Chatting about Other Things An Interview with Federico Fellini The Master speaks on life, art, and Carlos

Castaneda Federico Fellini's fantasy world, which has become more dreamlike over the years, shows us the spectacle of life. Yet, paradoxically, the most surreal of Italian directors invites us to reflect on reality. What is this reality, which contains everything that happens? Where is it? In us? Outside of us? In our memory, which turns into myth? In the real events that seem like dreams or in dreams that materialize in an immense farce wherein existence is the tragicomic appearance? Like Pirandello before him, Fellini meditates on the ease with which we cross the borders that supposedly mark the difference between reality and appearance. As in the short film The Interview, which he made for Italian television, Fellini identities a film director with the demiurge of a Great Spectacle. "My films are not for understanding. They are for seeing," Fellini reminds anyone who persists in undervaluing the aim of his aesthetic orientation. I talked about this and other things with Fellini in his Rome studio sometime after his last film, La Voce della Luna (The Voice of the Moon). Courteous, cordial, gifted with a good sense of humor, Fellini, who is mistrustful of journalists — and who loves paradox and ambiguity — kindly tried not to talk about this mistrust. "Really, we should chat about other things," he told me. You don't like to give interviews and it's difficult for a journalist to get one. You should know I'm more a poet than a journalist. Splendid. Here's something that will amuse you. Because of the anxiety I had about doing this interview, I woke up voiceless this morning, unable to make a sound! Perfect. I love journalists who don't talk much. I'm reluctant to give interviews because I believe we should avoid them and I'm trying to hold to this sane decision. But in certain cases I end up by accepting, because there are friends who insist I do interviews. Then there's the curiosity of meeting somebody new. Also it's flattering; so out of an indecent vanity and a shameless desire to prattle about myself, I consent. I've given a lot of interviews; so, I don't trust what I say. I repeat myself. I try to remember what I've already said and what I still haven't said. For fear of repeating something I've already said, I invent other things. You mistrust yourself, then? Yes, that's right. I mistrust myself, not the journalist, even if for fifty years I've had the feeling that journalists asked me stupid questions. An interview is a halfway point between a psychoanalytical sitting and a competitive examination. So, I experience a slight uneasiness about all the interviews I've given. I try to rethink myself rather than repeat myself. And besides, I have some embarrassing limits. Sometimes I don't have answers. Your answers are already in your films, by having created them. That's right. The author's most important answer is the work itself, and in my work

This doesn't so much mean you've always had the feeling of being seventy. Nevertheless. and. even if you don't tell it "to others. But I don't think he worries too much about the problem of why and who to tell. when I'm working. the experience of working brings a greater mastery at the technical level. better reasoning about choices and how to carry them out. I don't think that an author. I’d like to ask you something. I don't think of others. Furthermore. and. Exactly. I always seem to make the same film. Yes." this attitude of total aversion. the adolescent age. This was the most exhausting one. "Seventy? It seems to me I've always been seventy!" So you see. Yet to me. the ingredients are as always the world as a stage for visions and appearances. chronologies. I reread some paragraphs from Krishnamurti. whom you know as a thinker. Unfortunately. You're referring still to our Krishnamurti! Yes. as we say. women and love. and to the importance of existential time. Certainly. therefore. Yet. and a goal one must reach. the reality/dream conflict. The Voice of the Moon. Really. over the course of years. It's an honest to goodness matter of a "starting neurosis. Yes. But in the deeper sense of knowing to which you alluded. my answer reflects my true feeling. at seventy. In which book did you find these paragraphs? I'd like to see them. as if each time a new element shifts the problem to a higher level. Those who see the film want to ask questions. in contrast with time understood as a historical. the author generally is the least suited to talk about his work. the idea that through my work I may have a greater knowledge of myself. yes. or even earlier. I will tell you I don't think there has been an evolution. for example. you said. poses "others" problems. and so forth pile up. you seem to agree that your fantasies have this circular repetitive motion. straight. we Westerners have a vision of ourselves living through a continuous time line that requires steps. It's true. Despite that. revelatory consciousness of self? As in life generally. and my spontaneous response was. a gradual. fragmentation. On my last birthday.people have found the few things I tried to say. Maybe." But it's precisely this state of pure consciousness and spontaneity that anyone who creates tries to conquer or rather to safeguard. this need is stimulated by creation. symbolic. I'm not much different from what I was at forty. a friend asked me what it meant for me to be seventy. For me. Whoever has created knows this state that I would call "motionless time. this movement travels in a spiral. almost whispered reconciliation with death. but rather — if I understand you — that reaching this age and looking back you have the feeling of always having had the same age from youth on. thirty-five. nature's energy. I get exhausted when I'm trying any way I can to put off starting a film. when he creates." like every creator you tell it to yourself. In order to try to understand your last film. like . after all. changes. In this self-telling. the author is conscious of the. "craft" side of his own creation. It's totally an adolescent age. linear sequence in which facts. so typical of your film creations. but the questions posed in the course of the film seem to me to announce a final. I haven't been able to see the difference in this film. because of our goal-oriented training. the generational conflict. In your last film. of the how to express what he wants to say. twenty-five. doesn't reevaluation go on. conclusions. Some say that all your films are the same.

