Michelangelo Leone &Sergio Antonioni

Antonioni  versus  Leone —  An  exploration of  modern Italian film conventions in  the light of existing genres.

Blow-Up and C’era  una volta il  West  make reference to and use  the  structures of established genres – the detective story and the Western – but also revisit them more or  less  radically. Discuss the  scope  and results of  such  revisions, with reference to  these films.   In  answering this question, make the  necessary distinctions between an  auteur film  like Antonioni’s and a genre,  popular film like Leone’s.

The revisiting of genres is not a new convention.  There is an inherent link between modern cinema and the  greater  legacy of cinema as a whole.  This is a significant consideration  when discussing the  influence of the  canonical genres of the detective  story  and the western respectively, on films such as Blow-Up and C’era una volta il West.  The reinterpretation of these specific genres adds  a distinctly  modernist  tone  to the  narratives  on screen.   This text  shall discuss the  treatment of these films with past  examples from the same genres, commenting and reflecting upon the distinctions  between them, while also documenting  the various directorial  techniques of the filmmakers.

The genre of the  Western  created  by  European  directors  is invariably linked  to  the  influence of Hollywood upon  Italian  cinema.                                                       The  post-war influence of American producers,  directors  and actors coupled with the sub- sequent  saturation of the  Italian  film market  with Hollywood productions, led to the wonderfully creative hybrid of the Spaghetti  Western. The combi- nation  of American  leading actors cast amongst  Italian  and  Spanish  extras creates  a surrealist  juxtaposition  of the  known  versus  the  unknown.   It  is a distinctly  modernist  theme,  one that  is tangibly  associated  with an Italy

that  is emerging from the shadows of the war.  The prospect  of entering  a new, unknown future  is manifested  in the  techniques  of filmmakers such as Sergio Leone.

The link between past and present is abundantly evident is Leone’s C’era una  volta il  West,  not  only in a narratological  sense, but also with regard to  the  genre as a complete  entity.   There  is an  amalgamation of previous Westerns into the creative process of C’era una volta, which results in an ex- ceptionally complete film, incorporating  the foremost attributes of the genre.

The narrative  itself provides a cogent link between the myth  of the past and the intrusive nature  of the present.  It is a theme that  is in keeping with the modernist concerns of post-war Italian  film; change dominates the events of Leone’s epic. The resistance  to change is visible from the outset,  as Jack Elam’s character  ‘Snaky’, while sitting at the station,  rips the wires from the clicking telegraph  receiver beside him.  His position  is shared by characters  such as Harmonica,  Frank  and  Cheyenne;  they  can be perceived as  quasi mythological figures, gods of an unknown past,  ‘duking it out’ amongst  or- dinary human  beings, using casual violence as a means of expression, while contemporaneously facing their own extinction during a tumultuous  period of modernisation.  They are, as Harmonica so appropriately puts it, ‘An ancient race’ (2:14:02).  The  railway is construed as the  aforementioned  modernisa- tion;  it  is an  undeniable  future,  cutting  a swathe  through  the  landscape, as unstoppable  as time  itself.   This  setting  of discordant  change  sees the oncoming demise of the mythic.

Another  reappraisal  of the  genre comes from the  influence of cultural context  of  contemporary  Italy.   The protagonists  in Leone’s films are often

driven by materialistic  desires. When discussing Clint Eastwood’s character  of The Stranger in Per  un Pugno di dollari, Peter  Bondanella  states  in his essay A  Fistful  of Pasta:   Sergio  Leone  and  the  Spaghetti   Western, ‘The hero acts  out  of a  single  motivation (financial  gain)  which  he shares  with  the villainous Baxters  and Rojos’ (255).  This provides a link between the Italy of the Miracolo Economico and Leone’s on screen narrative.  The contextual  and narratological  correlation  between the new, capitalist  Italy and Leone’s modernist  representation of the  West,  is expressed to a great  extent by the director’s cynical portrayal  of relationships.

