This month, Old Academy Anew goes back to Italy to explore 8 1/2. Do I need to make phallic references? No. Am I going to probably abuse them? You bet your ass I will. First of all, the numeric title has nothing to do with inches; 1) most of Europe uses the metric system, and 2) not everything revolves around dangly bits. And do not let modern Hollywood tell you otherwise. This almost 22 centimeters of a movie is by director Federico Fellini’s own account his eighth and a half film; thus the title, without any relation/fixation to/on length. It is still a hefty offering, though– thanks to its 138 minutes of runtime.
This installment isn’t a measuring contest but there will be inspection, introspection, and heavy lifting. Also, swear words, Tinsel Town Trashing, generational trauma mocking, and inappropriate rants as per usual. I’m keeping the spoilers short. So, here’s to hoping you can handle the whole piece because it’s a mouthful. You’ve been warned.
ALTERNATIVE FACTS
Our story begins in the middle of a traffic jam. Soundless imagery brings up the reaction of these commuters, not only stuck but frozen in time. A slow surge of drums follows the camera around. We see men and women of varied ages in cars and buses. That is, until the camera centers on our protagonist– the only one capable of moving. The sound of the drums is muffled by his panting as he’s seemingly having a panic attack. He pounds doors and windows to get out of the car. His escape turns into a surreal vision as he surfs over the sitting traffic and then flies.
FUELED BY FANTASY AND MEMORIES, 8 1/2 IS MACHINE ASSEMBLED FROM INACCURATE EVENTS TO KEEP US ON OUR TOES, FLIPPING BETWEEN FICTION AND REALITY, BETWEEN MEMORIES AND WISHES, BETWEEN UNDERSTANDING AND SADNESS.
Rescued from his impromptu flight by an unusually thin rope, our protagonist awakes on a sumptuous bedchamber. In the previous scene, only drums (that could have been heartbeats) and this man’s desperation broke the silence; now, a flurry of people rams him with questions, trying to figure out if he’s ready for the cure. Here’s where we learn his name, Guido (Marcello Mastroianni), a movie director amid a crisis.
We move to what seems a forest at first glance. In reality, it’s a semi-religious health spa/retreat, a Catholic ashram if you may. Medicinal “holy” water is mentioned many times; we see people in line to get glassfuls of it, but we never meet the saintly pipe. As we’re unsure of what’s real and what imagination; the vision of a beautiful woman is replaced by the denizens of the spa. None of these men and women is younger than sixty. It’s clear there will be young, beautiful women, this is a Fellini movie after all. They’ll soon show up as arm candy or playthings of mature gentlemen.
Guido finds a lost friend (not gonna bother with his name), and confused his current squeeze with the man’s daughter. The confusion is somewhat correct since Miss Thing was a classmate of friend’s daughter. Now, I’m about 12 inches positive this young lady inspired Uma Thurman’s character in Pulp Fiction (1994). All I can think whenever she’s on screen is Uma, and they even do the stupid twist dance. So yeah.
THERE’S NO DEBATE ABOUT MORALITY IN 8 1/2 BUT A CONSTANT PULL BETWEEN WHAT CONSERVATIVE SOCIETY EXPECTS AND WHAT HUMANS DO. THE BENDING OF DECENCY RULES TO ACCOMMODATE NATURAL NEEDS– ALL ENCOMPASSED IN THE INSTINCTUAL CRAVE TO BE EMBRACED BY SOMETHING HIGHER THAN OURSELVES.
Guido goes to the train station to receive his mistress. Only a priest and an old lady with a little girl alight. Signs of relief are clear on his face as the train departs. Silly Guido, you forget one can get off from both sides of the train; the woman’s there with a cart full of luggage for a few-days stay. Of course, she has plans to enjoy the fashionable spa and elegant hotel. Syke! The whole thing comes crashing down when Guido deposits her in a hostel by the station; his hotel is full of people who know him. Still, they have short but effective role play before he goes back to reality.
Nonetheless, reality is a relative concept here, and we arrive at the resting place of Guido’s father. Perhaps not where the progenitor is truly buried, but a place to get a load off his mind. His father begs a stocky man (who, we’ll later learn, is the producer) to take care of his son. Guido’s mother turns into his wife while he wears a clerical collar. I’m not even going to try grasping all the symbolism thrown at us here. What matters are the visceral feelings you get thrusted by the visuals, not the sloppy seconds of logic.
Back at his hotel, Guido encounters a murder of holy crows in the elevator. For a reason that we never fully comprehend, Guido’s movie needs the Church advice/approval. The elevator clergy has nothing to do with that situation– just a visual introduction to the soon to appear concept.
