Blogical Conclusion

THE RANDOMNESS OF IT ALL

MAR 14, 2009 – AS CAPTURED BY A CAMERA THAT GAZES UPWARDS, and at an angle, a highway extends into infinity in the opening shot of Bernardo Bertolucci’s first feature. A distant rumbling is heard, a low thrum that’s steadily amplified and subsequently diminished as an unseen vehicle zips past, while an unseen hand scatters a few scraps of paper. The soundtrack, now, echoes with the hollow whistle of a wind that scoops up these scraps, and gently shepherds them – over the asphalt beneath the highway, then over the reeds that grow wild beside the asphalt – towards the object that will set the story in motion, a woman who appears to be sleeping, an arm around her face as if shielding her eyes from every tiny slit of light that could rouse her back to consciousness.

As the soundtrack segues into its third cue – calming notes from a plaintive guitar – our eyes settle on the woman’s stillness. The scene is enlivened only by the scraps of paper that flutter about, having fulfilled their purpose of drawing our attention to her, and by the camera that draws back to take in the entirety of the surroundings – the waving grass, the ribbon of a river beyond, an indistinct collection of buildings still further, and above it all, a sun that’s just beginning to shine. As we close in for a look at this woman’s feet, encased in sandals, there seems to be something not quite right about their splay, and this impression is furthered when we stop to observe the ring on a finger, the sole signature of individuality in a form that’s otherwise nondescript enough to be invisible.

Just who is this woman, and what is she doing under a highway at an hour she should be in bed, stirring to the cries of the milkman and the newspaper boy? That is the question Bertolucci dangles before us, as he stages a series of police interviews of people who could provide the answer. The different accounts of these subjects, their differing flashbacks, bring to mind Rashomon – but where Kurosawa’s breakthrough was a melancholy meditation on the subjectivity of truth, La Commare Secca is apparently little more than a lyrical reminder of the randomness of it all. The subjects under interrogation may all just be stray scraps of paper borne along by a directionless wind – sometimes deposited at junctures of momentous significance, and sometimes simply floating through existence.

Pipito (Romano Labate) is certainly floating through his life, his mind occupied with nothing more than scraping together 2000 lire so that he and his friend Francolicchio (Alvaro D’Ercole) can purchase the ingredients needed for a dinner with two girls they are interested in. Pipito’s flashback begins as he and Francolicchio run into these girls, one of whom is licking her fingers after a snack. The boys stand in front of the girls and laugh awkwardly. One of the girls wants to know what’s so funny. Pipito replies, “Don’t you know she who eats alone chokes on her food?” The girls join in the laughter. Francolicchio adds, “You look really hungry. I bet you didn’t even say grace first.”

Pipito tells his friend, “So what? I’ll say it for them.” He crosses himself, still unable to stop laughing. The girl who was licking her fingers announces, “We brought something for you too, since you’re always starving.” That wipes the grins off the boys. They look at each other, and then at the girls. They protest, “Who, us?” The girls simply hand over a paper package. “Here’s some jam. And a roll for each of you.” Pipito and Francolicchio sit down on either side of the girls. They break open the rolls of bread and spread the jam around. The girls begin to giggle. “You’re making a real mess.” Then there’s silence, as the boys bite into their snack. After some concentrated chewing, Francolicchio says, “You’re such good girls. Even my mother isn’t this good to me.”

Pipito pipes up, “This jam is delicious. Another sandwich like this and I’ll marry you.” This declaration, made with a full mouth, occasions a fresh burst of laughter. Then the girls set off for the water fountain. The boys follow. Along the way, they stop to look at the fish in a pond. “They’re so big. Will they survive?” Pipito, who’s apparently not yet had his fill, replies, “Sure, until someone decides to eat them.” And as these conversations continue in all their amusing aimlessness, we begin to wonder if there’s anything at all in this flashback (or in the other ones) that links back to the woman under the highway at the beginning of the film – other than, of course, the fact that different people, at different times and under different circumstances, found themselves in the same vicinity, stray scraps of paper borne along by a directionless wind.

La Commare Secca (1962, Italian; aka The Grim Reaper). Directed by Bernardo Bertolucci. Starring Carlotta Barilli, Lorenza Benedetti, Clorinda Celani.

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