z. and that she still has his clothes. G. arrives and tries to tell Z. about the boy upstairs, but is inhibited by the presence of the widow. Widow invites Z. inside to try on her husband’s clothes. G. remains alone. Medium close-up of G. as she begins to eat her pasta, then looks back at the door where Z. and the widow entered a moment before with a surprised expression. Evidently she has understood that Z. will be doing more than trying on clothing. The guests of the wedding crowd around a car as it leaves. A few guests chase after it.

A nondiegetic band playing the popular tune “La colpa è del bajon” (D’Arena 1953) accompanies Zampanò’s diegetic drum (my thanks to Ben Lawton for pointing out the title of this tune). When Z. drinks wine he stops playing the drums, but the nondiegetic music continues, now commenting on the raucous party rather than supporting the music of Z. and the dance of G. Gelsomina’s Theme as she enters the house. The music is slow and melancholy, contrasting with the actions of the children. The music stops in the middle of G.’s birddance.

11. “Deeee-dee-dee-de-dee.” Wedding party, later that night. A man plays the accordion. A couple dances

The accordion from the previous sequence is revealed to be diegetic. It is playing the same song that G. and

High quivering notes as she nears the boy. Music stops when nun enters. Accordion in background.

Accordion stops when Z. follows widow inside. No music for the remainder of this sequence.

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and falls to the ground. Cut to G. staring out at a deserted field. Z. on the ground, apparently in a barn, tries on his new clothes. G., clearly upset, frowns and walks along a wall, then sits down and begins to cry. G. then sings the first notes of a song and her expression changes. She smiles and asks Z. whether he remembers the song that, according to her, they heard one day from a window while it was raining. G. continues to sing the song and begins to dance. G. stops dancing and asks Z. to teach her to play the horn. G. asks Z. whether he taught Rosa to play the horn and then asks whether Rosa did the same job she performs. Z., completely selfabsorbed, ignores G.’s questions, stands up in his new suit, and asks G. how he looks. G. cries and heads toward a wall. Z. asks G. why she is crying. G. follows the wall and stumbles upon a trap door and into a hole. Z. tells her to get out of the hole. G. refuses. Barn the next morning. G. climbs out of hole, then crawls over to where Z. sleeps. G. informs the sleeping Z. that she is leaving him. She explains to him that she has decided to go because she does not want to stay with him and not because she does not like the work. Z. does not wake up to hear G.’s words. G. pokes Z. and he wakes up for a moment. G. again tells Z. that she is leaving. Z. tells her to keep quiet. G. changes into her own clothes and leaves. She turns back toward Z. one last time and yells out, “I’m leaving!” G. walks away along a fence.

Z. performed earlier at the wedding. The dancing couple kick their legs at every fourth beat just as in G.’s dance earlier. Music concludes when G. begins to walk along wall of barn. G. sings Il Matto. She repeats the first measure three times, and then continues with the song when she begins to dance. This is the first time the tune is heard in the film after the opening credits.

12. “Processions.” A road in the countryside. G. stops and looks around, obviously unsure of the direction to take. She sits down next to the road and discovers a hole in the

Gelsomina’s Theme continues from previous sequence.

No music until the end of this sequence.

A rooster crows.

Gelsomina’s Theme as she leaves.

Music concludes when G. sits down. Sound of wind. Birdsongs.

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dirt. She sticks in a blade of grass and pulls out some kind of insect. G. smiles as the insect flies away, then frowns when she remembers her own difficulties, then smiles again when she hears music in the distance. Three musicians playing clarinet and horn appear walking along the embankment of the road. G. follows them and begins to dance. G. arrives in a town. A Catholic procession winds its way through the streets. G. and other women kneel and make the sign of the cross before an image of the Virgin. G. framed by a slaughtered pig in a butcher shop. G. forced to follow direction of the procession, first by a policeman and then by a rushing crowd. Procession arrives at cathedral. Camera pans up inside cathedral. 13. “A hundred and twenty-five feet in the air.” Piazza outside cathedral at night. Pan-up to a tightrope walker on a rope suspended over the piazza. Anna, the Fool’s assistant, explains the next stunt over a loudspeaker. The Fool will eat a plate of pasta while perched on the wire. Announcer takes car headlight and uses it as a spotlight on the Fool. Extreme high-angle shot of G. looking up. The Fool walks out on wire and sets up table and chair, then begins to eat. The Fool loses balance and falls onto wire while table and chair fall to the ground. The Fool spins around on the wire and finishes his routine. Audience applauds. Assistant passes a hat for money. The Fool pushes his way through the crowd past G. and toward his car. Tells his assistant to catch up with him at a trattoria. G. and Fool look at each other, then Fool laughs. Dissolve as Fool maneuvers car out of crowd.

Procession Theme continues for the remainder of this sequence.

Procession Theme now slower and somber. Pealing bells in background.

Bells and Procession Theme continue for the remainder of this sequence.

Bells louder.

Applause.

Procession Theme begins with shot of the Fool. Mysterious high notes.

Procession Theme concludes at the end of the act. Circus March begins shortly before the Fool enters the frame.

Circus March concludes when the car first moves. Sound of car engine and applause.

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14. “Get in!” Same piazza late at night. G. and four young men. G. salutes two soldiers and mimics a soldier walking. One of the civilians chases after G. while another drinks out of a wine bottle. G. is pushed next to a faucet where she wets her hand and takes the water to her face. G. sings a song and marches to the rhythm. The same man who chased G. a moment earlier now pulls her coat over her head. G. falls to the ground, then raises herself on her knees, wipes her mouth, then looks up at the sky. Z.’s motorcycle arrives. Z. turns off the motorcycle and gets off, then tells G. to get in. G. shakes her head no and says that she does not want to go with him. Z. chases after G., hits her, and throws her into the back of his motorcycle. Z. starts motorcycle and leaves.

Sound of wind throughout this sequence.

15. “Roman circus.” G. asleep inside van. G. wakes up to find a donkey tied to the back of the motorcycle. She seems confused. She walks past an old man carrying a baby and then an old lady with a dog in her lap. She looks inside a large tent and sees the Fool playing a tiny violin. The Fool plays with a cigarette placed between the tuning pegs. Z., talking with the owners of the circus, whistles to G. and tells her to come. Signor Giraffa offers them to join the circus. G. asks the woman, “Where are we?” and the woman explains that they are in Rome. Z. and Giraffa enter the tent. G. follows. G. and the Fool see each other. The fool laughs when he sees Z. and then parodies Z.’s act. Z. is angered by the Fool’s antics and tells the Fool never to talk to him. Z. leaves and orders G. to follow. G. looks back at the Fool and walks into a wall.

A donkey brays.

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Song similar to Circus March.

A church bell rings twice right before G. looks up at the sky. Gelsomina’s Theme begins when she looks up and then fades out with the arrival of Z.

Wind.

Il Matto begins on violin when G. greets old people. Diegetic source revealed when she looks inside the tent. The Fool interrupts song to smoke. Il Matto stops with conversation.

A circus tune on violin as Giraffa and Z. head toward the tent. Music stops when Z. and the Fool see each other (when the Fool enters the frame).

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16. “Circo Giraffa.” Extreme lowangle shot of the Fool spinning on trapeze. Cut to Z. preparing his chain routine. The Fool jumps from the trapeze and lands on a donkey. The Fool rides the donkey in a circle while playing his violin. The Fool ends his act exchanging hats with two clowns. Passes Z. and G. on his way out of the ring and a small band is visible behind them. Giraffa introduces Z. and G. Z. and G. enter the ring. The Fool slips into the crowd during Z.’s act. G. takes the chain around to the members of the audience so that they can inspect it. The Fool alone applauds loudly and grabs the chain and attempts to break it. G. plays the drum while Z. attempts to break chain. The Fool interrupts act, telling Z. that he has a phone call. Z., furious, fights off various members of the circus and chases after the Fool but does not catch him.

Circus grounds at night. G. gives Z. water. G. asks Z. why the Fool bothers him so much. Z. evasive in his answers. G. takes dirty water away while Z. enters the back of the motorcycle to sleep. G. walks around the outside of the circus tent and sees the Fool sitting on his car playing the violin. He stops playing when he sees her and motions for her to return to Z. G. smiles, nods, and turns back. G. enters back of motorcycle. 17. “A very sad song.” Ring of circus (day). The Fool jumps into the air. G. arrives, carrying a bucket of water. The Fool invites her to participate in an act with him that consists of sneaking up on him with a trombone and playing a sour note that

Drum roll until the Fool lands on donkey.

Procession Theme begins, loud and boisterous, as soon as the Fool lands on donkey. Another circus tune ends routine. Circus March begins with introduction.

Circus March concludes while Z. introduces his act to the public.

Three drum rolls (Fool’s interruption with loud laughter after second). Circus band plays a one-note conclusion to Z.’s act, then begins another circus tune to introduce the next act. While Z. struggles to find the Fool there is a brief break in the music, then the same tune begins again and continues to the end of the sequence, which ends with applause for the act after Z.’s. No music.

G. hears the Fool’s violin playing Il Matto as she walks away from Z.

Music stops. Concluding notes of Il Matto return as G. enters the back of the motorcycle.

No music.

The song the fool plays on the violin is Il Matto. The sour note G. plays is similar to

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interrupts his song on the violin. G. gets the timing wrong at first but eventually learns the number. Then the Fool teaches G. to repeat two notes and follow him around the ring while he plays. While they practice this Z. arrives and grabs the trombone from G. He says that G. only works with him. Giraffa tries to reason with Z. Z. insists that G. may not work with the Fool. Z. grabs the Fool, who protests, saying that he is only following Z.’s desire that he not speak. Giraffa tells G. to go speak with his wife. Z. protests that only he can tell G. what to do. The Fool grabs the pail of water that G. had carried earlier and douses Z. Z., burning with anger, chases after the Fool with a knife while various members of the circus try to stop him. He eventually corners the Fool in a building, but the police arrive. Dissolve to next sequence as the police tell Z. to drop the knife. Circus grounds. Giraffa furious with both Z. and the Fool (both absent). Informs G. that neither is welcome in his circus any longer. Women in the circus try to convince G. to leave with them. People packing up to leave. Tent taken down, then fade to black.

the sound she makes in sequence #4 where Z. introduced her to the horn and drum. The song the Fool plays while circling the ring is a standard circus tune (same as in sequence #16) The Fool mocks Z.’s rigid pronouncements with two notes on his violin (“zum zum”).

18. “The pebble.” Motorcycle at night. G. alone and sad. The Fool arrives with a flashlight, notes that the back of the motorcycle smells like a barnyard. Tells G. that Z. might get out of prison the next day. Invites G. out of the motorcycle. Tells G. not to worry about Z. because he will live for many more years, but he (the Fool) will die soon. The Fool and G. discuss G.’s future and whether she will go with Z. or with the circus. G. cries and declares that her life has no purpose. The Fool explains that Z. might actually love G. but he is unable to express his love because he is like an

Gelsomina’s Theme slow and melancholy. The Fool whistles four notes that represent Gelsomina’s name twice. Music concludes with beginning of conversation.

No music for the remainder of this sequence.

G. whimpers as Z. chases the Fool.

No music.

Il Matto begins with the discussion of

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animal, then he goes on to say that everything has a purpose, even a pebble. G. takes the pebble from the Fool and seems to understand that her purpose is to accompany Z. G., inspired, tells the Fool how she plans to rebel against Z. and teach him at the same time. Gelsomina again stares at the pebble and thinks. The Fool learns that the circus no longer wants him. He declares that he does not need anyone and repeats that he will soon die. The Fool asks her what she plans to do. G. does not answer. The Fool tells G. to get in the back of the motorcycle, and he drives it to the police station. G. stares at pebble as the motorcycle leaves. Dissolve to next sequence.

Z.’s love and continues through the parable of the pebble. Gelsomina’s Theme begins when she takes the pebble and continues as she stares at the rock, then concludes when she stands up. Il Matto returns when G. begins to talk about her relationship with Z. and ends when the Fool asks her about her plans. No music for the remainder of this sequence.

19. “The jail.” The Fool pulls up in front of the police station (early morning) with Z.’s motorcycle. Gets off the motorcycle and asks G. one last time whether she wants to go with him. G. does not answer. The Fool takes off a necklace and places it around G.’s neck. The Fool says goodbye and skips away. G. looks wistfully at him as he leaves and waves goodbye, then bows her head down. Dissolve to police station (later that day). G. sits alone by the motorcycle. Z. walks out of the police station. G. calls out his name. G. informs Z. that the circus invited her to join them, then she looks at the pebble. G. goes to the back of the motorcycle to get Z. his jacket, then takes it to him. Dissolve to motorcycle on the road. Subjective shot of Z.’s back as he rides down a road. The motorcycle pulls off by the side of the road near the sea. G., clearly excited, jumps down and runs to the water. G. stands at edge of water and looks out, asks Z. where her house is. Z. rolls up his pants and walks out into the water. G. tells Z.

No music.

Sound of motorcycle.

The Fool sings G.’s name as he gives her his necklace. The Fool again sings G.’s name as he walks away. Il Matto begins as G. watches the Fool depart. Music much louder when G. bows her head. Same music continues through dissolve. Music fades and concludes right before G. pronounces Z.’s name.

Notes from Gelsomina’s Theme begin as she grabs the jacket. La Strada begins with dissolve (loud). La Strada softer and then concludes as motorcycle slows and stops. Notes from Gelsomina’s Theme loud as G. runs to the sea, then softer when she arrives. Music concludes with G.’s question. Sound of waves.

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that her new home is with him. Z. makes fun of her, telling G. that she stays with him because she eats regularly. G., upset, calls Z. a beast. Dissolve to next sequence.

No music for the remainder of this sequence.

20. “The convent.” Z. gives a ride to a nun. Z. states that it is about to storm. Motorcycle arrives at convent. Nun asks mother superior whether Z. and G. can spend the night in the barn. Nun gives Z. and G. some food. Z. tells G. to show the nun how she can play the horn. G. plays horn. Z. stops eating and looks off in the distance with the music. The nun notes that G. plays very well, but Z. seems unimpressed. The nun asks G. for the name of the song. G., off screen, answers that she does not know. Z. helps another nun split wood. The nun and G. compare lifestyles, and then the nun invites G. in to look at the convent. Dissolve to next sequence.

Rumble of motorcycle. Sound of chickens at convent.

21. “Do you like me a little?” Barn at night. Z. reclines smoking a cigarette. G. asks Z. why he keeps her with him. Z. tells G. to go to sleep. G. lies down next to her horn. G. asks Z. whether he would be sad if G. died, then tells Z. that she would even marry him. Z. tells G. to shut up and go to sleep. G. asks Z. whether he loves her a little. Z. does not answer. G. picks up her horn and plays a few notes, and Z. tells her to cut it out. Fade to black. Later that night. G. wakes up and notices that Z. is missing. G. finds Z. trying to fit his hand through a grate in order to steal offerings from an altar. Z. asks G. to try to fit her hand through the grate, but she resists. Z. strikes G., saying, “How dare you say no to me!” G. retreats against a wall

No music. Thunder. Sound of pounding rain throughout this sequence.

Chickens fade out before G. plays. G. plays Il Matto beautifully. Chickens return to sound track after song.

Songbirds sing during conversation with nun.

First six notes of Il Matto. No music until end of sequence. Thunder and rain continue (louder than before).

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and lightning flashes as she drops down on her knees. Fade to black. Outside the convent the next morning. Z. thanks a nun for the hospitality. G., crying, heads for the motorcycle. The nun asks her what is wrong and invites her to stay. G. does not answer but helps Z. push the motorcycle, hops in the back, and waves good-bye. Reverse angle shots between nun and G. G. cries and continues to wave good-bye. Dissolve to a series of three landscapes seen in tracking shots from the motorcycle. The third shot slows down (with the motorcycle) and ends on a car with a flat tire. The motorcycle stops. 22. “Flat tire, broken watch.” The Fool walks up an embankment toward his car, acknowledges Z. and G., and begins to fix the flat. Z. grabs the Fool and punches him in the face. The Fool’s head hits the hood of the car violently. The Fool staggers to the side of the road and collapses. G. runs to him and calls for Z. to help. G. cries and repeats, “He’s dying.” Z. tells her to shut up. Z. carries the Fool (cruciform) down to a stream and places him under a bridge, then he rolls the Fool’s car off the bridge. The car bursts into flames. Z. grabs G. and runs back toward the motorcycle. 23. “The Fool is hurt.” Dissolves between a series of winter landscapes. Dissolve to Zampano’s act. Z., with a coat on, explains the act to a sparse audience, then asks G. to play the drum three times, as in previous acts. G. does not play the drum, whimpers, and repeats, “The Fool is hurt.” Dissolve to a series of images of the motorcycle traveling through winter landscapes. Motorcycle stops at the side of a road. Z. gets off, goes to the back, and confronts G. (offscreen).

Thunder with fade to black. Church bells.

La Strada begins when the motorcycle first moves forward.

La Strada concludes before harmonic resolution when the motorcycle stops.

The Fool sings G.’s name as in sequence #19. Birds chirp. Birds stop chirping with fight.

Birds occasionally chirp.

Sound of flames (wind sound).

Sound of motorcycle constant between dissolves. No music this sequence. Sound of wind with fire.

Sound of motorcycle constant in first two shots.

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Asks her why she is upset and tells her that there is no need to worry because no one suspects them. G. cries. Z. takes pot and begins to prepare a meal. G. gets out of the motorcycle and begins to wander off. Z. asks her where she is going, but G. does not respond. Z. asks G. whether she wants to return to her home. She shakes her head no. Dissolve to subjective shot of road as seen by Z. Dissolve to motorcycle on the side of the road. Z. offers G. food. G. cries, and Z. throws down the food and screams at her to stop crying. Z. says that he’s going to bed, but G. tells him not to come in. Z. says that he will sleep outside. Fade to black.

Wind for the remainder of this sequence.

24. “It’s cold.” Foundation in winter. Z. again prepares a meal. G. gets out of the motorcycle. Z. tells her to sit in the sun. G. sits down. Z. offers G. some soup. Z. explains that he did not intend to kill the Fool. G. again begins to whimper and repeat, “The Fool is hurt”. Z. again offers to take her home. G. lies down. Tells Z. that the Fool told her to stay with Z. G. falls asleep. Dissolve to later. Z. looks around, takes clothes from the motorcycle, and leaves them next to G., then covers her with a blanket and leaves her some money. Z. puts tripod and cooking implements in the back of the motorcycle, then notices the horn as he is about to close the back. He places the horn near G. and pushes the motorcycle away, then starts it and leaves her behind. Fade to black.

Church bell in the distance until music begins. Gelsomina’s Theme begins when she sits down and ends when Z. offers soup. Church bells in distance. Bells stop when G. begins to whimper.

25. “Circo Medini.” Car with drum, cymbal, and loudspeaker pulls up to a beachfront circus. Children chase after the car. Z., looking older and tired, steps out of a cabin and puts on his jacket. Z. takes a walk along a busy

Circus march with a small band, but only the cymbal and drum appear to be diegetic while the horns are not. Song concludes when car reaches circus site. Sounds of excited children.

Sound of G. whimpering.

Bells return when G. lies down. Bells stop with dissolve. Wind.

Il Matto as he picks up the horn.

Il Matto ends on second-to-last note as Z. leaves.

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street near a port; buys ice cream and eats it in one bite. Z. hears a song and turns around, asks the woman singing where she learned the song. The woman replies that she learned it from a woman who never spoke, but played this tune often years earlier on the horn. Z. asks where this woman might be now, and the singer replies that she died and that no one knows where she was from, that her father found her one night sick on the beach. Z. heads back toward circus. Dissolve to circus act. An act with a boy on a trapeze ends and Z.’s act is introduced. Ringmaster points to band (this time with all musicians visible). Z. enters the ring, takes off his cape, and introduces his act. Z. kneels down, raises his hand to cue the drummer, and prepares to break the chain.

Boat horns and traffic noises. First notes of Il Matto sung by a beautiful female voice. Music stops when Z. looks toward its source, then begins again when he walks off. Road sounds in background. Sounds of children playing. Boat horns.

26. “Zampanò’s song.” A tavern at night. Z., drunk, does not want to leave, but other members of the circus insist and throw Z. out of the tavern. Z. resists, throws punches, and exclaims that he does not need help from anyone. Outside Z. picks up a barrel and throws it. Z. yells out, “I don’t need friends!” Cut to waves at beach. Z. staggers to the sea, walks into the water, and splashes water on his face. Z. walks back to the beach and collapses in the sand, breathing with difficulty. Z. looks at water, and then up at the night sky, then around with great emotion before beginning to sob out loud. Z. clutches the sand and cries. Camera tracks back and up to a long shot of Z. prone in the sand. Fade to black.

No music in tavern.

Same music as at the beginning of the sequence. Music concludes with the end of the first act. Another circus march begins with the ringmaster’s cue. Music ends right before Z. begins to speak. Drum roll fades out with dissolve to next sequence.

Sound of waves.

Sound of waves subsides considerably when Z. looks up to the sky and seems to understand something. Il Matto begins while camera tracks back and concluding notes then dominate the sound track (loud) while the screen fades to black.

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DIFFERENCES BETWEEN ITALIAN-LANGUAGE AND ENGLISH-DUBBED VERSIONS OF LA STRADA All sequences: Most of the music and some ambient sound at a lower volume relative to dialogue in the English version. Sequence #1: The fade of the music at the end of the titles is about three seconds later in the English version, continues into sequence #2. Sequence #4: No church bells in the beginning of the sequence in the English version. Sequence #5: No church bells in the English version. The Italian version has no music when G. wakes up at night after her first sexual encounter with Zampanò, while the English version includes Gelsomina’s Theme. Sequence #6: Nondiegetic music much lower in English version. In the Italian version Circus March reaches a harmonic conclusion with the sound of the rifle shot and then starts again from the beginning of the song when G. and Z. stand up. In the English version the music fades out slowly before the rifle shot and before the conclusion of the song, and then fades in later in the middle of the song. Sequence #7: In the Italian version the popular tune fades in with the image of Gelsomina cleaning up her plate (after a dissolve from her ordering the food). In the English version the music fades about thirty seconds earlier, while G. orders the food, and continues over the dissolve to later in the meal. Because of these differences in editing, the English music seems nondiegetic, while the Italian version appears to be closer to the diegesis. Later in the sequence, when the prostitute Rossa, Z., and G. leave the restaurant, Rossa dances and sings along with the music while still inside the restaurant in the English version, but in the Italian version we do not hear her until she hums along with the tune outside the restaurant. Sequence #9: In the English version La Strada continues until the end of the sequence. Sequence #10: Gelsomina’s Theme begins later in the English-language version (when she is already in the house). When Z. and Teresa talk together and then leave G. to enter the house together, the Italian version has varying levels of ambient sound of the wedding party that reflect G.’s subjectivity (what she is paying attention to); the English version, on the other hand, keeps the ambient sound at the same level throughout this series of shots outside the kitchen. Sequence #11: An offscreen voice yells, “No smoking in there!” in the English version when Z. puts a cigarette in his mouth. This voice is absent in the Italian version. Sequence #12: Church bells much softer in English version. The final pan-up in the church is very different: in the English version it includes the ambient sound of an organ and no church bells; in the original the church bells continue just as loud during this shot and there is no organ. Sequence #13: Sound of applause much lower in English version.

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Sequence #14: Gelsomina’s Theme is not included in the English version. The English version introduces La Strada when the motorcycle leaves the piazza after Z. beats G. and forces her back into the motorcycle. Sequence #15: In the English version Il Matto continues during the conversation with the circus owners and ends on a concluding note. In the Italian version the song fades out as soon as G. arrives near Z. Sequence #16: In the English version the audience does not laugh when the Fool interrupts Z.’s act. Very loud laughter in the Italian version. No applause in the English version for the act that follows Z.’s. Sequence #18: The Fool does not whistle Gelsomina’s name in the English version (he pronounces it instead). Sequence #19: Gelsomina’s Theme is not on the English sound track when she takes Zampanò’s jacket out of the back of the motorcycle. Sequence #20: When Gelsomina and the nun speak at the end of this sequence the songbirds of the Italian version are replaced with the sounds of barnyard fowl. Sequence #21: Thunder heard at different times in the two versions. Sequence #22: Birdsongs constant throughout English-language sequence. Birds fade in and out in Italian-language version. Sequence #23: Unlike in the Italian version, the motorcycle has distinct sounds in different shots in this sequence. Sequence #24: No church bells or sound of wind in this sequence in the English version. Gelsomina’s Theme does not end in the English version when Zampanò offers her soup—it continues for about twenty seconds longer than in the Italian version. Sequence #25: No boat horns in English version. For Zampanò’s last act the English version has a slow version of Circus March while the Italian version introduces a new generic circus tune. In the Italian version the music ends about ten seconds earlier. Sequence #26: In the English version the sound of waves does not fade out as Z. looks up at the sky. In the English version Il Matto does not start at the beginning of the song and fades out before the credits and before harmonic resolution.

Appendix 4 Il bidone 1. “Main Title.”

Theme A, circus march; Theme B, sentimental and dramatic, alternates with a quote from Theme A; Theme C, march with insistent percussion; Theme D, evoking romance, evolves back to Theme B. Theme B fades out with fade to black.

Fade to black. 2. “A Very Delicate Matter.” Dirt road in countryside. Barone, the boss of a band of swindlers, climbs up an embankment as a car approaches. Three members of the group arrive in a car: Roberto, dressed as a chauffeur, Augusto and Picasso, dressed as a Vatican dignitary and his aid. Roberto gets out of the car and performs a short dance before going to open the trunk. Picasso gets out of the car and admires the landscape. Augusto gets out of the car and takes off overcoat revealing the robe of a monsignor. Roberto places a sash around Augusto’s neck exclaiming, “Go hang yourself!” Barone explains to the three con men where to find a “treasure.” Roberto throws priests’ hats to Augusto and Picasso. All three enter car and leave. Dissolve to traveling POV shot (from Barone’s car apparently) of car on dusty road. Dogs run to car as it approaches a farmstead. Car stops in front of house. A peasant woman, Stella Fiorina, exists house. Picasso explains to Stella that the pope has sent as his emissary “Monsignor De Fillipis” (Augusto). Augusto, Picasso, Stella, and her sister enter the house.

Theme E, a light popular tune (here with an oriental sound). Music seems at first nondiegetic.

Roberto dances in time with the music, and then begins to sing along with the tune.

Theme E ends as the sash is placed on Augusto. Roberto whistles three notes that seem to mimic the word tesoro he has just heard. Theme E begins again with dissolve. Barking. Theme E fades and concludes as car stops. Clucking chickens and sounds of other barnyard animals. No music.

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Augusto explains that a man on his deathbed confessed to killing his accomplice and burying him together with a treasure on Stella’s property. She can keep the treasure if she pays some money for a number of masses. Stella, completely taken in by the story, repeats, “Tesoro.” Augusto declares that what matters is providing a Christian burial for the remains of the dead man. Fade to black. 3. “X Marks the Spot.” Field by a tree where the dead man and treasure are buried. Picasso counts steps to the spot where the treasure should be buried. Roberto begins to dig. Cut to later. Roberto in a deep hole gives up, saying he cannot find anything. Stella takes the shovel and begins to dig. Finding a skeleton, Stella calls for Augusto. Augusto looks down at the skeleton and says, “Povera anima!” Roberto jumps into the hole and begins to dig out the bones, handing them up to Picasso. Stella notices a box and begins furiously to dig it up. Dissolve to kitchen of farmhouse. Picasso checks jewels with a written inventory. Augusto reads will of the man who supposedly murdered his partner. The will states that the owners of the property can keep the treasure if they pay for 500 masses, 500,000 lire. Stella and her sister whisper to each other about the money. Fade to black. Later in the kitchen. The three swindlers wait for Stella to return. She returns with 425,000 lire, which they accept. Dissolve to the three as they leave in the car and head back to Rome. Roberto raises the antenna as he drives away. Car arrives at a piazza in Rome. Picasso gets out. Picasso walks down a street.

Two long low notes after Stella repeats, “Tesoro” with Augusto’s final words.

Variation on Theme E begins with the cut to the new location and ends when Picasso arrives at the spot above the treasure. Sound of wind.

Theme E, slow and somber, resumes when Augusto says, “Povera anima.”

Theme E (louder) concludes as Stella lifts box from dirt. No music.

Sounds of cows from the barn.

Theme E begins with dissolve to car. Music louder with raised antenna. Theme E concludes when car stops; the music develops into an intermediary pattern of notes that continue until the cut to the next sequence.

APPENDIX 4 /IL BIDONE

4. “Money to Burn.” Cut to Picasso as he enters the stairwell of his apartment building. Picasso calls up to his wife, Iris, and tells her to get ready to go out to dinner. Silvana, his daughter, runs to greet him. Picasso and Iris hug. Picasso gives Iris a brooch. The three head out to eat. Picasso shows the money he made to Iris. The two talk of how they will spend it. Cut to nightclub. A black man dances on roller skates. Augusto and Roberto enter, order champagne. The two sit down at a table. Roberto invites a woman to dance. An English dancer talks with Augusto and then performs to a couple of songs. Cut to Roberto bragging to a group of Americans about his car. Dissolve to morning. Roberto plays the drums, accompanied by a pianist as the band packs up. Roberto plays four beats repeatedly and says, “Augusto, this is for you.” English dancer asks Augusto whether he is ready to leave with her. Dissolve to street outside club. Roberto and violinist fight over a violin. Augusto and English dancer exit together. Violinist takes violin from Roberto and begins to play as he walks up the street. Fade to black.

Theme F, associated with family.

5. “Home Sweet Home.” Bar. Augusto tries to sell a Milanese man a watch. Roberto arrives, telling Augusto that he is crazy to sell it for so little and that if he had known that the watch was for sale he would have bought it. The Milanese laughs, recognizing that the watch is a fake, and hands it to Roberto. Milanese offers Roberto and Augusto a drink. Barone and Picasso arrive and the four enter a building, talking about a new plan for the next day. Dissolve to the car traveling in the outskirts of Rome. Extreme high-angle shot of the

Theme E with cut to bar.

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Theme F fades out with hug. No music.