Then every once in a while I visited the set. "What's happening?" At the risk of appearing romantic. seasons — as a premise in order to see how things are going. and they don't know why. For this film. to do like the circus people do: create a scene. my latest film. which made me melancholy and gave me a diffused sense of guilt. with my taste. I wrote about this in my book Making a Film (Fare un film). She's singularly able to express astonishment. I went to Cinecitta and saw the directors filming. At the beginning I had only a confused feeling. I'm aiming more and more toward this kind of film. I wanted to achieve the naturalness of The Interview. the arrogance. like a shadow hanging over me." But it turns out . by its imaginary games. from buildings to the publicity. vulgar. make beautiful actresses weep — I remember in particular having seen Blasetti make the very beautiful and very famous Isa Pola cry — but I also found them boorish. When. I'd wanted for some time to make a film for her. I let the film happen. the story came easily. and I asked myself. an adolescent journalist. better. So. the voice. the authority. and casual things seemed important. important things were tossed off as banalities. situations. a kind of tone that lurked. that unfathomable poise of story telling. the sacristan will appear at the church's portico. where I will take myself. I tried to catch this picture of the tyrant director in The Interview. the comic somberness of a clown. lights. My slowness in starting a film is certainly unacceptable in a profession that requires planning. as if it had been there waiting to be found. .someone who puts off the moment when he'll have to look at himself in the mirror. I try to find a lighthearted mood. . . that pleasure I experienced in filming The Interview. overbearing. who one day in 1941 visits Cinecitta. the set came alive. an image he wants to disown. I lacked the temperament. although it will be fatal. scream. or. I designed and created everything. It's worsened in these last years. Giuletta's the kind of actress who's very congenial with what I want to do. The Interview is autobiographical. saw it empty. As if by necessity. a spectacle for nothing. frenetic happiness. I have a tendency to hold off starting a film until I feel myself forced to begin in order to see where I want to go. dismay. a "special correspondent. He was a figure that seduced me despite everything. but I confess to needing this climate in order to begin a film. But once this feeling crystallized. For me a clownesque talent in an actor is the most precious gift she can have. some windows shattered by the wind. He is seduced by the Spectacle. about La Strada. as a young man. the piazza will come alive. This feeling suggested two people who stay together. That short movie was filmed day by day while making it up. arrogant. I need to construct the scenario from life — with buildings. .. We see a young Fellini. saw the dust invading. "You'll see. But at that time I never thought I'd be a director. I admired their power — to shout. When I've begun." And so it was. and by the almost supernatural power of the director who constructs and deconstructs the story of life. What crystallized your feeling? Giuletta [Masina]. for La Voce della Luna. I tried to do the same thing. I'll tell you that something in me said. I thought that I would be a writer or a painter. someone will go into a store to buy something.

