Review - Fellini's 8 1/2

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Another example, a la Faust, of how my film school education failed me - I watched my first Fellini film last night. I wasn't sure where to begin, with 8 1/2 or La Dolce Vita or La Strada, those seemed to be the three big must-see's, so 8 1/2 was just a random choice. And after watching it I don't have a doubt I'll see the others.

The film's been written about so much there's not much I can offer of new insight, and considering the people who've written about it I'm a little intimidated to try. My impression was one of awe, though; there really is no doubt what a master Fellini was, and it makes me angry and sad that we don't have people making movies like this anymore. Because as abstract as this film was, with its fracturing of time and imagery, the way dreams and memories would just wander right into an ongoing scene and play themselves out, I was never once confused; it all made perfect sense.

I was worried about Fellini in advance, knowing of the images of mimes playing tennis and sad clowns and just general anxiety about it being silly and pretentious, but his work is nothing if not (and I hesitate to use this word, it usually makes my skin crawl) magical. Every frame is just overflowing with this amazing love for life, in its beauty and its absurdity. He transports you to a wonderful world, yes larger than life but even in scenes of anger and depression and fantasy you recognize yourself, you feel at home.