by Joel Bocko
Fists in the Pocket, Italy, 1965, dir. Marco Bellochio
Starring Lou Castel, Paola Pitagora
Story: A restless, intermittently fitful young man seeks an escape – violent, if necessary – from his provincial villa and oppressive family.
Fists in the Pocket begins with a threatening note, but this j’accuse is just a bad joke. (Disturbing letters will recur throughout the movie, but the written word is an afterthought here; these characters, barbarians after a fashion, write their lives with their bodies and motions, not with mind or pen.) Composed in childlike fashion, words cut out from magazines in an attempt to seem ominous and anonymous, the missive threatens Augusto’s girlfriend by revealing the existence of a pregnant mistress. As Augusto patiently reveals to his distraught lover, there is no pregnant girlfriend, no “other woman.” There’s only little sister Giulia trying to keep the family’s sole breadwinner from having a life. Subtext to Augusto’s revelation: you wouldn’t believe my family. It’s telling then that Augusto, the “normal” sibling, is least central to the story, and in some ways the least sympathetic. Within moments we are introduced to Giulia herself, and what an introduction!
Three shots, jump cuts between, and we zoom past her on a motorbike. She glances at the camera furtively and then laughs when two flirtatious bikers skid into the dirt and fly off their vehicle; played by Paola Pitagora, whose gorgeous, slightly gawky sensuality draws us like a magnet, Giulia is compulsively watchable. So is Lou Castel as Giulia’s brother Alessandra or Ale, our (anti)hero who descends into the frame in a flash, landing on his feet from a tree perch, restlessly prowling the yard like a caged animal, snapping at his harmless nuisance of a brother. That’s seemingly semi-retarded Leone (Pierluigi Troglio), who will later sigh, “What torture, living in this house.” Ale is more ambiguous in his own lament – tediously reading the newspaper to his blind mother, he begins to concoct his own headlines. Eventually he moodily declares, “The king of England has died, leaving in darkest despair and desolation…” His mother cuts him off – “But there’s still the queen.” “Precisely,” Ale says, and in his morbid mind the wheels begin to turn.