Retro Review by Miranda Barnewall
“Someone would throw you in the river for 40,000 lire? Drown you for 40,000 lire?”
“Nowadays, they’ll do it for 5,000.”
Are we doomed to keep falling into the same unhealthy romantic relationships? What about the hard work we do to be more mindful of the potential red flags and familiar patterns in our next lover? Is there any point in letting our guards down and allowing ourselves to be vulnerable to our romantic interests? Should we instead armor up and not let anyone in? If so, who can we turn to and trust when we are in need? These are just a few of the questions that have preoccupied me in the last few years, thanks to that thing called Life Experience.
Le notti di Cabiria (also known as Nights of Cabiria) examines those questions without sugarcoating the truth or shying away from the uncomfortable. Minutes into the movie, Cabiria (Giulietta Masina) is mugged and pushed into the river by Giorgio (Franco Fabrizi), her boyfriend of one month. If it were not for the kind strangers nearby who heard her cry for help, Cabiria would have died. Yet she is anything but thankful for being rescued. Instead, she asks where Giorgio is and leaves in disbelief that he would leave her to die. When she gets home, her friend (and fellow sex worker), Wanda (Franca Marzi), infers what happened, and why, but Cabiria is resistant to the suggestion that her lover would attempt to kill her for her money. This sequence contains the themes that are repeated throughout the film with Cabiria as the thread holding all the sequences together.
It takes an extremely talented actor or actress to carry an episodic, theme focused film, and fortunately Gulietta Masina excels. Her performance as Cabiria, the spunky, feisty yet lovable prostitute, is one of the best in cinema, period. Cabiria’s harsh makeup and standoff-ish demeanor make her seem intimidating and unlikable at first, but as the film progresses, both her personality and physical features begin to soften, with her gentle nature and romanticism shining through. Much like Charlie Chaplin’s Tramp character (who partly inspired the character of Cabiria), it’s hard not to like Cabiria. She loves to dance, enjoys dropping wise-cracks, and, deep down, has faith in humanity. Our attachment to her not only grows from her personality, but also in the way Fellini places the camera. In the opening of the film, certain shots feel as if we’re Cabiria’s friend, experiencing the pain, excitement, and heartache alongside her. Equally important in achieving this effect is Masina’s delightful and poignant performance. By the end of the film you can’t help but feel protective of her, flaws and all. It’s a tremendous job for any actor, and one that Masina does extremely well.
In this shot of Cabiria attempting to get in her home, the camera’s placement makes it seem as if we are a participant in this scene. Done quite a subtle manner, it strengthens our attachment to Cabiria.
Cabiria works alone and for herself, telling the local pimp that she sees no need to “slave for filthy pigs like yourself.” Not only does working for herself set her apart, but Cabiria’s sincere desire to change her life separates her from the other prostitutes she works alongside. Cabiria decides that in order to live a more “pure” life, she must seek guidance from the Catholic Church.
While walking home from one job, Cabiria comes across a man with a sack. This seven minute sequence was originally cut from the film, most likely due to the Catholic Church’s objections to the scene. Put simply, this ordinary, unassuming man brings food and basic necessities to the destitute living in caves while the Church does not. This modest depiction of charity is in stark contrast to the consumerist show at the shrine that is apparent when Cabiria pleads to the Madonna for forgiveness at the Santuario della Madonna del Divino Amore. Here, sincerity and honesty doesn’t matter; in order to receive forgiveness, it seems one has to pay for it. It’s out of reach for the destitute, and ultimately for Cabiria. Despite her sincerity, nothing changes. Religion is actually an illusion, its supposed reality disguised in glitzy light fixtures and numbers dangling crutches that suggest miracles. Instead, guidance and a chance to change comes from the interaction with everyday, ordinary people selflessly helping others.
One of light fixtures that Cabiria sees while at the Santuario della Madonna del Divino Amore.
Cabiria against the painted backdrop at the theater.
It’s not only religion that Fellini suggests is an illusion, but also love itself. It is touched upon earlier in the film, but its explicit questioning occurs at the vaudeville-type show. Both the theater and the Santuario della Madonna are spaces that draw crowds and promise them a show. Whether she is part of the crowd or the object of their amusement, Cabiria is striped to an extremely vulnerable state in both spaces. It’s in this state that the sheer beauty, grace, and gentleness of her nature shines through. Performing against a painted backdrop, the magician lulls Cabiria into falling for an imaginary man named Oscar, prompting her to ask, “Is it really true? You’re not trying to fool me?” The magician, seeing how dangerously close he is to her deepest desires, ends the trace and breaks the illusion.
While Cabiria is capable of taking care of herself, she secretly yearns for her knight in shining armor. We see it in her initial denial of Giorgio's betrayal, her almost one night stand with the famous actor, Alberto Lazzari (Amedeo Nazzari), and in her courtship with Oscar (François Périer). All three relationships end with Cabiria, seemingly close to true love, abandoned and heartbroken. The end is signaled with a long shot of Cabiria, back to the camera, walking home alone on the dirt road. However, the ending of her relationship with Oscar differs from the first two in how the camera operates and who accompanies her on her journey home. We initially see Cabiria at a long shot, but this time facing the camera. As she begins to walk, the camera tracks alongside her and eventually cuts to a medium shot. Instead of another trip home in solitude, Cabiria is accompanied by a group of cheerful, singing teenagers. “We’re gonna to lose our way going home!” one woman yells, smiling. This time Cabiria is receptive to the kindness of strangers, so much that she is moved to tears when one young woman says to her, “Buona sera.” She begins to nod to each teenager in appreciation. She looks to the right, nods, to the left, nods, and then looks directly at the camera, effectively breaking the fourth wall, and nods to the viewer.
Cabiria walking home alone, back to the camera, after spending the night on Alberto Lazzari’s bathroom floor.
Unlike the end of the previous relationships, the camera begins with a long shot of the front of Cabiria and begins the track alongside her as she walks.
This movie is bleak. It seems to say that romantic love and religion, two of the things that we hold on to in times of need, are illusions and, thus, ultimately, disappointments. This is, I believe, Fellini’s philosophy, not Cabiria’s. I have never been a pessimist; my outlook might best be summarized by Cabiria, who muses, “I guess there is some justice in the world. You suffer, you go through hell...but then happiness comes along for everyone.”
This character shook me to my core the first time I watched Nights of Cabiria. As a senior in high school, I felt that my desires to be a “strong, independent woman” and wanting a loving, committed romantic partner seemed contradictory, if not impossible. This film interrogates this paradox in a way that I didn’t think any film could adequately capture, exploring the desire for connection based on who you are and not because of what you have, and the longing to surrender that armor by putting your complete trust in someone else.
Today, these seemingly conflicting desires to be independent and committed aren’t so much at odds. Since my first viewing of Nights of Cabiria, I’ve lived on my own, moved to new cities, dated, and held many jobs. I still have that desire for romantic love and connection, but am thoroughly content with living my life as a single woman. I still haven’t found any films that come as close to exploring these themes in a way that struck me like this, and I don’t know if I will.
Fellini once said that, of all his cinematic characters, Cabiria was the one he still worried about. I believe Cabiria will be okay. Regardless of where Cabiria might wind up after the credits roll, she will be cared for by each viewer who follows her tumultuous journey. Likewise, I know Cabiria will always be there for me. Seven years after seeing it, I can still say this is my favorite film. To me, it says, “Yeah, you’ll get kicked down and brokenhearted, but eventually you’ll get back up and be much stronger than before. Life will go on.”
The last shot of the film.