Italian Neo-realism and its 21st Century Application
A repurposed essay from my Intro to World Cinema History course, with the additional analysis of The Florida Project.
Italian neo-realism is a concept first realized in 1930s Italian literature and, following World War II, the idea was applied to cinema and became the hallmark of popular films. Neo-realism is characterized by its focus on an ordinary reality in which screenwriters and directors embrace the realistic problems of individuals in a poverty-stricken nation following a long war and fascism. Its emphasis on following the lives of people, much like you and me, and highlighting their rather mundane plight, allows for a new type of connection between the audience and the characters: one that considers the nuance that accompanies quiet moments.
Not only does Italian neo-realism focus on ordinary characters, but it also employs the revolutionary anti-narrative approach – defined as a style of narrative that has no clear plot or straightforward resolution. It is truth in action, a somewhat difficult genre to understand if one hopes to engage in escapism, but its authenticity is something to be appreciated and it is certainly one of my favorite methods of storytelling.
The film Ladri di Biciclette, translated to Bicycle Thieves in English, exhibits the essence of Italian neo-realism through its portrayal of an ordinary man, his child, wife, job, and his journey in searching for his stolen bike.
In showcasing the life of a regular working man who just received a job after a long period of unemployment, the film holds many examples of the realistic issues individuals face following an arduous war. Poverty and unemployment were at an all time high and the main character, Antonio Ricci, and his wife Maria must sell their sheets to afford a bike as a form of transportation to and from his new poster plastering job – a job that, within the context of a post-war world, was difficult to obtain.
Importantly, the relationship between Antonio and his son, Bruno, demonstrates the normal back and forth between father and son and the “strongly humanist and reformist” aspects of post-war Italy. The director, De Sica, displayed this typical lifestyle to “inspire audiences to alter their view of the world and to understand on their own how to change it for the better.”¹ Antonio’s attempts to apologize to his son for hitting him by taking him out for food and drinks, albeit seemingly inconsequential, is a delicate and subdued heartfelt moment that works to inspire the audience and convey that such small acts are ways they can change their own lives for the better. In fact, De Sica and his co-scripter Cesare Zavattini made certain that such a narrative had elements of a “dramatically contrasted life in bleak, post-war Italy with the potential for a better life.”²
While trying to find his stolen bike, Antonio eventually gives up. He sends his son to the tram and steals a bike, stooping to the same level as the person who stole his own bike. Despite trying to conceal the heist, Antonio is caught by the owner of the bike and his son, who purposefully misses the tram. He watches as his father is chastised by the owner and surrounding individuals for the same act that put him in this situation in the first place. The film ends with the father and son pair walking down the street after giving the bike back to the rightful owner, and the audience is left not knowing whether the man will ever find his bike again. This poses many questions about his future as a poster plasterer. Without his bike he cannot work, but in doing the moral thing, he keeps his integrity. This ambiguous ending to a rather incoherent plot exhibits the exact definition of an anti-narrative. In the context of a post-war world, this just goes to show that the lack of job security in the tumultuous era following the World War, while difficult, does not take away from the importance of morality.
In the words of Zavattini, “the artist's task is not to make people moved or indignant at metaphorical situations, but to make them reflect (and, if you like, to be moved and indignant too) on what they and others are doing, on the real things, exactly as they are.”³ As depicted in the film, we are not shown a fantastical and epic tale, but rather a frankly unremarkable and unclear plot that leads to, essentially, nowhere. We are left with no solid idea about the result of the stolen bike issue. Much like life, the ending of the film Ladri di Biciclette is up to interpretation, prediction, and uncertainty.
Today, we see the application of this anti-narrative neo-realistic style in films like Sean Baker’s The Florida Project, a quintessential American portrayal of the childhood of one Moonee and her young mother Halley living in a dingy motel near Disney World. My favorite thing about this film is seeing the world through Moonee’s eyes. This six-year-old picks up the brash and unapologetic traits that are characteristic of her mother – a woman struggling to pay for their motel stay, feeling her way through life rather recklessly. Like Ladri di Biciclette’s tackling of the grim post-war reality, Baker emphasizes the epidemic of homelessness and struggle in a post-recession world. I think the most interesting element of the film is in its location. Living near Disney World sounds like a dream come true as a child. Like being near the aroma of candy, popcorn, and salty ocean breeze could combine to seep into your dreams and make life even more magical. The life of Moonee is a stark contrast – her mother resorts to scamming, trickery, insults, and prostitution to provide for her, even committing these acts in front of and near her daughter.
It’s a bleak reality, like Antonio and Bruno’s, and ends with a sort of moral redemption in some ways. After the Department of Children and Families are called on Halley by Bobby, the Magic Castle manager (played by the incomparable Willem Dafoe by the way), she is apprehended for her lack of care for Moonee. It’s a much more dramatic conclusion than Ladri di Biciclette, but serves the same purpose – to be ambiguous with a slight note of hope. We hope that after Moonee runs away from the DCF officers into Disney World, that she will be found again, placed in a happier home, and given a more stable childhood. Of course, because it can be left up to interpretation, some may presume she was injured during her attempt to flee.
Maybe Bruno and his father never find work again and remain impoverish until the end of their life. Maybe there’s another job. Maybe they scrape by.
Maybe Moonee and her mother never reunite. Maybe she did get injured and killed while running away. Maybe she does get her happy ending with a loving family. Maybe the family she ends up with is worse.
Regardless of the lack of a familiar narrative structure or explicit conclusion, we feel connected to Moonee and her other friends in similar situations. I wondered, while watching the film and in trying to understand its similarities with Ladri di Biciclette, why viewing grim realities through these children was so important. I definitely think its a tool to keep the audience grounded. As children, we were the realest, most unabashed version of ourselves, finding wonder and amusement in everything. In seeing such dark worlds from their perspective, we understand that even in the most trying times, there is hope.
I love when I get to interpret endings on my own because it really helps me gauge how I’m really feeling on a certain day. Perhaps I see the glass half full sometimes, but in general, I like that even with such dark and palpable stories, I’m left feeling hopeful. There is something so inherently human about this form of storytelling that will never get old to me and continues to stand the test of time.
¹ Douglas Gomery, Movie History: A Survey (New York: Routledge, 2011), 221.
² Gomery, Movie History: A Survey (New York: Routledge, 2011), 221.
³ Cesare Zavattini, "Some Ideas on Cinema," in In Film: A Montage of Theories, ed. Richard Dyer MacCann (New York: Dutton, 1966), 216-228.