Band plays lively jazz version of Theme A. All music diegetic from the band for the remainder of this sequence. First tune concludes when the two sit down and a slower song begins. New, more lively song with dancer. Concluding drum roll before cut (Theme D on violin). Popular song with Roberto. Loud drums with a lively piano tune and then ominous slow beating drum for Augusto. Theme D on piano starts after first few slow drum beats.

Roberto plucks out notes of Theme D on the violin. Violinist plays a tune.

Theme E ends when man hands watch to Roberto.

Theme E begins with dissolve.

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car arriving in a poor neighborhood of improvised homes built next to an aqueduct. Car stops as children gather around. Roberto and then Picasso get out of the car. Picasso says, “Buon giorno” to a woman hanging clothes. Picasso begins to read from a list of names and asks for people on the list. He then explains that he and Augusto are government officials assigning public housing to families. In no time at all a huge crowd forms, asking about their status on the housing list. Augusto, the “commendatore,” gets out of the car. Reverse angle shots between Augusto and pleading family members. A large crowd forms around Augusto, who explains that in order to sign the housing contract each family must pay a month’s rent. Arguments break out between neighbors. Augusto and Picasso (again as Augusto’s assistant) occupy a woman’s kitchen and families are called out one at a time to sign the form and pay. A larger crowd forms around the entrance to the house. Fade to black. 6. “Rinaldo!” Open air market at night. Augusto and Picasso walk along. Picasso stops at a vendor selling bubbles. He attempts to blow bubbles but fails the first time. He buys bubbles for his daughter. A large American car drives up and nearly runs into Picasso and Augusto. Augusto recognizes the driver— Rinaldo. Rinaldo offers them a ride. Augusto and Picasso are obviously impressed with the car. Rinaldo claims to have tricked Augusto out of 5,000 lire the last time they saw each other. Augusto denies it. Rinaldo talks about his house in Switzerland and his car. Luciana, Rinaldo’s lover, turns on the car radio. Rinaldo invites them to his place for a New Year celebration that

Theme E concludes right before Picasso says, “Buon giorno.” No music.

Yelling from the crowd until the end of this sequence.

Yelling and a baby crying.

Yelling.

Loud yelling.

Church bells.

When Picasso first tries to blow bubbles a children’s song starts exactly when he blows. Church bells fade out. Theme A (fast and loud) with arrival of car. No ambient sound of car’s engine or brakes.

Theme A lower with initial conversation, and then fades out with mention of scam. No ambient sound from car.

Theme B begins when she turns on radio (barely audible behind

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night. Rinaldo shakes Picasso’s hand. Rinaldo drops off Augusto and Picasso in a piazza. Dissolve to stairway in modern apartment building. Augusto, Picasso, and Iris climb stairs. Iris hesitates before entering apartment because she is ashamed of her modest clothes. Cut to a group of men, who ask a young woman to show them her breasts. She agrees and takes off her dress. A drunken man grabs Iris and dances with her. Roberto enters the frame, flirting with an elderly woman. Roberto greets Picasso and Iris. Roberto then runs into Augusto and begs to be introduced to Rinaldo. Rinaldo locks himself in a room with the naked woman. Luciana arrives and, yelling, demands that he open the door. Iris looks on, obviously uncomfortable. Picasso shows Rinaldo a painting that he has brought along and Roberto tries to introduce himself. Rinaldo is not impressed. Augusto offers to be Rinaldo’s secretary. Rinaldo angry at a maid because she is using old glasses to serve champagne. Rinaldo sends Luciana to the kitchen to fix the problem. Rinaldo grabs a woman and pulls her from a chair before taking her seat. Midnight arrives. A group of Rinaldo’s henchmen grab a man, take off his pants, and dangle him from the fourth-floor balcony. Rinaldo fires his pistol into a wall. In the middle of the chaos Picasso and Iris wish each other Happy New Year and kiss. Iris asks Picasso whether he will exhibit his art and he replies that he will. Augusto drinks alone. Roberto sits down on a couch and slips a gold cigarette case into his pocket.

dialogue). Theme B becomes Theme D (louder) with handshake. Theme D fades and concludes after Augusto and Picasso exit car. Theme A in stairwell.

7. “Petty Theft.” Later at the party. Picasso and Iris dance. Cut to Roberto, who smiles at Luciana. She

Theme D with Picasso and Iris. Another popular tune begins with Roberto.

Theme A louder as they enter a crowded apartment full of revelers.

Theme A ends when Luciana screams. Slower song with female vocalist begins when door opens. Many popular contemporary songs at party, including “La Pansé,” “Souvenir d’Italie,” “Te Voglio Bene Tanto Tanto,” and “Coimbra” (De Santi 82).

Song with female vocalist ends and a new Latin rhythm begins as the woman is lifted from the chair. Loud popping of champagne and firecrackers drowns out music.

Theme F with Iris and Picasso. Theme F quickly fades out with Iris’s question. Sounds of firecrackers and party returns with Augusto. New song with Roberto.

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stares back, obviously angry. The older woman from the previous sequence asks Roberto for a kiss. Cut to Augusto, obsequious, trying to sell Rinaldo on yet another scam. Luciana enters the room and whispers something into Rinaldo’s ear. Guests begin to leave. Rinaldo confronts Roberto, accusing him of stealing the cigarette case. Rinaldo offers Roberto an out, telling him to hand the case back and say that it was only a joke. Roberto eventually hands back the case, pretending it was a joke. Iris is ashamed and shocked that Picasso’s business partner would steal. Cut to outside the apartment building. The four leave the party together. Augusto furious with Roberto. Roberto leaves alone in a taxi. Augusto walks away. Picasso and Iris are left alone. Picasso runs after Iris. Iris, very upset, tells Picasso that she knows that Roberto and Augusto are crooks. Picasso promises that he will no longer associate with Roberto and Augusto and that he will find a new job and sell his paintings. Iris does not believe him. Picasso swears that he will change. Cut to Augusto walking across a piazza at dawn. Two prostitutes offer company, but he ignores them and walks on alone. A small procession of a drummer and a man carrying a flag walk in the opposite direction. Cut to bright sunlight as Augusto descends steps. Roberto pulls up in a car and Augusto gets in. Dissolve to the car driving across a piazza to pick up Picasso. The three get out and examine some coats that Roberto has purchased for the latest scam. Augusto, walking to a store to buy some cigarettes, runs in to his daughter. The two talk and Augusto promises that he will call her. Patrizia walks back to her group of friends. Dissolve to next sequence.

Another tune with the same orchestration as the previous tunes.

Yet another popular tune. The song suddenly fades out when Rinaldo accuses Roberto. After a long moment of silence, a new song fades in with Rinaldo’s story of its being only a joke.

Music lower outside and then quickly fades out. No music.

Church bell begins with cut to Iris. Theme F with conversation about Picasso’s future.

Theme F ends at cut to Augusto. Church bells in piazza. Bells stop with prostitutes.

Regular pounding of drum until cut. Loud church bells. Bells continue uninterrupted through dissolve.

Bells fade out when Patrizia enters frame. Theme F when Augusto recognizes his daughter. Theme F fades out as the two separate.

APPENDIX 4 /IL BIDONE

8. “The Small Time.” Augusto, Picasso, and Roberto drive in the country. They pull up at a gas station. The scam consists of filling up with gas and then pretending to be out of money. They promise the attendant a large tip if he lends them 10,000 lire and leave a worthless coat with him as collateral. Roberto gets out of the car, tells the attendant to fill the tank, walks to the front of the car, stops, lights a cigarette, and then walks toward the back of the car. Roberto and the attendant talk about how hard it is to make a living. The attendant and Roberto head toward office of the station to work out the details of the deal. Dissolve to the three driving with the top down. They pull into another station, where a young boy works at the pump. Augusto gets out and someone throws him the coat from inside the car. Fade to black. Narrow street of a provincial town at night. The three walk through deserted streets. Picasso drunk. Roberto looks for women. Picasso rips the overcoat used in the gas station scams, puts it over his head, and pretends to be a bull. He slips and stops next to a spring dripping down a wall. Roberto tells Augusto that he plans to study music. Augusto does not believe him. Picasso climbs up onto a carnival ride. Picasso falls to the ground, sick from drinking too much. Augusto takes Picasso to a fountain in order to wash his face. Picasso asks to be left alone. Roberto runs off looking for a woman. Picasso expresses the fear that Iris will take their daughter Silvana and go live with her mother. Augusto tells Picasso that he should not have married so young. Augusto declares that bidoni cannot have families or other ties; they must be alone. Augusto lifts Picasso and helps him down steps. Picasso expresses admiration for

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Theme E.

Road noises of passing vehicles.

Theme E fades and concludes when Roberto steps toward the back of the car.

Theme E with dissolve.

Theme E fades and concludes right before he catches the coat. Church bells until fade to black. Similar church bell to previous scene’s strikes twice, possibly marking 2:00 a.m. No music.

No music.

No music. A baby cries as Picasso gets up.

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Augusto’s courage and then says, “At your age don’t you ever get frightened?” Roberto interrupts the conversation from above, saying that he has found “Miss Frosinone.” Augusto leaves with Roberto and the woman, leaving Picasso alone. Cut to Picasso below with a worried expression. Fade to black.

Theme E starts right after Roberto calls out to Augusto and Picasso. Theme E fades out as the car drives off. No music.

9. “Some Easy Conversation.” Patrizia, Augusto’s daughter, descends the steps of a school. Augusto arrives, holds her hands, and tells her that she is “elegantissima.” Augusto buys her a flower and invites her out to eat. Dissolve to restaurant. Patrizia discusses her desire to continue studying but notes that it will be expensive. Patrizia says that she wants to become a professor. While she studies she wants to find a part-time job as a cashier. The two discuss wages, and Patrizia defends her plan to work for a living. The waiter arrives with dessert and cognac. Augusto pulls out his sunglasses and accidentally pulls out the watch he had tried to sell in sequence #5. He pretends that he had meant it as a gift for Patrizia. Dissolve to darkened cinema. Augusto and Patrizia enter a moment before the first film ends. When they sit down Augusto says, “They thought we were engaged.” Augusto tells Patrizia that he will give her money to help with her studies. The lights turn on and an ice cream vendor enters.

Theme F.

10. “The Long Arm of the Law.” Later in the cinema. Cut to Augusto buying ice cream. He notices a man in a row in front and tries to hide. Music for the second film starts and the lights go down. Augusto tells Patrizia that he needs to go buy cigarettes. The

No music.

Theme F fades out coinciding with “elegantissima.” Church bells immediately take over the sound track. Song, mandolin and voice, from duo visible in first shot at restaurant.

First song ends and a second song begins, framing Patrizia’s defense of working.

Low dramatic notes when the two enter cinema, and then romantic violin as they find seats.

Louder, uplifting ending to the tune before lights.

The music is from the beginning of Lo sceicco bianco.

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man he wants to avoid notices Augusto and follows him. The two stop in the back of the cinema underneath the projector, the man lit from below, as in expressionism. The two argue loudly and Patrizia, worried, looks back at her father. The two go to the bar of the cinema and continue to argue; Patrizia follows. A policeman shows up and the man explains that Augusto sold him fake medicine that almost killed his brother. As the policeman takes Augusto out of the cinema they pass a movie poster for the film Pioggia di piombo. Augusto turns back and tells Patrizia to go home. Patrizia, crying, follows her father as he is taken away by the police. Fade to black. Outside a prison, Augusto and a guard talk as Augusto is freed. The guard offers Augusto a cigarette and then Augusto heads off alone down a nearly deserted street. Dissolve to bar. Riccardo, present at the nightclub (sequence 4), talks on the phone. Augusto enters and asks about Roberto. Riccardo tells him that Roberto went to Milan months earlier and that he has become rich. Augusto then asks about Barone and is told by the bartender that he does not come in as often as before. Cross cuts between Riccardo and Augusto. Dissolve to next sequence.

The first theme (A) of Lo sceicco bianco, a circus march, ends when Augusto and the man meet at the back of the cinema. The second theme (B), dramatic, continues as they argue.

11. “Conning a Con.” Car climbing through hills in a bleak winter landscape (similar to POV shot in sequence 2). Augusto, dressed as monsignor for the same skeleton/treasure scam in sequence 2, together with Riccardo (in Roberto’s role of driver) and two others. Dissolve to farmhouse as the car pulls in. All but Augusto get out of car and ask for the owner of the property. Dissolve to field where Riccardo,

Theme E slow and ominous.

The third theme (C) of Lo sceicco bianco, a light popular tune, continues at the same volume as the earlier two themes for the argument at the bar. The music fades out when Patrizia enters the frame to witness her father’s being accused of almost killing a man. No music.

Church bells outside prison. Theme B begins with cigarette and repeats as Augusto walks away. Theme E in the bar.

Theme E ends with dissolve.

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inside a deep hole, exclaims, “Here’s a bone!” Dissolve to inside the farmhouse, where Riccardo sets the box of treasure down on a table. Augusto walks around, reciting his lines, as if to himself. The man does not have the entire sum, but Augusto declares that what he has will be enough because “we are not merchants.” The man explains that he must care for two daughters, one paralyzed. He hands over the money to Augusto and the four thieves leave. On the way out the wife asks Augusto to speak with her paralyzed daughter. Susanna, paralyzed nine years earlier, is now eighteen and radiates hope and joy, explaining that she has no complaints except that she feels sorry that her parents must take care of her. Augusto has trouble understanding that she feels no self-pity, but when he does understand he declares frankly, “I have nothing to offer you.” Augusto heads toward the car, but Susanna stumbles after him on her crutches, clasping and kissing his hand, begging, “Pray for me!” Augusto recoils and walks away. Dissolve to car (similar to first shot this sequence). The car stops at the side of the road, where Barone waits with another car. The four thieves get out of the car. Augusto asks for the keys to the trunk. He opens trunk and takes off his disguise (except ring). Barone asks for the money. Augusto says that he gave it back because he felt sorry for the paralyzed girl. The others do not believe him and try to find the money. Augusto runs away and the others begin to throw rocks at him. He runs down a hill, but a rock hits him in the head. He falls to the ground. They frisk him and find the money in a shoe. After kicking and punching him, they abandon him. Augusto begs them to return. Extreme low-angle

No music inside the farmhouse.

Sound of wind outside continues until dissolve to car.

No music. Car noise.

Riccardo whistles “La sinfonia del menga.”

Riccardo stops whistling. Wind.

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subjective shot of the two cars leaving. Long shot of Augusto, cruciform, in a pile of dirt and gravel. Fade to black. 12. “A Tangled Web.” Same location at night. A truck passes by but does not notice Augusto. Augusto, bleeding and dirty, calls out his daughter’s name. Fade to black. The next morning. Augusto attempts to climb the embankment. He almost reaches the road. He lifts his head when he hears a woman sing. Two woman carrying firewood and three children pass by in the direction of the farmhouse without seeing Augusto. Reverse angle shots between Augusto (close ups) and the women and children (long shots). Augusto whispers, “Wait, I’m coming with you,” and then his head falls into the gravel between his outstretched hands. The camera tracks back. Cut to the women and children, disappearing around bend. Fade to black.

Church bells in the distance in the morning.

One of the women sings Theme B three times, once before arriving in front of Augusto, once right in front of him, and once before disappearing around a bend. Wind. Theme B with entire orchestra when Augusto’s head falls.

Theme B concludes, much louder after fade to black.

Appendix 5 Le notti di Cabiria 1. “Logos/Opening Credits.”

Theme A, slow and contemplative; Theme B, moderate tempo, emotionally charged, with harp accompaniment; Theme C, popular and light. Theme B returns momentarily. Theme D, fast-paced with dramatic horns—music appropriate for adventure film. (Theme D is the same as Lla Ri Lli Ra, a tune that returns at the end of the film. My thanks to Amanda McLane for pointing this out.)

2. “One shoe and no purse.” Cabiria and Giorgio playfully run and reach the bank of the Tiber. Giorgio grabs Cabiria’s purse, pushes her into the water, and runs away. Cabiria cries out for help. Kids pull her out of water and a group of men carry her up the bank. Cabiria comes to and immediately asks for Giorgio. Cabiria runs away searching for her “boyfriend.”

Sound of water.

3. “Wanda.” Fade to Cabiria on a dirt road near her home. She knocks on the door of her shack and calls out for Giorgio to open. Cabiria asks her friend and coworker Wanda whether she has seen Giorgio. Train passes in background. Cabiria climbs in through window, then a moment later walks out to hang up her wet dress. Cabiria returns inside her house. 4. “Who told you we were friends?” Cabiria’s shack at night. Outside a fire burns. Children climb on scaffolding.

Cabiria hums Theme D right before being pushed into water. No music for the next eight minutes of the film. Sound of airplane as Cabiria opens her eyes.

No music. Wind. Car horn, airplane. Wind. Sound of train.

Children laugh. A horse neighs.

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Cut to inside with Wanda and Cabiria. Cabiria, on bed, listens to radio. Cabiria insults Wanda and tells her to leave. Cabiria then follows Wanda out, asking whether a man would kill for 40,000 lire. Wanda replies, “Even for 5,000.” Cabiria then asks Wanda whether a man in love could do such a thing, and Wanda replies that Giorgio did not love her, that he purposefully pushed her into the water, and that in his place she would have made sure that Cabiria died by forcing her head under water. Cut back to Cabiria in front of her house. Cabiria returns to her doorway and looks inside her shack toward photos of Giorgio. She returns outside, pets a chicken, then throws the bird into the air, runs into the house, grabs Giorgio’s belongings, and takes them out to toss them on a fire. Cabiria walks off alone down a dirt road. 5. “Mambo at the Passeggiata Archeologica.” Prostitutes and pimps engage in lively banter. Cars and scooters pass by. A white Fiat 600 enters the frame. It is a new car, which Marisa (one of the prostitutes) has purchased. Her pimp, Amleto, is at the wheel. A client driving an ape (scooter with a flatbed) drops off Cabiria. Cabiria admires the Fiat, strokes the antenna. Older prostitute across the street insults Marisa, who tries to get out of the car to fight but is held back by Amleto. Cabiria starts to dance and yells out, “Mambo!” Cabiria and a young man dance and are later joined by another man. The older prostitute insults Cabiria, mentioning Giorgio, and Cabiria charges across the street to fight. Other prostitutes manage to break up the fight and carry Cabiria back to the Fiat. Amleto, Marisa, and Cabiria drive off.

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Radio plays a lively popular tune. Song continues through their conversation. Cabiria taps her feet to the tune. Same tune outside at same volume as inside.

Tune fades out when Wanda says that she would have made sure Cabiria died. Theme BC with jazz instrumentation (similar instrumentation to that of previous tune) begins with cut to Cabiria. Music at same volume inside and outside shack.

Theme BC fades out with clothes burning on fire. Sound of train passing.

No music. Car noises. Prostitution Theme with mambo rhythm from the car radio as the car enters frame. The volume of music does not change when car doors open and close or when camera angles change. Prostitution Theme ends, then a female radio announcer speaking in English introduces the next song, and Prostitution Theme begins again with Latin instrumentation during struggle between prostitute and Amleto in car.

Prostitution Theme continues for the first part of the fight, then fades as fight intensifies. Prostitution Theme fades back in when Cabiria is placed in the car, then fades out when Amleto turns on engine.

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6. “Via Veneto.” Amleto’s car. Amleto asks Cabiria where she wants to go. Cabiria replies, “Via Veneto.” Amleto tries to convince Cabiria that she needs protection. Cabiria refuses. Cabiria gets out of car in the elegant Via Veneto neighborhood. Two tall and elegant prostitutes enter frame and walk away from camera down a sidewalk. Cabiria passes through them, walking in opposite direction. Fade to later in the same neighborhood. Cabiria is nearly hit by a speeding car. Cabiria leans over and looks into the basement window of a nightclub, then stands up and starts to dance. She then walks away from the window and toward the entrance of the club. She smiles at the doorman, but he does not return her greeting. Doorman makes a gesture with his hand, telling Cabiria to get lost.

No music. Engine noises.

7. “Alberto Lazzari.” Jessie, the girlfriend of the “famous actor” Alberto Lazzari, leaves the night club and bumps into Cabira before getting into an enormous American car. Alberto Lazzari follows and calls out to her. They fight in the car and Jessie leaves, walking off alone. Lazzari sits at the steering wheel, then looks across the street and notices Cabiria. Their eyes meet and Cabiria begins to sway to the music. He tells her to get into the car and the two ride off. Lazzari drives recklessly through Rome.

“Blue Moon” in a minor key begins when Jessie enters the frame.

8. “Mambo at the Piccadilly nightclub.” Lazzari tells Cabiria to get out of the car. Cabiria gets out and complains about being bossed around. Lazzari enters the nightclub and

Prostitution Theme begins when Fiat departs. The prostitutes walk in time with the music.

Theme B with jazz instrumentation begins with fade. Theme B develops into Theme C at window. Cabiria moves her hips in time with the music, then dances. There seems to be a diegetic source, but the volume of the sound does not change when Cabiria walks away from the window. Tune returns to Theme B with doorman. Music now functions nondiegetically, slow and sentimental with Cabiria’s smile. Theme B ends.

“Blue Moon” ends when Lazzari gets into his car after the fight. Jazz version of Theme B begins when Lazzari notices Cabiria. Theme C when Cabiria gets into the car. Theme C swells to a dramatic crescendo with a large orchestra as the car careens through the streets of Rome (the diegetic source of the nightclub is undermined by the distance from the source and by the new orchestration). Tune concludes (after cut to Piccadilly) with Theme B.

Drums start to beat after car stops. Same eight notes on a flute as each approaches entrance (these same notes will return to introduce Theme

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Cabiria, hesitant, follows a moment later. Inside the club two African dancers perform to the drum music. Lazzari enters through a curtain, and a moment later Cabiria enters, after some difficulty finding the opening in the curtain. Cabiria sits at bar with Lazzari. Dancers finish number and leave the dance floor. Band singer announces the presence of Lazzari in the club. Singer then asks the band to play “Mambo numero ventisei.” Couples begin to dance, and Lazzari and Cabiria join. Cabiria begins to dance alone in the uninhibited style seen earlier in sequence #5. Lazzari decides to leave and Cabiria follows him to the car. Lazzari tells Cabiria that they will have dinner together at his house. Car leaves nightclub.

A in sequence #20 at monastery). Drums continue. Same music as earlier with flute. Same music on piano.

9. “Alberto’s villa.” Lazzari and Cabiria drive to large modern home. Car arrives in courtyard with fountain and many dogs. A butler hears the car horns and opens the door for Lazzari. Lazzari orders the butler to prepare dinner for two. Cabiria and Lazzari go up to his very elegant room. Lazzari asks Cabiria her name and then laughs when he hears it. Cabiria marvels at a large aviary and other signs of opulence. Lazzari takes a robe out of a huge wardrobe. Lazzari sits on his bed and turns on a record player. He moves his hand gently with the music. Lazzari asks Cabiria whether she likes the music. She responds by shrugging her shoulders and saying that it is not her type of music. Lazzari informs her that it is Beethoven’s Fifth. Butler arrives with silver cart carrying caviar, lobster, and champagne. Butler leaves and closes door. Lazzari takes a bottle of champagne from the cart and invites Cabiria to help herself to the food. Lazzari contemplates the bottle,

Car horns as car approaches home. Dogs bark. Water sound from fountain. No music. Occasional dog barks.

Drum beats faster. Clarinet and piano with same tune. No flute or clarinet in five-person band (consisting of singer, drummer, bass, maracas, and a piano—piano in opposite corner of the club). Prostitution Theme. The clarinet and horns heard on the sound track are not present in the band.

Music softer with cut to outside of club. Prostitution Theme fades as car leaves.

Chime when automatic wardrobe opens and closes. Westminster clock chimes (twice). Beethoven’s Fifth (second movement, andante con moto).

Music swells dramatically when cart arrives and then becomes subdued when door closes. The music consistently functions nondiegetically.

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repeating top the vintage (1949). Lazzari asks about Cabiria, she explains where she lives and works and says that she owns her own home. Lazzari lifts the needle of the record and invites Cabiria to eat. Cabiria tells Lazzari that she knows who he is. Lazzari invites her to drink a glass of champagne. They toast and drink. Cabiria begins to cry and then explains that no one will believe that she spent the night with Alberto Lazzari. She asks for a signed photo. Lazzari agrees and signs his picture. Cabiria prepares a plate of food. She picks up the lobster and wonders aloud what it might be: “I think I saw this in a film.” 10. “An uncomfortable bed.” Lazzari answers phone. The butler informs Lazzari that Jessie is on the way up to the room. Lazzari asks Cabiria to hide in the bathroom. Jessie enters. Jessie cries. Cabiria looks on through the keyhole. Jessie and Lazzari kiss. Cabiria in bathroom with a puppy. Cut to a subjective keyhole shot of Jessie and Lazzari smiling and holding each other. Cut back to Cabiria with sad expression. Fade to morning in the bathroom. Cabiria wakes up. Cabiria opens a window and looks out at an elaborate swimming pool. Lazzari unlocks bathroom door and asks Cabiria to follow him. POV shot of Jessie asleep on the bed. He says good-bye and gives her some cash (she attempts to refuse the money). Cabiria tries to find her way out of the huge house. She walks into a glass door and hits her head. Cabiria leaves and walks down a tree-lined driveway.

Music stops.

Theme B begins after toast and alternates with Theme C.

Music concludes with lobster.

A phone rings immediately after tune from previous sequence ends.

A slow version of Theme BC fades in with cut to Cabiria looking through the keyhole. The two themes alternate, then swell and become louder with POV keyhole shot and with cut to Cabiria. Orchestra concludes with fade with the exception of a solo violin. Sound of church bells as Cabiria gets up. Bells louder with open window. Bells fade when Cabiria leaves bathroom. Theme C, slow, begins with POV of Jessie, and ends shortly after Lazzari closes door behind Cabiria. Westminster chimes from a clock and then five strikes of a bell. Cabiria hits her head in time with the bell. Church bells.

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11. “The Madonna knows . . .” Street at night. Wanda and Cabiria arrive under an umbrella. Wanda greets a man on crutches (Amleto’s uncle). Amleto explains that he brought his uncle because the Madonna del Divino Amore might cure him (pilgrims on their way to the sanctuary pass by the street at night). Some of the prostitutes decide to take a trip to the sanctuary in order to ask for a favor, and they invite Cabiria. A procession of pilgrims passes by, carrying a crucifix and lamps. Cut to their feet walking along (many are barefoot). This same shot introduces the prostitutes in sequence #5 and formally compares the two groups. All of the prostitutes and Amleto remain silent and watch the group pass by. Cabiria begins to follow the group as if she wants to join them. A truck pulls up and the driver invites Cabiria to join him. She climbs into the truck. Truck heads in same direction as procession.

Prostitution Theme, this time louder and apparently nondiegetic (but Cabiria and Wanda walk in time with the beat). Music fades with Wanda’s greeting. Sound of scooter and occasional sound of vehicles passing.

12. “The man with the sack.” Very early morning. Cabiria walks along a dirt road with a worried expression. A car approaches, stops, and turns off its lights. A man gets out with a knapsack and walks toward Cabiria. Cabiria retreats in fear. Man asks her whether she lives in the caves. Cabiria replies that she has a house. The man calls out to a man living in a hole and gives him some supplies from his backpack. Cut to a long shot of hole with Rome in the distance. The man with the backpack walks off in search of other homeless to help. Cabiria asks the man in the hole who the man with the backback is. The man coughs but does not answer. Cabiria follows the man and asks him for a ride to Rome. Man arrives at another cave and calls out for Elsa. Cabiria recognizes the

Voice-over with Cabiria’s voice explains that she is lost. Sound of wind. Car sounds. Wind.

Pilgrims chant Ave Maria.

The pilgrims begin to sing Mira il tuo popolo (text at end of appendix) right before Cabiria follows the group.

Mira il tuo popolo is drowned out by truck motor when Cabiria climbs into truck.

A rooster crows. Variations leading to Theme A begin as the man calls out to the homeless man.

Theme A continues with variations.

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woman as “Bomba” and asks her how she’s doing. Elsa explains that she has lost everything. Man gives Elsa supplies and she thanks him. Man walks away. Fade to car. Man and Cabiria drive back to Rome. Cabiria asks man why he helps the poor. He answers that he is not really sure. Car stops in a modern neighborhood. The man asks Cabiria her name. She replies, “Maria Ceccarelli” and explains that her parents died when she was young. Cabiria gets out of the car, thanks man, and heads home. Fade to loudspeaker on top of church 13. Santuario della Madonna del Divino Amore. Loudspeaker on top of sanctuary. Bus arrive in background as a flock of sheep passes in foreground. Crowds of faithful and vendors. Some of the prostitutes together with Wanda, Cabiria, Amleto, and uncle arrive in two cars. Crowds gather under various banners and make their way toward the sanctuary. Uncle purchases devotional candles for prostitutes and Amleto. Some in the crowd crawl up the steps on their knees. Wanda and Cabiria make their way up a ramp. Wanda decides to ask the Madonna for a house. Cabiria is upset because Wanda had told her earlier that she wanted something else, apparently something less material. Amleto and uncle discuss the cost of masses. People push and jostle to enter sanctuary. Uncle is exhausted and cannot continue. Amleto continues to push him toward the altar. Crutches of those cured by the Madonna hang from ceiling. Cabiria, separated from her friends, slowly begins to chant and sing with the crowd. Wanda return to Cabiria. Cabiria very moved by ritual. Priest

Music fades out with Elsa’s explanation. Church bells. Theme A begins again as he walks away. Theme A fades out with fade to car. Sound of car engine.

Church bells after car stops.

Church bells continue.

Wind outside car.

Pealing church bells from loudspeaker throughout this sequence. Bus horn. Church bells together with the calls of vendors. Various religious songs and chants throughout this sequence.

Mira il tuo popolo (same as in sequence #10).

Pilgrims chant, “Amen.”

Mira il tuo popolo.

“Grazie Madonna!” etc.