The treatment of these relationships  is pertinent with regard  to the dis- cussion on  the  reinterpretation  of the Western.  The theme  of materialistic  desire, familiar to viewers of such films such as Umberto D and Ossessione, permeates  the  story  of C’era  una  volta  il  West,  concurrently  demonstrat- ing Leone’s acknowledgement of the Neorealismo movement and perhaps,  his dismay at  the emergence of a capitalist  Italy.   The power of  money to fuel betrayal is evident when Frank’s men turn  against him in return  for financial gain,  reminding  us of Giovanna  and  Gino’s betrayal  of Bragana  in Osses- sione.  Similarly, the comparison  can be made between Morton  the railroad tycoon  and  Umberto  D’s landlady;  both  are  willing to  ruthlessly  displace anyone who stands  in the way of their socio-economic development.  It could be argued  that  Leone is continuing  to vocalise the  stentorian  objection  to Italian  post-war capitalist  inclinations,  previously expressed by auteurs  such as Visconti and De Sica.

When analysed alongside the seminal Westerns of previous decades, there is a distinct comparison between the construction  of characters. Gary Cooper’s

protagonist in High Noon,  for example,  is the  archetypal  American  hero, willing to honourably  stand  alone against  the oncoming danger,  despite  the overwhelming odds.  There is a disparity  between this  heroic sentiment and that  of Harmonica  and  Cheyenne,  anti-heroes  who slap women and  sneak their  guns into  their  boots  to  shoot  enemies.   Jill  describes Harmonica  as someone who ‘doesnt look like a defender of poor, helpless widows’ (1:53:41). This opinion is compounded  by Bondanella,  who states  that ‘Leone wilfully set out  to modify the  conventions  of the  traditional genre’ (255).  Harmon- ica in particular  embodies the aforementioned  modification of conventions. He, the protagonist,  represents the theme of revenge, a motive shared by the antagonists  in previous Westerns  such as  High  Noon.  His presence almost invariably  involves death  and  destruction.  As Cheyenne  says of Harmon- ica, ‘People like that  have something  inside,  something  to  do with  death’ (2:25:53).   This  statement is Leone’s reminder  to  the  audience  that  C’era una  volta  is almost  an ode to a bygone era,  the  passing of which is being lamented  by the actions on screen.

This new, modernist  interpretation of the Western is also reflected in the stylistic approach  to the narrative.   Scenes are constructed in a wonderfully emphatic  manner,  then suddenly  fragmented  and punctuated by a penetra- tive and stentorian  burst  of action.  The grand, operatic moments of swelling music, silently powerful close-ups and sweeping visuals breathe  a new enthu- siasm into the genre of the Western. Bondanella’s inference describes Leone’s

‘obsession with close-ups as part  of his reaction  against  the formulaic codes imposed  upon him by mediocre directors,  who were more interested  in fol- lowing the so-called rules of cinematic  narrative  than  in pursuing  their  own

individual style’ (256).  The combination  of these dramatic  close-ups, beau- tifully  constructed long shots  and  stirring  music creates  the  revolutionary style of the operatic Western.  Such a style is reflected in preceding modern Italian  films such as Senso,  where  music and  visual splendour  combine to magnificent effect.

The opening scene of C’era  una  volta, similar to Il buono,  il brutto,  il cattivo,  begins  in medias res, with the reason behind the attempted assas- sinations  of Harmonica  and  Tuco  unknown  to  the  audience.                                                                                                              Leone,  in a departure from the traditional Hollywood Western, while embracing a char- acteristic  of Modernism, is happy to both involve and challenge the audience on a narrative  level; in  Leone’s portrayal  of the  Western,  we must  resign ourselves to supposition  as opposed to certainty.  This tendency  is made all the more remarkable  in its success.  Unlike auteur  films such as Senso and Blow-Up, which are indeed challenging films, C’era una volta is a resound- ingly mainstream work,  incorporating  modernist  aspects  into  a successful amalgamation of past  and present.

Another  stylistic  departure from the  Western genre that  Leone imple- ments  is the powerful use of the motif.  The recurring  themes  that  occur in the  narrative  often reflect  the  desires of characters,  transcending the  more prosaic approach  of previous Westerns.  An obvious motif in C’era una volta is that  of water.   The water  dropping  on Woody  Strode’s hat,  MacBaine’s intention to name his town ‘Sweetwater’, Jill visiting the well, the desire of Morton the railroad  tycoon to see the ocean; such narrative  devices serve to remind us that  this relatively simple motif carries a salient message, one that  reminds us that water is fundamental  to life, a realisation which is contrasted

sharply with the motif of change and mechanisation,  vigorously embodied by the train.

