by Allan Fish
(Italy 1948 90m) DVD1/2
Aka. Ladri di Biciclette/The Bicycle Thief
My kingdom for a bike!
p Umberto Scarparelli d Vittorio de Sica w Cesare Zavattini, Oreste Biancoli, Vittorio de Sica, Adolfo Franci, Gherardo Gherardi, Gerardo Guerreri, Suso Cecchi d’Amico story Cesare Zavattini novel Luigi Bartolini ph Carlo Montuori ed Eraldo de Roma m Alessandro Cicognini art Antonio Traverso
Lamberto Maggiorani (Antonio Ricci), Enzo Staiola (Bruno Ricci), Lianella Carell (Maria Ricci), Gino Saltamarenda (Bajocco), Elena Altieri (the lady), Vittorio Antonucci (the thief), Fausto Guerzani (amateur actor),
Okay, it might not be Shakespeare, but it’s no less powerful for it. De Sica’s seminal neo-realist film is probably the most universally praised Italian film ever made, a spare, simple, but devastating odyssey into one man’s misfortune that cannot help but both move and haunt the viewer long after the credits roll.
Antonio Ricci has been out of work for some time. So long that he has had to start selling his goods off to pawn shops so he and his young wife and child can eat. However, he doesn’t realise when he pawns his bike that he would need it a few days later, when he is offered a council job as bill poster. With a family allowance and overtime it seems his dream has come true. He sells the family linen to buy his bike back but, on the very first day of the job, his conveyance is stolen by an opportunistic thief. Failing to capture him, he reports the theft to the police, who couldn’t care less. Reluctantly, he sets off with his small son to look for it, but unable to find it he is eventually driven to contemplate stealing another bike.
As with the later Umberto D, Thieves concerns a noble, honest man driven beneath his dignity to consider acts he would once have decried as the antithesis of acceptable behaviour. In the case of Carlo Battisti in the later film, the idea of begging, here it is the contemplation of thieving. Driven to it by circumstance he is of course captured, not having the cunning, guile and coolness required to be a successful thief. When he is finally released into the crowds, it’s a freedom of anonymity. He’s back amongst the throng of unemployed, waiting for handouts on the steps of the Employment Office. Chances are it will be a long wait.
Looking back from the safe distance of over half a century some might wonder what all the fuss was about, but they shouldn’t. Thieves is as timeless today as it was then, though perhaps now the two-wheeled conveyance would be replaced by one with four wheels. Through its simplistic and direct storytelling and naturalistic performances, it contrives to build up its story with the power of Shakespeare, Hugo or Sophocles. A true modern tragedy of relevance to the entire world, and with the odd drop of the hat to Hollywood for good measure (recall the loving way Maggiorani pastes the poster of Rita Hayworth to the billboard, almost caressing her as he straightens out the creases). And Hollywood took note, rewarding the film with a special Oscar (this was before the days of the Foreign Film Award) and even Altman’s The Player has a murder take place outside an academy movie house showing de Sica’s film to hungry cineastes.
What is perhaps most remarkable about de Sica’s film, however, is the poetic script (full of true observations not only about life but also about luck – particularly ill luck), especially when one considers that it was written by seven pairs of hands. Of course it’s de Sica and Zavattini’s soul that is really the heart of the film, but one cannot forget the truly awe-inspiring work from his actors, particularly Maggiorani and Staiola as the pitiful father and son. How can one forget Staiola clutching his father’s hand throughout their epic, fruitless search, or trying to take an innocent pee but being interrupted? And if Montuori’s photography may not quite be as rich as that of his contemporary Otello Martelli, it does possess a certain sombre poetry that seems entirely appropriate. All in all, a love letter to Rome, but one written in poison ink.
To borrow from Tina Turner: What’s Shakespeare got to do with it? Bicycle Thieves speaks to the soul not the intellect, and it is a film not a play. As far as cinema is concerned it is beyond Shakespeare. It is visual poetry; a truth beyond artifice; a transfiguration of the everyday to the realm of the sublime; the love, the sorrow, and the pity of real lives lived in earnest and without ego, artifice, affectation or ambition. Art for the people of the people and for all time.
Nice write up Allan
The beauty is the simplicity, agreeing here with Tony as well, it speaks directly to the soul; it’s one of those rare films that hum and purr with humanity, the ending alone reduces me to a wreck.
Thanks for highlighting those beautiful, tender scenes between father and son as well, this film just makes my heart sing.
One of the greatest films of all-time. I will leave it at that.
Both Tony and Ibetolis contribute mightily here to this discourse.
Probably the greatest Italian film, and like one of the above posters asserts, the ending is devastating. I know this is a seminal work of neo-realism, and is always held up as the model for it. Excellent review.
This naturalistic milestone in cinema is one of the few films that could rightly be labeled with the word that is often misused, that starts with an M and ends with an E. I agree that the ending is shattering, when the father resorts to the very crime that he so abhored.
One of the classics of cinema, and a film that tugs at the heart strings in a way that few is any films can emulate. The film’s gritty locations pre-war are compelling.
It made my own top 5 of this decade, but even more than this I think it’s one of those films that will be loved and appreciated hundreds of years into the future, as an example of a style that has been copied, but due to conditions that were singular to that time, could never be shown in the same way again.
What I appreciated the most were the naturalistic performances of the amateurs, which was also the case with the later and just as excellent “Umberto D.”
I think Allan Fish has written a dead-on appraisal.
I saw this for the first time a few months ago. It’s one of those great films that really lingers in my mind and has had more of an impact than I initially thought.
The scene where the father and son eat their simple lunch at the cafe and the rich girl taunts the boy, and of course the heart wrenching ending scene made indellible impressions.
I love your closing line:
“All in all, a love letter to Rome, but one written in poison ink.”
Great closing line by Allan indeed David. This seminal film is making a strong run to fi nish near th etop of our 40’s poll, and the scenes you mention are rightly worth nothing with the greatest reverence.
Thanks again for you most valued input and passion.
Thanks for the kind words, David.