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preaches and directs crowd to file before the altar. Crowd lines up and kisses a small framed copy of the painting of the Madonna behind the altar. A priest wipes off the glass after each kiss. Cabiria kisses the stairs leading to the altar and weeps before the original image of the Madonna. Cabiria pleads for help to change her life. Uncle tries to walk and falls to the floor. Fade to later outside the sanctuary. 14. Picnic outside the sanctuary. Pan from a group of men playing soccer behind a fence to a field littered with paper where two musicians play accordion and guitar and Cabiria and friends sit and eat. One of the prostitutes dances with a man. Cabiria sits facing away from group. Wanda offers her a glass of wine and Cabiria gulps it down. Soccer ball lands on picnic blanket. Men line up along the fence and yell for the ball. One of the prostitutes kicks it back over the fence. The men then purposefully kick it back over again. Cabiria, angry with her friends, gets up and throws the soccer ball away from the men. Amleto complains that the music is boring and asks for rock and roll. He joins the band by playing a stool as if it were a drum. Cabiria, sad, says that she and the others have not changed. Cabiria exclaims that she will sell everything and begin a new life. Cabiria notices a small procession of nuns and makes fun of them. Cabiria yells at the nuns and invites them over to dance. Wanda tries to force her back to the group. Cabiria walks away and kneels down next to a bus. She looks up and notices the procession again. With a sad expression she wipes her forehead. POV shot of procession.

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Mira il tuo popolo for the remainder of this sequence.

Prostitution Theme on accordion and guitar. Diegetic source revealed with pan.

Prostitution Theme ends with soccer ball. Theme D (Lla Ri Lli Ra) on accordion and guitar while men yell for ball. Theme BC begins when Cabiria stands up to get ball. Theme BC ends when Amleto complains about music. Prostitution Theme begins again. This repetition of the same tune is similar to sequence #5. Prostitution Theme continues with no change (even though Amleto asks for rock ’n’ roll). No corresponding sound for Amleto’s “drum.”

Prostitution Theme continues until end of sequence.

Ora pro nobis from the procession begins when Cabiria notices procession. Prostitution Theme fades out two seconds before Ora pro nobis.

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15. “The mesmerist.” Varietà. Gelsomina alone at night enters a theater, goes to ticket counter and asks whether the show is good, buys a ticket. Cabiria enters the theater. Unseen act ends. Cut to later. A man’s head covered with a box with knives sticking out. Magician opens box and the head is missing. A woman’s head appears behind a bunch of flowers in a second box. Magician introduces an act of hypnotism and asks for volunteers to come up to the stage. Five men go on stage. Magician asks for a woman and then invites Cabiria. She refuses to go, but the magician insists, walking down from the stage to retrieve her. Cabiria agrees to participate— applause from the audience. Magician opens the door of a third box and a person in a gorilla suit jumps out. Magician prepares hypnosis act with a bench (boat) that the five men will row on. One of the five refuses to participate and heads back to his seat. The magician holds up his hand and puts him under a spell. He returns and sits with the other men. Cabiria looks on from the side of the stage. Magician yells out for the men to look into his eyes. Magician tells men to pick up oars and begin rowing. Magician then says that the sea is calm, then that dolphins are jumping out of the water, then that a storm is brewing. Five men point at dolphins and then jump overboard during storm. Magician taps men on the head and they wake up. Applause. Men return to their seats.

Fast-tempo “oriental” tune fades in. “Oriental” tune fades out as Cabiria approaches counter. New tune on violin and piano with question. Music louder inside theater. Applause. New, lively tune. Lively tune ends and drum roll before woman’s head appears.

16. “Cabiria meets Oscar.” Varietà. Magician asks Cabiria to stay. She does not want to participate. Magician takes off top hat to reveal devil horns. Magician takes Cabiria’s hand and leads her to the center of the stage.

Entrance of the Gladiators on piano from previous sequence.

Entrance of the Gladiators (by Julius Fucik) with introduction. Entrance of the Gladiators fades out when magician asks for a woman to volunteer. Subdued piano in background. Music more lively when Cabiria gets on stage. Drum roll and cymbal crash.

Cymbal crash when magician holds up his hand. The previous song ends with this crash. Cymbal crash when magician yells. New dramatic song begins when the men begin rowing. Music changes as the narration changes. Bass drums with storm.

Entrance of the Gladiators begins when men wake up.

Entrance of the Gladiators concludes right before Cabiria moves toward the center of the stage.

APPENDIX 5 /LE NOTTI DI CABIRIA

Magician asks Cabiria where she lives and she replies, “Prati.” He then waves his hand over her head and repeats the same question and this time Cabiria tells the truth: “Borgata San Francesco.” Magician waves his hand again to take Cabiria back. Cabiria wants to know what happened. Magician asks Cabiria whether she wants to find a husband. She says that she is fine alone. Magician says that he knows a man who would like to marry Cabiria. Cabiria attempts to leave, but she falls under the magician’s spell. He presents her to the imaginary “Oscar.” Cabiria closes her eyes and walks toward the imaginary Oscar. Magician places a garland on Cabiria’s head. Magician describes garden and conversation while Cabiria acts out his description. She walks in an imaginary garden, picks flowers. Magician asks Cabiria what her name is. She answers, “Maria.” Magician/Oscar asks Cabiria to dance. Magician turns to the orchestra pit and says, “Maestro, Oscar and Maria want to dance.” Magician informs the audience that the band will play a beautiful waltz. Cabiria dances with the imaginary Oscar. Magician then takes on the voice of Oscar, explaining that he is rich but lonely. Cabiria stops and says: “Then it’s really true; you love me?” Magician waves his hand to wake up Cabiria. Cabiria falls to the floor. Magician picks up Cabiria and gently slaps her face. She opens her eyes. Cabiria, distraught, asks “What happened?”

17. “Cabiria meets Oscar again.” Lobby of Varietà. A woman washes the floor. She tells Cabiria that she has to close up. Cabiria does not want to leave because there is a group of men

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Cymbal crash with magician’s hand. Audience laughs and snickers. Another cymbal crash with magician’s hand. No music.

Cymbal when Cabiria stops under the magician’s spell. Another cymbal with presentation. Slow piano tune begins when Cabiria closes her eyes.

Piano tune ends when Cabiria answers, “Maria.”

Waltz from Franz Lehár’s The Merry Widow.

Song continues with violin solo when Cabiria stops dancing. Cymbal crash with hand. Silence. Raucous song and huge audience laughter and applause when Cabiria opens her eyes. No music.

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nearby who want to make fun of her love with Oscar. Cabiria steps out of theater and a man introduces himself as “Donofrio.” He explains that he was very moved by what he saw on stage and that he wants to talk with her. He invites her to have a drink. Cabiria declines, saying that she does not even know who he is. Cabiria hears a group of men making fun of her. Donofrio and Cabiria sit down at a café. Cabiria asks Donofrio what she did on stage and he tells that she recited a beautiful love scene. Donofrio tries to explain why he was so moved by it. Bar owner goes out and says that he is closing up. Pulls down door halfway. Donofrio pays. The two get up to leave and behind them the bar owner pulls the door all the way down. Donofrio defines his encounter with Cabiria as fate. Cabiria again asks what he wants from her. Donofrio then tells her that his first name is Oscar. He asks whether they can meet again. Cabiria’s bus arrives. Oscar insists, and they make an appointment at the Termini train station. Cut to Termini station. Huge crowd of travelers. Oscar enters frame with flowers. Cabiria sees Oscar from behind a wall, then tries to leave. Oscar notices her and stops her. Fade to street at night. Cabiria tells Wanda about her encounters with Oscar and says that he loves to talk with her. She offers chocolates to the other prostitutes. She tells the prostitutes that she saw a film about Christians and gladiators with Oscar and that he explained to her that the film was not reality, but a version made for the cinema. The police arrive and the prostitutes scatter. Cabiria hides behind bushes. Fade to black.

Train whistle in the distance.

Men whistle and shout nearby. The same lively popular tune as sequence #4 begins as they approach the café. A jukebox enters the frame when they sit down. Tune fades out before hamonic resolution with Cabiria’s question. After a brief pause “Blue Moon” begins (same instrumentation as in sequence #7). Metallic sound of door. No sound for door the second time. “Blue Moon” fades out as they walk away. Train whistles in the background. Sound of bus engine. No music. Crowd noises and occasion train whistles.

Car and scooter noises in the background for the remainder of this sequence.

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Cabiria arrives on a tram and Oscar meets her. Fade to a street overlooking the Tiber. Oscar explains his family background to Cabiria.

Theme BC accompanied with harp.

18. “That’s not how it’s done!” Fade to Cabiria in her bed at home.

Theme B develops into Theme C through fade, but there is a radio on Cabiria’s bed that seems to provide a diegetic source for the music. Song concludes with Theme B melody (as in opening credits). Theme A begins when Cabiria puts on her robe. Music continues at same volume outside. Same variations on Theme A as in sequence #12.

Cabiria gets up to greet a pet bird and then puts on a robe. She steps outside and greets children who are climbing on strange scaffolding. Cabiria begins to walk down the street and meets a Franciscan, Giovanni. Monk asks Cabiria for alms and then asks her whether she is in God’s grace. Cabiria shakes her head “No.” Monk tells Cabiria that she should marry. Monk walks away. Street at night. Cabiria with umbrella in the rain. A client drives up and invites her to his car, but Cabiria does not notice him.

Theme BC continues through cut to next sequence.

Theme A concludes before fade to next scene.

Prostitution Theme. Prostitution Theme fades out before fade to next sequence.

19. Outskirts of Rome. Cabiria and Oscar walk in a recently constructed neighborhood. Cabiria tells Oscar that she cannot see him anymore. Oscar asks Cabiria to marry him. Cabiria has a hard time believing him. Cabiria takes a drink from a faucet by the side of the street. Oscar insists that they are made for each other. Cabiria begins to believe that he is sincere.

Pealing church bells continue through conversation with Oscar. Occasional street noises (cars).

20. “Leaving Home.” Fade to Cabiria running past scaffolding with children toward Wanda’s house. Ecstatic, she tells Wanda that she’s getting married, that she’s going to sell her house and move. Cabiria exclaims, “He loves me!” and runs toward her house. Fade to interior of monastery. A monk prays, then gets up to answer the door. Cabiria asks for

Theme B begins with fade.

Cabiria whistles a few notes after marriage proposal. Water sound.

Theme B develops into Theme C with conversation with Wanda and concludes dramatically with Theme B right after Cabiria exclaims, “He loves me!” Bell rings at monastery. Same tune as nightclub music in

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Father Giovanni, explaining that she wants to confess. The monk tells her that he will return later, and Cabiria waits outside. Cut to Cabiria’s house. Wanda and Cabiria pack the few belongings she has not sold. They leave and a new family immediately moves in. Cabiria notices a picture of her mother on the wall and takes it down. She tells the picture that she too is getting married. Cabiria picks up her suitcase, says good-bye to her pet bird “D’Artagnan,” and picks up suitcase to leave. A poor family waits outside, ready to move in. When Cabiria sees the family she closes the door and goes back into the house momentarily. Wanda and Cabiria leave, say good-bye to new family. Wanda and Cabiria walk down dirt road toward bus stop. Cabiria says good-bye to some of the neighbors as she walks. Fade to bus stop. Wanda cries. The bus arrives. Cabiria says that she will send Wanda her address. The two embrace and both cry. Cabiria gets on the bus and it departs.

beginning of sequence #8 develops into Theme A. Theme A concludes with fade to next sequence. Cabiria whistles a few notes. Occasional bird chirps.

21. “The Restaurant.” Pan of shoreline ends on restaurant perched high above. Cut to Oscar and Cabiria at table. Waiter brings bill and Cabiria tries to pay. She pulls out a huge wad of money. Cabiria calls the money her dowry. She cries, explaining that she went through great difficulties to make her money. Oscar invites her to take a walk. They walk down a street and Oscar asks Cabiria, “What’s the name of this song?”

Lla Ri Lli Ra with guitar. Music is just as loud before cut to inside restaurant. Guitarist visible behind shots of Oscar. Cabiria sings along at end of second phrase.

22. “A walk in the woods.” Cabiria and Oscar walk. Cabiria asks for a kiss. Oscar sweats, seems nervous. They continue to walk. Cabiria picks flowers. Cabiria puts her hat on Oscar. They walk toward a cliff above the shore to see the sunset.

Same tune as nightclub music in beginning of sequence #8 with slow tempo begins when Cabiria says that she’s getting married. Theme A as they are about to leave the house. Same tune as nightclub music in beginning of sequence #8 after Cabiria goes back inside house. Music fades out after Wanda and Cabiria step outside. Prostitution Theme as they walk down road. Prostitution Theme develops into same tune as nightclub music in beginning of sequence #8, then fades out after fade to bus stop. No music. Sound of passing cars. Bus engine. Bus horn as bus departs.

Lla Ri Lli Ra concludes with fade to next sequence.

Cabiria sings a bit of Lla Ri Lli Ra. No music for next five-plus minutes.

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23. “Sunset at the cliff.” Oscar and Cabiria look down at the water. Oscar smokes nervously and sweats noticeably. Cabiria talks about justice and comments that everyone suffers but eventually finds happiness. Oscar asks whether Cabiria knows how to swim. Cabiria says no, and then begins to tell the story of when she was thrown in the Tiber. She turns to look at Oscar and suddenly realizes that he, as Giorgio, is willing to kill her for her money. Cabiria asks Oscar whether he intends to kill her. Oscar remains silent. Cabiria drops her purse at his feet and kneels crying. Cabiria begs Oscar to kill her. Oscar pulls Cabiria from the edge of the cliff and tells her to shut up. He grabs the purse from the ground, and runs away. Cabiria rolls on the ground yelling, “Kill me!”

Pealing bells in the distance.

24. “Buona sera.” Fade to later at night. Cabiria wakes up and walks through the woods with her flowers. She arrives at a road and begins to walk. A group of adolescents joins her. Two play a guitar, one plays an accordion, and another a harmonica. Some dance; some ride on scooters. All are happy. The musicians surround Cabiria. A guitarist looks at Cabiria and playfully barks. A girl then says to Cabiria, “Buona sera.” CU of Cabiria. Cabiria looks around, smiles, and then briefly looks directly into the camera. Fade to black. Titles.

Crickets. Lla Ri Lli Ra on guitar and accordion begins with Cabiria walking through the woods. The group sings along.

Lla Ri Lli Ra develops into Theme C on guitar and accordion after barking. Theme C with entire orchestra after “Buona sera.” Theme C concludes with Theme B when Cabiria looks into camera. Theme C continues more dramatically with titles and again concludes with Theme B.

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Mira il tuo popolo Mira il tuo popolo bella Signora che pien di giubilo oggi ti onora; anch’io festevole, corro ai tuoi piè. O Santa Vergine, prega per me. O Santa Vergine, prega per me. Il pietosissimo tuo dolce cuor egli è rifugio al peccatore. Tesori e grazie racchiude in sé. In questa misera valle infelice tutti t’invocano soccorritrice: questo bel titolo conviene a te. Del vasto oceano propizia stella ti vedo splendere sempre più bella al porto guidami per tua mercé. Pietosa mostrati coll’alma mia, Madre dei misteri santa Maria. Madre più tenera di te non v’è. A me rivolgiti col dolce viso, regina amabile del Paradiso; Te potentissima l’Eterno fé. Nel più terribile, estremo agone, fammi tu vincere il rio dragone. Propizio rendimi il sommo re. Lla Ri’ Lli Ra’ (lyrics by Enzo Bonagura) Lla ri’ lli ra’ Lla ri’ lli ra’ N’ammore va, n’ato vene Nisciuno chiù te vo bene? Nun ce penzà, ll’uocchie asciutate Torna a cantà comm’a me Lla ri’ lli ra’ Lla ri’ lli ra’ L’ammore passa comme passa ‘o viento Te vasa pe’ ‘na vota e niente chiù. Tira e campà Nun suffrì Nun te lagnà Nun ce penzà ca ll’uocchie chiangono Lla ri’ lli ra’ Lla ri’ lli ra’ L’ammore te l’ha fatto ‘o tradimento Nun era comme t’ ‘o sunnave tu? N’ammore ‘a ccà N’ato a ll’à.

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Te può passà Che ce vuò fa si ll’uocchie chiangono? ‘O tiempo va, se può scurdà pensa a cantà Lla ri’ lli ra’ Lla ri’ lli ra’. Nun dice chiù: Casa mia! Nun tiene chiù cumpagnia E che vuò fa? Te vuò accidere? Torna a cantà ‘nzieme a me Lla ri’ lli ra’ Lla ri’ lli ra.’ (De Santi, 85)

DIFFERENCES BETWEEN ITALIAN-LANGUAGE AND ENGLISH-DUBBED VERSIONS OF LE NOTTI DI CABIRIA Many sequences: Much of the music and some ambient sound at a lower volume relative to dialogue in the English version. Seq. #2: More dialogue in English version. For example, when Giorgio points toward the Tiber in the Italian version he says simply, “Vai là!” while in the English version he says: “First one to the river gets a prize!” Also, in the Italian version Cabiria says, “Certo che a me il fiume,” but is unable to finish her thought because Giorgio pushes her into the water, but in the English version she says, “Oh it’s peaceful here.” Seq. #3: Car horn absent in English version. Sound of cars and trains more pronounced in Italian version. Seq. #4: English version reproduces point of audition sound from Cabiria’s radio by lowering volume of the music with cuts to outside Cabiria’s shack. The Italian version has the same volume inside and outside the shack. Seq. #5: When the Fiat 600 pulls away with Cabiria there is a man close to the camera who is clearly speaking and gesturing, but in the Italian version there is no corresponding sound for his voice. The English version prominently includes the following dialogue for this man: “But what is she getting all excited about? I didn’t call anyone a junky. What is she blaming me for?” Seq. #7: When Lazzari leaves the nightclub with Cabiria, the English version attempts to separate the diegetic and nondiegetic versions of Theme C by lowering the volume of the song as the car departs and by emphasizing the sounds of the car. In the Italian version the music is much more prominent than the sounds from the car, and the nondiegetic version develops directly from the diegetic version. In fact, in the Italian version the diegetic sound becomes progressively louder as they leave the club, thereby moving toward a nondiegetic function even before the large orchestra takes over the sound track. Seq. #8: In the very first shot of this sequence Theme B from the previous sequence carries over and ends when Lazzari’s car stops. In the English version the song ends with the fade to the new sequence. Throughout this sequence, the music is at a much lower volume relative to dialogue in the English version.

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Seq. #9: When Lazzari looks at the champagne label he pronounces the vintage in the Italian version: “1949.” In the English version he says, “1957” (the year the film was made). Seq. #11, #12: These two sequences (“the man with a sack”) do not have an English version. Seq. #13: The English version includes much more distinguishable dialogue from random individuals in the crowd. In the Italian version there are sometimes people quite close to the camera who are obviously talking, but their voices are not reproduced on the sound track (we hear the dialogue of Cabiria and her friends while other voices are generally reduced to indistinct noises from the crowd). Seq. #14: Same as previous sequence: the men playing soccer do not have easily distinguished lines in the Italian version, but in the English version individual voices are clearly distinguished. For example, one man says, “Hey look, blondie, how about coming to have a cup of coffee with me sometime?” The English version also simplifies the somewhat irrational dialogue between Amleto and Cabiria. For example, the Italian “E se volessimo star sole?” becomes the firstperson singular “Why do you think I want to be alone?” And when Amleto plays the drum with a chair (with no corresponding sound on the sound track) the Italian voglio suonare is translated as “I want to listen.” Seq. #15: In the English version the religious chant from the previous sequence continues through the fade to this sequence, while in the Italian version the music ends with the fade. As in previous sequences, the English version almost always provides a corresponding voice if a character within the frame seems to be talking, while in Fellini’s version there is often no corresponding sound for the dialogue of peripheral characters. Seq. #17: No train whistle in English version. In the Italian version the lively popular tunes fades with a cut to Cabiria and Oscar as they turn to take their seats just a few steps away. This cannot reflect point of audition sound because in that case the tune should have been audible earlier. The English sound editors “correct” this “mistake” by beginning the tune earlier in the sequence. At the end of the sequence “Blue Moon” continues much longer in the English version. Seq. #18: At Passeggiata Archeologica the English version does not include noises of cars and scooters; it includes Prostitution Theme until the police arrive (there is no music in Italian version). Seq. #21: The original Italian dialogue is translated very loosely throughout the English-language version, but occasionally the translation goes well beyond interpretation. In this sequence, for example, the priest tells Cabiria, “Frate Giovanni non può confessarti, è un fratello laico.” This English version inexplicably translates this as “A confession is valid no matter who confesses you; didn’t you know that?” Seq. #23: In the woods, as Oscar and Cabiria walk toward the cliff, the Englishlanguage version “corrects” the strange silence of Fellini’s version by including birdsongs. Seq. #24: Birds, entirely absent in the Italian original, continue to chirp and sing.

Appendix 6 La dolce vita 1. “Opening Credits.”

Titoli di Testa, with two alternating themes and a coda. Theme A, fast tempo with an “oriental” rhythm; Theme B, lower and slower; and a contemplative and melancholy coda. Titoli di Testa has the following structure: ABababaAA (coda). The variation a is a quote from Respighi’s Pini presso una catacomba. This is Fellini’s first film that does not have three (or more) clearly distinct musical themes at the beginning of the film.

2. “Christ.” Two helicopters over Rome. Marcello and Paparazzo cover the transportation of a statue of Jesus to St. Peter’s square. The helicopters fly past an aqueduct and various construction sites for apartment buildings. Cut to an LS of the helicopters from the penthouse of a modern apartment. Four women are sunbathing. Women and Marcello attempt to communicate, but engine sounds are very loud. The helicopters arrive in St. Peter’s. Cut to the statue being lowered to the ground.

Sound of helicopters fades in.

3. “Marcello.” Night club. Three masked men (one with long fingernails) perform an Indian-like dance. Marcello asks a young waiter what a prince ordered. Marcello offers club manager a bribe for a photo. The manager says no. Paparazzo sneaks around dance floor and takes a picture. A man asks Marcello to speak with him. He tells Marcello that he

Man with fingernails sings two notes with quivering voice very loud. The abrupt cut from the church bells to this song is jarring. “Indian” music begins after Marcello writes down the prince’s order in his notebook.

Lively popular version of Canzonetta begins with cut. When the helicopters approach, engine sound drowns out music.

Church bells before destination is visible (louder after cut to St. Peter’s).

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should mind his own business, and that by writing articles and taking pictures he is invading privacy. Marcello puts on his sunglasses and shrugs. Maddalena enters club, walks past “Indian” dancers toward the bar, orders a drink. “Indian” act ends and stage rolls off with dancers like statues. Dancers walk off stage, revealing a jazz band. Couples dance. Marcello notices Maddalena. Marcello and Maddalena walk across dance floor and leave the club.

“Indian” music continues.

4. “Maddalena.” Via Veneto. Paparazzo and companions on the prowl. Marcello and Maddalena leave in her Cadillac. Extreme long shot (ELS) of Maddalena’s Cadillac arriving at a deserted piazza. Medium shot (MS) of Marcello and Maddalena in car. Maddalena and Marcello talk about Rome. Maddalena tries to imagine where she could be happy. Maddalena gets out of car, walks around to the back, takes off her sunglasses, and looks up at Marcello (still in passenger seat). Marcello asks her why she has a black eye. Marcello tells Maddalena that with all her money she will never have real problems. Maddalena does not agree; she walks to a wall and stands next to it, explaining that the only time she feels happy is when she makes love. A prostitute notices the Cadillac from on top of the wall and calls another prostitute over to look at it. Marcello asks her whether she is “Lilliana.” Prostitute looks down and notices Maddalena. Maddalena asks prostitutes whether they want to take a ride. Maddalena walks back to car and gets in. Cut to prostitutes together with pimps. Cadillac drives up. Pimps take off on motorcycle. Prostitute gets in car. Cut to LS of Cadillac backing up to turn around.

Car sounds. Car horns in distance. Via Veneto (sounds like car horns) when Maddalena and Marcello approach her car. Music fades before cut to piazza. Notturno on piano with cut to Marcello and Maddalena in car.

“Indian” song ends. “Ma, He’s Making Eyes at Me” (Con Conrad and Sidney Clare, 1940) begins. “Ma, He’s Making Eyes at Me” ends with cut to next sequence.

Notturno continues with orchestra after Maddalena looks up.

Notturno concludes when Marcello and prostitute begin to speak. Cadillac, a jazzy tune, begins with conversation between Maddalena and prostitute. Cadillac louder when Maddalena approaches car. No music with cut to prostitutes. Sound of motorcycle. When motorcycle sound fades, the tune returns to sound track. Cadillac ends with cut to car backing up. (Cadillac has the title La Dolce Vita in the CAM recording [track 2], but there is another tune with the same title.)

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5. “A Woman Like This.” Fade to a shot of the three driving through Rome. Prostitute asks questions about the car. Marcello and Maddalena ask prostitute about her clients that day. Maddalena asks Marcello whether he would sleep with a woman like the prostitute. Prostitute lies down in back seat and asks Marcello whether he will finally tell her what the plan is. Marcello responds that they are simply giving her a ride home. The Cadillac pulls up to a squalid apartment building. Prostitute tells Marcello that people are sleeping and that he should turn off the radio. Marcello turns off car radio. Maddalena asks whether she and Marcello can go inside prostitute’s home. Marcello opens car door and he and prostitute get out. Maddalena follows a moment later. The three enter prostitute’s flooded basement apartment. Maddalena enter prostitute’s bedroom while prostitute makes coffee. Maddalena invites Marcello to make love on prostitute’s bed. They embrace. Fade to prostitute and pimps next to Cadillac in the morning. One of the pimps revs the engine of a motorcycle. The other pimp is angry because the prostitute did establish a price for her services. Maddalena leaves the bedroom and walks upstairs, where Marcello waits. The two walk outside. Maddalena hands prostitute some money and they get into car and leave.

Canzonetta after fade.

6. “Emma.” Emma and Marcello’s apartment. Emma, crying, stumbles to bed and tries to make a phone call. Gets up and slides along a wall toward another room. Kneels down and huddles. Cut to Marcello’s car speeding home at dawn. Marcello walks up modern, external spiral staircase. Marcello opens door and

Sound of broken glass with cut. Sound of Emma’s labored breathing throughout scenes in apartment.

Titoli di Testa begins with prostitute’s question (begins with Theme B).

Titoli di Testa much louder.

Music stops.

Crickets after car door opens.

No music for the remainder of sequence.

Sound of engine revving.

Car engine.

Pealing bells with staircase.

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sees Emma on the ground. He asks her what is wrong, then notices an empty medicine bottle. Marcello picks up Emma and carries her to car. Cut to car racing through the deserted streets. Car arrives at basement entrance of hospital. Pan up a stairway while a nun dressed in white descends. Fade to later. A reporter approaches Marcello asking about the woman who tried to kill herself. Marcello begs him not to write anything. Marcello enters hospital room to see Emma. Marcello kneels by Emma and kisses her hand. He asks Emma why she tried to kill herself. She does not answer. Marcello goes out of the room to a large, empty space. A nun paces. Emma is visible in the background, still lying on a hospital bed. Marcello asks to use the phone. Cut to Maddalena’s bedroom. Maddalena asleep on bed; a phone is visible on the floor. Maddalena does not wake up. 7. “Sylvia.” Airport. A plane lands. Chaos as a large group of reporters and photographers runs toward the plane. Plane taxis to a stop. Photographers struggle for best angle. Silvia steps out and blows kisses. The photographers ask her to repeat her arrival, and she goes back into the plane. Waiters carrying a giant pizza arrive. Silvia takes a bite. General pushing and shoving. Marcello enters frame for the first time, in back of group and detached from the competition for access to the diva. Silvia walks away with dozens of photographers. Marcello heads in opposite direction to interview two stewardesses. Cut to ELS of airport and crowd of reporters. Fade to a procession of cars traveling through the countryside toward Rome. Photographers on scooters jostle to

Alarm sound after Marcello picks up Emma. Car sounds. Tires squeal when car stops. Buzzer sound with stairway.

Bass drum with a soft, regular beat (like heartbeat).

The regular beat of the drum fades out right before the phone call. Loud ring of phone with cut to Maddalena.

Loud engine noises. Throughout the airport scenes engine sounds are carefully edited to match visual cuts (not typical of Fellini’s previous films).

No music until final shot at airport.

Titoli di Testa begins four seconds before fade to procession of cars.

APPENDIX 6 /LA DOLCE VITA

ride next to the car carrying Silvia. Cut to Silvia’s car passing through a flock of sheep. Fade to next scene. Press conference. Reporters ask questions in many languages while flashbulbs continuously pop. Silvia does not answer the vast majority of the questions. Marcello in a corner on the phone with Emma. Cut to Emma, obsessively jealous, who makes Marcello swear that he is not alone with Silvia. Silvia tries on wigs. Cut back to Emma alone in a bare room. Emma tells Marcello that she wants him to return home immediately to make love. Robert, Silvia’s fiancé, arrives drunk. Silvia angry at Robert because he was not at airport. Another cut to Emma, who declares that she will wait all day alone for Marcello. LS of Emma through a hallway. Emma asks Marcello whether he loves her. Fade to next sequence.

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Titoli di Testa fades out with visual fade. No music at press conference. Camera sounds, flashbulbs.

8. “St. Peter’s.” Fade in to shot of basilica from St Peter’s square. Stairway to the top of the cupola. Silvia and photo-reporters climb. Silvia exuberant and full of wonder. Silvia climbs faster than everyone. Marcello catches up to Silvia. POV shot of Silvia sitting at the bottom of the last staircase. Silvia notices Marcello and invites him to follow. Marcello reaches the top. POV of Silvia from behind with St. Peter’s square in background. Silvia asks Marcello to point out Giotto’s campanile. Marcello explains that it is in Florence. Silvia takes off Marcello’s sunglasses, then the wind carries her hat away. Silvia laughs. Fade to next sequence.

Titoli di Testa begins with fade.

9. “Frankie.” Caracalla’s. Saxophonist raises his instrument and plays. Camera tracks back to reveal band and dancers. Silvia and Marcello

“Arrivederci Roma.”

Titoli di Testa ends with POV shot and loud bells fade in.

Bells louder outside.

Bells continue. Bells fade out.

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dance. Marcello attempts to define her beauty (in Italian). Silvia does not seem to be trying to understand him. Frankie, an American actor, arrives and screams out Silvia’s name. Frankie runs up to the band and requests that they play Caracalla’s. Frankie and Silvia begin to dance. Robert, drunk, tries to make a picture of Silvia’s assistant. Frankie stands on his hands and dances. Silvia’s assistant tells Robert not to drink so much. Marcello walks back to table to Robert. Waiter carries Silvia’s shoes to table. Robert tells him that his costume is wrong. 10. “Rock and Roll.” Adriano Celentano takes a microphone and begins to sing while dancing frenetically.