The fresh treatment of the Western in C’era una volta il West is reflected in the second film that  this text shall discuss; Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow- Up.  If Leone’s  interpretation  of the Western acted  as a mould, using both tried  and  trusted   techniques  and  fresh,  radical  ideas  to  create  a  master- piece, Antonioni’s detective  story  completely  transcends  the genre through the  use of progressive,  modernist  filmmaking.   Antonioni’s  position  as an auteur  also reflects his unique reappraisal  of a genre, as opposed to Leone’s prominent role as a mainstream  director.   The auteur’s  construction  of the detective  story necessitates  a thorough  comparison  with previous standards of the genre. For the purpose of this criticism, that film will be Carol Reed’s The Third  Man.

When we consider the formula for the stereotypical detective story movie, certain ‘necessities’ in the establishment of the narrative come to mind.  Fore- most of these are the setting,  the characters  and the plot.  It is appropriate that  Antonioni’s treatment of the  genre is a departure from these ‘necessi- ties’, as the  film itself is a departure from familiar territory  for the  auteur.

‘Blow-Up represents  a new direction  for Antonioni.  There is a new language

[English] and setting  [mod London in the era of the Beatles]’ (Bondanella,

222).  One could argue that  the departure from familiarity  gave Antonioni carte  blanche  to imbue Blow-Up with a uniquely avante-garde  reinterpreta- tion of the detective  story.

The London on screen varies considerably,  never allowing the  setting  to become mundane,  or indeed, familiar.  Thomas’s sojourn through  London is

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a contrast  to Holly Martin’s  meanderingly  sleuthing  activities  in The Third Man.  Carol Reed’s vision of Vienna becomes familiar, recognisable, allowing audience  familiarity  with  on screen locations  to reassure  them.   Antonioni makes no such efforts; in fact, he strives for the opposite. Areas visited more than once, by Hemmings’ protagonist, are never the same as when the viewer first encounters them; his studio is ransacked by unknown intruders, the park is dark  upon his return.   Antonioni  infuses the narrative  with the decidedly modernist theme of the anonymous city, uncertain  and untrustworthy. While Reed’s Third Man manifests some of this theme, his Vienna is more criminal underworld than  distopian metropolis.

As with Leone’s C’era una volta il West, the cultural  context  is also per- tinent to the  matter of the setting.   While Leone the mainstream  director uses rich, sweeping images of the American West to emphasise a changing of times,  Antonioni  the  auteur  uses fast editing of Swinging London to reflect the transient nature  of modernity.  As Bondanella suggests of Antonioni’s vi- sual style in Blow-Up ‘He employs a new rhythm or pace in his editing; rather  than  continue the obsessively long takes typical of his trilogy, he now shifts to the fast-paced  editing more common to television commercials’ (222).

London during  the  Sixties is a time  of radical  change.   Art  becomes a reflection of reality, of change, while the interpretation of a changing London reality  becomes as  subjective as art.   This  art,  in the  case of Blow-Up in- cludes both photography  and cinema. As Thomas questions what his art has captured,  namely a murder,  the audience is contemporaneously  questioning what  it is viewing.

To continue with this  discussion, Antonioni’s plot structure is relevant.

The opening shot  of Blow-Up with the  camera  on a patch  of grass, is fol- lowed immediately by the surrealism of the mimes driving through a deserted courtyard  of disused  buildings.   This moment is similar to the  closing mo- ments of the film, where we again encounter  the mimes.  Antonioni chooses, significantly,  to  bookend  the  film with  similar  events.   It  creates  a theme of cyclicality, with a feeling of surrealism  permeating  the narrative.   In this respect,  the plot becomes dubious,  almost secondary.  One could argue that  by linking such similar events at both  the opening and closing of the movie, the director is forcing us to draw our own conclusions, perhaps  to question the very existence of such a plot.  It is a bold, distinctly  modernist technique, one that  immediately engages the audience at a critical level, with the viewer yearning to understand the meaning behind the director’s narrative.   It is a remarkable  departure from the genre of the detective novel, to say the least. Previous films from the canon of the detective story, such as The Third Man, seek to establish  a flowing narrative,  with an emphasis on a certain,  linear series of events;  an event,  an investigation  and  a final satisfactory  conclu- sion. Antonioni’s reinterpretation of the genre is quite a departure from such a restrictive  formula.

