Des oiseaux, petits et gros

How I love a film that taps into the absurd while staying true to the symbolism, and in the process mocking it and then creating symbolism again. It's a very tricky thing- Bunuel was one of the masters at it- and Pier Paolo Pasolini, in one of his rare outright comedies, does just that. The Hawks and the Sparrows is simple enough to explain, in its central conceit: an older man (Toto) and a younger man (Ninetto) are walking along on some not-totally-clear journey (Toto might have some debts to fix or something, and he has apparently eighteen children), and they meet a talking crow, who talks and talks a lot. Then they get into some strange happenings, all comical. But it's the kind of comedy then that Pasolini uses like some deranged poetic waxing on about silent comedy and theories on God and faith and love and politics and, uh, stomach cramps I guess. It's completely off the wall, at times like a roadrunner cartoon (or, for that matter, the best Buster Keaton), and it's told with a dedication to the comic situation. It's masterful.

At times it doesn't seem that way though. It could, in less concerted hands, be more scatter-shot, with some scenes working better than others, and with the one sure bet being the crow (voiced by a great Francesco Leonetti). But from the start, Paoslini is completely confident with the material, from the opening titles that are sung (heh), with the throw-away scene with the kids dancing at the restaurant (with an amazing Ennio Morricone rock song that pops in and out of the film), to the sudden inter-titles ala Monty Python ("the crow is a "left-wing intellectual"), and then onward with the little stories within the framework of the 'road movie'. The biggest chunk Pasolini shows us is the story of two monks- also played by Toto and Davoli- who are instructed by their head monk to talk to the hawks and sparrows and teach them about God. And they do, in bird speak (which is also subtitled in case it's needed), and then go through an allegorical tale of the ins and outs of faith.

It takes some wicked subversion to make these scenes work, but they work hilariously, to the point where I laughed almost every minute of the sequence (as well as with other ones, the exception being the archival clips late in the film of the protest marches). Pasolini once said he was "as unbeliever who has a nostalgia for belief", imbues the story of the monks with a sense of charm to it- you like Toto and Davoli in the parts, not even so much that they're good in the roles, which they are very much so, but because there's some bedrock that the satire can spring from so easily. He, via the exceptional Tonino Delli Colli, films the Hawks and the Sparrows as strong in sumptuous black and white as any of his other early-mid 60s films. But there's a lot more going on within the comedy; it's like he skims a line that he could make it as, like with some of his other work (unfortunately ala Teorema) pretentious and annoyingly trite in its intellectual points. But as he goes to lengths to put a spin on it, it turns into pitch-black comedy, revealing him as an even deeper artist because of it.

Take the birth scene, where the weird theater-type troupe who drive around in a car have to pause in their play on "How the Romans Ruined the Earth", and it suddenly becomes a sly farce unto itself. Something that should be sacred is given the air of playfulness, as though everyone is told "yes, it's alright to be in on the joke", where Toto covers Ninetto's eyes, other actors in the group pray, and then walla, there's a baby, clean as day. Morricone's score, I might add, brings a lot to this air of fun and playfulness, even when (and rightfully so) it goes to the more typical strings and orchestral sounds than the rockabilly, which sounds more like unused bits from Pulp Fiction. And finally, there's the crow itself, which unto itself- had Pasolini not made it mockable- would be funny anyway, as it's a frigging talking crow who for some reason follows the men anywhere they go. It's already allegorical of a sort of guide or voice of reason on their journey, which is fine. But including the ending especially, Pasolini allows for the joke to flip over itself.

With the Hawks and the Sparrows, we get the absurd and the surreal, placed wonderfully in social constructs, and it reveals a filmmaker who can, unlike but like his controversial reputation presents, open up a whole other perspective with a strange twist that mixes classic Italian film style and scathing subject matter. A+

There are very few things to say about life. There are a million ways to say it, but we come back to the same few items: living-loving to the fullest matters, with every force available in your body, being one with just this world, sensitive to it, alert. We have come up with a million ways to say it, because it's easier said than done. It is easier to think than do. And I think that anyone who is passionate about life and the art he makes has hit this limit, that when all is said and done, thought is like the buzz of a small mosquito, persistent but drowned in the swell of universal music.

You have to let go at some point, what the old mystics knew as ecstasy. This is of course near-impossible to accomplish in the grind of life, which is why in the old days, they set apart time for ritual and storytelling - not as distinguishable as they are now, these two. We do so with cinema. And I value, above all else, filmmakers who make more than films, who set apart time for ritual dance that disembodies the self, mends consciousness into the air. Antonioni - Parajanov - Iwai - Herzog - they have all done this at least once.