Celentano falls off the stage, then begins to dance with Silvia. Frankie joins the dance. Some of the members of the band follow Celentano and Silvia around the dance floor with their instruments.

Frankie picks up Silvia and twirls her around over his head, then sets her down. Silvia returns to the table with Robert. Frankie arrives. Robert insults Frankie. Robert insults Silvia, saying that the waiter carried back her shoes, but that he is waiting for the rest of her things (apparently meaning that she should continue to undress). Silvia calls Robert a “stupid drunk” and walks away from the table toward an exit. Marcello follows her out of the club. Marcello offers Silvia a ride in his car. Paparazzo takes pictures and tries to get into Marcello’s car.

Silvia hums and sings along with the song.

“Arrivederci Roma” ends. “Caracalla’s”

“Caracalla’s” ends when Marcello goes to table. La Dolce Vita begins at table. Crowd chants, “Rock ’n’ roll” while Robert talks with waiter.

“Ready Teddy” by John Marascalco and Robert Blackwell. This song was a hit in the mid-1950s sung by Little Richard and Elvis Presley, among many others. The band concludes the song shortly after Celentano falls, but then begins “Ready Teddy” again when Celentano reaches the dance floor. Celentano’s voice is heard on the song after he leaves the stage, but he is nowhere near a microphone. There is no amplification available for the guitars that follow the dancers, yet guitars continue on the sound track. “Ready Teddy” ends shortly after Frankie sets Silvia down. La Dolce Vita begins again as Silvia sits down at table. La Dolce Vita develops momentarily into Titoli di Testa when Robert insults Silvia.

Titoli di Testa ends and La Dolce Vita returns when Silvia turns her back on the table. Music much lower outside. Song concludes when Marcello opens car door.

APPENDIX 6 /LA DOLCE VITA

Marcello takes off while Paparazzo attempts to follow on a scooter. Cut to Marcello and Silvia driving through deserted streets at night. Marcello tells Silvia, “Li abbiamo perduti” (referring to photographers). 11. “Difficult.” Marcello’s car stops in the countryside. Silvia and Marcello get out. Silvia stares at the sky. Marcello is about to kiss Silvia when a dog howls. Silvia, distracted by the noise, turns away and begins to howl herself. Marcello isbefuddled. Marcello asks Silvia to get back into the car. Cut to a middle-aged woman on the phone explaining that “Sergio” is out of town and that she does not have the keys to his studio. Cut to Marcello at a bar on the phone. Marcello hangs up and returns outside to his car. Marcello tells Silvia (in Italian) that he cannot take her to his house. Silvia does not seem to understand much of what Marcello says in Italian. Marcello tells Silvia that he has an idea. Fade to a servant handing Maddalena a phone. Cut to Marcello at another phone in a pharmacy. Marcello asks whether he can come over, but Maddalena explains that her father is home. Marcello leaves the pharmacy and goes to his car but discovers that Silvia is missing. Marcello finds Silvia around the corner with a kitten. Silvia asks Marcello to find some milk for the kitten. Marcello asks her to wait in the car. Silvia and kitten wander deserted streets. 12. “A Big Mistake.” Cut to Silvia walking through narrow streets with the kitten on her head. She turns a corner and marvels at the Trevi fountain. Fade to Marcello searching for Silvia. Marcello turns and sees Silvia frolicking in the fountain. He

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Car and scooter noises. Another tune is barely audible from the club. Scooter engine noises from previous scene fade out shortly after cut to new scene.

Crickets after Marcello turns off engine.

Dog howl. Silvia howls, then many dogs begin to bark. Jazz version of Cadillac in background with cut to woman.

Cadillac much louder with cut to bar, then softer outside bar.

Cadillac fades out with fade to Maddalena. No music.

Church bell strikes three times. A slow version of La Dolce Vita (on harp) begins with cut to kitten on head. Sound of water. La Dolce Vita concludes right before fade to Marcello. Water sound.

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approaches the fountain, gives the kitten some milk. Silvia invites Marcello to come into the water. He takes off his shoes and enters the fountain. Marcello is about to kiss Silvia when he notices that the water has been turned off. Cut to an LS of fountain with a cyclist in foreground looking at Silvia and Marcello. Marcello and Silvia wade out of the water. Fade to Robert, passed out in his car at dawn. Photographers take pictures. Marcello and Silvia drive up. Paparazzo wakes Robert. Robert slaps Silvia, telling her to go to bed. Robert turns to walk back to confront Marcello, slapping him in the face and punching him in the stomach. Photographers furiously take pictures. Fade to black.

La Dolce Vita returns with LS of fountain.

La Dolce Vita continues with fade to Robert. La Dolce Vita fades out shortly after Marcello’s car enters frame.

La Dolce Vita begins when Robert turns to confront Marcello. La Dolce Vita fades out.

13. “Steiner.” Outdoor photo-shoot. Marcello directs a photographer taking pictures of a model and a horse. Marcello notices someone entering a church and follows. Marcello in church, meets Steiner. Steiner asks Marcello about his work. Steiner and Marcello go to organ. Steiner plays. LS of woman entering church to pray. Fade to black.

Canzonetta.

14. “The Miracle Field.” Marcello, Emma, and Paparazzo in car. Emma forces Marcello to eat. They arrive at a crowded field near a police station where two children who say they have seen the Madonna are being held. Three photographers hop over a fence and enter the building, taking pictures of the children’s grandparents. Marcello talks with a priest about miracles. RAI technicians listen to tape of children. Scaffolding with cameras and lights being set up. A director sets up shots of children (before they arrive). Cut to Emma talking with an elderly woman. Emma

Car noises.

Canzonetta fades out as Marcello runs toward church.

Steiner at first plays a superficial jazz tune, then Toccata and Fugue in D minor (Bach). Bach fades out.

Sound of voice over a loudspeaker and shouts from crowd. Various mechanical/engine noises throughout this sequence. Crowd noises throughout sequence. Popular tune with grandparents. Grandfather kneels and sings Ave Maria. Popular tune with clarinet returns with priest. Music fades out when children describe Madonna. Sound of helicopter (?) nearby overhead. Popular tune with clarinet returns with cut.

APPENDIX 6 /LA DOLCE VITA

walks over to Marcello, who is writing notes. Marcello gives Emma a kiss on the cheek. A woman kneels before a tree and asks for the Madonna to cure her child’s illness. Fade to later in the evening. A procession of people carrying candles arrives on the impromptu movie set.

Music fades out with kiss. A loudspeaker calls out names.

15. “The Children.” Fade to later that night. Lights go on. Crowd with many sick people hoping to be cured. Radio journalist interviews uncle. Emma asks the Madonna for Marcello’s love. The children arrive. Crowd moves in around children, pushing and shoving. Photographers swarm children.

Whistle. Electronic noise. Voice-over. Loudspeaker in background.

16. “The Madonna.” Marcello on scaffolding near lights. Rain begins. Lights turn off. The children run aimlessly around saying, “There’s the Madonna!” Father takes children inside, saying that the Madonna wants a church built on that spot. Faithful strip branches from tree. Confusion as cars attempt to leave. Paparazzo tries to take a picture of Emma with branches from “miracle” tree; Emma is furious. A woman cries out, “He’s dead!” Fade to dawn. A priest closes a dead man’s eyes, covers him with a sheet. Emma and Marcello look on. Paparazzo makes the sign of the cross, then takes a picture. Fade to black. 17. “A Lovely Home.” Fade in to MS of Steiner’s wife greeting the camera (momentarily subjective). She opens a door to a living room. Steiner and guests inside. Steiner tells Emma that she will be happy when she loves Marcello more than herself. Cut to woman singing with guitar. Elderly man idealizes Oriental women. Steiner introduces Marcello to other guests. Elderly man says Western

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Sound of helicopter (?). Religious chants from crowd.

Sound of rain. A woman sings a religious song in background.

Car horns.

Silence after fade.

A woman singing Titoli di Testa in background begins after Steiner’s wife says, “Buona sera.” Music much louder after door opens.

Diegetic source revealed a moment before song ends. Guitar plays variations of Titoli di Testa.

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women no longer know how to make love. Marcello expresses admiration for the man’s writings, then says that he would like to have children by women of all races. Steiner and Marcello admire a Morandi painting, and Steiner observes that nothing happens by chance in the artist’s work. Marcello talks with a female poet, who remarks that those who live intensely become younger every year. She puts her fingers in her mouth to whistle in order to underline her idea. Poet (Iris Tree) asks Emma what she likes to do. Emma says that she does not know. Poet then compares Steiner to a Gothic steeple. One of the guests rewinds a tape player and replays dialogue between Steiner and poet.

Music ends with affirmation that women no longer know how to make love. Titoli di Testa returns with Marcello’s fantasy of children of different races.

18. “Sounds and Sweet Airs.” Steiner stands up after tape ends with thunder. Steiner agrees to play tape with other sounds from nature at Emma’s urging. Steiner’s two young children enter the room. Emma goes to hold child. Steiner describes children, saying that it is beautiful to sleep with a small child near. Emma tells Marcello that they are made for each other. Marcello looks away, then stands up and walks out onto a balcony to talk with Steiner. Steiner tells Marcello that he should stop writing for the newspaper and dedicate himself to literature. Steiner invites Marcello to see his children asleep. They go to children’s bedroom. Steiner kisses his sleeping children. Fade to black.

Thunder from previous sequence.

19. “Work in Peace.” Bar at beach. Marcello argues on phone with Emma. Marcello asks waitress (Paola) to turn off jukebox. Marcello hangs up and goes to a typewriter at a table in the shade. Paola sings while setting tables. Marcello asks her to stop

Patricia.

Titoli di Testa ends with Steiner’s observation.

Loud whistle. Titoli di Testa begins again on guitar right after whistle. Titoli di Testa ends right before poet defines Steiner. Dialogue repeats, then loud thunder.

Sounds of waves, birds. Sound of wind in forest when children enter. Guitar begins to play for a moment with Emma and child. Guitar begins again and woman sings “He’s Gone Away” (traditional folk song). When Marcello looks away, the woman sings, “Look away, look away.” Woman stops singing when Marcello and Steiner talk, but guitar continues. Guitar stops when Steiner tells Marcello to quit journalism. Poet begins to recite a poem with Steiner’s invitation. Poem fades out in bedroom. Bass drum beat like heartbeat with children (like sequence #6).

Song abruptly ends. Waves in background. Paola sings Patricia. Waves.

APPENDIX 6 /LA DOLCE VITA

singing. Marcello and Paola talk. Paola explains that she feels nostalgia for her home near Perugia. Paola asks to turn jukebox back on. Marcello goes back to phone. Cut to Emma, who angrily asks what he wants. Fade to next sequence.

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Patricia. Patricia much lower with cuts to Emma.

20. “Papa.” Fade in to Via Veneto. Marcello arrives in his car. Photographers tell Marcello that his father is waiting. Marcello sees his father. They decide to go to the ChaCha nightclub.

Car noises and street/caffè sounds throughout sequence.

21. “Cha-Cha Club.” Cut to nightclub. “Lion tamer” cracks whips while female dancers pose like lions. Marcello and his father sit down with Paparazzo and order whiskey. First act ends and a line of dancers enters the stage area. Marcello recognizes one of the dancers, Fanny. Routine ends and dancers through balloons into air before exiting.

L’entrata dei gladiatori begins with cut.

22. “Fanny.” Fanny arrives at table with champagne. Fanny tells Marcello’s father that he looks young. He disagrees, quoting Ugolino from Inferno XXXIII: “Disperato dolor che ‘l cor mi preme.” Polidor enters the stage and plays the trumpet. Polidor pops a balloon with trumpet, plays a sour note, and looks at Marcello. Balloons follow him as he leaves. Father shows Fanny a trick with a coin, then Fanny folds a napkin to look like various articles of clothing. Father invites Fanny to dance. Marcello tells Paparazzo that he hardly knows his father. Cut to later outside club. Father leaves with Fanny while Marcello, Paparazzo, and two women get into his tiny convertible. They all head toward Fanny’s apartment.

American voice in background requests “Stormy Weather.” Band plays another tune in background.

L’entrata dei gladiatori ends and “Yes Sir That’s My Baby” begins with new dance. “Yes Sir That’s My Baby” ends.

Piano accompanies Polidor as he plays Parlami di me on trumpet.

Parlami di me ends. Patricia. Patricia develops into Canzonetta for Fanny’s trick. Parlami di me (waltz) for dance. Parlami di me develops into fast jazz version of “Stormy Weather.” Laughter, shouts.

Shouted first notes of “Stormy Weather.”

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23. “Stormy Weather.” Fade to Marcello’s car driving at night. When Marcello arrives, Fanny tells him that his father is not feeling well. Marcello runs up to see his father. Father decides to take the next train. Father puts on his watch and jacket, straightens blanket on bed, and leaves at dawn. High-angle POV (Fanny), LS of father saying good-bye to Marcello and getting into taxi.

Women in Marcello’s car sing “Stormy Weather.” No music for the remainder of this sequence.

24. “Bassano di Sutri.” Fade to Via Veneto. Two patrons of caffè fight. Marcello walks over to investigate and notices Nico. He calls out to her. Nico tells Marcello that she is going to Bassano di Sutri. Marcello asks whether he can go along. Marcello and Nico get into a car headed to the party. Cut to the car on the road outside Rome. Procession of cars arrives at party. Cut to lifeless party. Nico’s fiancé, Giulio, insults Nico and then begins to dance with her. The youngest son of the household introduces Marcello to members of his family. Two elegantly dressed teens dance. Marcello talks with Jane, an American woman with whom he will sleep later in the party.

Dramatic chord introduces Via Veneto. Sound of cars. Titoli di Testa begins when Marcello calls out, “Nico!” Titoli di Testa alternates with Via Veneto until cut to car outside Rome on the way to party. Car horns.

25. “Serious Talk.” Marcello meets Maddalena. Maddalena tells Marcello a little about many of the guests. Maddalena walks down a hallway with large portraits. Maddalena takes Marcello to a nearly empty room. Maddalena leaves Marcello alone on a chair in the middle of the room. Cut to Maddalena, walking down previous hallway toward a fountain outside. Maddalena whispers into fountain and Marcello hears her voice. Maddalena says that she loves Marcello, but that she also knows that she cannot be faithful. Marcello expresses admiration for Maddalena and says

Pealing church bells in background with final shot. Dramatic cord on piano before fade to next sequence.

Blues in minor key with cut. Blues develops into La Dolce Vita when Nico and Giulio dance. La Dolce Vita alternates with Titoli di Testa with introductions of various family members. La Dolce Vita on violin with dance. La Dolce Vita alternates with Titoli di Testa through conversation with Jane.

La Dolce Vita continues to alternate with Titoli di Testa with Maddalena.

Blues in minor key returns. La Dolce Vita as they walk toward empty room. No music in room. La Dolce Vita with cut to Maddalena. La Dolce Vita fades out at fountain.

Church bells with Maddalena’s declaration of love.

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that he loves her and would like to live with her. A man arrives outside and listens to Marcello, then passionately embraces Maddalena. 26. “The Villa.” Marcello leaves, searching for Maddalena, but he is swept up with a procession of revelers on their way to an old villa on the property. They go inside by candlelight. Séance. Cristina writhes in pain and then declares her love for Giulio. Couples move to rooms. Jane takes Marcello’s hand and leads him to a room. POV (Marcello), CU of Jane. Cut to dawn. Group heads back to main villa. Members of the household leave the group to go to mass when they run into the matriarch of the family. Fade to black.

La Dolce Vita alternates with Titoli di Testa with procession. Music stops when they arrive at villa. Jane sings a few words of “Loch Lomond” as she walks up stairs. Later someone whistles “Mack the Knife” from Three penny Opera by Kurt Weill. (La Dolce Vita is a variation on this theme.) Bells in background at beginning of séance. Church bells with cut to dawn, then Notturno fades in. Church bells almost in time with music.

27. “Disgrace.” Marcello and Emma in Marcello’s car in deserted street late at night. They fight furiously. Marcello eventually shoves her out of the car and drives off. Fade to dawn. Marcello drives back and Emma hops into the car. Marcello revs the engine and leaves. Fade to Marcello and Emma asleep in bed. Marcello answers phone. Fade to next sequence.

One quivering, electronic note (B flat) throughout fight.

28. “Tragedy.” LS of Steiner’s neighborhood. Marcello runs into building. Photographer begs Marcello to take him along. Steiner murdered his children before killing himself. Investigators examine crime scene. Shot of Steiner with bullet wound in temple. Detective asks Marcello a few questions. Police photographers take pictures of dead children. Detective goes down to the bus stop with Marcello to meet Steiner’s wife. Photographers arrive and crowd around in preparation for her arrival.

No music this sequence. Street noises for outside shots throughout sequence.

Electronic note fades out with fade to dawn. Phone ring.

Investigator plays reel-to-reel tape from party (with shot of dead Steiner).

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Bus arrives and photographers crowd around her. Detective asks her to get into car. Police car drives off. Fade to next sequence.

Siren with police car as it leaves.

29. “Newfound Freedom.” Cars race along a road at night. Group arrives at an empty house. Marcello knocks down gate with his new car. They break a window and enter the house. Fade to later inside the house, where they celebrate Nadia’s marriage annulment. A transvestite (prostitute?) requests “Jingle Bells.” Two transvestites dance to “Jingle Bells.” Marcello announces that he is now a public relations man. One of the guests trips one of the dancers. Marcello says that the party is boring and organizes a striptease act with Nadia. Nadia requests Patricia for her act. Nadia’s striptease.

Car horns and loud engines. No music. Car horn

30. “Riccardo.” At end of act Riccardo, the owner of the house, arrives. He stops the record player and announces that everyone must leave. Marcello tells Riccardo that he will not leave and begins to organize more entertainment. Marcello begins to pair up people for an orgy. Marcello asks a brunette to take care of the music. She leans over the record player. Marcello continues to announce couples for sex. He breaks a glass ball with his image drawn on it. Riccardo upset. Marcello gets on the back of a blonde woman, rips her dress, pulls her up by the hair, then slaps her in the face.

Patricia continues. Patricia ends when Riccardo lifts needle. The slow and lugubrious Blues (from sequence #17) begins with Marcello.

31. “Basta.” Riccardo starts turning off lights. Marcello pours a pitcher of water over blonde, slaps her again, and then puts feathers on her face. She collapses on floor and Marcello circles her while throwing more feathers on her. Marcello calls out

La Dolce vita continues from previous sequence.

La Dolce Vita begins with fade and alternates with Titoli di Testa. Silence for a moment, and “Jingle Bells” (as if the previous music were a record). Variations on “Jingle Bells” continue.

Patricia.

Blues ends when she leans down. Very fast African drums begin a moment later (as if she were changing records).

La Dolce Vita begins when Marcello slaps woman.

Orchestral version of La Dolce Vita. The partygoers dance to the music as they leave.

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names and showers each with feathers as they leave. Marcello wanders out. 32. “Monster.” Cut to pine trees near beach outside house. People head toward the beach. Men pull a net out of water. A fantastic monster/fish. Everyone gathers around. Group begins to split up. Marcello sits in sand. Paola calls from the other side of an inlet. Marcello does not understand. He turns and walks away. Paola smiles and turns to look directly into the camera. Fade to black.

Music lower with cut. Music fades as they walk toward beach. No music for the rest of this sequence. Sound of waves, wind, and seagulls.

33. Closing credits.

Titoli di Testa.

Waves much louder with Paola.

He’s Gone Away I’m goin’ away for to stay a little while, But I’m comin’ back if I go ten thousand miles. Oh, who will tie your shoes? And who will glove you hands? And who will kiss your ruby lips when I am gone? Oh, it’s papy’ll tie my shoes, And mamy’ll glove my hands, And you will kiss my ruby red lips when you come back! Oh, he’s gone, he’s gone away, For to stay a little while; But he’s comin’ back if he goes ten thousand miles. Look away, look away, look away over Yandro, On Yandro’s high hill, where them white doves are flyin’ From bough to bough and a-matin’ with their mates, So why not me with mine? For he’s gone, oh, he’s gone away For to stay a little while, But he’s comin’ back if he goes ten thousand miles. I’ll go build me a desrick on Yandro’s high hill, Where the wild beasts won’t bother me nor hear me cry; For he’s gone, he’s gone away for to stay a little while, But he’s comin’ back if he goes ten thousand miles.

Appendix 7 81/2

1. “Traffic jam.” Guido trapped in car. He escapes car, flies past launch pad. Guido held by rope around leg. Guido pulled to earth by Claudia’s manager. Guido falls to earth.

Silence. Drum like heartbeat. Scraping sounds as Guido attempts to escape car. Wind sounds in air.

2. “The cure.” Guido awakes in the dark interior of his room. Guido raises arms in fear. Doctors check his pulse, etc. Nurse writes notes on typewriter. Daumier, the critic, arrives. He speaks to Guido of notes he has made on film project. Doctor prescribes treatment while nurse types. Guido enters bathroom, looks into the mirror, turns on unusually bright lights. Guido crouches as if pulled down. Cut to spa exterior. Wagner continues. Shots from Guido’s POV. Many people waiting for water, enjoying the sun, etc. Most are old. Close-ups of withered faces, shaking hands. Some characters wave at the camera or blow a kiss. A conductor enters frame. Small orchestra visible. A line of people advances in time to the music. Faces of people waiting in line. Guido enters frame. Guido stops and slides his glasses down. Music stops.

Gasp as Guido awakes. No music. Typewriter sounds. Knock at door before Daumier enters. Westminster bells ring the hour in background. Typewriter. Wagner’s Ride of the Valkeries begins when Guido’s face appears in mirror. Phone (stage buzzer) rings. Ride of the Valkeries (much louder) continues from previous scene. People move in time with the music.

Diegetic source revealed, but the sound track has a version produced by a much larger orchestra. Music changes to Rossini’s Barber of Seville (no pause between two pieces). Music stops right before Guido moves glasses. Strange silence with Claudia (no music and no ambient sound).

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Claudia in white drifts across the frame, smiling. Claudia offers Guido water. A middle-aged woman takes the place of Claudia. 3. “The critic.” Cut to LS of Guido, walking across spa grounds. Daumier calls to Guido. Criticizes film project. Guido is distracted when he notices his friend Mario Mezzabotta. Mezzabotta appears old, but then springs to life. Guido and Mario embrace. Guido notices Gloria and thinks that she is Mezzabotta’s daughter. Mezzabotta explains that she is his fiancée. Gloria enters frame in CU. Gloria greets Guido and Daumier. 4. “Signora Carla.” Guido reads Daumier’s notes at spa grounds. Cut to train station, with Guido reading same notes. Guido throws notes on ground in anger. Train arrives. Guido greets Carla, describes hotel. Carla’s hotel—dining room. Carla and Guido speak with innkeeper. Carla goes to bathroom. Guido continues speaking with innkeeper. Guido embraces Carla in bathroom Carla leaves bathroom. Guido speaks to himself in mirror, guessing that Carla will speak to him about her husband. Carla and Guido at table. Carla, eating chicken, talks about her husband, Luigi. Carla says that it is hot, wiggles her body, and pats herself with napkin. Carla asks Guido to find a job for her husband. Carla recounts dream in which her husband kills Guido and her.

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Barber of Seville begins where it left off when middle-aged woman asks Guido to take his glass of water. Barber of Seville continues with a series of false endings with conversation with Daumier. Barber of Seville ends as Mario walks toward Guido. A part of La Passerella di Addio on piano begins after embrace. La Passerella di Addio stops when Mario says, “She’s not my daughter.” Tchaikovsky’s The Dance of the Reed Flutes from the Nutcracker Suite begins with CU of Gloria.

The Dance of the Reed Flutes continues. Voice-over narration “reads” notes through cut to station. The Dance of the Reed Flutes fades out shortly after cut to station. Station bell and train whistles.

Trains whistle in background with Carla in bathroom. Woman begins to sing Ricordo d’infanzia after embrace. Ricordo d’infanzia stops after Guido talks to himself in mirror about Carla’s husband.

Ricordo d’infanzia begins again when Carla wiggles. Guido hums Rossini overture from spa sequence. Ricordo d’infanzia in background with dream. Train whistle with cut to next scene.

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LISTENING TO FELLINI

Carla’s hotel room: Guido and Carla pretend that Carla accidentally enters “his” room. Innkeeper meets Carla in hallway. Carla and Guido embrace.

No music. Train whistle.

5. “Mother and father.” Guido asleep while Carla reads Donald Duck. Guido’s mother “washing” wall. Cut to cemetery. Guido meets mother and father (separately). Conocchia and Pace, the producer, arrive. Guido lowers father into grave. Guido kisses mother, who becomes Luisa.

Unusual silence: no music, no dialogue, minimal sound effects. Cimitero begins right before cut to cemetary.

6. “The hotel.” Guido, in a good mood, walks toward the elevator performing a little dance step. Guido enters elevator to find cardinal and assistants. The elevator descends very slowly. Lobby: Guido meets many people, who all make demands: Cesarino, who wants Guido to pick an old man for the role of the father; Claudia’s agent, who wants a script for Claudia; Conocchia, who wants to discuss an idea for the space ship; a French actress and her agent, who want to discuss her role; an American journalist who wants to speak with Guido. Claudia’s agent tries to get a script from Guido. An American man returns with wife with foolish questions about Guido’s love life. Beautiful, mysterious older woman passes. Guido looks at older men for the role of the father. Producer (Pace) arrives. Guido kneels before him. Pace wants to know whether Guido’s ideas are any clearer.

Guido hums The Barber of Seville.

Voice of innkeeper offscreen.

Rota’s Cimitero, slow and melancholy, continues but is cut before the final note of harmonic resolution with cut to next sequence.

Sound of elevator clank as it descends each floor. Sound of stage buzzer.

Orchestra, possibly diegetic, begins Tchaikovsky’s Dance of the Reed Flutes when Guido greets French actress. Chopin’s Nocturne no. 2 in E flat begins after Guido frees himself from American journalist.

Chopin fades out after “fathers.” Guido sings exotic “Indian” song as he kneels.

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7. “Grand evening.” Spa grounds at night: Woman singing in German. Couples dance, including Mario Mezzabotta and Gloria. Guido sits at table with “Pinocchio” nose. Most of the people in previous sequence are present, plus Carla, sitting alone at a separate table. Most make some demand of Guido. Mezzabotta and Guido speak of Mezzabotta’s relationship with Gloria. MCU of Gloria, who asks all to listen to the springs.

Woman with microphone sings Nichts auf der Welt (Cigolette from Dance of the Dragonflies by Franz Lehar). Conductor visible behind singer. Nichts auf der Welt evolves into Twist. Twist ends and instrumental version of Nichts auf der Welt begins again. Various dance tunes, including Cadillac and Carlotta’s Gallop. Carlotta’s Gallop ends right before conversation with Mezzabotta. E poi with Mezzabotta.

8. “The clairvoyant.” Maurice is introduced, and then Maya. Maya reads minds of various people. Gloria does not want her mind read.

Fanfare of L’illusionista (similar to Passerella di Addio) begins right after Gloria speaks. L’illusionista ends, and Ricordo d’infanzia begins when Guido transmits message to Maya. Music continues through cut to next sequence.

Guido’s mind is read: “Asa nisi masa.”

9. “Asa nisi masa.” Farmhouse: little Guido runs away from nanny. He is caught and then submerged in a wine bath with other children. Guido taken upstairs in sheets to bed. Women pay special attention to Guido. Grandmother checks to see that children are sleeping. Girl explains to Guido that he must watch picture all night and repeat ASA NISI MASA. CU of fire. Fade to next sequence. 10. “Why don’t you come visit?” Hotel lobby: Guido returns to hotel, apparently late at night. Concierge informs him that his wife called. Beautiful unknown woman on phone. Marcello stops and looks at beautiful woman for a moment, then walks toward phone again. Mezzabotta at piano with Gloria. French actress tries to find out about

Instruments from previous sequence fade out and Ricordo d’infanzia with female voice continues. Ricordo d’infanzia, at times accompanied by guitar, is heard through most of this sequence. Only guitar accompaniment after grandmother. Wind. Guitar and wind fade out with fade to next sequence. Sound of fire.

La Passerella di Otto e Mezzo on piano begins when Marcello begins to walk toward phone.

Diegetic source of music revealed. Popular tune, E poi, and same popular tune again with French actress.

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LISTENING TO FELLINI

her part in the film. Gloria asks Mezzabotta to play “Mystification,” but he replies that he does not know the song. Guido speaks on the phone with Luisa, inviting her to come to the spa. Gloria and Mezzabotta walk past. Guido hangs up phone. French actress again asks questions. Pan up to large clock.

Mezzabotta plays La Passerella di Otto e Mezzo again after Gloria’s request. The tune evolves into Discesa ai Fanghi, then stops during conversation with Luisa. Reason for silence is revealed (Mezzabotta no longer at piano). Clock bell before final pan (rings two times).

11. “Production office.” Guido enters production office. Agostini dictates prices to an accountant. A woman sews a dress (the same dress the French actress was wearing in the previous sequence). Cesarino in his underwear with his “nieces”. Cesarino does a dance step. Conocchia enters complaining of a headache. Hall outside production office: Conocchia asks questions about film, demands to know what is going on. Conocchia and Guido argue. Cesarino and Agostini go to the door of the office to see what is happening. Guido sends them away. They close office door. Conocchia plans to abandon the film. Conocchia enters his room; Guido remains alone in the hall. Guido squats down. Guido enters his room.

Rota’s Nell’Ufficio di Produzione di Otto e Mezzo—with pieces of many of the musical themes in the film— continues through most of this sequence.

12. “Claudia in white.” Guido’s hotel room. Voice-over of Guido’s thoughts. Claudia emerges from darkness and acts out Guido’s thoughts for her role in the film. Claudia kisses Guido. 13. “The fever.” Guido’s hotel room. Carla calls from her hotel. Carla’s hotel room. Carla is sick because she drank too much mineral water.

L’ufficio produzione di 81/2 continues.

Music suddenly stops when door closes, revealing the existence of a diegetic source inside the office. Westminster chime.

No music.

Phone rings. No music. Sound of train whistle.