The characters  present in Blow-Up, one could infer, provide the clearest example of Antonioni’s departure from the detective  story genre.  Similar to Sergio Leone’s C’era una volta il West, the principle figures on screen appear deeply self-serving, while secondary characters  serve no other  purpose than to  be seen.               A more  traditional detective  story,  such  as  Reed’s,  sees the protagonist strive to solve problems out of concern, or at the very least, out of moral pride.  Also, secondary  characters  in The Third Man  are useful in

providing  plot  information.   In Blow-Up, Antonioni’s  secondary  characters  are useless, almost shades of real people. When his art-house  pictures of the homeless men have been developed, Thomas instructs Reg to ‘Burn that  lot’ (0:10:52), thrusting the  ‘homeless man’  disguise into his assistant’s  hands. In this  brief moment,  one could argue that  Michelangelo Antonioni  makes a rather  emphatic  statement concerning his protagonist;  Thomas  will step out of his sphere of comfort merely to serve his own needs.  His use of  the destitute members of London is similar to his treatment of the models in his studio; they are commodities to be exploited in the creation  of Thomas’ art.

This criticism that  Antonioni  levels at self-indulgence is not restricted  to the Londonesque context  of Blow-Up. Antonioni  must  have been influenced by the changing,  materialistic  culture  of his native Italy.  One cannot  help but feel a distinct  denouncement of such blatant capitalism  within the film’s narrative.

The introduction of the protagonist, David Hemmings’ enigmatic Thomas, is fundamentally  relevant to the reinterpretation of the detective story genre, in a materialistic  world.   Thomas  is a complete  antithesis  of Joseph  Cot- ton’s character  of Holly Martins in Reed’s Third Man.  While Carol Reed’s voice-over at the opening of The Third  Man  provides us with a rather  sten- torian  passage of background  information,  Antonioni’s  feature  attempts no such thing.   Thomas  emerges silently  from the  homeless shelter,  waits  for the  crowd to  disperse,  then  climbs into  his Rolls Royce.   In this  moment Antonioni  reminds his audience that  nothing  is as it first appears.

The inclusion of Vanessa Redgrave’s Jane also challenges the conventions of the  detective  story.   The  stereotypical  embodiment  of the  ‘challenging

yet beautiful’ love interest,  such as Alida Valli’s portrayal  of Anna Schmidt in  The  Third  Man,  is treated   differently  in  Blow-Up.                                                              The  female figure of  interest  in Antonioni’s feature  provides an  unsatisfactory conclusion to both  plot and romantic  possibilities.  Vanessa Redgrave’s Jane  is a mystery amidst  a film full of questions. Antonioni resolves to remind the viewer that in this  filmic reality,  as with  the  contemporary  London  in which it is set, relationships  are fleeting and unsubstantial. He tantalisingly  introduces the mysterious Jane,  then  snatches  her from our cognitive path,  refusing to be bound by the rules of the detective  story genre.

To conclude the  discussion of the  interpretation of genre by both  Leone and  Antonioni, it is important to reflect on the  observations  made  in this text,  as a means to providing a final word on both  C’era una volta il West and Blow-Up. Both texts are remarkable examples of modern film. One could argue that  it is that  one word; modern,  that is of tantamount importance in the  criticism  of both  features.   Both  incorporate  aspects  of Modernism to offer fresh, exciting variations  of established  genres.  Antonioni  uses the platform  of the detective  story  to connote an eventful series of occurrences, culminating  in a memorable  yet uncertain  conclusion.  However, the  reality is that  the  modernist  nature  of the film resists any ‘certainty’,  questioning whether  the  medium of film is to be so readily believed.  Leone’s Cera  una volta il West  takes the  traditional  Western and  similar to Antonioni,  uses contemporary  Italian and European  socio-cultural concerns to inspirational  effect.  His reappraisal  of the  Western,  set to a soundtrack  that  is  almost as important as the visuals, is epic in scale and magnificent in achievement. Crucially, both films embody the success that  can be gleaned from a dynamic

approach  to an existing genre.

References

[1] Antonioni, M.  Blow Up. 1966.

