Review of THE CONFORMIST

By Lucas Neumeyer (17) 
2016 Tarkovsky Prize 1st Place

There are two movies fighting for attention in The Conformist. These two stories diverge and intersect throughout the narrative creating a feeling of unbalance and confusion. One is a cold drama documenting a man’s insecurity and failures. The other can be described as a convoluted and tragic love story focusing on how uncomfortable a lonely man is around extroverted people and how lost he is confronting his own bottled up passion. This conflict occurs in the head of a man who has ideas of self-fulfillment and happiness, but has trouble achieving them when his ambition battles with his conscience. It frames a story of inner exploration and outer isolation during a period of political turmoil and reform. It is a story that can reignite the emotional core of anyone who has felt confused for even a small portion of their lives.

It is not surprising that a story as binary as this one is set in two locations. On the one hand, we have Rome where the heart of fascism has the appearance of archaic buildings and stern stone columns. On the other hand, we have Paris: The intersection of art and culture. The Conformist is set during the build up and fallout of the second world war, both a time of civil unrest. It is of significance to note that the film was released in Italy in 1970, also a time of civil unrest. The Italian Socialist Party and the Christian Democrats were at odds with one another; strikes and acts of terrorism were rampant. Vulnerable people were scooped by these political agendas and student protests were at their height. Events such as those occurring in Italy at the time and May 1968 in France are to be kept in mind as Bertolucci tells the story of a meek man coerced into acts of violence on behalf of a central political party and his own personal conflict. The political ideas are really rather prescient: it ends with an assassination that serves to burn bridges and create ruin several years before Italian President Aldo Moro was murdered.

Looking beyond the politics and symbolism, The Conformist is simply a gorgeous film. It is remarkable how Bertolucci and his director of photography Vittorio Storaro rely on expressionistic, unrestrained, completely illogical imagery to express the emotions onscreen. The images range from a photo of Laurel and Hardy appearing when Marcello is embarrassed, to the background changing colors during a sex scene. This method of imagery highlights the theme of duality and brings it to the surface of the film. The film starts with Marcello lying in a hotel bed rubbing his brow with discontent. The neon sign outside supplies a malicious red across the room as the darkness ebbs and flows. This feeling of rocking back and forth is repeated a few times in the film. We see it when Marcello is pacing in front of a window in and out of darkness as radio entertainers behind slide in and out of frame, or during the fight in a restaurant kitchen where the overhead lamp swings, illuminating and darkening the room. This sense of pendulum is given significance when Bertolucci splits the frame apart. As Marcello leaves the hotel and waits for the car, the edge of the building takes up half of the screen, and when he is in the car the camera is placed in a manner that allows the windshield wiper to be laid right across his face. The imagery helps to emphasize Marcello is always confused and worried: he rocks back and forth between the opposing forces that struggle in his conscience.

Marcello’s struggle to either conform to a higher power or lead an unfulfilling life is reminiscent of the classic premise of existentialism. The appeal of fascism and a higher order is a promise of prosperity and normality, but also a path of lack of responsibility. Existentialism is all about the freedom of choice allotted to humans by life, and how those who deny this freedom are living in “Bad Faith”. Marcello doesn’t have any qualms about living in Bad Faith, he is simply searching for normality and relief. We can assume his quest for ordinariness derives from his extraordinary childhood. Having a near sexual encounter with a pedophile and shooting him are not what he considers ordinary. Neither is having a morphine-addicted mother or father committed to an insane asylum for political murders. Marcello clearly has a strong reaction to a traumatic childhood experience and suppressing his true feelings. He married Giulia because he assumed she was complacent and normal, “A mound of petty ideas. Full of petty ambitions.”.  He even gets visibly embarrassed when his mother calls him “an angel”. 

Marcello’s attempt to distance himself from this type of absurdity is reminiscent of Sartre’s ideas: God gave us morals and purpose, without them there is no way to gage what is right, wrong, normal, or absurd without a reference point. The film points out this absurdity when it cuts away to humorous details such as the maid stealing a piece of spaghetti from the bowl with her mouth, or a boy practicing somersaults with a harness, his mother in a bed of puppies, or Guilia overenthusiastically cranking a mimeograph machine. As a result, Marcello who can’t stand this confusing, free-for-all world hides in the comfort of normality that Fascism appears to offer. For him, fascism is like the church, where he could follow rules and not have to worry, right? Not exactly.

What little we see of God in this film, we perceive as not very influential. Marcello only attends his confession because it is mandatory for the wedding, and finds himself quickly blessed when he reveals the party he belongs to even though he’s just confessed to murder. Bad Faith is not only reflected in Marcello’s relationship with the church, but also in Marcello’s attempt to avoid any regrettable decision. He can’t handle the task to murder his college mentor Quadri in cold blood, or continue to live his confusing unhappy life. This is exacerbated by the fact that Marcello falls in love with his mentor’s wife Anna. He experiences this dilemma like another existentialist theme, “I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations — one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it — you will regret both.” Marcello’s dilemma is like that of many people: always regretting what could’ve happened. He tries to achieve a middle path by indirectly setting up the ambush outside Quadri’s country house, but trying to prevent his wife from joining him. This inability to commit only leaves him with the consequences of both actions: an unhappy life with a guilty conscience.

Bertolucci provides a view into what happens when one’s life is devoid of agency: Isolation. A major theme in The Conformist is Marcello being singled out and isolated. It comes across in several details, such as his sitting in the back of the car as Manganiello drives, or sitting at the head of the dinner table while the two women in his life chat with each other. He can portray the feeling of loneliness that detaches him from other people, even while they’re in the room. One of the most memorable scenes is during a dancehall sequence when all the dancers form a gigantic circle around Marcello and smother him with their zealousness. This is also made clear in the images of Marcello behind glass; there is a tangible divide between him and the rest of the world.  He can see the other side of the glass in the recording station, and all the extravagant and happy singers, but he is isolated. This image of Marcello behind glass is repeated for the coldest scene in the film: When her husband is murdered, Anna is chased by men and begs Marcello frantically to let her in the car, but he just stares back behind cool glass as she pounds on the window and runs off. This distance has tragic repercussions, as the fascists prove to be the wrong horse to back in the mid 40s.

Marcello begins to isolate himself from everyone he knows: he has a distant and emotionless marriage with Giulia, accuses his blind friend Italo for his own crimes of fascism and murder. The final frame consists of a close up of him sitting at a bench from behind, with metallic bars between him and the camera. His actions have finally caught up with him, and all he can do is ponder. At least until he looks into the camera, at us, with sad eyes. It is here where the man he becomes is fully formed: a prisoner trapped by his guilt and our screen.