APPENDIX 7/81/2

14. “Saraghina.” Spa grounds: the cardinal’s secretary takes Guido to the cardinal. Guido meets cardinal. Cardinal speaks of bird Diomedeo. Guido notices a woman who lifts her skirt as she descends a hill. Cut to schoolyard: CU of priest with whistle. Screaming children invite Guido to see Saraghina.

Beach: a boy offers Saraghina money and she dances the rumba. Boys clap along with the music. Guido dances with Saraghina. Priests arrive, chase little Guido (fast motion).

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No music. Soblike sound of the bird Diomedeo. Other bird sounds and the sound of water. Tune for Saraghina’s Rumba begins (includes elements of Ricordo d’infanzia). Whistle before cut to next scene. Whistle continues from previous sequence. Rumba evolves into Ricordo d’infanzia with children. Ricordo d’infanzia ends with two notes of Rumba. Sound of waves. Rumba. The instruments are nondiegetic, while Saraghina’s dance is diegetic. Rumba includes elements of Ricordo d’infanzia. Music lower with chase. Song ends when Guido is caught.

15. “Punishmant.” School interior: Priest pulls Guido along by the ear to confront headmaster and his mother. Guido is taken to a school room wearing a dunce cap. He is made to kneel on kernels of corn. Church interior: Guido observes a mummified saint. He covers his face in horror. Guido speaks with priest through the gate of a confessional. Priest says that Saraghina is the devil. Guido prays before a statue of the Virgin (that has the face of the mysterious woman at the spa). Beach: Guido arrives at beach, kneels in prayer before Saraghina. He waves to her. She returns his greeting.

Church bells.

16. “The steam baths.” Spa dining room: Daumier and Guido sit at a table, with cardinal and priests at a table nearby.

Saraghina’s Rumba fades out a moment after fade to this sequence. Ricordo d’infanzia on piano.

Church bells continue.

Instrumental version of Ricordo d’infanzia begins when Guido leaves confessional. Ricordo d’infanzia continues for a moment into this sequence. As soon as Ricordo d’infanzia ends, Saraghina sings Rumba (Rumba’s first notes are identical to those of Ricordo d’infanzia).

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LISTENING TO FELLINI

Daumier criticizes the Saraghina sequence in the film. Explains what would be necessary in order to engage in a polemic with the church. Piano and singer enter frame. Baths at the spa. Cut to a small group of musicians. Doctors, nurses, and attendants send patients in different directions. Most move downward toward steam baths. Pace discusses film with Guido. Guido sits in steam, notices Mezzabotta, who seems to be asleep. Announcer states over public address system that the cardinal is waiting. On his way to the cardinal Guido gets advice from Cesarino, Pace, Agostini, and Conocchia. Guido meets cardinal in mud bath. Cardinal’s only advice is not to stray from the church.

A woman accompanied by piano sings Chopin’s Nocturne no. 2 in E flat, in Russian (diegetic). Discesa ai fanghi, a variation on La Passerella di Otto e Mezzo that also includes elements of Carlotta’s Gallop and Cimitero.

Voice-over.

Discesa ai fanghi ends a moment before cardinal. Silence except for the sound of breathing and steam. Orchestra plays a popular tune a moment before cut to next sequence.

17. “Luisa.” Downtown area near spa. Crowds, shops, auction, etc. Guido and Luisa meet. Guido and Luisa dance. Pace arrives, invites all to launch pad. All enter Pace’s car. Luisa hesitant— seems upset.

Orchestra plays popular tune.

18. “Spaceship.” Cars arrive at launch pad. Luisa and others climb up structure while Rossella and Guido remain below.

Single B flat (thanks again to Amanda McLane) quivers throughout this sequence on electric organ.

19. “Pillow talk.” Guido’s hotel room. Guido and Luisa have a bitter fight. Sequence ends with the two facing away from each other in separate beds.

Quivering note from previous sequence fades out right after cut to this sequence. Near-total silence except for dialogue.

20. “Luisa and Carla.” Café near spa. Guido, Luisa, and Rossella sit and talk. Carla arrives in horse-drawn carriage. Guido tells Luisa that he had no idea

Nostalgico Swing (variation on Passerella di Otto e Mezzo). Prostitution Theme (from Le notti di Cabiria) begins when the group prepares to leave (my thanks to Amanda McLane for pointing this out).

Carlotta’s Gallop (variation on Sabre Dance by Aram Khachaturian from the ballet Gayaneh—Amanda McLane)

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that Carla was at the spa. Luisa bitter. Carla sings. Luisa goes to Carla and compliments her singing. Carla and Luisa dance. Fade to next sequence.

before carriage enters frame. Carriage bells in time with tune. Tune includes elements of Passerella di Addio. Music continues momentarily into next sequence.

21. “Guido’s harem.” Guido arrives at farmhouse with presents for all the women in his life. Most women in film, except Claudia, are present. Women give Guido a bath and wrap him in sheets. From basement Jacqueline is heard screaming. She does not want to go upstairs with the old women. Harem revolt.

Carlotta’s Gallop evolves into L’Harem (includes La Passerella di Otto e Mezzo, La Passerella di Addio, Rumba, Carlotta’s Gallop, and Ricordo d’infanzia). Ricordo d’infanzia in bath. Cimitero with Jacqueline.

22. “Jacqueline Bonbon.” Jacqueline’s last song. Jacqueline goes upstairs. Guido at table talks about the sequence. He says that he had hoped that it would be funny. Mentions Carla on the harp and she enters frame. Luisa insists that all is well. Scrubs floor. Fade to next sequence. 23. “Screen tests.” Movie theater: Guido sits alone; in voice-over asks Luisa to be patient. Daumier criticizes the film. Luisa, Rossella, and friends sit in a row. Daumier continues to criticize the film. Guido makes a gesture, and Cesarino arrives with a noose. Daumier is hanged. Pace and Conocchia enter. Screen tests begin. First test is for the part of Carla. Second test is for the part of Luisa. Third test is for the part of Carla (second actress). Luisa leaves theater. Guido follows. They argue in hallway. Luisa tells Guido that the marriage is over. Guido returns inside the theater while the Saraghina test is running.

Wagner’s Ride of the Valkeries with revolt. La ballerina pensionata (Ca c’est Paris by J. Padilla, 1926) sung by Jacqueline.

Harp played by Carla with electric organ (part of Carlotta’s Gallop and Passerella di Addio). Music fades out with Luisa.

La Passerella di Otto e Mezzo begins on piano shortly before hanging. La Passerella di Otto e Mezzo ends with Pace’s arrival.

Saraghina sings Rumba for test.

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Various screen tests for the parts of Saraghina, Carla, cardinal. 24. “Claudia in black.” Claudia’s agent tells Guida that Claudia has arrived. Claudia and Guido leave the theater. In her car, Claudia asks questions about the film. Claudia stops car in courtyard. Claudia appears both as fantasy in white and real in black. The real Claudia realizes that she has “no part” in the film.

Rumba again just before Guido greets Claudia. Popular song outside (same as sequence #17). Popular song fades out after cut to car. No music. Sound of water before car stops.

25. “The press conference.” Pace and others arrive in courtyard to tell Guido that there will be a big press conference at the launch site the next day. Cut to press conference and large crowd at launch site. Guido is unwilling to participate. Many ask questions, some of which are hostile. Luisa appears in wedding gown. Agostini slips Guido a gun. Guido hides under table and apparently commits suicide.

Loud engine noises. La conferenza stampa del regista begins before cut to next scene.

26. “Circus.” Launch pad—later. Guido watches as workers take down launch pad. Guido meets Daumier, who begins to explain to Guido why not making the film is the right decision. The two get into a car. Daumier continues to speak of the superiority of silence and nothingness. Maurice arrives. He tells Guido to get ready. Guido’s changing perception is revealed as people from his past enter the frame in white. Guido is suddenly happy. Guido asks Luisa to accept him as he is. Luisa states that she will try. A procession of four clowns and little

La conferenza stampa del regista (variations on Carlotta’s Gallop with elements of Discesa ai Fanghi). Band enters frame to reveal diegetic source.

La conferenza stampa del regista ends shortly before sound of gunshot. Wind. No music.

No music.

With Luisa’s response, La passerella di addio begins with Ricordo

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Guido enter the frame playing their instruments. Little Guido plays flute. More characters in white. At Guido’s cue, curtain opens and a huge crowd descends stairs. Guido arranges all in a circle as the little procession continues to play. Guido’s parents join circle. Guido orders everyone to dance around the circle of the circus ring. Guido and Luisa join circle. Cut to night. Little Guido and clowns continue to play. In final scene little Guido separates from the clowns and is isolated in spotlight.

d’infanzia and includes La Passerella di Otto e Mezzo). Orchestra (visible on stage near platform) backs up little Guido and his band of clowns.

27. “End credits.”

La Passerella di Addio, much slower, ends with woman singing Ricordo d’infanzia.

Music louder when dance begins.. Flute solo ends La passerella di addio with Ricordo d’infanzia.

Notes INTRODUCTION 1. It is not only the sound tracks that unite these films: music does seem to have an important role in holding together what Millicent Marcus calls Fellini’s hyperfilm, a “unitary, ongoing creative project that links the artist’s biography to his cinematic corpus at a relatively high level of abstraction and in which the author’s life in filmmaking comes to coincide with the film of his life. The term hyperfilm . . . suggest[s] the construction of an elevated or heightened film that hovers above Fellini’s works like a Platonic ideal” (Marcus 2002, 182). Or, as Fellini himself noted (answering Charles Samuels’s question, Why do you always have the same music in your films?): “Because all have the same author, story, atmosphere. Moreover, Nino writes the music in my company. It is a harmonious collaboration that I haven’t felt like changing. His music is a kind of frame that is very true for my story and images” (Cardullo, 100). 2. Jacqueline Reich, for one, recognizes that Rota’s musical influences for his Fellini sound tracks generally derive from art forms with a visual component: “Inspired by such diverse musical influences as nineteenth-century dance-opera, music hall and variety theater tunes, melodic songs of the 1930s and the scores of Chaplin shorts, the compositions aimed for simple, melodic and catchy refrains evocative of the circus for a fusion of image, tone and sound” (Bertellini, 150). Pier Marco De Santi makes the connection even more explicitly: “Se è vero, quindi, che il mondo felliniano è sostanzialmente spettacolo e che la sua rappresentazione si risolve spesso in una spumeggiante e talvolta amara esibizione, in un gioco grottesco, patetico, burlesco, al limite tra sogno, ricordo e quotidianità, è straordinario constatare come Nino Rota abbia saputo convogliare su queste costanti poetiche infiniti elementi di musica circense, clownesca. Temi che si ispirano all’esperienza della ottocentesca opera-ballo, al music-hall, al varietà, alla canzone melodica stile anni Trenta e a quel particolare gusto musicale proprio delle colonne sonore dei film di Chaplin” (De Santi, 74). [If it is true, then, that Fellini’s world is essentially spectacle, and that his representation often becomes a scintillating and sometimes bitter exhibition, a grotesque game—pathetic, burlesque, at the boundary between dreams, memories, and everyday life—it is extraordinary to observe how Nino Rota managed to convey these poetic constants with an infinite array of clownish circus music. Themes inspired by the experience of nineteenth-century dance-opera, by music hall, variety theater songs, melodic tunes of the 1930s, and by that particular musical flavor typical of Chaplin’s films] (all bracketed translations in the footnotes are the author’s). 3. De Santi notes that “Nino Rota non ha creato un genere di colonna sonora ‘alla Visconti, Zeffirelli, Coppola, Eduardo, Clement.’” On the other hand, “è lecito

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parlare di un vero e proprio genere di musica da film . . . alla Rota-Fellini” (De Santi, 76). [Nino Rota did not create a Visconti, Zeffirelli, Coppola, Eduardo, Clement sound track genre. On the other hand, “it’s fair to speak of a real cinematic musical genre . . . à la Rota-Fellini”]. More recently, Franco Sciannameo has noted that music and image are much more closely linked in works by Fellini than in the films of other directors with whom Rota collaborated: “The symbiosis between music and images here is such that one element becomes indivisible from the other. This phenomenon is less evident in Rota’s other collaborations, even with artists like Luchino Visconti, Lina Wertmüller, Eduardo De Filippo, Franco Zeffirelli, and Francis Ford Coppola” (29). 4. Rota himself, in an interview with Gideon Bachmann, identifies Visconti’s Il Gattopardo as his best sound track (Rizzardi 197). 5. Two notable exception are Claudia Gorbman’s 1974 article on Le notti di Cabiria, “Music as Salvation: Notes on Fellini and Rota,” and Sergio Miceli’s chapter “Fellini e la musica come personaggio (1952–1963)” in Musica e cinema nella cultura del Novecento. 6. “In Fellini’s . . . films we understand just about everything acoustically, but the editing and acting do not emphasize the content of the lines” (Chion 1994, 183). 7. “Che la musica di un film possa essere un elemento marginale non vi sono dubbi, ma se esiste un modo di pensare il cinema in cui essa risulta indispensabile . . . questo è proprio il cinema di Fellini.” 8. Without carefully listening to Fellini’s early films, one can come away with the impression that they are relatively conventional. Even Peter Bondanella—one of the best readers of Fellini’s films—seems to trust his eyes more than his ears when he states that “Fellini’s cinema was initially more conservative and traditional than that produced during the same period by either Rossellini or Antonioni, who both effected important technical changes in editing or photography that placed them in the avant-garde of the 1950s. In many respects, the technical components of Fellini’s early cinema reflect the standard practice of the Italian studio system, itself based on the dominant Hollywood model” (Bondanella 1992, 71–72). 9. Sound editing includes not only music, but also sound effects and dialogue (in La dolce vita ambient sound is much more conventional than in most of Fellini’s other films, and dialogue is synched more closely). 10. Sergio Miceli points to the confusion between diegetic and nondiegetic sources as a defining characteristic of Fellini’s editing style, arguing that music’s ambiguous relationship to the diegesis in the director’s early works helps to elevate the sound track to the status of active character rather than marginal support (Miceli 409). However, Miceli (whose analysis is otherwise excellent) does not notice many of the instances of this novel editing style in Fellini’s first film: “Per il resto il motivo conduttore del film e la marcetta che sigla il lavoro della troupe di fotoromanzi a Fregene, pur essendo riconoscibili come rotiani, non caratterizzano in modo particolare il lavoro di Rota e Fellini, il quale si rivela e si precisa molto di più nel film successivo” (413). [The main theme of the film and a little march that accompanies the fotoromanzo troupe at Fregene, although recognizable as Rota compositions, are not particularly characteristic of the work of Rota and Fellini, which will reveal itself more clearly in the following film]. 11. There is a large body of research on Nino Rota’s music by such critics as Pier Marco De Santi, Carlos Colón, Giovanni Morelli, Roberto Calabretto, Giorgio

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Mangini, Francesco Lombardi, Franco Sciannameo, and Fabrizio Borin (see works cited for titles). These scholars, however, tend to concentrate more on the musical quality of Rota’s compositions than their cinematic functions. 12. Rota, in an interview with Miceli, claims that Fellini “non è mai andato né a un’opera né a un concerto e non gli piace sentire la musica, anzi, gli dà fastidio perché la sente fortemente e non vuol essere obbligato a seguirla, perché vuole seguire soltanto le sue immagini” (Miceli 457). [(Fellini) has never gone to an opera or to a concert and he does not like to hear music; on the contrary, music bothers him because he feels it so intensely and he does not want to be forced to follow it, because he only wants to follow his images]. 13. “Il motivetto l’ho scritto prima, dopo però gliel’ho fatto sentire, Federico mi ha detto: ‘Perché non ripeti questa battuta un’altra volta? A questo punto, prima della ripetizione, ci starebbe bene un altro motivo.’ In questo modo lui partecipa alla creazione della colonna sonora” (all translations in the body of the text that include a footnote of the original quote are the author’s). 14. Originally published in April 1974 and included in Fra cinema e musica del Novecento: Il caso Nino Rota. 15. “Per questo, negli ultimi anni, ho accettato di lavorare solo con lui [Fellini] o con Coppola. Sono due grandi registi, lo ripeto. Fellini inventa con me le musiche, Coppola mi sa dire esattamente, lui che è figlio di musicisti e ha una straordinaria conoscenza della musica, che cosa vuole, e che cosa ci vuole per una certa sequenza. . . . Per il motivetto di Amarcord: erano poche note, che io avevo buttato giù insieme con Fellini, dopo che per settimane avevamo rincorso l’ispirazione per la musica del film. Federico ha preso queste note e le ha moltiplicate, ne ha fatto un’eco che si ripete, una trovata molto suggestiva.” 16. “Ci metteremo al piano, come sempre, e faremo la musica. Io accenno qualche tema, se ho l’idea pronta gliela scodello. A volte componiamo proprio insieme. Fellini mi dà l’imbeccata non da musicista, ma sempre con una sicura impostazione ritmica, magari con uno spunto melodico. Suggerisce, insomma, una forma aurorale dell’espressione musicale. . . . [Fellini] dà valore alla musica più di quanto farei io stesso. Gli capita spesso di contrariare i fonici eliminando tutti i rumori naturali, tutto il realismo delle scene dove c’è il commento.” 17. In a 1972 interview with Miceli, Rota goes so far as to compare Fellini with Stravinsky: “Fellini ha la capacità di intuire una cosa che in fondo farebbe Stravinski, mettendo in moto tutta la sua originalità di orchestratore anticonformista, andando puramente col suo intuito incolto. Fa delle piccole osservazioni per analogia con quello che conosce, non per cultura, ma da queste viene fuori un senso stilistico moderno” (Miceli 461). [“Fellini has the ability to identify something in a way similar to Stravinsky, by putting in motion all of his originality as an anticonformist director, guided solely by his ignorant intuition]. And in a 1978 interview, to Jean-Louis Lechat’s question “Fellini est un bon musicien?” Rota answers: “Magnifique! Parce qu’il saisit les choses tout de suite et il a une imagination très fertile. Il sait exactement ce qu’il veut. Ses indications sont précises. Cela permet d’écrire une musique parfaitement adaptée à ce qu’il souhaite” (Lombardi 2000, 197). [Magnificent! Because he has an incredibly fertile imagination and he understands things immediately. He knows exactly what he wants. His instructions are precise. This allows me to write music that corresponds perfectly to his wishes]. Tullio Kezich, on the other hand, claims that Fellini has an exceptionally limited

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appreciation for music: “With the remarkable exception of his mysterious rapport with Nino Rota, music is mostly just noise to Fellini. He only ever apprehended a few elementary melodies (Entrance of the Gladiators, variety-show licks, Bach’s organ music, the Ride of the Valkyries, and a few tunes from the jukebox)” (331– 32). Kezich accurately reports what Fellini himself states in numerous interviews (i.e., that he has no understanding or appreciation of music), but it seems likely that the director purposefully understates his real musical knowledge. 18. “Fellini m’a aussi aidé pour d’autres films, faits avec d’autres réalisateurs, ce qui est la marque aussi bien de son amitié que de son intérêt pour le problème artistique que pose en soi la musique de cinéma.” 19. “Andavo sempre da Fellini . . . a chiedere consigli quando mi capitava di lavorare con un regista dalle idee poco chiare sul tipo di musica da inserire nel film. Fellini era sempre disposto a perdere ore per aiutarmi a risolvere i problemi dei film e dei registi. Finora sono stati 12 o 13 i film per i quali Fellini mi ha aiutato in questa maniera.” 20. “Poi tornerò a Roma per incidere Fortunella, di cui ho fatto la musica con Fellini di nascosto da De Filippo (che fa scene di gelosia e di isterismo per questo film, che De Laurentiis voleva fare rigirare per metà a Fellini).” Since Rota recycles one of the tunes from Fortunella in the sound track of the first Godfather movie, one has to wonder whether Fellini may have had a small hand in composing the famous music for Coppola’s film. Francesco Borin (who seems unaware of Fellini’s collaboration with Rota on the sound track of De Filippo’s film) notes: “[Fortunella è] una pellicola particolare sia per l’atmosfera straniante e felliniana— Giulietta Masina ripropone il cliché di Gelsomina—, sia perché le musiche, in particolare la marcetta sottofondo alla sua svagata avventura, viene riproposta, dispiegata su una falsariga drammatica, nel primo Padrino di Coppola” (Borin xii). 21. In an interview with Rota, for example, Miceli asks the composer whether he had any influence over the selection of the preexisting classical pieces for 8 1/2. Rota answers: “No, no. Le ha volute [Fellini], fortemente” (Miceli 457). [No, no. (Fellini) was the one who really wanted them]. 22. In an interview with Bertrand Borie, Rota states that Fellini was never absent from the recording studio: “Vous savez, [Fellini] c’est un homme qui aime passionément la musique, un de ces metteurs en scène qui se sentent réellement concernés par celle de leurs films: il aime en discuter, ne manque jamais une session d’enregistrement” (Lombardi 2000, 209). [You know, (Fellini) is a man who really loves music, and he is one of those directors who are very concerned about music in their films. He loves to talk about it, and he never misses a recording session.] 23. Rota tells Borie: “qui sait vous parler de son film, il n’y a pratiquement pas besoin de voir les images” (Lombardi 2000, 212). [If someone knows how to describe his film, you almost don’t need to see the images.] 24. “S’è accennato sopra alla totale autonomia formale tenuta e mantenuta da Rota nella sua prassi compositiva cinematografica, non abbiamo approfondito come uno dei motori di questa autonomia fosse proprio il netto distacco del musicista dalla vicenda filmica. . . . Rota lavorava, infatti, principalmente su appunti; il film in genere lo vedeva in moviola, dopo aver composto gran parte delle musiche, e solo per risolvere problemi tecnici (durate, stacchi, orchestrazioni). Il film, tutto intero, nella sua versione definitiva, non lo vedeva quasi mai, neanche dopo la sua uscita.”

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25. “Ieri Nino è stato dentro la Fonoroma dalle due a Mezzanotte passata, prodigandosi senza spreco, perché Previtali, quando soltanto chitarra e mandolino sono rimasti in gioco, se ne è andato e Nino ha assunto lui la direzione, coadiuvato da Fellini, che dietro stava in ascolto e suggeriva modifiche.” When Ernesta Rota writes that Fellini listens from behind (“che da dietro stava in ascolto”) she does not specify what he is behind, but she is probably referring to the control room, separate from the musicians and behind a soundproof glass partition. 26. Fernando Previtali conducted the orchestra for Lo sceicco bianco; Franco Ferrara for I vitelloni, La strada, Il bidone, Le notti di Cabiria, and La dolce vita; Rota himself conducted for 8 1/2 (Borin 97, 125, 140, 149, 180, 193, 218). 27. “Non vado mai al mixage dei film di Fellini.” 28. In La filmografia di Nino Rota, Fabrizio Borin lists 158 films on which Rota worked, 60 of them before his first collaboration with Fellini. 29. See the Conclusion for a more complete description of this future project.

CHAPTER 1. LO SCEICCO BIANCO 1. Sequence numbers refer to Appendix 1 and correspond with the chapters of the Criterion Collection DVD (Criterion 189). 2. A fotoromanzo is a “photo-novel or sentimental true-romance-type magazine that sold millions of copies in postwar Italy and boasted such titles as Grand Hotel or Sogno. Before the advent of mass audiences for television, such pulp magazines filled the same role in popular culture that soap operas fill today” (Bondanella 2002, 18–19). 3. Fellini initially wanted to use a preexisting and immediately recognizable circus march, Julius Fucik’s Einzug der Gladiatoren, where Rota’s circus march occurs in the film (Morelli 30; Kezich 120). 4. The first shots in these opening scenes alienate the viewer from a spatial context. For example, rather than beginning with establishing shots to introduce the means of transportation that carry Ivan and Wanda toward their hotel in Rome, Fellini’s first shot after the credits is a subjective tracking shot of buildings from an unseen train, and later when the couple take a carriage to the hotel that vehicle is introduced with an extreme low-angle shot of the carriage driver framed by the sky. 5. These two examples of the abrupt ending of nondiegetic music synchronized with diegetic action break rule II (“inaudibility”) of Claudia Gorbman’s conventions of sound track editing in the classical Hollywood tradition: “Music is not meant to be heard consciously. As such it should subordinate itself to dialogue, to visuals— i.e., to the primary vehicles of the narrative” (Gorbman 1987, 73). 6. Peter Bondanella sees a link between these bells and criticism of the church: “Bells can be heard on the sound track, suggesting that an additional source of deception and illusion in Fellini’s universe may also be the Church, a theory confirmed at the film’s conclusion when the two separated story lines are finally united in front of Saint Peter’s” (Bondanella 1992, 83). 7. The only sound is a typewriter—as if Wanda’s words were being recorded for reproduction at a later time. And indeed they are: Wanda offers dialogue for a character, Fatma, whose role she will later perform at the shoot for the fotoromanzo. Ironically, Wanda mistakes the written function of these lines and recites them

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orally while at the shoot at the beach even though all that the diegetic fotoromanzo camera captures is her still image. 8. Bondanella, one of only a handful of critics who pay careful attention to the sound track of this film, does not note the diegetic drums, but nevertheless does grasp the significance of Theme A in this scene: “Nino Rota’s sound track underlines her confusion, for the music is extradiegetic, not issuing from any rational source in the scene (such as a radio). It is dubbed in by Fellini as a commentary on the illusory nature of this procession of unusual characters” (Bondanella 1992, 85). De Santi also does not notice the diegetic accompaniment to Theme A: “La marcetta [Theme A] [. . . è] musica incidentale . . . una musica, cioè, che non esiste logicamente nella realtà” (De Santi, 77). [The march (Theme A) (. . . is) nondiegetic music . . . that is to say music that has no logical connection to (narrative) reality.”] 9. The shooting script does not include descriptions of nondiegetic sound, but it nevertheless describes the drum in a way that reveals the intention of conveying the idea of a mysterious source for the music: “Ad un tratto, un rullo di tamburo distrae Wanda dal suo beato smemoramento. Wanda ode questo richiamo ma non sa individuare la provenienza” (Fellini 1969, 37). [All of a sudden a drum roll distracts Wanda from her blissful daydream. Wanda hears this call, but is not able to discern its provenance.”] 10. Manuela Gieri implies that the actors themselves are partly to blame for the illusions they create: according to Gieri, the fotoromanzo actors are “people who can no longer distinguish between illusion and reality or, rather, people who, through the illusions they provide, cheat on life and on other people” (Gieri, 94). 11. My thanks to Ben Lawton for pointing this out. 12. Bondanella has a slightly different interpretation of the bersaglieri and their music: “Ivan is trapped in their midst, as if to underline the stultifying effects of his shallow patriotism. Now, the music on the sound track comes from the soldiers themselves, emphasizing Ivan’s domain, the world of everyday reality, in contrast to the dreamy mood music that marks Wanda’s fantasy world of photo-novels and Bedouin adventurers” (Bondanella 1992, 85). The “dreamy mood music” Bondanella mentions is probably from the sequence (#10) where Wanda and Rivoli leave the fotoromanzo set on a small sailboat (Theme A, the tune most closely associated with Wanda’s interactions with the actors/characters from the fotoromanzo, is a lively circus march). Angelo Solmi notes that originally this tune was to have a much larger role in the film: “La fanfara dei bersaglieri doveva in un primo tempo seguire ironicamente tutta l’odissea di Ivan Cavalli” (Solmi, 130). [The fanfare of the bersaglieri was originally supposed to follow Ivan’s entire odyssey ironically.] 13. Just as the military horns were originally introduced by the regular pounding of a sledgehammer, here too a worker’s hammer is heard off-screen. As Ivan walks toward his relatives in the lobby, “the noise of a sledge hammer . . . accompanies his steps, and the hammer takes the exact rhythm of a loudly thundering heart” (Chomel, 123). 14. Sergio Miceli calls this return of the bersaglieri horns “un buon esempio di livello mediato (a metà strada fra l’emanazione del personaggio e la manifesta volontà artistica del regista).” [A good example of metadiegetic music (coming from halfway between the character and the manifest artistic will of the director.] Miceli further notes that it is precisely the ambivalence of the musical source that allows

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the viewer to identify the tune easily as “simbolo ironico del tradimento” (413) [ironic symbol of infidelity.] 15. The shooting script calls for this duet and specifies that the baritone should be thin and the soprano very large, adding yet another layer of irony to the scene by separating the meaning of the text from the visual representation of the narration (Fellini 1969, 60). 16. Jacqueline Risset describes this shot as follows: “Through the oriental seduction of the figure in the air (before the comically coarse features, the little eyes, and the vain swelling of Alberto Sordi’s thin cheeks are seen for a few seconds in closeup), the spectator immediately notices that his legs are in a position that is at once ridiculous and sexually allusive: lifted up, stretched, heels very conspicuous, toes in the air, like two parodic and vulgar erections. These legs do not evoke the mobile and rapid energy of Tarzan or the heroes of the desert. They do not evoke the grace of gallant flirting. Instead, they convey elementary sexual affirmation, confirmed and supported by the direct sensuality of an unbridled voice singing out loud” (Risset, 66). 17. Risset, referring to the lyrics of this song, notes that “the dream of the actor who plays the White Sheik, a dream of America—of Hollywood desired, but ineffectively so, in the Roman fashion—provides a counterpoint to the exotic and oriental dream that produces Wanda’s infatuation with the White Sheik” (Risset, 67). 18. The shooting script includes precise instructions for this scene: “Il signore scende dalla macchina, alza l’antenna della radio e comincia a spogliarsi. La radio della macchina di Mambroni è accesa e trasmette un ballabile. (Radio trasmette un ballabile). (Radio aumenta volume).” [The man gets out of the car, raises the radio antenna, and starts to undress. The radio from Mambroni’s car is on and plays a dance tune. (Radio plays dance tune). (Radio volume goes up).] The script also describes the changes in the music’s tone very carefully while implicitly relating these changes to Wanda’s perceptions of her experience: “Wanda, che durante la scena non ha mai staccato lo sguardo da Fernando, fa un lieve movimento verso di lui, offrendosi. Fernando stringe Wanda con un braccio alla vita e comincia a danzare lentissimamente, restando fermo sul posto, seguendo con un mugolio il motivo sdolcinato trasmesso dalla radio. (Musica sempre più emotiva). Wanda, sulle prime preoccupata, man mano si scioglie e sorride. Si sente l’interprete di un film musicale. Fernando sempre sorridente, sicuro di sè, tenta qualche passo difficile e danza sempre fissando Wanda, mugolando il motivo della canzone. . . . Wanda ora mugola anche lei il motivo trasmesso dalla radio. Ha dimenticato tutto, sta ballando col principe. (Musica sempre più emotiva e sdolcinata)” (emphasis in original) (Fellini 1969, 47). [Wanda, who for the entire scene has never stopped looking at Fernando, takes a small step toward him, offering herself. Fernando puts his arm around Wanda’s waist and begins to dance very slowly, staying in the same spot and humming the cloying melody from the radio. (Music more and more emotional). Wanda, at first worried, begins to relax and smile. She feels like an actress in a musical. Fernando, always smiling, sure of himself, tries a couple of tricky dance steps and continues to stare at Wanda while humming the melody of the song. . . . Now Wanda also hums the tune played on the radio. She has forgotten everything, she’s dancing with the prince. (Music more and more emotionally charged and cloying).] 19. Carlos Colón, speaking of the inclusion of circus music in Lo sceicco bianco, notes that “lo clownesco se incorpora inicialmente al mundo felliniano a través de

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la música, sin que en el film aparezca el circo. Es todo un programa. La música pone de relieve lo ‘circense’ de unos personajes y unas situaciones que estrictamente no lo son, es el cruel subrayado de lo grotesco de los personajes y de sus acciones” (Colón, 30). [Clownery is initially incorporated into Fellini’s world through music, without showing the circus in the film. It’s an entire program. The music emphasizes the circuslike aspects of some characters and some situations that strictly speaking do not belong to the circus and cruelly underlines the grotesque nature of the characters and their actions]. 20. Bondanella notes that this succession of quick cuts “reveals to the careful viewer the process of film montage that lies at the heart of this entire film. This sequence represents Fellini’s implicit refusal to follow a principle advocated by some neorealist directors, especially Rossellini, who believed that the manipulative qualities of such dramatic editing failed to respect the ‘reality’ they were filming” (Bondanella 1992, 86). 21. Bondanella points out that the sound track cues this cut between Ivan’s story and Wanda’s adventures at the beach: “The shift from Ivan’s restaurant back to Wanda’s seashore is signaled by the sound track: diegetic music typical of Ivan’s sequences, here played on a mandolin by a strolling musician near his table, points the spectator toward the narrative’s next jump with its lyrics: ‘O sky, o sun, o sea’ “ (Bondanella 1992, 86). 22. The shooting script calls for this music but does not explain its source: “Si sente la musica di un ballabile. . . . Un pescatore ha preso tra le braccia una odalisca e ha cominciato a ballare” (Fellini 1969, 54). [The music of a dance tune is heard. . . . A fisherman takes an odalisque in his arms and begins to dance.] 23. As a spectator in a cinema, Felga seems to be eating popcorn as she watches Wanda and Rita fight. (My thanks to Amanda McLane for this insight.) 24. In a 1971 interview, Charles Samuels asks Fellini: “What do you mean to suggest as the future of the Cavallis?” Fellini’s hilarious answer reveals an essential lack of interest in neat narrative resolution: “To begin with, I must tell you that Trieste and Bovo (the actors) were not married. It was all make-believe. You know I think they are still unmarried. To anyone anxious to know what will happen to that marriage you can safely say, ‘They’re not married’” (Cardullo 97). 25. The shooting script makes clear Fellini’s intention to link Wanda’s fantasy of the White Sheik with religion. After Wanda tells Ivan that he is now her White Sheik, the script includes this description of Ivan’s reaction: “Ivan volge lo sguardo verso Wanda e si fa di nuovo serio e scuro in volto vedendo che ella guarda qualcosa con aria beata. Ivan volge gli occhi nella stessa direzione e vede che l’oggetto dello sguardo di Wanda è . . . la statua di un angelo sopra il colonnato” (Fellini 1969, 91). [Ivan turns and looks at Wanda and his expression again becomes serious and cross when he notices that she is looking at something with a blissful expression. Ivan looks in the same direction and sees the object of Wanda’s gaze . . . it’s the statue of an angel on top of the colonnade.] It bears noting, as Bondanella points out (1992, 88n), that the film does not conform to the script: Wanda does not look at anything but rather closes her eyes, and the statue is a saint, not an angel. The final version of the film shows us an image of what Wanda imagines rather than what she actually sees, implying that she will continue to live in a fantasy world of her own creation. Therefore, the blessing that the statue seems to offer with its raised arm may be entirely ironic, and the fact that the statue is visibly crumbling

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further undermines an unequivocal reading of the image (my thanks to Ben Lawton for this last insight).