For The Interview. a contract for a Special. As mothers." No doubt there's a connection between pathology and creation. The Voice from the Moon. And initially I need to observe. You declared once. . This may be a tantric conception: Woman is the alien part of man. which at that time was often the church. I reflect. I'm perhaps a special type of spectator. because women are born adults. Making a film is an adventurous journey. Every film has its troubles.. vibrant with life.. whoever enjoys it feels as if they're receiving a charge of energy. Going back to the difficulty of starting your Voice . I tried to kick it away like one does with an illness you don't want to catch. a color. observe some details. And therefore vital. a tic. need a client. I covered this last film with insults. I see in myself an artist of the 1400s. an archetypal rebellion exists in women's memory. its delays. from documents it would seem that these difficulties started with shooting the first scene in your first film as director The White Sheik. one who needed a client. mysterious. But for my last film. long ago. even providential expressions of friendship. of something pulsing. for a kind of pleasure. Yes. The trip is enriched by difficulties that reveal mysterious. of setting off on the film's journey.that I had all those defects! Because I became a director . when I'm in the harrowing phase and feel restless. such as Bunuel. because man has invented for himself an intellectual supremacy. like a growing plant does. what do you do? You try to defend yourself. ancient. as happens on a bus or a train. Since I had an upbringing that respects the rules of a pledge." you said. perhaps. by itself. that "a film is like an illness that is expelled from the body. I didn't have these problems of getting started. In its deep understanding of the human soul. For survival. that I can begin the film.. Also toward women? Woman is a marvel. yes. And then there was that long business of completing The City of Women. the seductive aspect of something that doesn't build up expectations. the need for being lured and at the same time threatened. we can't deny it. to meet people with simplicity. that I must start. I had a commitment to TV. My films are films of expression. Kurosawa. a face. a gesture. Out of an entomologist's curiosity. I wanted to keep it. In order not to catch pneumonia. Looking back. Bergman. in 1969. Kubrick. the church understood the adolescent nature of the artist. I experience pleasure when I find myself in front of something that is the absolute truth. For The Interview. But the struggle is unequal. film. but she is higher than he. However. but because it's true as an image for itself. but the obstacles on a journey represent part of the journey itself. I agreed to direct The Interview in order to keep a contract. You're born knowing everything. above all for producers. it means I'm ready to start. An "entomologist's curiosity. Yet I. I think the expression of an artist's work finds consensus when. for example. because it offered the freedom of lightheartedness. this TV film came about in this way. I need to sketch. I can't say I complain. But today this aspect is no longer taken into consideration. but sometimes the problems aren't caused by me but by producers. you're superior. woman is a universe. a violence he uses to dominate her. So. as a gesture. without traumas.. Yet I view with pleasure the work of film professionals I love. It's the vitality that makes me appreciate and feel that the action succeeded. not because it resembles life.

which sometimes are particularly elegant. every color worn. What does this mean? In certain films like Satyricon or Casanova. The publisher told me it would be easy for Brown to give me Castaneda’s address. That's obvious. black eyes. the people on either "side" were no longer enemies. I have the habit of looking back to styles of the '20s and '30s. there was a Mrs. Lights. the costumes of the era were necessary because the films were historical. I draw the character with his costume. Dreams teach us that a language for everything exists — for every object. even that he was dead. there would be only a hunk of metal. You really don't seem to believe me! Or maybe you're asking me how it was done. He’s Peruvian. I seem never to have been in love in that sense. the one about Carlos Castaneda. I don't understand the desperation of love as an irreparable loss. that he had seen him at a lecture Castaneda gave. And I finally met Castaneda. Castaneda’s personality is quite different from what you might imagine. smiling Sicilian host. because I still haven't written a beautiful love story for my films. as if they were from a different era than ours. every clothing detail. For me elegance happens when there is a correspondence between a person's personality and how she dresses herself Finally. Ioghi who put me in contact with him. Hence. attitudes. not Mexican. I was told that Castaneda was in an insane asylum. Ned Brown told me he had never met Castaneda. I first looked for Castaneda through his publishers. I'd like to ask you a question concerning the costumes you draw for your films. are symbolic communication. and ideologies stopped being barriers to truth. But the story of Zampano and Gelsomina in La Strada is a love story. a Mediterranean. Then. But I. usages. Are you sure it was really him? . a very white smile. and I'm embarrassed to share this confidence. Certainly! If metalworkers didn't dream. Someone else said he’d met him and that he was alive. He seemed like a Sicilian — a cordial. because this unconscious reference goes back to an emotional reality when I discovered and noticed things. the drawings translate some of my emotional impressions. A person's clothes make up part of his character. Brown skin. I have to confess that I've never identified myself with excesses of passion and love. You talk about a certain "first impression. the problems of the working class. it was. rhythms belong to this emotional reality. there is another fact. In addition. everything has happened and continues to happen. It’s a very complicated story. After the Berlin Wall fell. don't forget that costumes. Tell me about a film you never started. Once a year a Mexican boy brought the publisher manuscripts. colors. I never managed to follow the route of neorealism. even if unusual and terrible. He has the effusiveness of a Latin. Is it perhaps a flight from the present era? Our times are extraordinary and marvelous. in Rome. All of politics is up for rethinking. easygoing." which is tied to the play of memory and nostalgia. who gave me the address of Castaneda’s agent. like dreams. Yet there are so many social critiques in your films. costumes provide an aesthetic objectification that helps to tell the character's story. Persisting in my search.You smile. Yes. I talked with the publisher. moods. But you know. I suggest it to the stylists with my drawings. a Ned Brown in New York.

