8 1/2 (1963)

 Federico Fellini's "8 1/2"

After the universal success of 1960's "La Dolce Vita," many were wondering what Federico Fellini would do next. The filmmaker had just made a masterpiece and the pressure to follow it up with something was mounting. How could anyone top "La Dolce Vita" and why would anyone want to try? With all this pressure and the chaos of both personal domestic life and modern life in general, Fellini was having trouble trying to arrange any sort of production. The issue came to a head in the spring of 1962 when Fellini felt like he had 'lost' his film. He had outlined a film about a man named Guido suffering from some sort of block, some sort of existential confusion. He hadn't yet settled on Guido's profession or the circumstances of how the story would play out. Fellini even had a crew and set constructed, all the while no story revealing itself. He was made to arrive on set and celebrate the launch of production. However, he was panicked because he still had nothing. Fellini states of that day, he "felt overwhelmed by shame...I was in a no exit situation. I was a director who wanted to make a film he no longer remembers. And lo and behold, at that very moment everything fell into place. I got straight to the heart of the film. I would narrate everything that had been happening to me. I would make a film telling the story of a director who no longer knows what film he wanted to make." That film ended up being one of the most influential films in the history of the artform, "8 1/2." 

Now, I have already seen "8 1/2" prior to this most recent viewing. It blew me away, truly. When you watch a film a second time, there is somehow both more appreciation for the film while simultaneously being less entertained by it. This happened with me and my second viewing. Sitting down to write this 'review' or whatever you want to call this, I felt myself completely drawing a blank on what I wanted to say about it. The primary reason is that there are so many things to say about. It is one of the most remarkable entry points to 'post-modern' cinema in film history, it turned subjective narrative on its head, it is a film that is endlessly reflective, and so on and so on. 

It tells the story of Guido, an overwhelmed artist who wants to make his next film but is unsure of what that next film will be. He is plagued by the pressures of external circumstances, from the chaos that comes from the orchestrating the production, to the uncertainty of what he could even feign to say through his work, to the melancholy of a crumbling marriage. There is so much confusion and chaos happening both external to him and within him simultaneously. By the film's end, he has a divine revelation: his next film will be about an artist struggling to make a film who is plagued by external circumstances, from the chaos that comes from the orchestrating the production, to the uncertainty of what he could even feign to say through his work, to the melancholy of a crumbling marriage. 

With this, the film itself becomes a mirror, an inversion, a reflection. Somehow, through the medium of film, Fellini was able to circumvent an abstract narrative in order to obtain complete transparency. This transparency isn't as 'realistic' and 'exacting' as Godard's "Contempt" from the same year. No, Fellini's "8 1/2" is a carnival of subjective surrealism, surreality, irreality, absurdity, and whatever other non-reality a reality can get. I am not even sure if what I'm saying is making any sense or if the person reading this is able to connect with any of the muses I am laying out. It is hard to describe something so non-concrete, so abstract and confused. How does one even begin to describe something so indescribable. There is a reason film shouldn't be put into words. Because the images, motion, music, and all the things that come together to make a film is elevated beyond words. So, what's the point, really? Why am I even trying? Why do I spend so much time putting these transcendental experiences into words for people who don't even really care, especially when there's so much written about it already. 

"8 1/2" is beyond the words I'm using to describe it, which is why it is such a landmark film. It revolutionizes narrative form for the benefit of describing the indescribable. The subconscious mind, the confused thoughts and notions about the individual and all their hypocritical, misogynistic, pure, impure, honest, dishonest, and contradictory concepts that make up that single person. I would not be able to articulate the confused notions that are me. I would not be able to effectively communicate to the people I love how much I care about them. I would be able to find some words to use, but do they really communicate the complex and complicated feelings I actually have? I can barely articulate my sentiments, feelings, and perspectives about things in my own personal life. If you can't articulate your own internality to others, how are you supposed to do it through another medium? How does art effectively communicate one's soul? And for what purpose? Why does anyone truly care what you have to say? These questions become overwhelming and make it difficult to fully speak about "8 1/2" in any sort of substantial way.

Like Guido in the film, I too have a labyrinth of complexity inside me. There is no way to identity at any given time the multitude of contradictions within myself. Like Guido, the people are I love in my life and both precious and playthings. Everyone is simply an extension of me, yet I know they're individuality separate from me. Because of my central ego, I cannot relinquish them to their own independent existence. They must be people in relation to myself and only through my lens of perception. It is not my fault, it is simply how a human being perceives their reality. You cannot ever truly know things beyond your own perception of them. Therefore, you cannot view external things as things independent of you. This makes it difficult to make selfless choices, to simply do things for someone else that provides no benefit to yourself. Yet all the while, I rage against the notion that I am selfish through my behavior and attempts to remedy this shortcoming. The actions of devotion I perform are somehow still selfish, as they are merely attempts to abolish my selfishness.  There is still a self-centered purpose to them. Like Guido, I am troubled by my attempts to reconcile my own ego with that of everything that exists around me. 

