a pair of jeans, a shirt, a tuft of hair
by Douglas Messerli
Pier Paolo Pasolini and Alberto Moravia (story, and with Marco Visconti, screenplay), Mauro Bolognini (director) La giornata balorda (From a Roman Balcony) aka A Crazy Day and Pickup in Rome / 1960
In the post-World War II world of the 1950s and early 1960s as portrayed in the writings and films of Alberto Moravia, Pier Paolo Pasolini, Mauro Bolognini, and so many others young males in their late teens and 20s, unable to find employment, wander the streets of Rome, Milan, Naples, and even smaller Italian cities in search of jobs, a quick financial fix through a petty theft, male comradeship, and a little female pleasure. The latter is hard to find, despite the eager, attractive, and lean bodies these boys often offer, because the women themselves have been forced into prostitution, or jobs such as manicurists, secretaries, entertainers, waitresses, or other low-paying positions which primarily consist of offering up sexual services to their employers.
Without money, they go hungry; without love they have no will left to go
on to the next day and repeat their fruitless search. Sometimes they get lucky,
finding a temporary job, a small heist which they sell off to a middleman, and,
when frustrated sexually, sharing the bodies of their fellow male companions.
In
films such as Federico Fellini’s I Vitelloni (1953), Bolognini’s The
Big Night (1959), Luciano Visconti’s Rocco and His Brothers (1960),
Pasolini’s Accattone (1961), and so many other films, we see this often
misogynist mix with the equally poignant pattern played out again and again
with both sexes. It sometimes appears that all Italian youths have to offer is
their own bodies, or, as the character Freja (Lea Massari) describes it in
Bolognini’s 1960 film La giornata balorda (From a Roman Balcony), the hero
is only “a pair of jeans, a shirt, and a tuft of hair.”
But what a handsome combination of that is Davide Saraceno (Jean Sorel).
Like all the others in the films I mention, he seeks a job not only just to
eat, but in this case to support a new baby, its mother, the frail blonde
beauty he’s known since childhood, Ivana (Valeria Ciangottini) who he’s
unexpectedly gotten pregnant. With any luck he hopes to be able to save up
enough to get his son baptized and marry his girl who’s taken refuge in the
slum-like apartment where his mother and sister eke out a daily life desperately
trying to feed, dress, clean their offspring. For them, Davide is a scofflaw, a
no-good who disappears for days at a time, arriving home without any
explanation of where he’s been each night.
They’re not exactly wrong in their assessment given the demands they
daily face, but in this particular case the boy does not spend the day hanging
out with his male friends, bragging, and hoping for a bit of luck to squeak
through the cracks, but actually does seek out employment. Indeed, the first
half of this film satirizes the issue by taking our young ready-to-work hero
through an endless bureaucracy of promises, sending him on a wild goose chase
from his seedy uncle (who’s obviously into some illegal dealings regarding food
products) to the offices of Moglie (Paolo Stoppa) who writes out a reference to
another friend, which sends him by mistake to the man’s brother, and then to
the man himself who, in turn, writes him out a reference that, when Davide
stops to read the envelope, bears the name of Moglie again.
The various complexes of various offices and buildings—one of which
bears some resemblance to a series of endless staircases that lead seemingly
nowhere as in the drawings of M. C. Escher or a scene out of the writings of
Franz Kafka—that send him, quite literally, like a rat through maze filled with
cold, hostile, and frozen faces. In between disappointments he seeks out sex
with a beautiful neighbor, Marina (Jeanne Valérie), who he keeps
reencountering, first on the way to his uncle’s, later on his return to
Moglie’s office where he has overheard the man on the phone ordering a
manicurist to his office, the job and person of for which the older man has
requested matching up with Marina, who finally encounters again on her way to
complete the task.