thirty or forty years ago. to elements of the vegetable world. Yes. seated right here. extra-planetary colors. who had seen all my films. This likable gentleman. Independently of Don Juan. and its doubts. never suspected. a man who keeps his feet on the ground." This relation between science and a supernatural world seems especially interesting. unlike so many other esoteric or initiatory texts that try to tell you about other dimensions. he was surrounded by other people. its mode of inquiry. outside of your humanity. after initiation. Mrs. The one thing that fascinated and also somewhat alienated me — an Italian. From the beginning I was fascinated by his book The Teachings of Don Juan. who is charming in a literary way and whom we are made to see as an old sage. even the mineral world. of extraterrestrial. rational curiosity. here. the unknown. As if I were confronted with a vision of a world dictated by a quartz! Or a green lizard! What I found fascinating was that you felt transported to a point of view never before imagined. In Don Juan’s vision of the world. he had seen my film. you talked about your experience with LSD. at the same time. offered a vision lacking any . an anthropologist. This was what seduced my propensity for the fantastic. I told you that he came to find me. it approaches a religious vision of the phenomenon it’s investigating. Don Juan had told him. animal world. Ioghi knew him. that is. a Mediterranean. parapsychological ventures. in glades. the closer it comes to something that is "the mystery. This man of science then finds himself. conditioned by a Catholic education — was Castaneda’s and Don Juan’s particular vision of the world. protected by its parameters. in vegetable gardens. In short. the visionary. the most famous Italian clairvoyant. there was no comfort. who starts with a speculative. and your friendship with Roll. a world we define in a vague way as "irrational. your belief in Jung’s psychoanalysis. Then I was fascinated by the overall idea: that of a scientific man. watches where he’s going and literally looks at the ground. That’s what Castaneda told me. nothing of what so many other texts can give you or that other esoteric authors like Rudolph Steiner or the Templars give. therefore. "You will have to meet the director of this film. in this living rom. a book about esoteric. told me that one day with Don Juan. The more it advances." He said that Don Juan had prophesied this meeting. of silences. that truly had you breathing outside yourself. led him toward the mysterious world. its certainties. a route that he took with a rational attention and which. scientific purpose. I couldn’t help being invaded at times by a feeling of strangeness. the enigmatic. also its distrust. I like the route supplied by a scientific." And. La Strada — which was made in 1952. I saw something unhuman there. a Latin. toward the hills — where mushrooms grow. and that for an instant gave you an unfamiliar shiver of belonging to other elements. in fields. A feeling. following a path that brings him into contact with some ancient Toltecs. In this connection. this seems to me the end point of true science. Castaneda’s stories.What are you trying to say? Of course.

like a huge fan of very tiny. . I saw coming out of the stable’s wall something fibrillating. and I heard the ox lowing in the stable. I was able to translate sounds into colors. where Castaneda was waiting for you. It happened when I was a boy and spent the summer with my grandmother. . but after that I found strange messages in my room and objects moved around. Maybe madness can resemble this kind of astral. But let’s go back to what happened under the poplar. . At the same time. Maybe Castaneda was sorry to have brought me there and worked out a series of phenomena that discouraged me from making my film. microscopic rubies that shimmered in the sun. I was sitting with my back to the stall. Or maybe his associates didn’t want me to make a film and did these things. First was the episode of the poplar tree. while I was playing. . In short. icy cold. I could chromatize sounds. The name of this place. . It’s a faculty that can surprise us. stayed with me for many years. separate. 360 degrees. so far that I felt I had roots. I had a few experiences that I remembered only thirty or forty years later. Yet I seemed to find myself in an asphyxiated world. This phenomenon of translating sounds into colors. given that life is a single thing. I seemed to see myself up above. they were experiences of special feelings. a mat. . some strange events began. so I decided not to make the film. and to hear a light wind in my hair. . passing through me. . but I could see everything around me and behind me. I think it was black magic. when Benigni tells his grandmother that he became a poplar tree. There. It’s been some years — that was in 1986 — and I still haven’t been able to figure out what really happened.psychological comfort. They came back in a more hallucinatory or more revivified way because I was reading some parapsychological texts. I put one boyhood experience in The Voice from the Moon. ." because there was a large forest nearby. but not Castaneda. It’s difficult to define. Yes! It was also called "the forest. and the same things happened there. but which seems natural to me. Then it disappeared. This was what made them terrible and fascinating for me. . the chromatic equivalent of sound. And that little boy I saw — which was me — now had his legs sunk in the ground. tying different sensations together in different ways. Here I was seated under that poplar at Gambettola. And this wave dissolved. Then I felt — it’s difficult for me to describe it — that I was solidly planted in the ground. I seemed to be swinging there. very high. a carpet. I could tell you about other such episodes that happened when I was a child. When he came to my hotel. I never saw him again. Anyway. At a certain moment. Castaneda’s books brought back some feelings that I had experienced as a boy. His women. Phenomena and wonders popped up. and also when I was twenty and had come to Rome. in the country at Gambettola. some sort of Pinocchio adventure. a flying carpet moving slowly in the air. Gambettola. could come from a fable. solitary silence. it was all too strange. like an enormous tongue. file. he brought along some women. my father’s mother. a totality that we have learned to divide. You felt threatened. Francesca. You told me once that from the moment you arrived in Los Angeles. and Castaneda disappeared. an experience that happened to me afterward. went with me to Tulun.

