The Influences and Evolution of Neorealism

Jade Cloud

Professor Saphire

COM 126.01

6 November 2020

 

The Influences and Evolution of Neorealism

            If there is a singular thing worth knowing about neorealism, it is that a film does not need to be eccentric or over the top in order to leave its mark on an audience. On the contrary, it is when a film is stripped down to the bare minimum, that it is then free and able to come alive and touch audiences. Of course, many Hollywood executives would argue that a film without flair ought to be dull and lifeless, but the influential directors of the Italian neorealist movement knew that there was value in the ordinary and beauty in the simplicity. They understood that it was those everyday struggles, the nuances in mundane actions, that captivated audiences in a time when life was full of hardships and inequity postwar. Although the Italian neorealist movement had a brief run, its essence lived on, as directors of the L.A. Rebellion followed suit, creating works that reflected the sign of the times. From the actualities of the Lumiere brothers all the way to today’s arthouse films, great filmmakers from all walks of life have shown that in many cases, less is more.

            If we jump back in time to the very core of the Italian neorealist movement, we can see how that ‘less is more’ attitude applies to Vittorio De Sica’s film Bicycle Thieves. In his film, we follow the protagonist, Antonio, through the streets of Rome in his desperate search for his stolen bicycle. As the narrative progresses, it becomes more apparent that it is not so much a plot heavy film as it is a portrait of everyday people and the daily struggles that were prevalent in the postwar era. The subject matter, in a way, is so ordinary that it almost feels like the camera picked Antonio to follow at random. Especially at the end, as Antonio blends into the crowd with nothing to distinguish him from any of the other passersby, there is a sense that his existence is just one of many stories, completely unlike most Hollywood films which give the impression that the protagonist is the be-all and end-all, and that time begins and ends with them.

To transform an artificially engineered reality into a replica of the period that was authentic enough to convince his audiences, De Sica was very careful to incorporate only inconspicuous elements of mise-en-scene. By using nonprofessional actors, natural lighting and humble attire, and excluding any overly theatrical performances, he was able to truthfully depict the impoverished status of Antonio as well as many of the other supporting characters. In addition, Bicycle Thieves was shot on location instead of a soundstage or backlot, which accurately illustrated the state of either deterioration or reparation that the country was in, depending on where in Rome Antonio and his son Bruno were at. Moreover, the frame is consistently filled with numerous extras to recreate the hustle and bustle of life, and all while this is happening, the camera sort of takes a back seat and simply observes, allowing events to unfold as they would in real life. As one of the leaders of the Italian neorealist movement, De Sica also opted to leave out all things superfluous or highly stylistic. In the Mark Cousin’s documentary European New Wave, it is mentioned that director Robert Bresson once wrote, “One does not create by adding but by taking away.” This statement certainly applies to Bicycle Thieves, as De Sica chose to limit the amount of dialogue and simply let the actions speak for itself. What is not said or shown but rather implied or left to guess, makes for a raw, yet meaningful viewing experience.

Nearly three decades later and in an entirely different country, director Charles Burnett embraced the authenticity that neorealism epitomized to create his film Killer of Sheep. Although the movement technically ended in Italy in the 1950s, fundamental elements of neorealism have found its way into the works of more contemporary films, influencing the way the actors perform, the environments that the characters inhabit, and the moments selected to be featured. In Killer of Sheep, the camera follows the protagonist, Stan, through the Watts district of Los Angeles as he struggles to find balance, emotionally and financially, in his hatred for working at the slaughterhouse and his need to provide for his family. Similar to De Sica’s film, Killer of Sheep is driven more by the characters than the actual plot, rejecting the more traditional three act structure that the majority of directors prefer. In a more documentary-like fashion, Burnett chose to present the content as snippets of everyday life, which were then stitched together to create a visual commentary on the socioeconomic struggles that he, as well as so many other individuals were familiar with. However, the gritty and depressing aspects of Stan’s life, such as his soul-crushing job did not dominate the film, as Burnett also included the little pleasures of his protagonist’s life, allowing hope to shine through on occasion. And by revealing both the simple and the most defining moments equally, a deeper layer of intimacy sort of builds, as the audience is not only shown the most essential bits, but is also granted access into the world of these characters on a more personal level. In addition, the shots become tighter and the camera allows the characters to linger a bit longer in their actions, leaving the viewers with the feeling that these characters have all the time in the world to just be, whether it is the children playing on the train tracks or Stan and his wife sharing a dance in their home.

Meanwhile, director Barry Jenkins presents his fresh take on neorealism in his coming of age film Moonlight. Without question, this film deals with some heavy subject matter, such as toxic masculinity, poverty, sexuality, and abuse. Rather than creating a “social realist portrait” as other filmmakers typically gravitate towards when dealing with such themes, Jenkins elevated this gritty and tragic story into a work of classical art by stretching the confines of neorealism. In his film, the camera becomes a significant narrator, following the movements of the actors closely in a dance-like manner while staged to dramatic operatic music. There is also a beautiful fluidity to the camera work in Moonlight, unlike the cinematography in Bicycle Thief and Killer of Sheep, which was often times shaky, grainy, and kept out of the action to preserve that documentary-like feeling. In addition, the acting isn’t necessarily overly theatrical, but the way in which Jenkins chooses to present the performances in his film give off an almost hyper-dramatic effect. Similar to Harriet Andersson’s groundbreaking performance in Ingmar Bergman’s Summer with Monica, Jenkins’ characters break the fourth wall repeatedly throughout his film, heightening the sense of intimacy and communication between the actors and the viewers. 

Despite there being a clear progression into the more theatrical realm, Moonlight does remain true to its neorealist roots, such as shooting on location in Miami, featuring nonprofessional actors, and limiting dialogue in favor of actions. The most impactful moments, however, are the ones that are so completely and unapologetically ordinary, the little aspects of life that connect all of us. As Charles Burnett says in Soraya Nadia McDonald’s essay, “I think that’s what art does, it makes you aware of these subtle things that we all share.” Following in Burnett’s footsteps, Jenkins has managed to weave the most recognizable things, like learning to swim for the first time, or eating a meal cooked by a loved one, into these incredibly visceral moments that evoke more emotion in viewers than any blockbuster ever could. 

Perhaps the directors of neorealism have a deeper appreciation for life than others, as they understand that it is the simple and tender moments that create the most profound viewing experiences, and strike the deepest chords in humans. While it is exhilarating to watch a heist unfold or a superhero save a planet, we can’t fully connect to such things because we don’t personally experience them. But what we do know is how it feels to dance with a loved one, to make the wrong choices, and to be engulfed by the ocean. Although neorealism was born out of the darkness of the postwar era, it has since become a beacon of hope for many artists, and a celebration of the human condition.