Michelangelo Red Antonioni Blue
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Michelangelo Antonioni, who died in 2007, was one of cinema’s greatest modernist filmmakers. The films in his black and white trilogy of the early 1960s—<i>L’avventura, La Notte, L‘eclisse</i>—are justly celebrated for their influential, gorgeously austere style. But in this book, Murray Pomerance demonstrates why the color films that followed are, in fact, Antonioni’s greatest works. Writing in an accessible style that evokes Antonioni’s expansive use of space, Pomerance discusses <i>The Red Desert, Blow-Up, Professione: Reporter (The Passenger), Zabriskie Point, Identification of a Woman, The Mystery of Oberwald, Beyond the Clouds</i>, and <i>The Dangerous Thread of Things</i> to analyze the director’s subtle and complex use of color. Infusing his open-ended inquiry with both scholarly and personal reflection, Pomerance evokes the full range of sensation, nuance, and equivocation that became Antonioni’s signature.
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Michelangelo Red Antonioni Blue
Eight Reflections on Cinema
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The man comes home to his (much less effervescent) wife, Patrizia (Fanny Ardant), who is strained with both boredom and anxiety in their lavish modern apartment. Tall and wraithlike, she sits in a dove-gray dress with her legs crossed nervously, in front of a painting of a ballerina standing in second position and bending over to massage her shin. Have you been with her again?, she asks wearily: it’s been three years since that story in the café about the souls. Some things, says he in irritation, can’t be called off overnight: the old, old story. Patrizia strides away, the tails of her swank garment fluttering like those of an undertaker’s tuxedo. “It’s her or me.”
Since at least in cinema we have come to accept interactions like this as commonplace, the torn, desiccated marriages of the monied class, we can move quickly through the chess that these two play, his breathless expressions of ennui, her increasingly taut fear of loss, his swelling apathy, her anger, all reactions to the central fact of impermanence (or that blurry prospect visible from a moving train), which is what the experience of life amounts to for these movers and shakers. Swiftly now, after a cut, the young lover pulls him into her apartment with a voluptuous (and starved) kiss. “We have to talk,” says he: the old, old story. He wears gray, she wears red: cardinal red, poppy red. On her kelp green velvet sofa she straddles him. “Talk … but caress me.” He closes his eyes: “I forget …”
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