CHAPTER 2. I VITELLONI 1. The shooting script emphasizes this combination of bare legs and nationalism: “Ora sul palcoscenico, sono apparse le ballerine, a cosce nude e con una bustina militaresca in testa e la sciabola al fianco, a passo di marcia sfilano sulla passerella, mentre il vecchio attore, irrigidito sull’attenti, continua a cantare. . . . Improvvisamente la tromba dell’orchestra suona l’attenti e dal sipario di fondo, dove si sono aggruppate intanto le ballerine, appare la soubrette, vestita da Italia” (Fellini 1969, 158). [Now on stage the female dancers have come out, with naked thighs, and with little military caps on their heads and swords at their hips, and with a march step they file across the stage, while the aging actor, standing at attention, continues to sing. . . . Suddenly the orchestra trumpet signals to stand at attention, and from behind the back curtain, now framed by the dancers, the soubrette enters, dressed as Italy.] 2. This function of music is made explicit by the voice-over narrator when, at Fausto and Sandra’s wedding, he says: “Riccardo cantò l’Ave Maria di Schubert e fece piangere tutti quanti.” [Riccardo sang Ave Maria by Schubert and made everyone cry.] 3. The separation of levels of narration is determined in large part by the formal separation of music, words, and action. Fellini’s audiovisual style seems to duplicate in cinema Brecht’s prescription for isolating music, dialogue, and staging techniques in his formulation of epic theater: “The great struggle for supremacy between words, music and production—which always brings up the question ‘which is the pretext for what?’: is the music the pretext for the events on the stage, or are these the pretext for the music? Etc.—can simply be by-passed by radically separating the elements. So long as the expression ‘Gesamtkunstwerk’ (or ‘integrated work of art’) means that the integration is a muddle, so long as the arts are supposed to be ‘fused’ together, the various elements will all be equally degraded, and each will act as a mere ‘feed’ to the rest. The process of fusion extends to the spectator, who gets thrown into the melting pot too and becomes a passive (suffering) part of the total work of art. Witchcraft of this sort must of course be fought against. Whatever is intended to produce hypnosis, is likely to induce sordid intoxication, or creates fog, has got to be given up. Words, music and setting must become more independent of one another” (37–38, emphasis in original). 4. Sequence numbers refer to Appendix 2 and correspond with the chapters of the Criterion Collection DVD (Criterion 246). 5. “Few critics seemed aware, at the time, of the importance of Nino Rota’s score. One exception was John Simon who, seeing the film in the United States three years after its release in Italy, regarded Rota’s music as one ‘of the most brilliant features of the film.’ Of its two main themes, ‘the first is a soaring, romantic melody that can be made to express nostalgia, love, and the pathos of existence.’ The other is a kind of carefree march. ‘Slowed down,’ Simon wrote, ‘it becomes lugubrious; with eerie figurations in the woodwinds it turns sinister. The quick-

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silver changes in the music support the changing moods of the story’” (Alpert, 87). The themes that Simon describes are Theme B and Theme C. 6. De Santi treats Themes A and B as one theme, not noticing their distinct functions in the film: “Il primo è un tema dai timbri misteriosi e cupi, come la nebbia che avvolge i vitelloni al mare durante le lunghe giornate d’inverno. È il tema dell’amore infelice tra Fausto e Sandra, il tema del tradimento; è il tema della fuga di Olga, sorella di Alberto, con l’amante; è il tema della solitudine dei vitelloni” (De Santi, 79). [The first is a theme with mysterious and gloomy timbres, like the fog that envelops the vitelloni at the sea during the long days of winter. It’s the theme of Fausto and Sandra’s unhappy love, the theme of betrayal; it’s the theme of Alberto’s sister Olga’s escape with her lover; it’s the theme of the vitelloni’s loneliness.] 7. The shooting script includes some of the lyrics to Riccardo’s song: “Come una chimera . . . scende giù la sera” (Fellini 1969, 97). 8. The song includes horns and percussion, but the shooting script indicates that at this point in the scene the tune was originally to be played only on piano and guitar: “Riccardo e il chitarrista hanno attaccato freneticamente a suonare, ma il loro volenteroso intervento sembra solo aumentare la confusione generale” (Fellini 1969, 101). [Riccardo and the guitarist began to play frenetically, but their eager efforts seem only to increase the general confusion.] 9. The fact that music from a diegetic band fades out in the middle of a song— as if the volume of each instrument could spontaneously fade in unison—is itself unrealistic and undermines the “reality” of the scene. 10. She hums Theme C for a moment while she rebuffs Fausto. Reflecting precise attention to the sound track, this detail is included in the shooting script: “La ragazza sopporta a lungo, tranquillamente, lo sguardo di Fausto. Poi, ascoltando il canto lontano di Riccardo, ne accenna a mezza voce il motivo e risponde a Fausto con tono infastidito” (Fellini 1969, 98). [The girl calmly tolerates for some time Fausto’s gaze. Then, listening to Riccardo’s song in the distance, sings a few notes of the tune softly and answers Fausto with an annoyed tone.] 11. Tullio Kezich notes the similarity between this scene and two real-life weddings: one that Federico and Riccardo attend in June 1943 where the “Fellini brothers are among the guests. Federico draws the invitations. Riccardo sings Schubert’s Ave Maria and everything more or less proceeds like the wedding scene in I vitelloni” (50); and the second, Federico and Giulietta Masina’s wedding in October of the same year, where Riccardo repeats his performance of Schubert’s piece (73). 12. Pier Marco De Santi notes: “La vacuità sognante di questo melanconico mondo di provincia rivive completamente nel motivo e nelle parole: ‘Vola nella notte e nell’oscurità . . . / Vola nella notte un bacio di passion. . . .’ È questo il vero tema del film, il tema che descrive i protagonisti, li accompagna nelle loro scorazzate notturne o al mare, li conduce a letto ad uno ad uno, infondendo nelle loro menti immagini di irraggiungibili sogni ad occhi aperti: con questa sorta di imbambolamento, la musica contribuisce così a sottolineare frustrazioni e a dare corpo a uno stile narrativo” (De Santi 79). [The dreamy vacuity of this melancholy provincial world comes to life in the melody and in the words: “Fly through the night and through darkness . . . / Fly through the night a kiss of passion. . . .” This is the real theme of the film, a theme that describes the protagonists, accompanies them on the beach or on their nocturnal prowls, brings them to bed one by one,

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instilling in their minds images of unreachable daydreams. Creating something like a daze, the music manages to emphasize frustrations and give a shape to a narrative style.] Tullio Kezich notes that Rota had originally composed Vola nella notte for an earlier film: Roma, città libera (126). 13. Richard Dyer notes that Rota’s neorealist scores in the 1940s (unlike Renzo Rossellini’s compositions) often develop popular themes that are included diegetically in the films (36–38). In these earlier films, however, there was no slippage or confusion between diegetic and nondiegetic sources. 14. “One of Italy’s most successful stage performers of the 1920s, 1930s, and 1940s, Wanda Osiris was also one of the first female musical revue performers to become a major star. A flamboyant performer, she is credited with being the first to use chorus boys in her act. Born Anna Menzio in Rome, Osiris was 16 when she bucked convention and joined a vaudeville company, something that was almost unheard of during those strict times. On stage, Osiris billed herself as Wandissima” (Sandra Brennan, allmovie.com). 15. According to the shooting script this music was to accompany commercials screened before the film: “Sullo schermo, al suono di una musichetta frenetica appaiono le diapositive colorate della pubblicità” (Fellini 1969, 128). “On the screen, accompanied by a fast-paced popular tune, appear color slides of a commercial.] 16. In a further level of narrative entanglement, the dialogue from the film within the film reflects Fausto’s infidelity: “Voce attore: Ti prego di non crederlo, mia cara. Voce attrice: Ah, sì. Dovrei fidarmi delle tue parole, allora” (Fellini 1969, 128–29). [Actor voice: My dear, I beg you not to believe it. Actress voice: Oh sure. So I should trust your words.] 17. It is interesting to note the similarities between Fausto and Checco of Variety Lights in terms of both characters’ serial infidelity. But there is one important formal difference: Checco’s continuing infidelity is narrated visually at the end of Variety Lights, but in I vitelloni Fellini has learned to trust the sound track alone to communicate Fausto’s recidivism. 18. The choice of this American popular tune is not casual. The shooting script makes clear that this tune should approximate the sound of an American band: “Due ore più tardi il veglione è al suo colmo. L’orchestra suona furiosamente, in un tentativo caotico di imitazione di un’orchestra americana” (Fellini 1969, 137). [Two hours later the party has reached its climax. The orchestra plays furiously, in a chaotic attempt at imitating an American orchestra.] 19. Miceli notes: “L’identificazione fra protagonista e musica-personaggio è d’altronde calata in una substrutturazione di natura già musicale: dall’iniziale scena corale, un ‘tutti’ in cui la componente sonora è ancora illustrativa e quasi documentaria, si passa al sinistro ‘a solo’ nel teatro deserto, dove la componente musicale è mediatrice dello stato psico-fisico del vitellone, fino al ‘recitativo’, del monologo nella piazza deserta” (415–16). [The identification between protagonist and music-character drops to a lower elemental level that is itself musical in nature: from the initial choral scene, an “everyone” in which the sound component is still explanatory and almost documentary-like, we pass to a sinister “solo” in the empty theater where the musical component mediates the psycho-physical state of the vitellone, until the “recitative” of the monologue in the empty piazza.] 20. The shooting script describes this scene: “Alberto, sempre più malfermo sulle gambe, balla strettamente allacciato al mascherone. Lo bacia, lo stringe amorosa-

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mente. Ad un tratto si arresta. Sembra sul punto di vomitare. Scorge appeso al soffitto il faccione stolido di un altro mascherone e gli fa una smorfia di disgusto. Ormai sfinito si avvia lentamente verso l’uscita del teatro, trascinandosi appresso il fantoccio. . . . È un’alba fredda. La piazza del teatro è deserta. Giunge il suono della tromba che esegue le ultime battute del can can. . . . Il silenzio è ora profondo” (Fellini 1969, 138). [Alberto, finding it more and more difficult to remain standing, dances while holding his huge mask tight. He kisses it, lovingly holds it tight. Suddenly he stops. He seems about to vomit. He notices the obtuse face of a huge mask suspended from the ceiling and gives it a disgusted look. Exhausted, he slowly heads for the exit of the theater, dragging along the puppet. . . . It’s a cold dawn. The piazza in front of the theater is deserted. The sound of the final notes of the trumpet’s can-can are heard. . . . The silence is now deep.] 21. As Frank Burke notes: “From the beginning, he’s imagined as one who stands apart and observes what’s going on around him. Moreover, he’s first seen looking to the sky—suggesting an urge to raise his sights, his level of perception” (Burke 1983, 113).

CHAPTER 3. LA STRADA 1. John Baxter writes that “during editing, Rota gave Fellini a few sheets of hand-ruled music paper with a tune marked simply with the direction ‘Tranquillo’, and said off-handedly: ‘Do you want this?’ It was Gelsomina’s Theme [Il Matto], soon to become one of the most famous of all film themes. The first recording alone sold two million copies” (112). 2. La strada “es el caso más claro y categórico de protagonismo musical y de la utilización de la música como factor dramático conformador, en cierto modo, de la acción o modificador de ella” (Colón, 49). [(La strada) is the clearest and most categorical case of musical protagonism—the use of music as a dramatic factor that, in a certain sense, forms or modifies the action]. Sergio Miceli describes the music of the film as follows: “La musica di Rota risente in ogni senso delle ambizioni del regista e di conseguenza esce allo scoperto molto più di quanto abbia fatto nelle prove precedenti, offrendo un’ampia gamma espressiva che trova una propria consistenza anche negli interventi della musica come personaggio” (417). [Rota’s music expresses in every way the ambitions of the director, and consequently it reveals itself much more than it had in earlier works, and offers a wide expressive range that finds its foundation in the role of music as character.] 3. Roberto Calabretto identifies Dvorák as the source of this tune: “Questo tema è un evidente adattamento della Serenata per archi in Mi maggiore op. 22 di Antonin Dvorák” (Rizzardi 195). [This theme is clearly an adaptation of Serenade for Strings in E major, op. 22 by Antonin Dvorák.] Carlos Colón, on the other hand, sees an indebtedness to the sound track of Chaplin’s Modern Times in Rota’s first theme for La strada: “Hay un evidente paralelismo entre el tema de los títulos de crédito de [Tiempos Modernos] y el mismo tema de La strada” (Colón, 28). [There is an obvious parallel between the theme for the opening titles of Modern Times and the opening theme of La strada.] 4. Sergio Miceli notes that La Strada Theme suggests “la strada quale ambiente mutevole, l’atto di percorrerla, in una dimensione epica dello spazio e del

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tempo secondo l’esperienza dei girovaghi” (422). [(the theme suggests) the changing environment of the road, the act of traveling down it in an epic dimension of space and time like that experienced by vagabonds.] 5. Sequence numbers refer to Appendix 3 and correspond with the chapters of the Criterion Collection DVD (Criterion 219). 6. During the shooting of the film a tune by the seventeenth century composer Arcangelo Corelli was used to guide the actors on the set. Fellini initially intended to use Corelli on the sound track but changed his mind while editing the film. “Il film fu infatti girato adoperando come musica di set il tema iniziale della Sonata in re minore, op. 5, Follia, per violino e clavicembalo di Arcangelo Corelli. . . . Solo in fase di montaggio e dopo molte indecisioni, Fellini . . . accettò di sostituire la musica di Corelli con l’attuale tema di Rota” (De Santi, 81). [The film was in fact shot using the initial theme of the Sonata in D Minor, Op. 5, Follia, for violin and harpsichord by Arcangelo Corelli. . . . After much hesitation, and only during editing, Fellini . . . agreed to substitute Corelli’s music with Rota’s theme.] 7. “A road is something already laid out, encouraging everyone to travel the same restrictive route. . . . The road is also a purely physical form of relatedness that comes, in La Strada, to be the only way people can connect in a world without love. Its capacity to separate eventually exceeds its ability to unite, and in failing to lead people to fulfillment, the road becomes an avenue to violence, death, abandonment, and alienation” (Burke 1996, 50). 8. Donald Costello, on the other hand, describes this circus march as a device that allows viewers to escape the reality of the barren setting of the scene: “Nino Rota’s lively circus march carries us in spirit to new worlds of fantasy, away from the reality of this barren field” (Costello, 8). 9. In the shooting script the setting for this sequence is alternately described as a house under construction or an abandoned chapel. (See Fellini 1969, 236–38.) 10. Zampanò’s point of view is also revealed in a caressing subjective shot of Gelsomina as the motorcycle departs. As Costello notes: “As Zampano [sic] drives away, a subjective camera, taking on his point of view, shows her receding into the distance. It is a shot that surely suggests his sadness as well as ours” (Costello, 28). 11. It is precisely when the tune leaves the diegesis that it becomes a leitmotif, contrary to the claims of some critics who believe that Il Matto is exclusively diegetic. Carlos Colón, for example, is mistaken when he states that Il Matto “es de un absoluto carácter diegético. [Gelsomina] se lo oye tocar al Loco en un pequeño violín y luego lo interpreta a la trompeta; al final, cuando lo oiga Zampanò . . . será canturreado por una mujer mientras tiende la ropa. El tema tiene siempre una presencia “real” en la película” (Colón, 36). [(Il Matto) is entirely diegetic. (Gelsomina) hears the Fool play the tune on a tiny violin, and then later plays it on her trumpet; at the end of the film, when Zampanò hears it . . . it will be sung by a woman hanging up clothes. The theme always has a ‘real’ presence in the film.] 12. The shooting script describes Gelsomina’s thoughts as she ponders the pebble in her hand: “C’è un silenzio. Gelsomina rigira fra le mani osservandolo il sassolino che il Matto le ha dato. Poi si alza, fa qualche passo lì attorno e come . . . come se dentro le si fosse sciolto un nodo di cose compresse e non mai dette, prende a parlare tra il riso e l’angoscia” (Fellini 1969, 223). [There’s a silence. Gelsomina turns around the pebble that the Fool has given her in her hands, observing it. Then she gets up, takes a few steps around, and as if . . . as if within her a

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tightly wound knot of unspoken things is untied, caught between anguish and laughter, she begins to speak.] 13. As Millicent Marcus notes, the Fool’s parable “has the force of revelation for Gelsomina who learns through it that the human mind has infinite range, that it can move from the tiniest pebble to contemplate the vastness of the heavens, and that thought need not be earthbound or imprisoned by immediate material things” (Marcus 1986, 157). 14. Many critics erroneously state that the Fool introduces the tune for the first time in the film. Bondanella, for example, writes, “The music is first introduced . . . by the Fool, who is playing it on his tiny violin” (Bondanella 1992, 111). 15. Frank Burke, on the other hand, sees this song as sign of evasion: “Gelsomina’s sudden preoccupation with the song is a denial of her present situation. For the first time since she started communicating with Zampanò, she fails to confront him directly with her concerns about his behavior. Moreover, enlightenment, which was earlier equated with self-expression and creativity (her dance with the comedic hats), is now equated with escape” (Burke 1996, 57). 16. “As the initial shooting script makes clear, the music eventually identified as [Il Matto] was to be introduced by means of an offscreen radio Gelsomina would overhear while standing under the eaves of a house while it rained” (Bondanella 2002, 57). This deleted scene would directly precede the wedding sequence where Gelsomina sings the tune (Fellini 1969, 199–200). 17. Marcus notes that “Gelsomina’s attempts to engage him in conversation are met either by grunts, monosyllables, or imperatives to silence, while the natural delicacy of her expressions of affection occasion Zampanò’s mockery or indifference” (Marcus 1986, 153). 18. Burke reads this image of Gelsomina as a formal separation of head (mind, intelligence, abstraction) and body—the head representing the Fool and the body Zampanò: “The conflict between Il Matto and Zampanò comes to embody the split between head and body, spirit and matter. . . . The first time [Gelsomina] hears [the Fool] playing the song . . . she moves over to the circus tent and places her chin on a rope strung across the entrance, ‘severing’ her head from her body” (Burke 1996, 60). 19. Solmi quotes an earlier script that emphasizes the magic of Gelsomina’s musical abilities: “Gelsomina prende il flauto, lo porta alle labbra e ne trae un suono strano e misterioso. Dove e quando Gelsomina ha imparato a suonare il flauto? Ella stessa lo ignora” (153). [Gelsomina takes the flute, moves it to her lips and makes a strange and mysterious sound. Where and when did Gelsomina learn to play the flute? She herself does not know.] In the shooting script, on the other hand, Gelsomina was to play the tune twice, making a mistake the first time (Fellini 1969, 228–29). 20. Bondanella notes that in an early version of the story before the elaboration of the shooting script “Gelsomina’s famous trumpet, with which she plays her heartrending song composed by Nino Rota on a variant of a tune by Arcangelo Corelli, was originally a flute” (Bondanella 1992, 108). 21. The shooting script carefully describes Zampanò’s reactions to the song: “Al principio Zampanò non vi fa caso; ciondola grevemente lungo la strada, accendendosi una sigaretta. Poi lo afferra, tende l’orecchio, malcerto e subito stranamente inquieto; è la melodia secentesca che suonava Gelsomina. Zampanò si ferma. Ascolta.

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Volge di scatto il capo e lo sguardo nella direzione donde quel canto giunge. Ora la voce di donna non si ode più. . . . Zampanò rimane sospeso, non ancora sicuro di aver sentito bene; un disagio vivissimo simile ad un vero e profondo turbamento, si è impadronito di lui con violenza e rapidità inattesa. . . . Poi quel canto riprende. Zampanò fa qualche passo rapido verso la spiaggia; si ferma, come vergognandosi di questa sua agitazione; riprende ad andare con calma forzata” (Fellini 1969, 239). [“At first Zampanò does not pay it any attention; he sways heavily down the road, lighting himself a cigarette. Then it grabs him, he tries to listens, uncertain and suddenly strangely uneasy; it’s the seventeenth century melody that Gelsomina used to play. Zampanò stops. He listens. He quickly turns his head and looks in the direction of the song and listens. Now the woman’s voice can no longer be heard. . . . Zampanò is left hanging, not quite sure if he heard well; an intense uneasiness similar to a real, profound worry has taken him over with unexpected and violence and quickness. . . . The song starts again. Zampanò takes a few quick strides toward the beach; he stops, ashamed at his agitation; he starts off again with forced calm.]

CHAPTER 4. FELLINI BETRAYED 1. This type of objective, formal analysis of La strada is hardly the rule. As Manuela Gieri and Peter Bondanella note in La Strada: Federico Fellini, Director: “Critical commentary on La Strada since its appearance has, in general, fallen short of providing rigorous or convincing analysis of the film, in spite of its perennial popularity” (Fellini 1987, 237). 2. The American editors use the same tapes that Fellini mixes (most of the sound effects are identical and the music is generally from the same recordings) but for some reason reedit and remix the entire film. 3. To give an idea of the quantity of changes, there are significant differences in the editing of sound in twenty-two of the twenty-six sequences of the film, and music, dialogue, and sound effects are mixed differently throughout. A complete list of these differences may be found at the end of the audiovisual appendix for this chapter. 4. In a crude attack on the convention of postsynchronization in Italian cinema, Jean-Marie Straub says: “Dubbing is not only a technique, it’s also an ideology. In a dubbed film, there is not the least rapport between what you see and what you hear. The dubbed cinema is the cinema of lies, mental laziness, and violence, because it gives no space to the viewer and makes him still more deaf and insensitive. In Italy, every day the people are becoming more deaf at a terrifying rate. . . . Dubbing, as it is practiced in Italy, does not work with the sound to enrich it, to give more to the viewer. The greatest part of the waves that a film contains come from the sound, and if in relation to the images the sound is lazy, greedy, and puritan, what sense does that make? . . . The waves we hear in a Pasolini film, for example, are restrictive. They do not enhance the image, they kill it” (Weis 150). While Straub seems ideologically bound to a “pure” recording of “real” sound, Bela Balazs notes: “The surest means by which a director can convey the pathos or symbolical significance of sound or voice is precisely to use it asynchronously” (120).

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5. Chion points to a similar case with the French dubbed version of Casanova: “The French-language version of Casanova, supervised by Patrice Chéreau, is more closely synched than the so-called original version. It seems Chéreau tried in the French dub to ‘fix’ those huge disparities between the movement of lips and voices heard, since French film professionals and audiences alike would tend to cry foul and complain about technical errors” (Chion 1999, 85). 6. Sequence numbers refer to Appendix 3 and correspond with the chapters of the Criterion Collection DVD (Criterion 219). 7. Fellini’s chirping birds are an example of what Siegfried Kracauer calls “localizable noises [that] carry familiar symbolic meaning.” Kracauer continues: “And if the filmmaker capitalizes on these meanings in the interest of his narrative, the noises yielding them turn from material phenomena into units which, much like verbal statements, serve as components of mental processes” (138). 8. Bela Balazs describes this type of silence: “If a sound film shows us any object surrounded by the noises of everyday life and then suddenly cuts out all sound and brings it up to us in isolated close-up, then the physiognomy of that object takes on a significance and tension that seems to provoke and invite the event which is to follow” (Balazs 119). Chion calls this technique of sound suppression “suspension”: “Suspension occurs when a sound naturally expected from a situation (which we usually hear at first) becomes suppressed, either insidiously or suddenly. This creates an impression of emptiness or mystery, most often without the spectator knowing it; the spectator feels its effect but does not consciously pinpoint its origin” (Chion 1994, 132). 9. The shooting script indicates clearly that the crowd is supposed to laugh (Fellini 1969, 214). 10. This scene formally linking the church with the Fool’s act is not in the shooting script (it was probably added during filming). (See Fellini 1969, 207–8.) 11. In the editing room Fellini would often introduce entirely new diegetic tunes that had little to do with the music used while shooting his films. This practice would often create conflict with his editors and sound technicians. Giovanni Morelli, for example, writes that the entire sound/editing crew working on 81/2 (Bartolomei, Faraoni, Catozzo, Olasio) openly rebelled when Fellini changed his mind about the final theme of the film, with a resulting “imperfettissima sincronizzazione” [very imperfect synch] (30). 12. Kathryn Kalinak notes, speaking of Mickey Mousing, “its use radically diminished in the fifties and after” because it became associated with “overobviousness” in the minds of spectators (116). 13. “Si mette anche contro i tecnici, perché il tecnico è sempre impegnato a difendere i dialoghi, perché se i dialoghi non si sentono il pubblico se ne accorge, mentre invece se non si sente la musica non se ne accorge nessuno tranne il compositore. [Fellini] si impone sul tecnico per far sentire la musica ed è capace perfino di alzare il livello per non far sentire una battuta di dialogo che gli dà fastidio. Tiene lui la manopola della musica.” 14. The shooting script, on the other hand, calls for recorded “musichetta gracchiante” over a loudspeaker (Fellini 1969, 241). 15. The shooting script also calls for the music to end before Zampanò begins to describe his act (Fellini 1969, 241).

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16. Donald Costello is almost certainly describing the English-language version of the film when he writes: “The next scene is a different kind of lesson: Gelsomina’s sexual initiation. Some time after Zampano has forced Gelsomina into the trailer with him, the lesson sequence ends as we see Gelsomina looking at the sleeping Zampano, and smiling, through her tears, that affirmative and incomparable Giulietta Masina smile. She has now seen Zampano’s [sic] entire repertory: food, drink, work, sex, sleep. Her smile suggests that that is perhaps somehow enough for her to work with” (Costello, 8). Costello misspells Zampanò without the final accent throughout his discussion of the film, and the English-language version of the film also misspells the name in the same way in the titles. See also footnote 17 for further proof that Costello describes the English-language version of the film. The sound track of the English-language version of the film probably influenced Costello’s description of the scene. His reading undermines the possible feminist approach to the film that Bondanella describes as “a condemnation of the exploitative relationships between the sexes and the emptiness many women discover within their marriages” (Bondanella 1992, 113). 17. Some critics comment on the English-language sound track under the assumption that it reflects authorial intent. Donald Costello, for example, writes: “The piazza scene operates in both sight and sound: as the scene ends, Nino Rota brings up Zampano’s [sic] road music, and Zampano and Gelsomina again drive off together down the deserted road” (Costello, 19). Besides the fact that Nino Rota had no role in decisions regarding sound editing, and therefore he does not “[bring] up Zampano’s road music,” as the Italian version of the film clearly demonstrates, Fellini did not want any music in this scene. 18. Altering the sound tracks of Fellini’s films is not an exclusively American phenomenon. Miceli notes that a version of Lo sceicco bianco shown on television in France in the 1970s included music not present in the original release (257).