[2] Bondanella, P. Italian  Cinema from Neorealism to The Present.  The

Continuum  Publishing  Company,  New York, 1983. [3] De  Sica, V.  Umberto D. 1952.

[4] Leone, S.  Per  un Pugno di dollari.  1964.

[5] Leone, S.  Il buono, il brutto,  il cattivo.  1966. [6]  Leone, S.  C’era una volta il West.  1968.

[7] Marcus,  M. Italian  Film in the Light of Neorealism.  Princeton  Uni- versity Press, New Jersey, 1986.

[8] Reed, C.  The Third  Man.  1949. [9]  Visconti, L.  Ossessione.  1943. [10]  Visconti, L.  Senso. 1954.

[11] Zinneman, F. High Noon. 1952.

L'originale è qui:

http://www.scribd.com/doc/104555068/Antonioni-versus-Leone-An-exploration-of-modern-Italian-film-conventions-in-the-light-of-existing-genres

Prossimamente al Cinema Loreto di Platì

Emondo De Amicis in 35mm

dagli appennini alle ande



Sebbene un pò lacrimevole, quello che interessava a Folco Quilici,erano le riprese dei paesaggi sud americani in cinemascope, il resto lo facevano gli attori, tra cui il mitico Fausto Tozzi.

 Precedentemente lo aveva realizzato Flavio Calzavara per la Scalera

Ghezzopoli

Enrico Ghezzi a Taormina ( Polaroid Mittiga)

Sulla strada

Road flm

   Gli anni ‘70 che un giorno saranno letti come il decennio cinematografico della revisione ( così come i ’50 sono stati della ricostruzione , e i ’60 della rivoluzione), sono i genitori di qualcosa che possiamo chiamare road film, o film di strada, anche se le opere che vi appartengono non ne hanno coscienza.

Two-Lane Blacktop

 

 

January sees the release of Monte Hellman’s extraordinary Two-Lane Blacktop for the first time anywhere on Blu Ray as part of Eureka’s Masters of Cinema series. Not only the best film that followed in the wake of the success of Easy Rider, it’s also one of the very best American films of the 1970s. Earlier this year I had the chance to talk to the legendary director about his career, and what follows is a new interview conducted this week specifically about Two-Lane’s production, with a piece to follow on the outstanding new disc early next week.

What was Will Corry’s original script like? How did it differ from Rudy Wurlitzer’s re-write?

Well there was nothing similar at all, Rudy never actually read the first script. The only thing we actually kept was the title and the idea of a cross-country race. In the original, there was no GTO character, just four college kids in a convertible. The Mechanic falls in love with a girl, but not the same girl at all; she’s driving a VW Bug and he keeps dropping his mechanic’s rags out the window so she can follow his trail. It was kind of a Disney movie.

How much of a hand in Rudy’s shooting script did you have yourself?

I basically let him run free, but the script he wrote turned out to be very long in terms of shooting time and we wound up with a three and a half hour first cut which we cut down to an hour and three quarters. We really had to throw half of his movie away.

How did the finished screenplay come to be published in Esquire magazine?

Beverley Walker, our publicist, pitched it to them. They published it, then regretted it when they saw the movie.

This was your first (and only) studio movie. What was the experience like, making a film that’s so committedly anti-establishment within the studio system?

The deal we had was terrific, in the sense that we had final cut provided we delivered a picture that was under two hours, so they completely left us alone. But Lew Wasserman, who was head of the studio, didn’t see the movie until it was finished, had never read the script and he was offended by it. He felt it was too anti-establishment, so he withdrew any support for the picture.

Do you think it was a personal or commercially minded decision?

I think it was personal.

So you think the film’s lack of initial success was down to the studio not getting behind it?

It was a unique situation. It was before the days of Seagram and whoever else ultimately owned Universal, it was a one-man show; Lew Wasserman was the head of the studio and he controlled everything.

How did you come to cast James Taylor and Dennis Wilson?

I literally met with every actor under the age of thirty in Hollywood and didn’t really find what I was looking for. Then I saw James’ picture on a billboard and I was intrigued by his face, so I talked to Fred Roos, our casting director, about the possibility of meeting him and Fred brought him in. Dennis was about the last one we cast. I went through a lot of non-traditional roads on that role, I think Randy Newman was the last one I met before I found Dennis.

Has James Taylor seen the film now?

