Dillinger Is Dead (1969) [The Criterion Collection #506]
A Film by Marco Ferreri
DVD9 | ISO | NTSC 16:9 (720x480) | 01:34:52 | 7,99 Gb
Audio: Italian AC3 1.0 @ 192 Kbps | Subs: English
Genre: Crime, Drama, Art-house | Italy
A Film by Marco Ferreri
DVD9 | ISO | NTSC 16:9 (720x480) | 01:34:52 | 7,99 Gb
Audio: Italian AC3 1.0 @ 192 Kbps | Subs: English
Genre: Crime, Drama, Art-house | Italy
In this magnificently inscrutable late-sixties masterpiece, Marco Ferreri, one of European cinema’s most idiosyncratic auteurs, takes us through the looking glass to one seemingly routine night in the life of an Italian gas mask designer, played, in a tour de force performance, by New Wave icon Michel Piccoli. In his claustrophobic mod home, he pampers his pill-popping wife, seduces his maid, and uncovers a gun that may have once been owned by John Dillinger—and then things get even stranger. A surreal political missive about social malaise, Dillinger Is Dead (Dillinger è morto) finds absurdity in the mundane. It is a singular experience, both illogical and grandly existential.
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Marco Ferreri´s films are completely insane but "Dillinger is Dead" (1969), while batshit crazy, is a classically constructed film in the old school sense. It follows a single character in a single place over the course of a single evening. Aristotle would have been proud.
Proud, yes, but confused as hell.
As is the case with Ferreri´s stark raving mad "Bye Bye Monkey," the best way to approach "Dillinger is Dead" is with a straightforward plot summary. A gas mask designer (never named in the film, but called Glauco in the script) heads home after a boring day at work. His beautiful but slothful wife (Rolling Stones fan Anita Pallenberg) never gets out of bed, and his maid (Annie Girardot) is done working for the night (sort of) so he´s left on his own to kill time in this ancient pre-Internet era.
Glauco is a twitchy ball of short attention span. He sits down to eat his prepared dinner, but doesn´t like the wobbly flan, so he starts to cook a steak. But, no, he doesn´t want steak, so he makes pasta instead. But that has to wait because he wants to watch something on TV, but not that thing on TV; something else instead. While rummaging through the spice closet, he discovers something else to distract his attention: a gun. And not just any gun, but a gun wrapped in a newspaper carrying the headline stories from the day after John Dillinger was shot. So he plays with the gun. And cooks dinner. And plays with the gun. Then eats dinner. Watches TV. Plays with the gun. Watches home movies. Plays with the gun. And so on.
Glauco is played by the great Michel Piccoli who was passed around like a bong to most of the great European directors of the era (Melville, Godard, Varda, Demy, Clement, Buñuel, Costa-Gavras, even Mario Bava.) He turns in a marvelous, mostly silent, mostly solo performance. At first it seems like Glauco is just a bit stir crazy but as the evening wears on he regresses gradually into childhood. He clutches at the breasts of the women in his home movies (who hasn't?), pretends to swim in the ocean on the screen and becomes obsessed with his special new toy. He cleans the gun like a military expert, reassembles it, points it at the mirror (the "You talkin´ to me?" is subtextual here), pretends to blow his brains out, and even paints it fire-engine red with white polka dots.
If you´re the sort to waste your time worrying about what movies mean, you can do so at your leisure here. The title suggests that a certain kind of machismo "is dead" and poor Glauco doesn´t quite know what to do with himself in a feminist late-60s world. Or maybe it´s a "Targets" style study of sudden psychological breakdown. Or just a total lark by crazy-ass Ferreri. Have at it, interpretation addicts.
The film´s effectiveness stems not from the why, but the what. Ferreri´s sometimes hand-held camera, awkward POV shots, haphazard zooms, and his less-than-immaculate compositions bring an amateurish intimacy to the proceedings. We hover somewhere right next to this strange, lonely man as he wanders through the house in something approaching real-time. There´s some method to his madness, some motivations for his constant shifts in focus, but we´re not privy to them. He eats. He watches TV. He paces around. And we watch, wondering if and when he is finally going to snap. Piccoli says that Ferreri kept him mostly in the dark, showing him only a 10-page script and telling him what to do each day on the set with little explanation. Ferreri wasn´t flying by the seat of his pants. He had a meticulous plan, but he also wanted to make sure his actors couldn´t screw anything up by psychologizing their roles. Mission accomplished.
"Dillinger is Dead" is surrealist in the most transgressive, violent manifestation of the term. The film strongly implies a sense of alienation (ack, I´m interpreting) in the modern world that can´t lead anywhere but total dysfunction. The status quo is untenable and the only way out is to opt all the way out, no matter what needs to be done. That doesn´t make Glauco a hero, but he is at least a perfect case study for Ferreri´s glowering, darkly humorous view of bourgeois society.
Dillinger is Dead" was a surprise critical hit for Ferreri whose eccentric work was not always popular with the cognoscenti. It kicked off a brief period when Ferreri was in favor, one that lasted up until "La bouffe" (1973). 1974 brought the off-the-rails sort-of-Western "Don't Touch the White Woman" (also with Piccoli) and with an exception or two he fell off the critical radar. Until recently, his films were largely unavailable in America.
Edition Details:
• New video interviews with actor Michel Piccoli (12:50) and Italian film historian Adriano Aprà (20:52)
• Excerpts from a 1997 roundtable discussion about director Marco Ferreri, with filmmakers Bernardo Bertolucci and Francesco Rosi and film historian Aldo Tassone, including clips of interviews with Ferreri (13:13)
• Theatrical trailer (2:32)
• 34-page liner notes booklet featuring an essay by film critic Michael Joshua Rowin and a selection of reprinted interviews with Ferreri
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