Blogical Conclusion

OLD LOVE

APR 18, 2009 – THE STORE OF MICHELE CURTI (CARLO ROMANO) is stocked with antique bric-a-brac, and he needs someone to function as delivery man, handyman and stock boy rolled into one, “someone who can open in the morning and close at night.” He admits he prefers an experienced hand, but as a favour to his old friend, he takes on the latter’s son-in-law Fausto (Franco Fabrizi). This isn’t the kind of employment a young, directionless gadabout like Fausto is after – in fact, he isn’t after any kind of gainful employment – but perhaps the sight of Michele’s mousy wife Giulia (Lida Baarowa) changes this compulsive womaniser’s mind. He’s just thirty, and she appears at least a decade older – but that’s a little detail he’s probably willing to ignore. She’ll probably do to keep him amused at work.

But later, during a carnivalesque celebration, we realise this isn’t entirely true. Fausto runs into Giulia again, but this time, she’s in a shiny off-shoulder dress and she’s slightly high on cognac. She sprinkles a handful of confetti on him and he’s wonderstruck. “Having fun?” he asks her. “Lots,” she answers. “Aren’t you?” He takes his time replying, his eyes absorbing the contours of her form before he admits, “Yes.” Giulia is flustered at being this unlikely object of attraction. “Listen,” he says. “They’re playing the Sioux Mambo.” Not quite meeting his eyes, she agrees, “Yes, it’s a beautiful song.” When he asks her for a dance, she begins to stammer that she’s not alone, and fortunately her husband charges in and claims her. Fausto marvels to a companion, “My boss’ wife. She’s really classy.” It’s only now that he’s hit by a thunderbolt.

He meets Giulia the next day, at the store. Her stern spectacles are back on, and this severity is complemented by an unyieldingly black overcoat. Undeterred by her transformation back to utter ordinariness, Fausto mutters, “I got no sleep last night. I waltzed with you in my dreams all night long.” The flighty afterglow from the cognac now just a faint memory, a flustered Giulia hands Fausto a set of books and requests him to put them away. He grabs her wrist. She rises and declares, “Never mind. I’ll do it myself.” She darts to the left. She darts to the right. But he blocks her way at every turn. He says, “How passionate! Last night, I realised you’re a real woman.” He grabs her hips. She removes her glasses and declares, “You must be drunk.”

He follows her with words from the kind of cheap romantic fiction that invariably fuels these cheap romantic advances. “Yes, drunk with you. Your flesh. Your scent.” She commands him to stop. He enquires, “You trying to tell me you don’t like it?” She cries out, “No.” But unmindful of her evident lack of interest, he pulls her close and kisses her. She flails about at first, then she collects herself and slaps his cheek – and just as she extricates herself, her husband walks into the other room, the entrance to the store. “Please keep quiet about this,” Fausto whispers to Giulia as she steps out. One look at her and Michele knows something isn’t quite right. He knows what it is when Fausto steps out subsequently.

The day goes by without incident. Then, during closing, Michele invites Fausto to his house, above the store. “Why not come up and have a drink with us? Today’s our anniversary. Fifteen years.” Fausto replies, with all insincerity, “Congratulations, but I wouldn’t want to intrude.” But Michele insists. They go upstairs. Michele calls out to Giulia to fetch some vermouth. When she obliges, she doesn’t meet Fausto’s eyes, even when he offers congratulations. Under the pretext of work, she steps back inside. Michele comments, “My wife is a good woman, no?” Still smiling, he continues, “We’re not so young, but we still get along well. Since we have few friends, we spend most evenings in this room. Sometimes we play cards.” Michele pours out the vermouth. “That probably sounds dull to you, no?”

The recitation of harmonious, if dull, domesticity continues. “Sometimes, I read while my wife knits. But we’re not bored, and do you know why? Because we really love each other.” Fausto responds with a feeble smile. “But you wouldn’t understand,” Michele states firmly, his voice slowly rising. “I really pity you. And I pity your poor wife even more.” And finally, he allows himself the rage he’s so clearly entitled to. Michele flings on the table a wad of bills. He fires Fausto, “so you’ll learn to live right… Now get out of here before I wring your neck.” As a shamefaced Fausto picks up the money and leaves, Giulia enters the scene again, to join the husband who didn’t suspect her for a second, who rescued her from Fausto just the way he did earlier at the carnivalesque celebration, and who safeguarded her honour in the most civilised manner imaginable, wholly befitting a genial gent whose notion of love isn’t heavy-breathing passion so much as a homely game of cards.

I Vitelloni (1953, Italian; aka The Young and the Passionate). Directed by Federico Fellini. Starring Franco Interlenghi, Alberto Sordi, Franco Fabrizi, Leopoldo Trieste.

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