He still hasn’t seen it. He’s said that he feels that he could see it now, that he’d like to see it, but he still hasn’t (laughs).

Can you talk a little about how you found Laurie Bird?

I met her in New York when I went to have my first meeting with Rudy to discuss the screenplay. We had an idea about who the characters would be, and when I met Laurie I felt that she was a terrific prototype for the character, not thinking that she would ever play the role because she had no acting experience or particular interest. We taped a three hour audio interview with Laurie that we used kind of as a guide to the creation of the character, and when I struck out with trying to find someone to play the part in Hollywood, I forget who it was but someone had the bright idea “what about using the girl you used as your prototype?”. So we brought her out and did a screen test.

She was a photographer as well, right? Wasn’t she responsible for the publicity stills on Cockfighter?

She was an amateur photographer. I think that was the first professional work she did, she doubled as an actress and set photographer on Cockfighter.

You worked with the brilliant Warren Oates numerous times. What were the qualities that made him such a great fit with the types of stories you tell?

He was a very unusual personality in that he was apparently outgoing, extroverted, gregarious, but that was only one side of him. The other side was very mysterious and secretive, nothing that was overt but you felt that there was always something that you didn’t know about him. That’s what he projected, and that mystery made him such an interesting actor.

Did you find you had to adapt your working methods much when dealing with three newcomers and an experienced actor such as Warren?

There are always minor things that you adjust to. For example, you learn that some actors are generally better on the first take and don’t necessarily improve, whilst others will get better as they go along. So you have to learn, when doing opposing close shots, to shoot the actor who’s better on the first take before you do the other actor. As far as any particular differences between the so-called ‘non-professionals’ and the ‘professionals’, I didn’t find there was any difference between them, and I didn’t treat them any differently.

What was Jack Deerson’s involvement on the film?

Jack Deerson didn’t shoot a frame of the film. He would stay in the hotel in every place we went, he was never on the set. He was imposed by the union because they refused to take (cinematographer) Gregory Sandor into the union.

What was your working relationship like with Gregory Sandor? You’d worked with him on The Shooting and Ride in the Whirlwind, and I’m curious as to how much you influenced each other in creating Two-Lane’s particular visual style, the depth of focus, the composition…

The deep focus came from Gregory because he was a master of knowing where that line was between one actor and another to ensure that both would be in focus. I’ve never seen any other car movie where you have so many scenes with two actors in the front seat of a car, both being in focus. I can’t think of any other movie where that’s the case. Either it's a lost art, or it was possible because Techniscope used flat (as opposed to anamorphic) lenses, where the equivalent to a 40mm Panavision lens was 18mm in Techniscope.  It still required knowing the exact distance at each diaphragm setting where both would be in focus, and it definitely wasn't half-way between them. Gregory was a master of that. As far as everything else went; he wasn’t excitable, he just did his work. After every take I’d always ask, “How was it?”, and his constant retort was “It was OK”. Then we did one shot on The Shooting, the one where Warren takes the saddle and the bridle off of Coley’s horse and gets on his own, then Coley’s horse follows them as they go off into the sunset; we literally had one chance to get it because it was the last shot at the end of the day, and I said “How was it, Greg?”, to which he replied “It’s probably the best shot I’ve ever taken!” (laughs).

Was there a long pre-production period on Two-Lane? Did you spend a long time seeking out the locations?

We did one rehearsal trip, where we travelled the same ground we would cover when we came to actually making the film, in which we picked the locations and the people who would participate. The main time in pre-production, as it always is, was spent on casting.

To what degree was the film art directed? Did you change many of the locations to suit the film’s requirements or were you shooting what you found as they were?

I don’t think we changed anything. We shot what we found. There aren’t many interiors anyway, but we just kept them as they were. I don’t even remember if we had a credited art director.

What did you find were the benefits and the challenges of shooting the film sequentially?

Well, you don’t normally get to do that. It was certainly helpful for the newcomers, to those who were less experienced. I didn’t give them the script, just their pages every day, so they were living it as they went along, their experience from previous days and previous scenes would determine who they were on any later day of the shoot.

I understand that was something that James Taylor wasn’t too happy about?

He said he wouldn’t work any longer if I didn’t give him the script, but then of course he didn’t read it when I did (laughs).

