Cinema Paradiso
The reason movies such as “Hugo” and “The Fabelmans” and “Cinema Paradiso” work in their different variations of celebrating the love of movies is because they ultimately are not about filmmakers. Yes, we see how Sammy Fabelman is inspired to make his own films, and we see how Hugo Cabret brings a legend back to what he loved about films, and Salvatore De Vita becomes a director in his own right, but these films are about the discovery of cinema, and how they can be cathartic, inspiring, and a way to connect with other people. All three are misfits who live on the outskirts of their respective societies; movies give them a way into a community.
Giuseppe Tornatore’s 1988 ode to cinema has long been on my watchlist; with the release of Steven Spielberg’s “The Fabelmans,” I decided it was time to finally cross it off the list. Ultimately, neither has much in the way of structure and narrative in common, but they both are beautiful evocations of that feeling we have when we discover something that stokes our passions for the first time. Both films are autobiographical, but what “Cinema Paradiso” has that “The Fabelmans” doesn’t is a wistful romanticism that it just wonderful to take in. For my first time watching the film, I chose the 173-minute extended cut, reflecting Tornatore’s original vision before it was edited down by Harvey Weinstein. I’m glad I did; while I’m sure the shorter versions are great, this feels like a beautiful, intimate epic.
Early in the film Salvatore De Vita’s mother is told the news of Alfredo (Philippe Noiret)’s passing; she is urged not to tell her son, but she knows he would be upset if he didn’t find out right away. Salvatore comes back for the funeral, and we learn his story. When he was a boy, he would spend time at the Paradiso theatre in the small Sicilian town where he grew up. Alfredo was the projectionist at the Paradiso, and we see how Salvatore (played by Salvatore Cascio as a child, Marco Leonardi as a teenager, and Jacques Perrin as an adult) comes to love cinema, and love a young woman named Elena (Agnese Nano), whom will become the one who got away for him as he leaves his hometown, and becomes a famous director.
When I first started to work in the movie theatre industry, the projection booth is what excited me. I wanted to have a part in bringing the movies to people. It would be a couple of years before that dream became a reality, but being responsible for a moviegoer’s great experience watching a movie is truly a rush only someone who’s worked with film can understand. I love that that is Salvatore’s way into film love, as his friendship with Alfredo gives him a chance to give audiences that great experience. I probably would have appreciated this film earlier in my life, but I definitely know a great deal of my love comes with how it centers around the responsibility a great projectionist feels when it comes to making sure the audience gets the experience it deserves. Some of my favorite moments in this film are when Alfredo and Salvatore have to improvise in bringing films to audiences, such as when they project them on the sides of buildings. That can be dangerous, however, but the romance of the theatrical experience is worth such risks.
In many ways, “Cinema Paradiso” is telling two love stories- one about the love of movies, and one about Salvatore’s lost love of Elena. A good portion of the latter was reintroduced into the longer cut that I watched, and it’s wonderful in how it really does show the power of that first love on a young man, and then the pangs of regret that, maybe, a chance was missed later in life. Regardless of which love story you’re referring to, Ennio Morricone’s score is a thing of lush beauty, with his singularly elegant orchestrations and melodies a perfect match to this film. It reminds me why Morricone inspired me so when I began to devour his music.
This is one of those films where, if we’re being honest, it all just works. Yes, it is very much a sentimental look back at life, but it earns its sentiment by how much it connects us with out own memories, and those moments we’ll never forget. That’s ultimately why a film like this, or “Hugo,” or “The Fabelmans,” or “Fanny and Alexander” (another memory piece by a great director) connects- it’s a film that comes straight from the filmmaker’s heart.