And even though I'm only getting to know Pasolini, I can tell that that he was a passionate man, a man of thought who wanted to go beyond thought, who wanted to be true to music as it rises from the earth and makes a mockery of our efforts to explain intellectually.

Here is his attempt at a disembodied narrative, characteristically Italian.

The story is that we follow two ordinary rascals on their round through the small world, father and son, both very Italian characters, rowdy, temperamental. In the neorealist mode of some fifteen years ago, there would be a single reality, one of hardship and human ruins, the journey would be one of simple, 'real' encounters, that used to be the conceit in those days, the unmediated presentation of life. Indeed, we start here from a 'realist' world and come back to it full-circle in the end with real footage from the funeral of a prominent member of the Italian Left, signifying the end of the postwar era of new hope.

Inbetween, however, we have something else. There is a second reality that we slowly shift to, one of naked dreams, of ritual and storytelling, song and dance.

Each individual performance is exhilarating. Each has its own air. The rock'n'roll dance - hip and youthful sashaying, 'tuning out'. The Franciscan story - earthy, good-humored religiosity. The lighting up of fireworks - evocative of spontaneous magic and roads. Being shot at from a barn - the silent comedies of Chaplin and Keaton. The scene of giving birth - Italian theater, circus, carnivals.

Our two lovable dunces are not dramatic characters, they do not change. Rather, they are on screen, so that in moving through the world, they will reveal different facets of contradictory existence, all of them exaggerated in the Italian manner. They are in turn victims and oppressors, fools and sages, beggars and hedonists, defiant and obeisant, shifting in and out of iconography and roles, booted from one stage to the next.

Their companion is a talking raven (Pasolini - disembodied from his narrative and made fun of), always spouting thoughts and opinions on religion and politics, which are promptly ignored; who would listen, when there's skirt to be chased?

Being characteristically Italian means that the different threads are not layered together, we simply move from one stage to the next. We get beautiful but scattershot imagination, but it is redeemed by a powerful center. Human nature as the moon that causes the waters to wash out on the shore everything from a deep sea - good or bad. It's a sublime notion.

And you just have to see this for the choreography in the Franciscan story; dissipating human landscape, to human buffoonery on the ground, to swarms of birds rolling in the sky. God as learning to walk in the language of birds. Wonderful.

How does one describe a film like this? Imagine a Bunuel film like THE MILKY WAY. A couple of men walking on an empty road. They're on a strange journey only their destination is the beginning of their journey (huh?) and the two men are as funny as the best cinema clowns in screen history. Somewhat Felliniesque, somewhat Chaplinesque, throw in a little De Sica and even a dash of Monty Python and you can begin to have some idea of what this incredible blend of absurd and hilarious satire is like. Unlike Bunuel's films, this film is joyous. It has heart, passion, and an imagination springing somewhere from the soul. The film takes its stabs at religion, academics, and government but it does it in a playful way that leaves one feeling rejuevenated instead of that sour feeling that one feels after watching most social satires. It's hard to believe that this is a Pasolini film. It's about as far on the spectrum from SALO that one can get, yet it's sad that in comparison this film is almost completely unknown.

This is definitley worth seeking out on video. I'm hoping that I can find a soundtrack recording for this. It is one of the best Ennio Morricone scores I've heard, which is saying a great deal!

"Uccellacci e Uccellini" is probably the best chance to get acquainted with Pasolini's political thoughts pre-1968 other than reading him. It's a candid, allegoric and provocative attempt to express his ideas about a very specific epoch in Italian history, after the death of left-wing political "father" Palmiro Togliatti in 1964 (whose funeral is one of the great scenes of "Uccellacci") and the "death" of Neo-Realism. It also reflects the intense differences between social classes, intellectual trends and political forces that would lead to the acts of "contestazione generale" in the late 1960s.

WIth "Uccellacci", we can learn some of Pasolini's thoughts on Marxism, Fascism, religion, the Catholic church, the role of intellectuals, the bourgeoisie, political parties, the dire conditions of the campesinato and the borgate (slums), poverty, greed, famine, cultural and social apartheid -- you name it. That's the main problem with this passionately personal and visually stunning walking-road-movie: too many targets, too little time to hit them all in the bull's eye.