CHAPTER 5. IL BIDONE 1. “Crawford . . . was associated by audiences everywhere with Hollywood gangster pictures, and by casting an American actor associated with this traditional genre, Fellini no doubt also wished to underline his unorthodox and personal departure from the boundaries of a conventional Hollywood genre” (Bondanella 1992, 115). “By choosing an American actor known for his many roles in Hollywood crime films, Fellini manages to expand this traditional film genre in a philosophical direction: Augusto becomes a kind of existential hero, alienated from authentic meaning in life and feeling remorse for his crimes, yet driven to commit them by some strange compulsion” (Bondanella 1990, 134). 2. Thomas Leitch, examining the prevalence of murder unrelated to the original criminal intent of gangsters in many crime films, notes: “These films reveal the ambivalence at the heart of the formula’s attitude toward the law, and in particular toward the proposition that crime does not pay. Gangster films insist on this proposition, not because it is universally self-evident, but because it is constantly under suspicion by audiences eager to see their antiestablishment dreams of power and wealth acted out onscreen” (Leitch, 113).

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3. Sequence numbers refer to Appendix 4 and correspond with the chapters of the Image Entertainment DVD (ID84461FDVD). 4. The shooting script indicates that this is the interval between the first and second parts of an unnamed film. There are no descriptions of the film’s sound track; nor is Lo sceicco bianco mentioned (Fellini 1969, 305–7). 5. Angelo Solmi, on the other hand, states: “C’è nel Bidone una costante aderenza formale dell’immagine alla sostanza, una robustezza tematica che ripropone il motivo dell’uomo solo e della redenzione con grande coraggio e chiarezza” (Solmi, 174–75). [In Il bidone there is a constant formal bond between image and substance, a thematic vigor that again presents the theme of redemption and of human solitude with great clarity and courage.] 6. The suspicion that Fellini is consciously obscuring the meaning of this tune is in part confirmed by a similar use of an introductory theme (Theme D, a.k.a. Lla Ri Lli Ra) in the final scene of his next film, Le notti di Cabiria. 7. On the other hand, Fellini himself notes that the “open” form of Il bidone is itself the product of necessity, brought about by the pressures of the producer, who forced significant cuts in the film. As the director explains in I, Fellini: “Story lines and character development ended abruptly without explanation, creating in the minds of some critics a deliberate stylistic intention that never existed” (Chandler 111). Regardless of Fellini’s statements regarding the editing of Il bidone, there is no doubt that his films through the 1950s become progressively less plot-driven. 8. Ironically, Augusto himself provides a misreading of his death that conforms with narrative logic: “”Lo sapevo che andava a finire così . . . L’ho sempre saputo. . . . io non devo mantenere nessuno. . . ecco perché muoio” (Fellini 1969, 322). [I knew things were going to end up like this. . .I’ve always known it. . . . I don’t have to take care of anybody. . .that’s why I’m dying.] The shooting script’s description of his final moments, however, implies that his death represents a moment of grace rather than an act of divine punishment: “poi una smorfia che sembra essere un sorriso gli appare sul volto insanguinato e gli distende i tratti, per la salvezza raggiunta. . . . Infine, sempre con quell’ombra di sorriso, si abbatte prostrato, con il volto semischiacciato a terra. È morto” (Fellini 1969, 323). [Then, because of salvation attained, an expression that seems like a smile appears on his bloody face and relaxes his features. . . . Finally, still with a shadow of a smile, he falls down prostrate, with his face half flattened in the dirt. He’s dead.] 9. Miceli, on the other hand, believes that Fellini fails to create much meaning with this musical theme: “Avviene tutto in modo così repentino—dopo una agonia fin troppo insistita—che l’intervento della musica-personaggio non appare come il frutto di una profonda meditazione ontologica, piuttosto come un espediente, un intervento artificioso consolatorio più per le istanze moralistiche dell’autore che per la dimensione spirituale del protagonista” (423). [It occurs in such a sudden way—after an overly emphasized death scene—that the intervention of charactermusic does not seem to be the result of profound ontological meditation, but rather an expedient, an artificial and consolatory presence more for the moral needs of the author than for the spiritual dimension of the protagonist.] 10. “La festa raggiunge un diapason di crudele erotismo e ha il suo culmine in un ballo parossistico, dove tutto sembra diventare possibile.” 11. Other than Theme A, the diegetic music at the party is made up almost exclusively of songs that were in fact hits in Italy in the 1950s: “Il bidone è anche, dal

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punto di vista musicale, il primo film di Fellini in cui vengono adoperate canzoni, né espressamente scritte da Rota né appartenenti al repertorio ‘storico’, ma tratte dal hit-parade della canzone contemporanea ‘anni Cinquanta” (De Santi, 82). [Il bidone is also, from a musical perspective, the first Fellini film in which songs that were not written by Rota and did not belong to the “historical” repertory were used —contemporary songs from the hit parade of the 1950s.] There is at least one exception that De Santi fails to note: Colpa del bajon (D’Arena 1953) was a contemporary hit that Fellini used in the country wedding sequence of La strada (my thanks to Ben Lawton for calling this fact to my attention). 12. This confusion between diegetic and nondiegetic sources in this scene is even more apparent in a recent import DVD in which seventeen minutes of footage eliminated after an initial poor reception at the Venice Film Festival has been integrated back into the film (DVD available at www.umbrellaent.com.au). Among the added footage is the beginning of the very first shot, where Barone sits reading a paper under a tree before climbing up the embankment to the road. Theme E begins with this shot under the tree, separating the music even farther from conceivable musical sources within the diegesis. For Fellini’s own description of the difficulties in shooting and editing Il bidone see Charlotte Chandler’s I, Fellini, 108–12. Angelo Solmi includes further details in his Storia di Federico Fellini (168–70), as does Tullio Kezich in Federico Fellini: His Life and Work (170–71). It is worth noting that in the case of this film it is particularly difficult to define the “original” film. Most Americans are acquainted with the ninety-one-minute version currently available in North America. The newer version mentioned is 108 minutes. But the director mentions other versions in I, Fellini: “I was forced to cut it some more, down to 112 minutes, and then 104, finally even shorter for its belated American appearance” (Chandler, 110–11). 13. The shooting script includes an annotation for Roberto’s song, but not the dance steps: “Roberto manda in tono ironico una specie di gorgheggio da basso profondo, rivolto alla campagna” (Fellini 1969, 247). [Roberto, with an ironic tone, sends out a sort of deep bass trill, directed at the countryside.] 14. Miceli recognizes the unusual conflict between diegetic and nondiegetic sources with the initial presentation of Theme E but seems to see this as an example of daring experimentation rather than mature artistic control: “La simultaneità di livello interno/esterno non è facilmente giustificabile, salvo il considerare Il bidone una sorta di commedia musicale” (423). [The coincidence of diegetic and nondiegetic musical sources is not easily justified, unless you consider Il bidone some sort of musical comedy.] 15. “Tu non hai bisogno di me. Stai molto meglio di tanta altra gente. La nostra vita. . . la vita di tanta gente che conosco io, non ha niente di bello. Non perdi molto tu, non hai bisogno di me, io non ho niente da darti.”

CHAPTER 6. LE NOTTI DI CABIRIA 1. Even in his early work as a scriptwriter Fellini often includes music as a sign of spiritual transformation. In Persiane chiuse, for example, Bondanella notes: “As is so often the case in Fellini’s early films, the script calls for music to underline

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the possibility of change and renewal. The music’s effects on Sandra are profound and signal her final forgiveness of her sister’s fall from grace: ‘It is as if an unexpected revelation touched her soul and kindled in her heart a deep and emotional hope’” (Bondanella 1992, 65). 2. Sequence numbers refer to Appendix 5 and correspond with the chapters of the Criterion Collection DVD (Criterion 49). 3. Sergio Miceli, on the other hand, reads this tune as a fairly clear expression of Cabiria’s existential condition: “Si tratta dunque di un motivo in voga, sempre nell’aria, di quelli di cui la gente si appropria e che accompagnano nell’arco di una stagione le attività più diverse; ma è contemporaneamente il simbolo—inconscio per Cabiria, manifesto per noi—di una condizione e quasi di una predestinazione esistenziale del personaggio” (424). [It’s one of those popular melodies, always in the air, that people call their own and that accompany all kinds of activities all day long; but at the same time it is a symbol—hidden for Cabiria, manifest for us—of a condition and, perhaps, of the character’s existential fate.] A tiny minority of viewers, however, recognize the tune as the same melody Cabiria momentarily sings at the beginning of the film (Miceli is one of only a couple of critics who notice that it is the same tune), and therefore it seems a stretch to assign a “manifest” meaning to the theme. 4. The shooting script makes no mention of Cabiria’s singing before being pushed into the water (see Fellini Le notti di Cabiria, 13). 5. De Santi notes that this song is “forse l’unico motivo di carattere napoletano di tutti i film di Fellini” (85). [might be the only Neapolitan song in all of Fellini’s films]. The absence of Neapolitan music in Fellini’s films is almost certainly determined by Fellini himself: Rota included Neapolitan songs in many of his sound tracks of the 1940s and 1950s (Rizzardi 143). 6. The shooting script mentions a musician at the restaurant, but the song was not originally intended to be Neapolitan. In the script (but not in the film) Cabiria and Oscar sing a couple of the verses of the guitarist’s song as they leave the restaurant: “[Oscar incomincia] a canterellare, sentimentalmente, la stessa canzone del posteggiatore. Ragioniere: ‘’Na voce ‘na chitarra e un po’ de luna.” Cabiria canta con lui, abbandonandosi sul suo braccio. Cabiria: ‘Che vuoi di più per far ‘na serenata . . .’ “ (Fellini Le notti di Cabiria, 121). 7. “Nisciuno chiù te vo bene? Nun ce penzà. Ll’uocchie asciutate. Torna a cantà comm’a me: lla ri lli ra, lla ri lli ra. . . . L’ammore te l’ha fatto ‘o tradimento, nun era comme t’ ‘o sunnave tu?” The complete Neapolitan text can be found at the end of the appendix for this chapter. 8. “In queste parole è già anticipato anche quel messaggio di speranza, un po’ alla buona, che un gruppo di giovani comunicano a Cabiria, distrutta dalla delusione.” 9. Sound tracks in neorealist films almost always function as a facilitator for the reading of the projected image. As Manuela Gieri notes, neorealist films shared “the same ethical and stylistic tension in which to see or rather to look meant to understand” (Gieri 123). 10. The shooting script, on the other hand, indicates that Cabiria was to sing along with the youths at the end of the final sequence as a sign of her appropriation of their life-affirming message (Fellini Le notti di Cabiria, 127). 11. Avoiding direct eye contact with the camera lens is one of cinema’s most

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rigid rules. As Mike Figgis notes: “Never ever look into the lens directly; it’s almost like a biblical statement . . ., it’s too frightening for the audience. . . . It’s very disconcerting for an audience because you’ve been programmed and conditioned to never have direct confrontation with the film” (Sider et al. 1–2). 12. Miceli notes that the tune seems diegetic at the beginning of the scene (what he calls livello interno) but can also be read as metadiegetic (livello medio) inasmuch as it seems to express Cabiria’s subjectivity. This metadiegetic level becomes more apparent when Theme D transitions into Theme BC, and then slips toward nondiegetic (livello esterno) when the orchestra accompanies the song (426). 13. “When Cabiria suddenly smiles into both the camera eye and the eyes and souls of the audience, all division between visible and invisible disappears. Neither we nor the camera eye are physically part of Cabiria’s world, yet she can sense and acknowledge our existence” (Burke 1983, 118). Bondanella, on the other hand, sees a triangular relationship among character, director, and viewer in this shot: “As Cabiria’s glance turns to meet the camera, the music swells to underline the narrator’s control of the closing shot, joining Fellini’s perspective to that of his fictional creation Cabiria and uniting both of these points of view with that of the audience” (Bondanella 1992, 129). Fellini himself acknowledges an indebtedness to Chaplin for this shot: “I leave Cabiria looking at the camera with a glimmer of hope at the end, just as Chaplin does with his tramp in City Lights” (Chandler, 114). 14. This open, lyrical ending to the film evolved over time as the script was being prepared. According to Angelo Solmi, Pinelli, for example, wanted Cabiria to be murdered at the end of the film (Solmi, 178–79). On the other hand, at least one producer refused to finance the film because it did not end with Cabiria’s marriage to Oscar (Solmi, 180–81). 15. The shooting script calls for music on a radio, but heard outside Cabiria’s home and apparently coming from a nearby shack: “Le casupole sono silenziosissime; qualche finestra è fiocamente illuminata. Una radio trasmette una canzone che il vento porta a folate. Cabiria ascolta. È sempre più sgomenta” (Fellini Le notti di Cabiria, 24). [The shacks are very silent; some windows are dimly lit. A radio plays a song that the wind brings with rushes. Cabiria listens. She is more and more dismayed.] 16. Lazzari and Jessie are played by Amedeo Nazzari and Dorian Gray—two actors known for precisely this type of stereotypical love scene. By having Cabiria watch this scene of reconciliation through a keyhole—a framing device metaphorically linked to a movie camera—Fellini links her ideas of love to the cultural production of a conventional, popular cinema (Cabiria tells Lazzari that she has seen all of his films). This entire sequence was originally prepared by Fellini and Pinelli for inclusion in Rossellini’s 1948 film L’amore, but, according to Fellini, Anna Magnani rejected the script (see Fellini Le notti di Cabiria, 6–7). 17. The shooting script describes the music, but not Cabiria’s movements (or her dance a moment later): “È attratta da una musica sincopata che esce, soffocata da una piccola porta a cristalli” (Fellini Le notti di Cabiria, 31). [She’s attracted by a syncopated music that comes out, suffocated by little a glass door.] 18. In this case, as soon as the car leaves the nightclub, the diegetic source is internal rather than external. David Bordwell and Kristen Thompson note that “external diegetic sound is that which we as spectators take to have a physical source

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in the scene. Internal diegetic sound is that which comes only from the mind of a character” (Weis and Belton 193). Before the car leaves, however, it is difficult to define the diegetic music as either internal or external—it seems to wander somewhere between the two. 19. This seven-minute sequence (seq. #12), known as “the man with the sack,” was evidently removed from the postproduction lab by producer Dino De Laurentiis after a disagreement with Fellini over its inclusion in the film. The Criterion Collection DVD includes an interview of De Laurentiis by David D’Arey, for National Public Radio, in which the producer admits to stealing both negative and positive copies of the sequence. Years later Fellini asked for the sequence back in order to screen the film for students and critics, and De Laurentiis relinquished it. Without this sequence, Theme A loses much of its meaning. The Criterion Collection DVD and other restored versions of the film now include “the man with a sack” as an integral part of the film. Fellini himself, however, has a different explanation for the elimination of this sequence from the film: “It was a touching sequence but I had to cut it. Apparently in certain Catholic circles it was upsetting that the film pay this kind of homage to an absolutely weird philanthropist untouched by the influence of the Church” (Fellini 1988, 129). In an interview with Charlotte Chandler, Fellini seems hesitant to restore the sequence to the film: “Incidentally, the ‘man with a sack’ sequence, which only the audience at Cannes saw, still exists and could be restored to future versions, as could a great deal of other cuts I was forced to make in my films. After so many years, however, I don’t know how I would feel about it” (Chandler, 115). Bondanella, writing before the sequence was reintegrated into the film, states: “The final film actually profits from the deletion of this sequence, since it adds nothing significant to the themes Fellini had already developed elsewhere in the narrative” (Bondanella 1992, 131). Confusing the matter further, Angelo Solmi writes that Fellini cut the sequence for artistic reasons: “[non] avrebbe aggiunto nulla al film, ed è merito di Fellini aver saputo resistere alla tentazione di includer[lo]” (Solmi 188). [It would not have added anything to the film, and it’s to Fellini’s credit that he was able to resist the temptation to include it.] 20. “Commenta l’episodio . . . dell’incontro tra Cabiria e frate Giovanni sulla strada polverosa di Acilia: un episodio frammentario a cui Fellini, inizialmente, intendeva affidare la funzione di fabula docet, il cui succo della storia ricordasse la parabola del sassolino di La Strada.” 21. De Santi’s book, La musica di Nino Rota, was published in 1983—before “the man with a sack” sequence was reintegrated into the film. 22. “The simple priest is contrasted to the clergy present at the Madonna’s shrine. Whereas the latter fail to relate in human terms to the flock, Father Giovanni—who, like Cabiria herself, remains partly comical, a true eccentric—sees people instead of souls. Since Father Giovanni had advised Cabiria . . . to marry, the heroine feels confident that her prayers have been answered, that she has met the right man” (Murray 107). 23. “As in the other films from Fellini’s trilogy of grace or salvation, the ending coda of Le notti di Cabiria juxtaposes an episodic and picaresque narrative with a finale that closes the circular movement of the film and suggests a religious experience transcending the complex of various adventures preceding it. But Fellini is careful only to suggest such a religious interpretation in each of these films” (Bon-

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danella 1992, 129). “Perhaps my spiritual world is, in fact, this instinctive wish to do good to those who know only evil, to make them catch a glimpse of hope, of a chance of a better life, and to find in everyone, even the worst intentioned, a core of goodness and love” (Fellini 1996, 64). 24. The shooting script emphasizes the confusion of disparate diegetic musical sources: “Un pellegrinaggio . . . sfila salmodiando”; “molti cantano, altri recitano le litanie”; “un frate . . . per farsi sentire grida a voce altissima” (Fellini Le notti di Cabiria, 74–75). [A group of pilgrims passes by singing psalms; many sing, others recite the litany; a friar . . . yells at in a very loud voice in order to make himself heard]. De Santi (87) identifies the liturgical songs in the sequence as “Mira il tuo popolo, Canto del Pellegrino, Evviva Maria!, Per i miseri implora perdono.” 25. The absence of a corresponding sound for Amleto’s drumming must have confounded the technicians involved with the English dubbed version of the film, as well as the translator for the English subtitles. In the Italian original, when one of the prostitutes asks Amleto to try to control Cabiria, he responds: “Lasciami! Sto suonando!” [Leave me alone! I’m playing!] It’s hard to imagine how suonando could be understood as ascoltando, but both English versions have Amleto say: “Leave me alone! I’m listening!” Perhaps these translators did not want to draw attention to the fact that Amleto’s “playing” is entirely inaudible. 26. This sequence is substantially different in the shooting script, but the distinction between passive hearing and conscious listening is already underlined in the early treatment of the character: “Cabiria sta silenziosa e assorta. Ha messo in funzione la sua solita radio portatile, ma sembra non senta né la musica, né il chiasso delle altre” (Fellini Le notti di Cabiria, 79). [Cabiria is silent and self-absorbed. She has turned on her usual portable radio, but she does not seems to hear the music or the racket of the others.] 27. Burke has a different reading of prostitution in the film: “Prostitution not only characterizes a world in which positive feminine qualities (emotion, love, engagement, and so forth) are reduced to sexual commodity in a male-dominant society, but it functions figuratively to signify the willingness of characters to sell themselves out to illusions such as the bourgeois ideal of financial security, salvation through institutionalized religion, happiness ever after in marriage, and so on. Consequently, Cabiria’s ability to abandon her life of prostitution becomes her ability also to free herself from self-protective and escapist fantasies” (Burke 1996, 85).

CHAPTER 7. BRECHT/ WEILL “Portando esempi di compositori illustri, [Rota] sosteneva paradossalmente che talvolta il plagio può non esistere e che soltanto i mediocri mutano e i grandi ‘rubano: i risultati sono quelli che contano.” 1. Miceli, for one, recognizes the new, more elevated tone of Rota’s introductory theme, calling it the first example in Fellini of “un linguaggio musicale più ambizioso, non derivante dagli usuali schemi vernacolari ai quali Rota aveva attinto in precedenza” (428) [a more ambitious musical language, not derived from the usual vernacular patterns that Rota had drawn upon earlier.] 2. The notion that Rota’s Titoli di testa evokes a contrast between modern and ancient Rome has been repeated so often that some critics do not even mention

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Respighi when describing the tune, as if the music itself were able to express such a precise historical juxtaposition. John Baxter, for example, writes, “Rota’s theme music, with its brass flourishes and stuttering echo of a circus march, scored for chimes and gongs, subversively suggested parallels between modern Rome and its pagan past” (Baxter 162). 3. Sequence numbers refer to Appendix 6 and correspond with the chapters of the Koch Lorber DVD (KLF-DV-3012). 4. During music editing, this song was alternately referred to as “canzone orientale,” “canzone siamese,” and “musica cinese” (Morelli 47). 5. Michel Chion notes that sound in La dolce vita is closely related to the characters’ subjectivity: “The sound swells, dies, reappears, diminishes, or grows as if cued by the characters’ feelings, perceptions, or behaviors” (Chion 1994, 46). 6. Rota’s notes indicate that Fellini intended to use unmelodic music to tie this scene with the following sequence: “ospedale—musica (non melodica) segue durante telefonata a Maddalena, si spegne sotto rumore aeroplano aeroporto” (Morelli 48) [hospital—music (not melodic) follows during phone call to Maddalena, and is covered by airplane noise airport.] 7. The shooting script emphasizes the diegetic source of the car radio more than the final version of the film. Originally the prostitute was to turn on the radio and turn up the volume as well: “E questo che è? . . . Dó sta la radio? . . . Ah, ecco . . . Mó lo alzo” (Fellini La dolce vita, 16–17). [And what’s this?. . .. Where is this radio? . . . Ah, here it is . . . I’m going to turn it up.] 8. In dialogue in the shooting script that did not make it to the final version of the film, the prostitute emphasizes Marcello and Maddalena’s lack of schedules and responsibilities: “Tanto con quella macchina, che ci mettete a tornà a Roma? . . . Io, a ‘st’ora sai dove stavo! Manco a San Giovanni. . . . E poi tu sei un signore . . . la mattina che ti tocca d’annà a lavorà?” (Fellini La dolce vita, 20) [In any case with that car how long can it take to get back to Rome? . . . Do you know where’d I’d be at this time! Not even at San Giovanni. . . . And then you’re a gentleman . . .who is going to make you go to work in the morning?.] 9. In the shooting script “una canzonetta” begins after Marcello admits to sleeping with prostitutes “qualche volta” [sometimes] (this dialogue is included in the film). The script, unlike the film, again emphasizes the diegetic source of the tune when, after Marcello’s admission, the prostitute “ha continuato a toccare e maneggiare i bottoni della radio, che ora trasmette a tutto volume una canzonetta; esclama gioiosamente: . . . ‘Senti questa, quant’è carina! Quanto mi piace’ “ (Fellini La dolce vita, 18) [Continued to touch and play around with the buttons of the radio that now plays a popular tune at the highest volume; she exclaims merrily: . . . Listen to how nice this one is! I like it so much.] As the title of the song implies (Canzonetta), this tune is intended to be generic and unsophisticated: in initial notes for the film (later crossed out) Rota refers to the tune as “musica qualsivoglia” (Morelli 47). 10. The shooting script indicates that she is a prostitute, although this is not explicit in the film (see Fellini La dolce vita, 113). 11. The shooting script describes her as “docile e ubbidiente” (Fellini La dolce vita, 30). Later that evening, when Marcello invites Sylvia for a ride in his car, the script again defines her as unusually docile: “Sylvia in tutta questa scena ha mantenuto un’assente e corrucciata docilità” (46). [In this entire scene Sylvia has maintained a distracted and sullen meekness.]

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12. In early notes for the film Rota describes the music for the St. Peter’s sequence as a “tema gregoriano in jazz col campanone” (Morelli 48) [Gregorian jazz theme with church bell]. 13. That Fellini intended the music to coincide with the action within the frame is confirmed by the shooting script, which indicates that a new song is to start while Sylvia leaves the club (Fellini La dolce vita, 44). 14. In the shooting script Marcello happens upon Steiner after following a pretty woman inside the church (Fellini La dolce vita, 54). 15. “Come preso da un sentimento di improvvisa vergogna Marcello resta immobile e serio accanto all’organo chinando la testa. . . . Marcello è assorto, come schiacciato da quell’onda sonora, precisa e evocatrice di un mistero che non lo trova preparato alla soluzione, che gli si ripresenta quasi angosciosamente. Nel suo sguardo, in tutto il suo volto si alternano la sorpresa e il piacere di quella musica e il disagio, quasi il rimorso che gli procura la vista di Steiner, così calmo e attento alla sua tastiera.” 16. Many critics view this sequence as thematically opposed to much of the rest of the film. Donald Costello, for example, writes: “But the Steiners’ home, on which the camera lingers lovingly, is warm, comfortable, ordered. Anna, as hostess, gets everyone comfortably placed. The guests become as perfectly ordered as the furniture. The camera pulls back to admire the patterned scene. . . . In this atmosphere, so antithetical to everything represented by the sweet life, so antithetical to everything that we have heard and seen so far in this film, Marcello shows his first enthusiasm” (Costello 53). Costello does note that after Steiner’s suicide “we will be forced to rethink this entire scene,” but he, as many others, does not see (or hear) clues that the order of Steiner’s home may not be idealized in its initial presentation: “For now we are made to believe the words, the sounds, the people, the mood, as Marcello does” (55). 17. Bright light and subsequent darkness play off against each other throughout the film, much like the contrast between the two themes of Titoli di testa. Bondanella notes that modern, artificial light dominates much of the film: “One of the dominant visual motifs of the film is light in a variety of completely modern forms— the relentless flashbulbs of the paparazzi in search of their meaningless stories; the spotlights of the garish nightclubs of the city; the endless processions of cars with their headlights burning in the dark; and the arc lights set up for the broadcast of the ‘miracle’” (Bondanella 2002, 146). These modern forms of light penetrate the emptiness of darkness in an attempt to emphasize the significance of individual action, but invariably dawn closes each episode of the film in a diffuse light in which the characters disappear into the background—as Respighi’s shades are pulled back into the bowels of the earth. 18. Some critics read the heartbeat as a further idealization of the scene: “On the sound track, we hear steady heartbeats. Marsha Kinder and Beverly Houston express well the mood of this moment: The children are peacefully sleeping ‘behind filmy gauze curtains, as if to shelter them in perfect sanctuary from the hidden danger of chaos’” (Costello 55). The hidden danger is not chaos, but rather Steiner’s intellectual imposition of exacting order that denies life all of its spontaneous vitality. His final words, spoken in the bedroom in front of a dark window with prominent searchlights in the background, express a philosophical dead end rather than a practical solution: “Bisognerebbe vivere fuori dalle passioni, oltre i

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sentimenti, nell’armonia che c’è nell’opera d’arte riuscita. In quell’ordine incantato. Dovremmo riuscire ad amarci tanto da vivere fuori del tempo, distaccati. Distaccati.” [We should live outside of passions, beyond feelings, in the harmony that one finds in a successful work of art. We should be able to love each other so much that we can live outside of time, detached.] 19. “L’andamento quasi processionale ed il tono elegiaco presenti in questo Notturno . . . legano magistralmente con le figure dei nobili che emergono dalle tenebre del palazzo avito dopo il balordo intrattenimento notturno” (Miceli 430). [The elegiac tone and the almost processional progression present in this Notturno . . . masterfully match these nobles who emerge from the dark ancestral palazzo after a night of senseless entertainment.] 20. Miceli, on the other hand, has a negative impression of the theme: “A questo slittamento verso un genere ‘colto’ si contrappongono poi musichette di consumo delle più banali, divise, vedremo con quale ambiguità, fra connotazione ambientale e mero intrattenimento dello spettatore. Ma fra i due estremi—unendo gli aspetti peggiori di entrambi—campeggia l’onnipresente e camaleontico Leitmotiv, una elaborazione del celebre Die Moritat von Mackie Messer dall’Opera da tre soldi di Weill e Brecht” (428). [Opposed to this slippage toward a refined musical genre are the most banal, commercial popular tunes that are divided—we’ll see with what ambiguity—between reflecting the setting and simply entertaining the viewer. But between these two poles—uniting the worst aspects of both—lies the ever-present and chameleonlike Leitmotiv, an elaboration of the famous “Die Moritat von Mackie Messer” from The Threepenny Opera by Weill and Brecht.] 21. Rota composed the variation on Mack the Knife because the rights to the original song were too expensive (Kezich 201; Miceli 428, 460), but it should be noted that in many other of Fellini’s films, existing music used on the set was replaced with Rota’s compositions—often at the last moment. 22. The documentary film by Vassili Silovic, Zwischen Kino und Konzert: Der Komponist Nino Rota (Between Cinema and Concert: The Composer Nino Rota), includes a conversation between Rota and Fellini in which Fellini describes the similarities between Rota’s song and Weill’s original (Silovic’s film is included as a bonus feature in the Criterion Collection DVD release of 8 1/2). Copyright holders of the “Ballad of Mack the Knife,” including Universal Edition Limited and the heirs of Kurt Weill and Bert Brecht, threatened legal action against Rota shortly after the film was released (see related letters in Lombardi 88–94, 100–101). 23. “Arrivederci Roma” (Renato Ranucci, 1955); “Ready Teddy” (Robert Blackwell, 1956); Caracalla’s (Peter Ludvig Hertel, 1858). Caracalla’s is a version of Hertel’s military march, Die Abenteuer von Flick und Flock, known in Italy as La Marcia dei bersaglieri. 24. Rota, in an interview with Gideon Bachman, says that the tune was improvised and added after the other music in the sequence had already been selected: “Ne La dolce vita, però, quando la Ekberg balla, c’era quella specie di rumba, o samba, o mambo. . . . [Fellini] lì voleva trovare qualcosa di diverso. Lì il tema non gli piaceva, poi alla fine abbiamo risolto mettendo ancora questo motivo dei bersaglieri, intercalato, però, da un altro motivo che io ho improvvisato. Questo motivo [La Dolce Vita Theme] è venuto fuori per caso, poi l’abbiamo ripreso in altri punti” (Rizzardi, 189–90). [In La dolce vita, however, when Ekberg dances, there was this sort of rumba, or samba, or mambo. . . . (Fellini) wanted to find something different there.

