Part of the Picture: The Voice of Unreason
THE VOICE OF UNREASON
NOV 22, 2008 – THE RIOTOUSLY SURREALISTIC JULIET OF THE SPIRITSis ostensibly a peek into the mental processes of Giulietta (Giulietta Masina), a housewife who suspects her husband of philandering, but the film is as much a peek into the baroque circus-carnival that was perpetually playing inside Federico Fellini’s mind. As evidence, there’s the point where the flaky Valentina (Valentina Cortese) insists that Giulietta join her one evening. “Bishma is going to be at the Plaza at 5:00. He comes to Europe once every seven years. In the US, he has disciples, schools, clubs… It’s an event.” The lack of enthusiasm – or even expression, for that matter – in Giulietta makes it clear that she’s unfamiliar with the name. Valentina clarifies, “He’s a famous clairvoyant. A man-woman with the secrets of both sexes. An oracle. He can change your life, reveal all.”
And so, that evening, Valentina and Giulietta arrive at the hotel where Bishma will reveal all. As they climb the stairs, Giulietta pauses at a wedding banquet in progress, where a priest stands behind a four-tier cake, and in front of a stained glass window with a blue vase bursting with blue flowers, and intones, “Those who love their wives love themselves.” Is this invocation of marital fidelity the reason Giulietta has stopped to stare, especially in light of the events of the previous night, when her husband, in his sleep, muttered another woman’s name? A cry from Valentina cuts through her reverie. Giulietta joins her friend and a number of others who have gathered to listen to Bishma, who is flanked, on one side, by an Indian woman in a flaming red sari and, on the other, by a man who holds out an apple and asks the crowd, “So what is this?”
“Isn’t it an apple?” the foolishly literal Giulietta whispers. Valentina smiles, “Darling, you don’t get it. Look beyond appearances.” And to elucidate, the man switches on a tape recorder that echoes forth with Bishma’s frail, man-woman voice. “It’s an apple, a humble apple, a little red and crushed on one side, but at the same time, it is the Buddha and Unity.” If this revelation has confounded Giulietta, worse is to follow when she’s granted a private audience with Bishma, whose conversation is punctuated by the Indian lady’s launching into corresponding classical-dance mudras. Invoking the film’s title, Bishma tells Giulietta, “Your spirit must burn up like this incense, go up in smoke on the altar of your loving body.” As a shaken Giulietta leaves, the voice of Bishma announces from another room, “Sangria. It quenches the thirst of those who drink it. It quenches our secret thirsts too. They call it the potion of oblivion.”
“Strange,” Giulietta remarks to Valentina, about the voice that has, midway, turned more muscular, more manly. “That wasn’t his voice.” And it isn’t till Giulietta reaches home that she discovers whose voice it is. She opens the gate leading to her garden and closes it, and she stops in her tracks. In the far shadows is the silhouette of a strange man, who will later be identified as José (José Luis de Villalonga), her husband’s friend. She recovers and begins to walk towards him, and he towards her. His voice reaches her before he does. “Rosa Amata,” he purrs. “A name like poetry. I used to grow them too.” His shadow is now upon her face. “My garden in Cordoba was famous.” Giulietta smiles faintly and he comments, “You’re very lucky. Flowers are grateful when loved.” Without waiting for a response, he turns and walks towards the house. “These plants get a lot of love. It shows.”
He reaches a servant girl who is placing a tray on a refreshment table. “Is this right, sir?” she enquires, as a second servant girl walks in with a bottle. “Yes, thank you,” he replies. Giulietta hasn’t joined this little group. Now, she’s the one in silhouette, her plants surrounding her, the barest hint of fog at her feet. His voice reaches her again. “Three slices of lemon, three of orange, mineral water…” The girls do his bidding. He asks for a glass as he holds up a carafe with a red liquid. Giulietta joins them and finally speaks, “Teresina, get a large glass.” The man turns to Giulietta. “In Valencia, they like to add a clove, in Cordoba, a more delicate taste.” He ladles the liquid into the large glass, hands it to her. “Delicious,” she exclaims. “What is it called?” And he replies, in a now-familiar voice – the muscular, manly voice that Giulietta heard at Bishma’s – “Sangria. It quenches our secret thirsts too. They call it the potion of oblivion.”
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