(CAN’T) LET IT GO
8 1/2 IS A FILM DIVIDED IN TWO HALVES THAT MIGHT AS WELL BE TWO INDIVIDUAL MOVIES. ONE, ABOUT A HAPPY CHILDHOOD AND HOW A RESTRICTED ALMOST MONASTIC UPBRINGING CAN SOUR THE FRUIT OF THAT EARLIER BLISS. THE OTHER, A STORY OF REPRESSED NEED FINALLY UNLEASHED AS UNQUENCHABLE CRAVING.
Night falls, and our spa/ashram turns into fashionable outdoor eatery. A gaggle of eccentric artsy characters populates Guido’s table, all wanting a piece of the director. After food and dance, there’s a mind reading show. Interestingly, our hero is acquainted with the performer and is the last to be mentally probed.
We get a flashback that will make you not drink wine ever again if it’s a real thing. Yup, not only fantasy vignettes here; we’re also treated to flashbacks of Guido’s childhood and early school years. Not all at once, though. They’re skillfully scattered to spring up when their appearance will best confuse the fuck out of you. Huh. I just realize that the first swear in a thousand words. We must fix that.
I’m gonna stop guiding you through the film and encourage you to ride it. At your own pace, so you can appreciate the whole thing. Let the swearing begin.
SATIATING MANY AT ONCE
In a world currently trying to erase the perceived mistakes of the past, we rarely see true male leads anymore. The bigger the studio, the smaller the possibility of a man being the center of attention. The slim girth of what we’re given in the name of representation and diversity leaves us wanting. Worse still is the shitty storytelling they insist in shoving down our fucking throats. I’m a big boy. I don’t need you to buy me dinner before you screw me. But, Hollywood, papi, at least pound my brain with something good, not lengthy limp nothings.
A FILM LIKE 8 1/2 CANNOT BE REMADE TODAY. FIRST BECAUSE THERE’S ONLY ONE FELLINI. AND AFTER THAT, WELL, IT’S THE FUKKYN 2020S. HOPEFULLY, BY THE TIME THE 2030S ARRIVE, WE EITHER NUKED EACH OTHER OFF OR RELEARNED THE ART OF STORYTELLING.
Our protagonist Guido is no hard hero. He’s a flawed man trying to make a movie to exorcize the demons of his past; in search of reconciliation between his carnal appetite and his early innocence. That distant purity he lost on a beach, watching a curvy older woman dance for him and his classmates.
We have seen other films about making movies, but this is not a vanity project; this is repentance. And that’s a thing current Tinsel Town cannot grasp in its huge melon full of caca. When you play stupid virtue-signaling games, you get stupid low box office prizes. We must be accountable. Forgiveness isn’t taken– it is earned.
The obsession with flawless protagonists is the driving force pushing the cinema out of us. Or is it the other way around? These newbie writers think, well, saying that they think is giving them too much credit; but I digress, bonding with those we see on screen has nothing to do with appearance. This surface level representation/imitation is boring and unengaging. The alleged subversion of tropes, elevating one gender over the other has become a trope; and an already tired one as it is. A well-crafted character’s journey (both positive and negative experiences) is what resonates with audiences. There’s no mirror if characters start at the top and the writer doesn’t allow them to move from it. We ain’t telling stories anymore. The simple repetition of patterns is not creativity: it is fukken flaccid writing.
YOU KNOW HOW MANY TIMES I PAUSED 8 1/2 AND THEN CAME BACK HAPPY I DIDN’T HAVE TO DEAL WITH OTHER HUMANS? A LOT. I MIGHT HAVE SAT WITH OTHERS IN 1963, BUT IN A 2024 THEATER? LET ME SPELL IT FOR YOU: F. U. C. K. N. O.
Why should I suffer a movie surrounded by dicks playing with their stupid phones? I can play with my stupid dick and watch the same movie a couple of weeks later in my house; pee breaks, make out sessions, and snacks included. Still, this not only happens because we are rude and obsessed with our dicks, sorry, gadgets; whatever is on the sister-shagging screen isn’t worth our attention. And remember, equality means women can be dicks too. #TheMoreYouKnow
We’re clued who the villain is because HE looks a certain way. The HEROINE will Mary Sue her sanctimonious/stunning way out of everything. A twist, we see coming since the first act, will be neither twist nor revelation. Why waste money on a single piece of crap? The price of even the most expensive streaming service is less than movie tickets; and we get tons of poop there, but also a couple of chunky gold nuggets now and then.
As laureate writer John Box gifted us in Negotiations with God 2, “Recognition is the first step to defeating dumbassery.” We must do better.
Federico Fellini’s eighth and a half film ain’t for the Tik Tok-brained. It will make you think; make you question stuff you didn’t know you needed to question. You’ll surely get lathered in symbolism. And, if you’re lucky, you’ll come out fresh with understanding. 8 1/4 out of 10.