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He did not like the theme there, then in the end we solved the problem by using the theme of the bersaglieri again, alternating it, though, with a new theme that I improvised. This theme (La Dolce Vita Theme) came out by chance, and then we used it in other places.] 25. Not even sexuality seems to determine dance partners. When the band begins to play Caracalla’s, an effeminate man at Sylvia’s table rushes to the dance floor. Sylvia’s producer, commenting on the absence of Eros in the choice of a partner, exclaims, “He’s dancing with a lady!” 26. The music itself seems to be aloof from the visual narration: throughout this sequence sound is significantly out of synch with the movements of the musicians, in both tempo and instrumentation. 27. As Bondanella points out, “Although Fellini began the preparation for Le notti di Cabiria and La dolce vita with a personal investigation into the ‘reality’ of the worlds of Roman prostitution and nightlife, a faithful and realistic representation of these worlds was the furthest thing from his mind” (Bondanella 1992, 138). 28. Miceli, on the other hand, does not believe that La Dolce Vita Theme succeeds in creating a mood similar to Weill’s original: “Non si vede come il brano originale, anche privato dell’essenziale funzione del testo, avrebbe potuto coesistere con una dimensione espressiva che gli è del tutto estranea” (428). [It’s not clear how the original tune, moreover denied the essential function of the text, would be able to coexist with an expressive form that is entirely foreign to it.] 29. John Baxter notes the similarities among Rota’s distinct sound in La dolce vita, photojournalism, and popular music: “Rota’s music is among the most distinctive of all film scores, mostly for its use of the Cordovox, an electric organ whose compressed, droning tone, combining harmonium, Hammond organ and a wooden street organ, became a Fellini trademark. Still keen to include as many pop tunes as possible, the aural equivalents of the newspaper photographs that inspired Gherardi, Rota reprised April in Portugal from Il bidone.” 30. The theme is not introduced with the titles and occurs in only three of the seven vignettes that make up the film yet is so immediately accessible that Miceli, for example, calls it “onnipresente” (428). Miceli refers to the theme as “il motivo conduttore” (428) and Mangini also calls it “il tema conduttore” [main theme] (Rizzardi 153), but Titoli di Testa seems closer to the role of main theme in the film: it begins and ends the film and occurs in more sequences than La Dolce Vita Theme. 31. Baxter notes that the “replacement for ‘Mack the Knife’ in the Bassano di Sutri party [is] a doleful foxtrot whose middle eight reprises the dolce vita theme [Titoli di testa]” (162).

CHAPTER 8. 81/2 1. The editing styles of Lo sceicco bianco and 81/2 are also similar. Bondenella, speaking of Lo sceicco bianco, notes that “none of his films until 81/2 will depend as heavily and so successfully on a dramatic and intrusive type of montage as a means of advancing the story” (1992, 89). Irwin Bazelon on the other hand, emphasizes the similarities between La dolce vita and 81/2: “Nino Rota achieves total integration of his scores into Fellini’s La Dolce Vita (1959) and 81/2 (1963) by play-

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ing against the picture and not piling similar textures on top of one another. In 81/2, for example, the stylistic difference between Fellini’s abstract images and Rota’s romantic language enriches the picture: the music supplies ingredients missing from the multilevel cinematic context” (Bazelon, 155). Bazelon’s description of the sound track of 81/2 is on the mark, but it does not apply to Fellini’s earlier film, where the sound track supports the visual narration precisely by “piling similar textures on top of one another.” 2. Audible and inaudible refer to the reception of the music by most viewers, that is, whether or not the music is consciously perceived as artifice. Of course viewers are different, and hear differently, and therefore the terms should not be understood as absolutes, but rather as generally true. For example, most viewers will immediately recognize Wagner’s “audible” music in the opening sequence, and the “audibility” of the tune pushes the viewer to contemplate, in this case, the ironic dissonace between music and image. Elsewhere in the film, however, there are “inaudible” tunes that will not draw viewers toward conscious contemplation. 3. Self here refers to the perspective of Guido, who is closely associated with Fellini, who in turn, however, remains outside and above his creation. Because both Guido and Fellini’s perspectives are often presented through the lens of the camera, the Other is both the object of the gaze of the camera and the projection of this objectification as it relates to Guido and Fellini’s subjectivity. Another way to think of this is in terms of the camera’s tendency to slip between first-person and thirdperson narration. Those moments of first-person narration (memories, for example) reflect an ambiguous conflation of the Self in three separate but related elements: Fellini/Guido/camera. 4. Donald Costello notes that artistic creation in Fellini’s film can be understood as a metaphor for meaning in general: “The making of art, which we share with Fellini in the new film, is his metaphor for the process of life. Every life is put together out of pieces. Every life tries to bring the pieces into order. That is every man’s job—not just the artist’s job: to find a harmony, a form, finally a meaning, which will hold off chaos, which will bring us to a center” (Costello 82). 5. Sequence numbers refer to Appendix 7 and correspond with the chapters of the Criterion Collection DVD (Criterion 140). 6. As Colón notes, classical music in Fellini “almost always has humorous, parodic intent, and is used to quickly suggest an association between image and music. . . . [This type of music can] quickly suggest an association between image and music, an association made even easier if instead of a new, never before heard score, the spectator is offered a well-known piece, laden in advance with conventionally established and accepted meanings” (Colón 33–34). 7. In the hotel bathroom Guido reacts to the sound of a stage buzzer by crouching down. “Spectators familiar with a sound stage will recognize . . . [that] such buzzer noises warn people on the set that shooting is about to begin” (Bondanella 1992, 171). This buzzer is the first example in the film of confusion between diegetic and nondiegetic sound sources. The fact that Guido reacts to the sound implies a diegetic source, while the sound itself seems entirely out of place in the setting of a hotel bathroom. The burden that Guido feels as he crouches down together with this strange metacinematic sound might represent the weight of a conflict between life and art, and the following scene near the spring of the spa seems to comment further upon this conflict.

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8. This small orchestra actually played all of the pieces mentioned on the set during the filming of this sequence (Boyer, 53–57), but the version on the sound track is obviously a much larger orchestra. 9. Costello describes the use of the sound track here as “a wonderfully ironic Wagnerian procession” in which “aging, trivial faces—shot in heroic Germanic close-ups—parade past the camera . . . in time with Wagner’s oversized and heroic music. The music is controlling the camera, and seems to be creating the film” (Costello 91). 10. There are only a couple of seconds of pause between the two pieces—an artificially short musical break that again undermines the verisimilitude of the diegetic source. 11. Originally Fellini intended to use only one Rota tune for the film. In an interview with Camilla Cederna, shortly after shooting the film but before editing, Cederna asked: “La musica è come al solito di Nino Rota?” To which Fellini replied: “Ne ha fatta molto meno del solito, perché la musica del film è soprattutto evocativa. C’è soltanto un motivo di Rota” (Fellini 1965, 83). [Is the music by Nino Rota, as usual? He did much less of it than usual, because the music of the film is mostly evocative. There’s only one tune by Rota.] 12. There is nothing unusual about viewers’ not consciously paying attention to nondiegetic music. Nicholas Cook notes that the inaudibility of music is a phenomenon that “is well recognized among theorists of film music. Claudia Gorbman calls her book on film music Unheard Melodies, in order to stress the way that music—and in particular underscore music—disguises its participation in the diegetic illusion” (20–21). 13. “E le capricciose apparizioni di questa ragazza della fonte, cosa vorrebbero significare?” 14. The theatrical tone of much of the dialogue in the film similarly inhibits viewers’ suspension of disbelief. This very same tone, as much of the transparently artificial uses of music, also acts to unify the work. As Deena Boyer notes: “Each utterance is recited in a nonrealistic tone, a theatrical tone which normally has no place in the cinema (and indeed separates the cinema from the theater). . . . By elevating the dialogue to a different tone, Fellini manages to unify the present, past and imaginary scenes of which the film is composed” (Boyer v). 15. Carlos Colón notes that this tune “has extraordinary importance, as it is a motif addressing the past in charge of characterizing the protagonist’s childhood— Guido as a child. It is a beautiful and melancholy lullaby (based as we said on popular tunes from the Emilia-Romagna)” (Colón 64). 16. Costello states that the tune is in Guido’s mind: “The lullaby has come out of nowhere; it is clearly in Guido’s mind” (97). It could be in Guido’s mind, or it could be sung by the waitress, or it could be sung by the waitress and filtered through Guido’s mind. As is so often the case in Fellini, it is impossible to determine the precise source of the music. 17. The idea that a radio should be playing in the production office apparently occured to Fellini while preparing to shoot the sequence. Deena Boyer, who was present on the set, describes the preparations for the filming as follows: “A production assistant comes in from the corridor with two starlets in nightgowns. Fellini takes them to the end of the room and has them lie together in a little bed whose head is hidden by a screen. Three or four more rehearsals; then, as if trying to find

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out what is amiss, Fellini says: ‘Isn’t there a radio beside the girls’ bed? Turn it on, let’s see whether there’s some music’ (Boyer 31). 18. Colón notes that this tune was not composed by Rota, but that Rota substantially changes the orchestration. The original title of the tune is “Fiesta” (Colón 63). 19. On the set during filming, on the other hand, Fellini used only “Fiesta” for the beginning of this scene, “a song that was a hit during his childhood” (Boyer 158). 20. Passerella di 81/2 and Passerella di addio were originally intended to be based upon Fucik’s Entrance of the Gladiators—a circus march that Fellini used on the set of many of his films, and that was played during the filming of 81/2 in order to synchronize the movements of the actors. In a 1972 interview with Sergio Miceli, Rota describes the conflict that arose between Fellini and his editor, Leo Catozzo, when the director decided to use Rota’s tune in place of the music used on the set: “Il montatore del film, Leo Catozzo, (il montaggio generalmente lo fa Fellini, ma in quel caso l’editor era un collaboratore notevole) aveva delle vedute personali, che potevano anche influire sul risultato. Siccome tutto il film era stato girato anche a sincrono con questa musica [Fucik’s Entrance of the Gladiators], il montatore non ne voleva sapere di sostituirla.” [Leo Catozzo, the editor of the film (Fellini usually edited himself, but in that case the editor was well known), had his own ideas about editing the film, ideas that could also change the final product. Since the entire film had been shot in synch with this music (Fucik’s Entrance of the Gladiators), the editor was absolutely against substituting it.] Rota then describes a similar clash between Fellini and Catozzo over the final flute solo of Passerella di addio. When Fellini told Catozzo that he planned to substitute the tune for another recording, Catozzo replied (in Venetian dialect): “Ma come! . . . Ti x’è mato!” [What! . . . You’re crazy!] (Miceli 458–59).

CONCLUSION 1. In the years directly following World War II, foreign music, and in particular American music, became increasingly associated with threats not only to musical traditions, but more generally to regional and national cultural identity. Giorgio Mangini writes: “Il significato di questa dicotomia è piuttosto evidente: le canzoni della tradizione locale sono la colonna sonora di situazioni e personaggi che rappresentano il retaggio di culture autoctone appartenenti al passato, benché ancora vive nel tessuto sociale della nazione; le canzoni americane interpretano invece la proiezione dei settori più sradicati della società verso il futuro” (Rizzardi 154–55). [The meaning of this dichotomy is rather evident: the music of local traditions are the sound tracks of characters and situations that, although still alive in the social fabric of the nation, represent the heritage of autochthonous cultures that belong to the past; the American songs, on the other hand, represent the projection of uprooted sectors of society toward the future.] 2. Ned Sublette, in Cuba and Its Music, connects the transcendent meaning of mambo with the sound of the word: “Sanctified through centuries, perhaps millennia, mambo was a power word. It made a perfect package for the music, exercising its mysterious appeal over people who didn’t even know how to dance but

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were attracted by the sound of the word. If there is such a thing as a magic word, the best example I can think of is mambo” (Sublette 585). 3. Flavio De Angelis, in a review of the sound track of the film first published in February 1960, was the first to notice the contrasting tones that Patricia projects in these two scenes (Lombardi 87). Giorgio Mangini, on the other hand, reads this tune sociologically and sees it as an example of the standardization of musical tastes among diverse social classes and nationalities: “Patricia si può definire una ‘canzone melting-pot’: l’abbinamento di un ritmo ‘latineggiante’ ai timbri modernissimi degli strumenti elettrici è un esempio di contaminazione ben calibrata, un impasto pronto per un consumo repentino su vasta scala, ideale per lanciare una moda; insomma, un perfetto prodotto industriale, studiato per il mercato internazionale” (Rizzardi 151). [Patricia can be defined as a melting-pot song: the pairing of Latin rhythms with the very modern timbres of electric instruments is an example of a carefully calibrated contamination, a mixture ready for immediate consumption on a vast scale, ideal for starting a new fashion; in sum, a perfect industrial product, made for the international market.] 4. See also introduction, n1. 5. I am indebted to Amanda McLane for much of my understanding of music in Amarcord.

Works Cited Alpert, Hollis. Fellini: A Life: New York: Atheneum, 1986. Austerlitz, Paul. Jazz Consciousness: Music, Race, and Humanity. Middletown, Conn.: Wesleyan UP, 2005. Bachmann, Gideon. “Lavorare con Federico.” In L’undicesima musa: Nino Rota e i suoi media, edited by Veniero Rizzardi. Roma: Rai Eri, 2001. Balazs, Bela. “Theory of the Film: Sound.” In Film Sound, edited by Elisabeth Weis and John Belton. New York: Columbia University Press, 1985. Baxter, John. Fellini. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1993. Bazelon, Irwin. Knowing the Score: Notes on Film Music. New York: Arco, 1975. Belton, John, and Elisabeth Weis, eds. Film Sound: Theory and Practice. New York: Columbia University Press, 1985. Bertellini, Giorgio, ed. The Cinema of Italy. London: Wallflower, 2004. Bondanella, Peter. The Cinema of Federico Fellini. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1992. ———. The Films of Federico Fellini. Cambridge University Press, 2002. ———. Italian Cinema from Neorealism to the Present. New York: Continuum, 1990. Borin, Fabrizio. La filmografia di Nino Rota. Florence: Olschki. 1999. Boyer, Deena. The Two Hundred Days of 81/2. New York: Garland, 1978. Brecht, Bertolt and Kurt Weill. The Threepenny Opera. Translated by Desmond Vesey and Eric Bentley. New York: Grove Weidenfeld, 1964. ———. Brecht on Theatre. Translated by John Willett. New York: Hill & Wang, 1957. Brown, Royal S. Overtones and Undertones: Reading Film Music. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994. Burke, Frank. Federico Fellini: Variety Lights to La Dolce Vita. Boston: Twayne, 1984. ———. “Fellini’s Early Films: The Development of Consciousness from Variety Lights to The Nights of Cabiria.” The North Dakota Quarterly 51, no. 3 (Summer 1983): 111–21. ———. Fellini’s Films: From Postwar to Postmodern. New York: Twayne Publishers, 1996. Cardullo, Bert, ed. Federico Fellini: Interviews. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2006. Chandler, Charlotte. I, Fellini. New York: Random House, 1995.

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Chion, Michel. Audio-Vision. Translated by Claudia Gorbman. New York: Columbia University Press, 1994. ———. The Voice in Cinema. Translated by Claudia Gorbman. New York: Columbia University Press, 1999. Chomel, Luisetta Elia. “Fellini’s The White Sheik, the beginning of the Adventure.” In Varieties of Filmic Expression: Proceedings of the Seventh Annual Kent State University International Film Conference, April 11–12, 1989) 119–25. Colón, Carlos. Rota-Fellini (La Música en las Películas de Federico Fellini). Seville: Publicaciones de la Universidad de Sevilla, 1981. Cook, Nicholas. Analysing Musical Multimedia. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Costello, Donald. Fellini’s Road. Notre Dame, Ind.: University of Notre Dame Press, 1983. De Santi, Pier Marco. La musica di Nino Rota. Bari: Laterza, 1983. Doane, Mary Ann. “Ideology and the Practice of Sound Editing.” In Film Sound, edited by Elisabeth Weis and John Belton. New York: Columbia University Press, 1985. Dyer, Richard. “Music, People, and Reality: The Case of Italian Neo-Realism.” In European Film Music, edited by Miguel Mera and David Burnand. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006. Fellini, Federico. Conversations with Fellini. Translated by Sohrab Sorooshian. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1995. ———. La dolce vita. Milan: Garzanti, 1981. ———. 81/2. Rocca San Casciano: Cappelli, 1965. ———. Federico Fellini: Comments on Film. Translated by Joseph Henry. Fresno: California State University Press, 1988. ———. Fellini on Fellini. Translated by Isabel Quigley. New York: Da Capo, 1996. ———. Le notti di Cabiria. Milan: Garzanti, 1981. ———. Il primo Fellini: Lo sceicco bianco, I vitelloni, La strada, Il bidone. Rocca San Casciano: Cappelli, 1969. ———. La Strada: Federico Fellini, Director. Edited by Peter Bondanella and Manuela Gieri. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1987. Gieri, Manuela. Contemporary Italian Filmmaking: Strategies of Subversion. Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1995. Gorbman, Claudia. “Music as Salvation: Notes on Fellini and Rota.” Film Quarterly 28, no. 2 (Winter 1974–75): 17–25. ———. Unheard Melodies. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987. Kalinak, Kathryn. Settling the Score. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1992. Kezich, Tullio. Federico Fellini: His Life and Works. Translated by Minna Proctor with Viviana Mazza. New York: Faber & Faber, 2006. Kracauer, Siegfried. “Dialogue and Sound.” In Film Sound, edited by Elisabeth Weis and John Belton. New York: Columbia University Press, 1985. Leitch, Thomas. Crime Films. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002.

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Lombardi, Francesco, ed. Fra cinema e musica del Novecento: il caso Nino Rota. Florence: Olschki, 2000. ———. “Nino Rota e la riproduzione del suono.” In L’undicesima musa: Nino Rota e i suoi media, edited by Veniero Rizzardi. Roma: Rai Eri, 2001. Marcus, Millicent. After Fellini: National Cinema in the Postmodern Age. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2002. ———. Italian Film in the Light of Neorealism. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986. Mera, Miguel, and David Burnand, eds. European Film Music. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006. Miceli, Sergio. Musica e cinema nella cultura del Novecento. Milan: Sansoni, 2000. Morelli, Giovanni. “Mackie? Messer? Nino Rota e la quarta persona singolare del soggetto lirico.” In L’undicesima musa: Nino Rota e i suoi media, edited by Veniero Rizzardi. Roma: Rai Eri, 2001. Murray, Edward. Fellini the Artist. New York: Frederick Ungar, 1976. Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm. The Birth of Tragedy, and The Case of Wagner. Translated by Walter Kaufmann. New York: Vintage Books, 1967. Perry, Ted. Filmguide to 81/2. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1975. Risset, Jacqeline. “The White Sheik: The Annunciation Made to Federico,” translated by Kathleen Micham. In Perspectives on Federico Fellini, edited by Bondanella, Degli-Espositi, 63–69 New York: Maxwell Macmillan, 1993. Rizzardi, Veniero, ed. L’undicesima musa: Nino Rota e i suoi media. Roma: Rai Eri, 2001. Rohdie, Sam. Fellini Lexicon. London: British Film Institute, 2002. Sciannameo, Franco. Nino Rota, Federico Fellini, and the Making of an Italian Cinematic Folk Opera: Amarcord. Lewiston, Maine: Edwin Mellen Press, 2005. Sider, Larry, Diane Freeman, and Jerry Sider, eds. Soundscape: The School of Sound Lectures 1998–2001. London: Wallflower, 2003. Solmi, Angelo. Storia di Federico Fellini. Milano: Rizzoli, 1962. Sublette, Ned. Cuba and Its Music: From the First Drums to the Mambo. Chicago: Chicago Review Press, 2004. Weis, Elisabeth, and John Belton. Film Sound: Theory and Practice. New York: Columbia University Press, 1985.

Index Aimée, Anouk, 102, 131 Amarcord (Fellini), 22, 144 Alpert, Hollis, 21 And God Created Woman (Vadim), 142 Austerlitz, Paul, 140 Bach, Johann Sebastian, 110 Bachmann, Gideon, 21 Barber of Seville (Rossini), 126, 128–29 Bardot, Brigitte, 142 Barker, Lex, 106 Basehart, Richard, 54, 61, 63, 64, 66, 81 Bicycle Thief (De Sica), 41 bidone, Il (Fellini), 73–86, 87, 89; Theme A (Rota), 78–79, 80–81, 82; Theme B (Rota), 78–80, 89; Theme C (Rota), 78–79; Theme D (Rota), 78–79; Theme E (Rota), 83–84, 86; Theme F (Rota), 82–83 Big House (Koch), 73 Birth of Tragedy (Nietzsche), 125–26 Bitter Rice (De Santis), 138–39 Black Tuesday (Fregonese), 19, 73, 75, 77 “Blue Moon” (Rodgers), 93–94 Bondanella, Peter, 19–20, 30, 37, 39, 51, 73, 88, 90 Borie, Bertrand, 22 Borin, Fabrizio, 22 Bovo, Brunella, 29, 64 Boyer, Deena, 24, 125 Brecht, Bertold, 100, 113–15, 117–18, 121, 122–23 Brown, Royal, 17, 100 Burke, Frank, 80

Cardinale, Claudia, 126 Cardullo, Bert, 21 Casablanca (Curtiz), 46 Casanova (Fellini), 144 Castellani, Renato, 25–26 Celentano, Adriano, 108, 117–18 Chaplin, Charlie, 142 Chion, Michel, 61, 62–63, 65 Cigognini, Alessandro, 15 Città delle donne (Fellini), 13, 144 Clown, I (Fellini), 143 commedia dell’arte, 38 Comencini, Luigi, 13, 25–26 Cook, Nicholas, 141 Coppola, Francis Ford, 13, 22 Costello, Donald, 25, 106, 115 Crawford, Broderick, 73, 77 Cuny, Alain, 109 Dance of the Reed Pipes (Tchaikovsky), 127 De Filippo, Edoardo, 23 De Laurentiis, Dino, 23, 62 De Santi, Pier Marco, 90, 95, 100 De Sica, Vittorio, 87, 90 Doane, Mary Ann, 14, 65, 69 dolce vita, La (Fellini), 14, 16, 19–20, 82, 100–123, 124, 139, 142–3, 144; Arrivederci Roma (Rascel), 115, 116–17, 118; Blues (Rota), 113, 121; Cadillac (Rota), 104–5, 109; Canzonetta (Rota), 104–5, 109; Caracalla’s (Rota), 115, 116, 117, 118; La Dolce Vita Theme (Rota), 108, 112, 113, 114–15, 117, 118–23; Notturno (Rota), 104–5, 112, 122; Patricia (Pérez Prado), 113; Ready

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INDEX

dolce vita, La (Fellini) (continued) Teddy (Marascalco), 108, 115, 116, 117–18; Respighi Theme (Rota), 101–2; Titoli di Testa (Rota), 101–4, 106–9, 111–12, 115, 116, 121; Via Veneto (Rota), 112 Don Giovanni (Mozart), 34, Down Three Dark Streets (Laven), 73 Dyer, Richard, 15, 25 81/2 (Fellini), 14, 20, 21, 124–34, 144, 145; Carlotta’s Gallop (Rota), 126, 131, 132; Cimitero (Rota), 131; L’Harem (Rota), 133; Nell’ufficio di Produzione di Otto e Mezzo (Rota), 129–30; Nostalgico Swing (Rota), 131–32; La Passerella di Otto e Mezzo (Rota), 126, 133–34; Ricordo d’Infanzia (Rota), 128–29, 133; Rumba (Rota), 130–31; Einzug der Gladiatoren (Fucik), 144 Ekberg, Anita, 105, 143 E la nave va (Fellini), 144 Fabrizi, Franco, 43, 46, 81 Fellini, Federico: working relationship with Nino Rota, 21–26. See also film titles Fellini, Riccardo, 43 Flaiano, Ennio 110 Foà, Arnoldo, 64 Forgacs, David, 15 Fourneaux, Yvonne, 103 Fregonese, Hugo, 19 Fucik, Julius, 144 Ginger and Fred (Fellini), 143, 144 Gorbman, Claudia, 16–17, 26, 47, 53, 57, 89, 92, 99 Grazzini, Giovanni, 63 “He’s Gone Away,” 111 Human Desire (Lang), 73

Ladri di biciclette (De Sica), 41, 90 Lattuada, Alberto, 25–26 Lavagnino, Angelo Francesco, 138 Lombardi, Francesco, 22, 23 López, Cachao, 137 López, Oreste, 137 Luci del varietà (Fellini), 145 mambo, 137–43 Mambo (Rossen), 138 Mangano, Silvana, 138, 142 Marcus, Millicent, 57, 60, 66, 143 Marshall Plan, 138 Masina, Giulietta, 54, 65, 81, 87, 142 Mastroianni, Marcello, 102, 124 Mendelssohn, Felix, 29, 44, 158 Miceli, Sergio, 14, 15, 24, 26, 53, 69, 114, 136 Mifune, Toshiro, 64 Milo, Sandra, 127 “Mira il tuo popolo,” 96 Monicelli, Mario, 13 Morelli, Rina, 64 “Moritat for Mack the Knife” (Weill), 108, 113–15, 120, 121, 122–23 Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus, 34, Murray, Edward, 59, 109–10 Nietzsche, Friedrich, 125–26 neorealism, 14, 15, 18, 38, 48, 52, 66, 135 New York Confidential (Rouse), 73 notti di Cabiria, Le (Fellini), 19, 26, 87–99, 123, 139, 141–42, 143, 144, 145; Theme A (Rota), 87–88, 94–96; Theme B (Rota), 87–88, 91–94, 97; Theme C (Rota), 87–88, 89, 91–94, 97; Theme D (Rota), 87–91, 94, 97; Prostitution Theme (Rota), 96–99, 141–42 Nutcracker Suite (Tchaikovsky), 127

“Jingle Bells,” 112

ora pro nobis, 99 Osiris, Wanda, 46, 140 Otto e mezzo. See 81/2 Ottolenghi, Sandro, 22

Khachaturian, Aram, 131 Kezich, Tullio, 22, 27, 46, 64, 94

Patricia (Pérez Prado), 142–43 Pavese, Cesare, 20

Interlenghi, Franco, 44

INDEX

Pérez Prado, Dámaso, 137, 142, 143 Périer, François, 87 Perry, Ted, 132 Pinelli, Tullio, 110 Pines of Rome (Respighi), 20, 100 Pini presso una catacomba (Respighi), 20, 100–102, 112 Pioggia di piombo (Fregonese), 19, 73, 75, 77 Pirandello, Luigi, 120 Previtali, Fernando, 24 Prova d’orchestra (Fellini), 130, 143 Quinn, Anthony, 55, 59, 61, 63, 64 Rashomon (Kurosawa), 64 Rebel Without a Cause (Ray), 72 Respighi, Ottorino, 20, 100–102, 112, 123 Ride of the Valkyries (Wagner), 20, 125–26, 133 Riethof, Carol, 62 Riethof, Peter, 62 Riso Amaro (De Santis), 138–39 Rizzardi, Veniero, 22 Rohdie, Sam, 120 Roma città aperta (Rossellini), 15, 16, 90, 138–39 Romano, Carlo, 64 Rondi, Brunello 110 Rossellini, Renzo, 15 Rossellini, Roberto, 14, 15, 90 Rossen, Robert, 138 Rossini, Gioacchino, 125, 126, 127, 128–29 Rota, Nino, 13, 15, 16, 20, 27, 36, 46, 67, 69, 87, 94, 100–102, 121, 127, 137, 138; working relationship with Fellini, 21–26. See also songs listed under film titles Rota, Titina, 23 Rota Rinaldi, Ernesta, 23–24 Rufo, Eleonora, 43 Sabre Dance (Khachaturian), 131 Sceicco bianco, Lo (Fellini), 13, 17–18, 19, 23, 27–39, 40, 42, 53, 64, 67, 76–77, 81, 85, 124, 145; Theme A

275

(Rota), 27–29, 32, 36, 37, 38, 76; Theme B (Rota), 27–29, 30, 76; Theme C (Rota), 27–29, 31, 76–77 Schubert, Franz 44, 158 Soldati, Mario, 25–26 Solmi, Angelo, 81 Sordi, Alberto, 34, 44, 46 Stormy Weather (Arlen), 144 strada, La (Fellini), 14, 18–19, 48, 53–72, 78, 79, 81, 82, 87, 95, 123, 139, 141; Circus March (Rota), 53–55, 56, 68, 70; Gelsomina’s Theme (Rota), 55–56, 57, 71; Il Matto (Rota), 53–60, 67, 69, 72, 78, 82; Procession Theme (Rota), 56; La Strada Theme (Rota), 53–55, 71 Tchaikovsky, Pyotr, 125, 127 Tentazioni del Dottor Antonio, Le (Fellini), 143 Threepenny Opera (Brecht/Weill), 114–15, 121 Toccata and Fugue in D minor (Bach), 110 Trieste, Leopoldo, 29, 64 Vadim, Roger, 142 Visconti, Luchino, 13 vitelloni, I (Fellini), 18, 40–52, 53, 67, 139–41, 143, 144; Cinema Theme (Rota), 47–49, 51; Mambo dei Sioux (Rota), 43, 46, 47, 140–41; Theme A (Rota), 41–42, 44, 50–51; Theme B (Rota), 41–42, 43–44, 47–50; Theme C (Rota), 41–43, 44–45, 48–51 voce della luna, La (Fellini), 143, 144 Wagner, Richard, 20, 125–26, 127, 133 Weill, Kurt, 100, 113–15, 120 Wertmüller, Lina, 13 “Westminster Chime,” 144 White Sheik. See Sceicco bianco. Wild One, The (Benedek), 72 Zampa, Luigi, 25–26 Zavattini, Cesare, 87 Zeffirelli, Franco, 13