Once I accept that even my own selflessness is somehow still self-serving, I then turn to an outlet to alleviate the anxiety that comes from all the responsibilities of my life. The responsibilities I have are a byproduct of all my selfish attainment: security, companionship, and safety. And yet, the price of these precious concepts is that of sensory tasks. Guido has innumerable responsibilities that he must balance, all being conveyed by Fellini with a sense of the carnivalesque, a balancing act between various absurdities. The absurdities conveyed in the film are done so using a form of surrealist subjectivity, to elevate the subconscious exasperation of these toils. So too in my life these toils feel as energetic and ever-infiltrating. There are bills that are due, places that are needed to be at, work tasks that must be performed in a certain amount of time, house chores to attend to, and a bouquet of relationships to manage, among infinite other circumstances (some of which will arrive without a knock at the door). The array of responsibilities that plague me seem endlessly arriving and never going. The confusion and contradiction spoken about before does not simply exist in my own head, but outside of it as well. With as many racing ailments and burdens that exist internally, well...as above so below, there are as many externally to match. Guido feels this way, as the external circumstances of reality continue to match the frequency of the internal fight for survival. 

To add a cherry on top of the circumstances that plague my immediate reality, there are an array of existential threats that impede my sanctity of existence. Guido is faced with bombardments of a nuclear age, global tensions, Communism, philosophical nihilism, the state of the world, and the state of cinema that he must be careful not to topple. I definitely feel for Guido in this arena, as the world is not exactly in order as I'm writing this. Russia, China, AI, nuclear fallout, poisoned food, unregulated capitalism, and so much more burden the headlines day in and day out. If you add these existential realities on top of the domestic, immediate realities and the internal maladies that bombard me, it's safe to say I feel overwhelmed at every given moment. 

What exactly am I doing about all this that plagues me? What is there to do with oneself? While Guido gravitates towards the making of his films, I gravitate towards the musings of cinema. I watch cinema, obsess over it, write about it, make reviews, rank films, make lists, and all other forms of interaction one can have with an artform. But why? What's the point and how is this communicating anything to anyone, including myself? As I'm writing this review right now, I feel as though I am writing into the void. That all of my words fall away into oblivion, leaving nothing but absence in its wake. Does writing this alleviate the existential dread I feel every single day? Does it communicate to the people around me that I love them? Does it reduce my mind's numerous contradictory impulses and selfish qualities? I don't think so. I don't think it really does much of anything. 

And what does writing about "8 1/2" do? I could spend hours talking about how it transformed cinema, how it created a new post-modern perspective in the artform of cinema, how it flipped subjectivity on its head, and created a new way to look at individuality and the subconscious meandering of one's own perceptions. But what does that have to do with me? How do I fit into this equation? And why does it make me feel better about the overwhelming state of my mind and of the reality that exists around me? I don't really know. But maybe that's not the point. Maybe I just like to celebrate something that, even very briefly, makes me feel a sense of connection and understanding to abstract concepts, the world around me, and the people in my life. Maybe my writing has nothing to do with anything productive. Maybe this isn't for anyone, meant to do anything. But, I think that's okay. I think this review I'm writing for "8 1/2" shouldn't constitute any significance whatsoever. I don't think anything constitutes significance at all, actually. Even my responsibilities, my delusions, my loved ones, and the state of hellish confusion of the world. None of it matters, really. And isn't that more freeing? Doesn't it feel good to know that the overwhelming anxiety caused by the stresses of yourself and everything around you won't last forever? That these things I worry so much about aren't really all that serious in the grand scheme of eternity. My existence is so extremely short and me spending it worrying, being overwhelmed, anxious, and negatively self-spiraling won't do anything but make me feel miserable. Instead of feeling miserable, I should let all of that go. I should unburden myself from things that will only slide with me into the oblivion of obscurity. So what if this thing that I'm writing won't matter. Nothing will matter eventually. So why not? Why not write about "8 1/2" or any other film I see it? Why not keep watching films and doing the things I enjoy doing? So what if my selflessness is an act of selfishness? The end result is still positive. And so what if the amount of things I could say about "8 1/2" are so overwhelming that I can't think of what to say. That's the point. Life is overwhelming and sometimes you don't know what to say. You don't know what's going on or what's going to happen or why you act and behave the way you do. You can only keep trying and keep getting better for yourself and for others. I think that's what I'll write about. Rather than writing about "8 1/2," I'll write about writing about it. And through me writing about it, I'll discover the film. I'll discover my thoughts about it. I'll discover what the film is saying and what it 'means.' Sometimes you don't need to dissect every little thing in order to understand it. Sometimes you just need to look inward to uncover the truth about something else. Because film has a way of revealing truth, even through falsity. The truth is inward, and I feel a lot better about things now that I've looked inward. Because in all the confusion and contradiction, life is about a lack of clarity and the celebration of that lack of clarity. Art is about a lack of clarity and since art is a reflection, its confines are not limited to the black lines that box it in. It is a prisms to reveal deeper and for that, I am grateful.