8 1/2 Blu-ray Review: Return to a Work of Grand Wonder

That should probably read: one of Federico Fellini's masterpieces. The fact that he followed La Dolce Vita merely a year later with 8 1/2 puts the Italian auteur in a rarefied group of filmmakers who have pulled off a one-two punch of films. 8 1/2 was an early title for the Criterion collection, and it's no wonder it's finally getting a 4K release to update for the physical media connoisseur.

One of the best films about filmmaking, it's an arguably somewhat indulgent film, made by a person with a lot of privilege to put to screen his own therapy sessions - but that is a looking at it from a 60+ year distance, while still having almost nothing but respect for one of Europe's, and the world's, greatest artists of cinema. We should all be so lucky as Fellini to have been able to make such a film, but it's also a credit to him as an artist, and his relationship with other artists, that it has remained a masterpiece, relatively untainted.

Marcello Mastrioanni is Guido Anselmo, a barely disguised cypher for Fellini, as he is in crisis: his last film was heralded as a work of genius, and the filmmaker is expected to repeat this success as easily as he gets out of bed. But he's in artistic crisis: how can he be expected to just toss off another masterwork? He is barraged on all sides: friends, financiers, fans. He smuggles his mistress Carla (Sandra Milo) to a hotel nearby the spa where he is taking a sojourn, but he wants answers to questions that everyone else seems to expect him to already know. He is surrounded by critics, producers, his estranged wife Luisa (Anouk Aimée), the possible star of his film (Madeleine Lebeau). He visits the set of his apparent new science fiction film, with scaffolding reaching for the heavens, as if to create a staircase where Guido could go and speak directly to God to find out what he should do next.

Oh course this is the barest plot introduction, which likely most people won't need anyway. As it is, little seems necessary, even if you are new to the film. The beginning of the film introduces, over 5 or so minutes, the two forms it will move between: that dream state, when Guido wishes he could just fly away from what is surrounding him with noise (even though technically the opening seen is silent, the cacophony around him is well implied), and the real world, where Guido tries to, but cannot hide for long, from the same said noise.

There is a great contrast between the physical space that Guido occupies, and how he grows more internalized. The wide open space of the spa, filled with his friends, with alcohol and cigarettes, a seemingly lavish and endless leisurely party (that could turn lively at any moment), which belies his ongoing strife at what should be the moments of great triumph. After all, he is in an incredible enviable position: the film world at his feet, whatever he wants and needs to make his next film available to him at the snap of his fingers, a wife and mistress (and more women if he wants them).

It's a stretch to feel sorry for Guido - that was not likely what Fellini was anticipating anyway, but it does perhaps, this many decades later, feel a little indulgent. Then again, Guido has every reason to feel the pressure that all artists feel when the expectations on them are too high. Guido's retreat into his fantasy world is understandable, and given the slightly oddball yet still high concept nature of Fellini fantasies, it's not surprising that Guido's would be one where all the women he has loved are trapped in a house, waiting for him to enjoy them at his leisure. At least they rebel successfully, as Guido knows he deserves.

It's impossible not to feel angry for and connected to Luisa, whose love for Guido cannot make up for how he had sidelined and humilated her. It's impossible not to love the flightly and effevescent yet fully engaged Carla. And maybe we can all understand, or wish we could, that polyamorous nature of Guido's - if only he would at least be honest with them, as he is honest in his confusion over his work. Perhaps Fellini's unplanned greatest triumph of the film is that all the women characters are lovebale and likeable, in ways that he could not have predicted decades onward.

But it's impossible not to be drawn in not only by Guido's personal drama, but his visions in turmoil and in delight. The grandeur and spectacle of what he is trying to achieve might not match eervy artist's vision, but it's hard not to deny how he is trying to achieve something great, something profound, something intimate and real and expressive, and even if you have all the tools at your fingertips, it's not guarantee of accomplishment. And Guido realizes that his dream can only be achieved in the village he creates, of his family, his friends, his lovers, his colleagues, all together on this bizzare and enrapturing plain of existence.

Rich in scope, with an subtle yet distinctive play on shadow and light; Mastrioanni at his absolute finest, with the smallest gestures conveying depth of emotion; a supporting cast of actors, both professional and amateur, that feels like the sophisticated yet still natural circus that Fellini evokes; the scaling of heights that belie the baseness and realness of the emotions portrayed; and yet all this wrapped in a true philosophical debate of what makes art great, what makes great art, who should we be making art for, and what is means to be an artist. 8 1/2

Special Features

If there's a film you want, and need, to look good on a disc transfer, it's 8 1/2. At a time when most films were done in colour, it was a deliberate choice to make such a large-scale visual film in black and white; and yet, upon viewing, there is no other way it could be. The 4K transfer is made from the 35 mm original camera negative, presented in its original ration of 1.85:1. If you can't see it on the big screen, this is the next best version, and Criterion's team have done their usual, excellent work in both the visual and sound recreation.

The documentary Fellini: A Director's Notebook on paper might seem like the man talking about how he makes movies, but the end result feels like the 8 1/2 of 8 1/2, or perhaps a series of crazy outtakes or cut scenes that didn't work with the final edition. But it's worth watching as an odd side project, one that perhaps shakes the last remnants from Fellini's head of what he was trying to achieve. There's mountains of fake snow, an airplane, a spaceship, along with casat interviews and auditions that make it seem like, maybe he made this in the past and then snuck to the future to leave it waiting for him then returned, forgot about it, and made 8 1/2. Two sets of behind the scenes photographs enhance this feeling: not just the film, but everything around it, was part of Fellini's metanarrative journey.

There's a good short documentary about Fellini's frequent collaborator and one of cinema's great composers, Nino Rota. Famous for having very few films or photos that show his face, it a great look not only at this particular master, but the work of film music in general, and with Fellini's films. There are interviews with actress Sandra Milo, who talked of her and Fellini's love, her screen test in a dressing gown, and her husband who was jealous of her bond with the filmmaker. Lina Wertmüller also sings Fellini's praises, talking of how he took her under his wing, gave her on-set experience, and how Fellini made a point of bringing out the best in everyone he worked with. He might be seen as an auteur, but according to Wertmüller, he was well aware that film is a collaborative art and made sure everyone he worked with, knew how much their skills made a difference to his films.

There was a different ending originally planned, and filmed, that Fellini scrapped in favour of the famous scene of the circus circle. While the footage has been lost, there are photographs to prove that it happened, and the documentary extra The Last Sequence is supposed to follow that story. It is somewhat more than that, spending time with snippets of interviews with Fellini, or about him, playing against a photo montage. Some time is spent on this alternate ending, set on a train car with all the characters, and an explanation is given as to why Fellini changed it. But it's a bit overlong, and some strange photoshopping is done with several photos to make them 'move a little'. It's off-putting and doesn't work with what this documentary is supposed to be about, it feels a rare misstep from Criterion.

The essay (which I read after watching the film and extras), as usually, is of excellent quality: critic Stephanie Zacharek points out some similar points to be made with watching this film 60 years on, noting how we're going to view Fellini's indulgence and arguable lack of awareness of his privilege, and yet still find joy, wonder, laughter, and melancholy in his story.