She pays him, strangely enough—which, as we shall see is the
pattern in this film—by showing up when he has returned to Moglie, undressing
in preparation for their encounter with the businessman while she suggests it
should be no difficulty for him to find a job for her friend; in short, knowing
from Davide that the man’s wife is out of town on vacation, she subtly
blackmails Moglie so that he might simply get rid of the pesky boy and get down
to his business with her.
The job Moglie finds for him—what might be described as the second act
of our tale (in the original it began after an intermission)—is as an assistant
driver—a kind of male companion—to a slightly older and more experienced
version of him, Carpiti (Rik Battaglia) who drives a truck filled with animal
fat for a wealthy man who operates an olive oil plant, who obviously is mixing his
specially-grown oils with an illegal supplement.
Reaching the oil baron’s seaside mansion—presumably so that he can be
paid before delivering the oil to the factory—Carpiti is taken away to do
business, while Davide is asked to wait with the businessman’s female friends,
one of them being the wife, as it turns out, of the cheating Moglie. The other,
Freja, who I mention above, appears to be the oil baron’s girlfriend, a
wealthier kind of prostitute, who immediately takes a liking to Davide,
managing to get him into a pair of borrowed swim trunks and into the ocean by
her side.
After she drives him up to the oil magnate’s mansion after their swim,
Davide finds himself with Carpiti back on the road. But this time they suddenly
find Freja speeding up behind them in her Ferrari, stopping them to tell them
that someone has tipped off the police about the boss’s mix of oils, so it is
no longer safe for Carpiti to travel on with the evidence. She takes over the
driving, while keeping the surprised and now utterly clueless Davide at her
side. To his simple way of thinking, it appears that she has simply kidnapped
the truck and him to finish what they couldn’t back on the beach.
Soon
after, however, the truck suddenly roles down an embankment bursting into
flames, the boy blaming her for not properly putting on the handbrakes. She
simply dresses, suggesting that he do so as well, and proceeds on foot back to
the house with him in tow. Startled by how blasé she appears to be about the
loss of millions of lira, he explains that he has taken on this job just to
help save up 50,000 lira in order to buy a food concession at a local market
which, if it works out, will provide him, Ivana, and his son enough weekly
money for the rest of their lives—unable to imagine that her obliteration of
the truck has been, in fact, intentional, a sure way of hiding the evidence.
She
describes him as a bourgeois sentimentalist, which in fact he is. Except, he
counters, for Ivana he is more than just a pair of pants, a shirt, and a tuft.
When they reach the mansion once again, she pulls out 50,000 in cash, puts it
into an envelope and hands it over to Carpiti to give to the boy, another payment
for his sexual services we might argue.
When later Carpiti simply hands him some bills, we can presume that the
driver has taken his share of that payment as well, and Davide shows some
apparent disappointment in the amount.
After his long, crazy day, he finally returns to his mother’s apartment
with the money, tossing it to his ever-complaining mamma while insisting she
use it as payment for his food stand and perhaps for his boy’s baptism. For the
first time in the work, she is speechless, while, similarly for a first time,
Ivana speaks, asking him where he has got the money. He answers, “I didn’t hurt
a soul,” and goes to the baby, picking him up and playing with him, trying to
make the child laugh by asking over and over, whether, when he grows up, he will
dance with his dad.
Bolognini’s
richly black-and-white-textured film conveys the depth and warmth that exists
in this Roman slum of open balconies connected with a cross work of
clotheslines, while featuring the rest of the film’s various venues, in the
harsh light of the Italian sun, as uninhabitable spaces that offer none of the
honesty and modesty of this world of the poor. In the absurd disorder of the
world the fiction presents, a handsome boy like Davide can only seem to get
ahead with the help woman who pay him for the lean body maintained by
starvation and the endless runs through the streets that his fellow male elders
demand. He is as surely an innocent male prostitute as was Fellini’s
open-hearted, simple-minded female believer in love, Cabiria, in his 1957 film Le
notti di Cabiria.
Los Angeles, August 17, 2021
Reprinted from World Cinema Review (August
2021).
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