Venezia 71 review - PASOLINI by Abel Ferrara

Films about filmmakers tend to be conventional or almost perverted excercises. But when a director that has built his reputation out of sheer grit and illustrating the lives of people whose vice end up getting the better out of them decides to tell the story of a man who refused the monicker of moralist, you just know something interesting is going to happen. That is precisely what happens in Pasolini, the new feature by Abel Ferrara presented in the main competition of the 71st Venice Film Festival.

Presenting a film about Pier Paolo Pasolini in Italy was always going to be a kick in the balls. Pasolini abroad is rightly regarded as nothing short of a genius and one of the filmmakers who most helped shape the landscape of global cinema. In Italy, the first things that springs to mind is not Accattone or La Ricotta, but generally speaking it is the controversy that surrounded his death - not to mention his penchant for picking up 15 year old boys at train stations. Needless to say, the fact that he was an open and extrovert homosexual never quite made him a household name in a country with such a huge Catholic conscience as many of the great Italian filmmakers of the time.

Nevertheless, Pasolini has nothing to do with Italian cinema's conscience for many reasons. Firstly, it was mainly financed with French money. Secondly, its filmmaker is a man whose Bronx background comes out of every pore in his body. Abel Ferrara is a filmmaker who spun out of the No Wave, guerrilla filmmaking of the 60s, with stints in pornography (9 Lives of a Wet Pussy) to horror pop art punk charged B-movies (The Driller Killer). His style became influential and his works King of New York and Bad Lieutenant are still revered for pushing boundaries on a character's greed, power, vice and vulnerabilities. Fresh from the much talked about but little seen film starring Gerard Depardieu about Strauss-Khan, Ferrara decided to pay homage to one of his famourite filmmakers of all time and one, in fact, that on many levels he has a lot to do with.

And so, using the structure of the last 24 hours of his life as a focus, we see Pasolini in his everyday life carry ons, in his final interview, in promoting his final film (the outrageously controversial portrayal of decadente Saló: Or 120 Days of Sodom), hanging out with his family and friends, discussing his future project with his leading man and muse Ninetto Davoli and right up to his death. There is nothing of these events that particularly stands out, though one must notice the passion that infiltrates Ferrara's channelling of Pasolini as a filmmaker by bringing to the big screen the film the Italian cineaste never got to make - a film about a wise man figure in the modern world and his guardian angel following a star in the search for the messiah. This whole set piece feels like a priceless collaboration and a work of love, even right down to an orgy sequence that many bashed forgetting that Pasolini's last work had been a politically aware sadomasochistic dream. This sequence even features Ninetto Davoli playing the part Edoardo De Filippo would have played - while Davoli's part is played by Riccardo Scamarcio.

A few words must also be spared in regards to the death scenes. Many would have guessed this sequence to have ended up being the most important part of the film, yet in the end it isn't. There is no doubt this is what left a bad taste in many's mouths. Nevertheless, Ferrara seems uninterested in conspiracies, and ultimately this tastefulness makes Pasolini seem like an even more dedicated work of love for his subject and not least of all one that tries to investigate upon such a topic of controversy. Sure, this eventually is one of the most surprising things about Pasolini, but in the end anything else might have seemed out of place.

Likewise, we must talk about Willem Dafoe's performance, restrained and collected - much like the man he portrayed. The language issue was one of the most prominent topics of this film. The mix of an Italian cast with Dafoe, him speaking mostlly English and funky Italian while the Italian cast spoke funky English. But this is all silly talk. For those who are interested, there will be a particularly close attention to an Italian dubbed version - which will actually end up channelling even more the works of Pasolini given the fact that sync sound in Italian cinema did not exist until much later on and that dubbing was dominating Italian cinema until late. Not to mention that this meant back then that a whole international cast did not have to worry too much about The Hollywood Reporter bashing you on the grounds of such a slight factor - which is quite a shame. It's a shame, because finally it must be said that Ferrara's is a work of love. It is neither a conventional or controversial film. Nor is it one where style takes over, or one where the tribute is exaggerated and false. Pasolini is a genuine film, with beautiful visuals, where Ferrara once again dares to push boundaries and even take the audience out of its comfort zones, but does not do it in spite of his subject whilst leaving room for realism mixed with daydreaming flights of fantasies and even an emotional ending that adds impact to a truly grand film.