Can you talk about the cars? The ’55 Chevy and the GTO have since become icons of the American road movie. What made you settle on them specifically?

The ’55 Chevy was the prototype street-racing car that was admired probably more than any other, so that was easy. The GTO was dependent on which deal we made with who was going to provide us with the cars. I knew nothing about the whole sub-culture, so part of the excitement for me was meeting those people and seeing what that was all about. Our first scenes were with the LA street racers, which was pretty amazing.

The film has a very specific rhythm to it, can you talk about how you went about assembling the film? Did it go through many versions? Does any of the extra footage still exist?

All the footage is long gone, Universal destroyed it many years ago. The process of whittling it down had to do with the first rule of editing, of cinematurgy, which is to get to the major question as soon as possible. Of course, that’s the point in Two-Lane Blacktop where they decide to race, so there were a lot of scenes in the early parts of the script that were thrown out, not because they weren’t good, but because they delayed the real start of the movie. I really regretted losing some of those wonderful scenes; there was one where they are chased by the cops, they pull off the road into a driveway and look through the windows of a house to see a normal family, it was kind of poignant, but for the good of the movie we had to lose it.

Were there any specific influences for you when making the film?

The inspiration for my take on the movie came from Truffaut’s Shoot the Pianist. I see a real similarity; the tragic flaw in each of the heroes is very similar. That was my reference when making the movie.

The Driver and The Mechanic are polar opposites to GTO, they’re entirely insulated by their own hermetic world of engines and carburettors, whilst GTO’s identity is seemingly a shifting construct of his own devising, as though he’s hiding out in a persona that he’s not entirely comfortable with. You just mentioned a cut scene about a ‘normal family’ they come across, so I’m curious about what you think the film says about notions of identity and society, about the ways we try to fit in or rebel against them?

One of the things I remember saying after we made the film was that for me it could have just as easily have been about a filmmaker, that car racing was just really the background, it’s really about the artist, I guess. In a sense, Road to Nowhere is a really a continuation of those themes.

It’s a theme that seems to run through all of your pictures to some degree, the personas we create for ourselves, twinned images and characters are found throughout your films. Warren Oates in Cockfighter refusing to speak, the twinned characters of Millie Perkins and Jack Nicholson in The Shooting, GTO in Two-Lane. It seems to reach an apex in the meta levels of performance versus reality in Road To Nowhere…

I don’t know at which point I saw it in relation to any of my movies, but I was very taken by Bergman’s Persona. The idea of Persona fascinated me and I began reading psychological, philosophical books on the subject. It is something that kind of goes with the territory, something that actors have to deal with. I love actors and when I make a movie I try to make them accept this point of view which I have, that they should not try to become the character, that the character has to become the actor. I’m always looking to find what’s interesting in these people who are playing these roles, they’re always much more interesting than any character on a page.

It's a film that seems to reject the self-mythologising tendencies of many westerns, those of the likes of Easy Rider too, it's not a nihilistic film the way that film ultimately is, but the ending does suggest the fragility of the sense of freedom the film evokes; the film burning up, combusting, as though the American Dream and these self-constructed mythologies are purely cinematic constructs. What does the ending say to you?

Even after we shot it I was uncertain, but the reason I ultimately decided to use it was because I’d had an emotional response to it, and that was what convinced me that I should leave it in. The initial idea was purely intellectual, it was the idea of speed, the speed of film going through the gate of a projector relating to the speed of a car. That wasn’t enough though, I felt that if all I could do was draw attention to that, that wasn’t a good enough reason to use the shot. Once I’d had an emotional response though, I went with it, hoping that if it worked for me, it would work for everyone else.

Do you think it says anything about the way cinema tends to romanticise the idea of say, the freedom of the road, that in drawing attention to the fact that it’s a film by stopping it as you do, rather than ending it in a more traditional sense, it rejects that kind of romanticism?

Yeah, it’s the idea that movies usually end with a kiss, or a marriage or something. But that’s not the end of anything; life ends with death, that’s the only true ending. Everything else goes on. So a film shouldn’t end, it should just stop. That’s what we do, we force it to stop, but just because the film ends, these people still go on, doing what they’re doing.

 

L'originale è qui:

http://www.cinephile-uk.com/2011/12/monte-hellman-on-two-lane-blacktop.html