they laughed. and also the more faithful. Let’s say they need to assume the form of fables. still a young boy."] Peasant men got together in the stable at night to drink. which was late for them because they had to get up at four in the morning. I heard this sound with a different organ. the great visionary wisdom of childhood that one has to tell later as fantasies. didn’t understand very well why. what did she think of this fantasizing little boy? My grandmother could have been a character in a fable herself. yes. ideological constructions. am caught up by what I’m doing. when the men were talking about women. she was capable of great tenderness. It was a way for them to be together for some hours. Said that way. conspiring to create a solidarity. a creed. when I have an identity. A less esoteric and less presumptuous center is my work. magnificent. What do you mean by "veglia"? [Literally. She was an old. She was an old peasant woman. and eat bread and cheese. they poked each other with their elbows and laughed. of lightness. putting a wig on an actress’s head. power in the roots and lightness above in the branches shaking in the sky. You told me in one of our conversations that you’ve always had a latent envy for anyone who expresses. way of recounting. joked. And I. places. It’s a perception I know well precisely because I believe that creative people are acquainted with it. smells. You. who don’t want to take refuge in any rigid system of convictions or ideologies. a conviction. people who have refused the comfort of certainties. something from which they defended each other. no. I had become the poplar! These are the great intuitions and feelings. putting up a wall on a set." And then this feeling of rapture. I still live on the fantasy income from those summers spent with my grandmother. thick blood that rose.And the whole body was covered by a kind of hot. shamelessly poetic. tall. "waking" or "wakefulness. rose. As in driving a nail. from that almost spiritual contact with the animals. . seeing that the makeup is just right. a form of nervousness. like "ommm. I remember the first veglia in the stable. . Like a mantra! It was a mantra. it can seem like romantic complacency. they laughed talking about women. thin woman with many petticoats. I’ve written about the nowhere. of dogmatic. but also indecent. what’s your "center. No. The fable is always the more human. You ask a question that’s not so simple to answer. Even La Strada lifted a little from memories of those summer endings and autumn beginnings in the country. protected each other. when I’m seized. even up to eleven at night. a dogma. And your grandmother. Besides telling stories. The laughs were a way of exorcising. more. of defending themselves. I understand your answer very well. That is. rose up to the head because of the sound that I was making ("whooo") while I was playing. As if they were alluding to something vaguely comic." your "pivot"? The cinema? Do you mean "when do I feel at home"? Yes. . I think my pivot point is finding myself in a nowhere in which I recognize myself. . even in a primitive way. of lightness and power.