A natural follow-up to his documentary "Comizi d'Amore" (1965) -- in which he traveled all over Italy interviewing people about their thoughts on love and sex -- Pasolini shows in "Uccellacci e Uccellini" the unofficial apartheid in Italy, a basically "unmelting" pot of dozens of different ethnic, linguistic and cultural backgrounds "artificially" unified in mid-19th century but still plagued by social/economical/cultural chasm. And he also denounces the sterility of the discourse of the "official-left" intelligentsia, which he clearly despised (and which heavily attacked him on many issues and occasions).

In the Italy of the 1960s, the Left was concerned with the struggle of workers, intellectuals and students against the establishment; the contadini (peasants) weren't even properly considered as a political force -- they were the symbol of archaic, pre-boom Italy. Pasolini was the main voice to take the side of the peasants; against famine, sophism falls flat, as the intellectual crow will shockingly discover at the end of "Uccellacci". The political discourse can no longer be theoretical; it has to be urgent, pragmatic, directed towards action. Godard, Bertolucci, Alea, Ruy Guerra, Resnais and others also approached the theme at the time; but, unlike the majority of intellectual-filmmakers of the 60s, Pasolini ACTUALLY had had a rural (though highly literate) background.

Wildly (in)famous at the time as poet/filmmaker/writer/anti-Vatican political activist (but, contrary to a false general belief, he was never a gay militant, though he certainly wasn't in the closet), Pasolini picks up the journey into the "Italia profonda" from Visconti's "Ossessione" and "La Terra Trema" to most of Rossellini and leaves his own distinctive signature in the very complex era of the economic boom.

Pasolini smartly uses the parable genre with much comic relief so he can talk about serious political issues in a "commercial" film, relying heavily on veteran champion Totò's immense talent, charisma and experience. In one of his last films, Totò is joined by 16 year-old newcomer Ninetto Davoli, here in a completely relaxed, natural performance; they make a perfect duo. The cinematography by master Tonino delli Colli features jaw- dropping locations and compositions. The music by Ennio Morricone is memorable, his very personal touch instantly recognizable; and there are funny sung (!) opening credits. There are two minor letdowns that prevent total audience adhesion: 1) it lacks a brighter tempo, the rhythm falters at times; 2) the episodes are rather loosely linked 3) there are episodes which might be shorter (the wonderful but overlong St. Francis story) and others might be longer (the visit to the rich landowner's house).

"Uccellacci e Uccellinni" is a very personal Pasolini ("my favorite" he said in a 1969 interview) and one of his few films not based on literature classics, mythology or the Bible. It's mandatory for all interested in Pasolini's work and/or the political issues of the 1960s, as well as for fans of the unforgettable, one and only Totò.

"Where goes humanity?" - "I don't know!" Maybe it's a comedy, but I don't think anyone is 100% sure what kind of a film this really is. It's not really comedic, because behind all those absurdities and silliness there lies a seriously political and religious concern, a bittersweet desire and infallible disappointment. Maybe we should take the film as what it is, as one-of-a-kind, a cinematic high jump which gives rise to all sorts of speculation and conjectures without knowing where to start and where it ends.

Not only the viewer is left unsure, the protagonists are, too. They embody the condition of the film's unsureness perfectly, as well as the nature of one of the most unique works of Italian cinema, which is also the most variant and formally abstract film project of Pasolini: A weird story, a picaresque tale which mixes metaphors and cinematic references (from Keaton's statics to Chaplin's poesy of the dusty road to Fellini's clowns to Rossellini's monks); a philosophic apology which depicts the end of ideologies, the crisis of Marxism on the background of the clash of rulers and subjects (hawks and sparrows) and the unfortunate encounter of those who have the blessing of knowledge (the wise raven) and those who outlive themselves without the awareness of being part of this world: Totò and Ninetto, father and son. Both are walking the eternal road of a universe which is merciless, discuss pretentious things and express themselves with the help of their basic instincts: physical needs, but also the hate towards inferiors and subservience to superiors. On their way, they encounter the mystery of life and death (birth of a child, a family that kills themselves with gas, a funeral), as well as the mortal fear of those who starve. Until the raven appears, decides to go along with them and overwhelms them with needless wisdoms.

It's great to see Totò in here, a masterful actor who often was criminally misused in abysmal Italian entertainment movies and shows here the wide range of his talent. The interaction with the young, intuitive Ninetto Davoli is probably the biggest joy in this film.