8 1/2

After I saw Divorce Italian Style, I decided I needed more Marcello so I ordered 81/2 through Netflix, even though I've seen it multiple times. It did not disappoint, especially the dream and memory sequences. I love the scenes of Guido's childhood: little boys bouncing up and down in the tub and then swept into blankets, sheets, towels (I'm not sure which) by their doting mothers, aunts, and older female relatives. Later in the film, when the boys have grown to schoolboy adolescence, they bounce up and down on the beach as they used to do in the tub while they watch the prostitute Saraghina do her sensual dance. In the harem scene, the adult women in his real life become the adoring sex slaves in his fantasy life, repeating the same enveloping, caressing motions with the sheets.

Fellini and Bergman were the two cinematic giants of my adolescence. Both made complex films about the soul, but their styles were as different as night and day. Bergman was Swedish, northern and puritanical in his sensibilities. Tortured by Protestant guilt and existential angst, his films were spare, austere, and beautifully lit. Fellini was tortured by guilt, too, but of a different sort: Catholic guilt in a baroque, southern country. His films were overblown, exuberant, and seemingly undisciplined. Bergman was the heavy, Fellini the clown.

I liked them both, but preferred Fellini.  It's a tribute to his magic that as many times as I've seen 81/2, I always think that it's in color. But this turns out to be a false memory. The film is entirely shot in black and white.