thoughts. As a boy in Rimini. maybe. obsessed in filming in the midst of a group of people who look at me with the respect due to age and. It’s a game that puts you in touch with other territories. And there. for levity. I lend my body. persons. Perhaps these intuitions are paler. My brother and I went to the movies accompanied by Alfredo. or talent to something that is a stream. In any case. a route for amusement. to forget the self. There’s a big contradiction between what the West maintains. I began to go more often. also with a little worry and amusement. nonschematic. You said that you love directors like Bergman. my common sense. When I came to Rome.when I’m on the go. a handyman who worked in my father’s warehouse. My father was a sales representative. fortifying their own personality. I believe that for me this is happiness — to lose one’s memory. They weren’t very seductive. First there was the film and immediately after it the variety shows. nondogmatic way — intuitions that others have had with more sacrifices and in a more dramatic way. I was taken by those colored posters. no. The theater put photos of the film outside and also the huge playbills for the variety shows that had pictures of these beautiful fat women with naked thighs and piggish faces. no. my pivot point. Kurosawa. obliges me. but only a path. San Giovanni. and there was always fascist propaganda — these were the early forties. There were only American films then. No. I consider myself particularly fortunate because of my profession. Our family was petit bourgeois. I don’t go to the movies much. movies that have always told us — and during those times in Italy. a stream that invites me. It can lead you to have — in a free. For my generation. If I saw some films then. I’ve never gone much. What kind of films? American. just at the moment in which I’m not there — since I’m in so many places taken up by so many details — is. attitudes. which encourages you to free yourself from yourself. this was perceived more yearningly and strikingly than today — that there was another . it wasn’t a matter of cost. The Italian films were either about war or Romans. This is the part you forget in order to be inhabited by an energy that borrows your body and your nervous system. with more sacrifices. they let me go to the movies once a week. Bunuel. forces me to personify myself in so many things. I believe. There were two cinemas on the street where I lived. Which isn’t a profession. I owe it to the attraction of these playbills. movies were essentially American — a cinema supported by the most powerful press office that the history of film may have ever had. and what the East maintains. Even today. which is really just a superstructure. The problem seems to be that of liberating the self without destroying it. the part you call yourself. the sympathy Americans enjoy is due to their movies. at eighteen. It’s important to put yourself in a condition to be everlastingly born. less colorful than those earned more dramatically and knowingly. But I went most of all because I was fascinated by the crude variety shows. driving people to look for themselves. born in the twenties. Do you go to the movies often? I’m embarrassed to confess. intuitions of different possibilities.

movie personalities. She met Fellini in 1990. Elios. Yes. more seductive. turned into Cinecitta II. which is a commercial center. That’s really okay. In the little towns in winter. in our conceit as spoiled children. In order to get people interested. Take Sunday afternoon. at Pontina. hot potbelly — a potbelly of rascally humanity — that consummated a magic rite. playwright. and a musical based on the life of Walt Whitman. But it could also be stimulating for Italy. for a nonchalant way of acting. poets. Today. Half of Cinecitta has been sold. a paradise in a country they called America. It seemed like going into a big. who got married. this was an inexhaustible source of admiration for a country. and so forth. with stories that tell about their own country. and has been a university teacher in North Africa. Now the people stay home to watch television. a dimension more fanciful than the Italian priests’ Sunday sermons about paradise. They were cheerful guys who had nothing to do with the obligatory sadness of our soldiers. writer and art university professor. another dimension to life. which was created by Dino De Laurentis in 1960. Toni Maraini is a poet. But it’s having continued failure. censored circumstances. Or that no longer seems to have the same seductiveness it had when I was young. Incom. with splendid actors. They keep in mind a Master of Ceremonies’ fundamental fact. American movies were more effective. She studied in Italy. the movie theater was like a tiny galaxy. I loved seeing the variety show from the stalls like holds of pirate ships. seething with spectators. he has written Philosophy of Urban Existence. maybe to a beautiful actress like Myrna Loy. ragged. And these are films made under reduced. They really showed a paradise on earth. we made around 100 to 150 pictures each year. starved. In our films from that time. and Morals. . a planet under a spell. playwrights. For our generation. a grand passion that seems forgotten today. without rhetoric. a people. because Americans often give us impeccable films. a castrating way of dealing with a fable that needs telling. Almost all the studios. K. The only place that’s left is where I made my last film. which was to dream together. very well directed. But I loved them. directors are consistent in this sense. Now it looks like they’re also selling the other half. our soldiers had to be mangled. because the heroes were Gary Cooper. A. for example. Even the Americans’ military rhetoric was acceptable. I didn’t go to movies much. He knows that to tell something to someone he has to seduce his audience with entertainment. Life. of course. This leaves things more open to American competition. She has published many essays and books including Imago. everything went swimmingly for the American soldier. A frequent translator of Italian literature. Until seven or eight years ago. Journalists. appunti di un visionario (1994) and Sealed in Stone (2002). However. writers. Bierman is a philosopher. France and the States. it’s a miracle if there are ten in production. the Italian soldier had to die or be seriously wounded! Meanwhile. have closed down. Clark Gable. The whole American show keeps something in mind that we. and ex-naval aviator. but it’s always with or for television. look at almost with distaste.

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