Still from Umberto D.
City Lights Film Series co-curator Bruno Dariva considers the emotional resonance and quiet austerity of an Italian neorealist classic.
The fourth collaboration between screenwriter Cesare Zavattini and director Vittorio De Sica, Umberto D. is considered by critics and academics to be one of the most important Italian neorealist films. Italian neorealism was a film movement that emerged within the context of post-World War II, a period marked by a need for reconstruction and the inevitable confrontation with a world no longer recognizable. Umberto Domenico Ferrari (Carlo Battisti) is part of this post-war reality: living on a pension, struggling to pay rent, and facing difficulties to support himself and his dog Flike, he is a portrait of living sadness.
This emotionally loaded description of his character could lead us to assume we are watching a film that goes all out to make us cry. However, Umberto D. is far from being a cheap sob story; the film shines in its simplicity, often bringing out emotion through an undramatic approach. Take, for example, the famous scene of Maria (Maria Pia Casilio) in the kitchen — in the middle of mundane tasks, she suddenly stops and looks at her pregnant belly. The film shows us no more than gestures and a simple facial expression, conveying with raw style the complexities involved in that moment — the fact that Maria is unsure who the father is, the possibility of her losing her job, the ruined world where she will raise her child.
Maria and Umberto
The simplicity of a gesture also reveals a lot about Umberto himself. Deprived of money, Umberto seems to have been accustomed to a different kind of life — he knows important people, is educated, and dresses well. The abbreviation of his name in the title of the film hints at a past that was lost, resulting in a present in which his dignity is constantly on the verge of being shattered: he has to skip meals to feed his dog Flike, he lives in a room that is rented for couples when he is not there, and he has to sell his things to gather money. Drawn to a last resort, Umberto tries to beg on the streets, but performing the gesture of putting out his hand to ask for money ultimately becomes unbearable.
Unable to pay his rent or convince his unfriendly landlady not to evict him, and incapable of giving in to what appears to him as a shameful life, Umberto decides to commit suicide. In the film, this act also involves a simple gesture: walking towards the train tracks, holding Flike in his arms, and waiting for the decisive moment when the train approaches. However, taken by fear and instinct, Flike frees himself from Umberto’s arms at the last minute. The dog’s reaction interrupts Umberto’s plans, reconfiguring his attention to the bond he still maintains with the world. The film’s last scene conveys some hope by focusing on the simplicity of a fundamental feeling: love.
Famous critic André Bazin once highlighted that cinema was “bound up with love,”[1] and that Italian neorealism, especially with De Sica, was exemplary of that connection — it conveyed a love for its characters, for the singularity of things. More than for its dramatic story, Umberto D. affects us through its attention to the singularity of its characters, to their simple, ordinary gestures. Behind a dramatic storyline, the film depicts ordinary human relationships, of which the friendship between Umberto and Maria stands out — each of them with their own individual concerns, materialized in their distinct wanderings through the city, the room, the kitchen.
Bazin says that Umberto D. is a portrayal of the human condition, an observation of increasing alienation in a time of misfortunes.[2] The simplicity of its narrative allows us to pay attention to the complexities of gestures, to the relationships between characters and the world, to their hesitant looks and expressions. Above all, it invites us to witness small gestures of affection manifested amid overwhelming adversities.
[1] Bazin, André. What is Cinema? Vol. II. Translated by Hugh Gray. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004, p. 72.
[2] What is Cinema? Vol. II, p. 78.
Umberto D. will be screened at IU Cinema on April 26 as part of the City Lights Film Series.
Bruno Dariva loves filming and photographing the world. He is a filmmaker and PhD student at Indiana University Bloomington with scholarly interests in film temporality, form, and philosophy. Besides doing research and watching films, he spends his time reading tech reviews and playing tennis.