In Search of the Great Beauty

It’s not everyday that we get a chance to experience such an utter perfection unveil itself on screen. Few filmmakers are capable of a similar artistic flair and fewer still have the necessary tools at their disposal to support it. Justly so, The Great Beauty, the past year’s cinematographic revelation, gained its director, Paolo Sorrentino, a reputation as the next visionary in the long line of Italian film masters backed up by numerous parallels drawn between his most recent work and the admired heritage of Federico Fellini.


The Great Beauty Poster


The Great Beauty revives and exceeds the expectations created by The Consequences of Love (2004) and Il Divo (2008), two preceding pictures by Sorrentino featuring the outstanding acting individuality of Toni Servillo, who has become one of the most trusted collaborators and creative influences of the Neapolitan director. In this new effort, the dignified and enigmatic recluse Titta di Girolamo, so masterfully impersonated by Servillo in The Consequences of Love, almost seamlessly transforms into a blasé intellectual and sybaritic socialite, Jep Gambardella. At once cynical and sincere, melancholiac and joyful, emotional and frigid, Jep is a perfect exemplification of the contemporary homo ludens whose desperate search for content in the world of self-generating simulacra results in a sense of voidness followed by skepticism and apathy.

Set among the monumental ruins of ancient Rome, The Great Beauty is a profound study of the modern civilisation plagued by decadence of art, disgrace of religious institutions, corrosion of authorities and devaluation of love. Gambardella, a 65-year-old affluent writer and journalist, leads a futile existence filled with extravagant parties and highbrow discussions in the circle of his eccentric, high-society friends. The vast array of farcical characters populating the screen may give the initial impression that Sorrentino’s newest film is just a satirical take on the Italian society and its incurable snobbery. But soon enough it reveals itself a universal treatise on frustrated expectations and loss of innocence pertinent to virtually every corner of the world.

When I arrived to Rome, 26 years ago (…) I fell in the vortex of high societyBut I didn’t want to simply be a socialite. I wanted to become a king of socialites. And I succeeded. I didn’t just want to attend parties. I wanted the power to make them fail, Gambardella admits solemnly while walking along the Tiber after an eventful night. Yet, struck by the news about his adolescent love’s death and thus increasingly conscious of the inevitable passage of time, he develops a distaste towards his pretentious surroundings and secretly fears that at the end of the day his life may sum to nothing. The most significant discovery I made a few days after turning sixty-five is that I can not waste time doing things I do not want to do,” he declares.

The screenplay written by the director in collaboration with Umberto Contarello wonderfully mingles the serious with the risible, not even for a moment loosing focus, rhythm or dramatic consistence. But it is the magnificent performance of Servillo, whose extraordinary vis comica has a perfect counterbalance in his naturally melancholiac disposition, that ultimately binds all the elements. There is some kind of wistfulness in his character that brings associations with protagonists of the great 20th century narratives by Thomas Mann and Alberto Moravia, the latter of whom happens to be mentioned on screen. One could even go further and call Paolo Sorrentino a contemporary cinematographic counterpart of those two literary giants.

The delicate tissue of the script, which is composed of fleeting impressions rather than concrete events, finds an ideal complement in the sumptuous cinematography by Luca Bigazzi. The Great Beauty is a true feast for the eye, rich in painterly details and astounding with opulence of colours. With this excellent work, Bigazzi, already widely recognized for his exceptional visual sensitivity, proves his stature of a true camera wizard whose single frame is worth more than many a collection of art.

What catches the viewer’s attention already during the film’s opening sequence, is the impressive quality of crowd scenes. Wonderfully lush and dynamic, they are composed with painstaking attention to detail. The giddily figures populating the screen are orchestrated with such an absolute precision that they seem totally devoid of individuality, unconditionally obedient to potent mass impulses. A truly mesmerising effect that this pulsating world in constant transformation has on the spectator can be compared with the impact of the huge mobile sets devised by the Hollywood master Baz Luhrmann.

The film’s visual artistry is on a par with the excellent soundtrack comprising of both throbbing dance pieces by contemporary pop artists and subtle classical works by such acclaimed composers as Arvo Pært, Zbigniew Preisner and Henryk Górecki. Gregorian chants clashed with frenetic dance beat create an audial landscape of today’s Rome, the Eternal City in which the ancient art of harmony and proportion exists alongside confusion and chaos.



It won’t be an exaggeration to say that Sorrentino’s work is a true masterpiece of the 21st century European cinema. No one so far has responded to the spiritual vacuum of the modern world in such a conclusive and breathtaking manner. The film’s protagonist, surrounded by the incessant clamour of pointless disputes and self-indulgent lifestyle, yearns for the essence of life and misses it. I was looking for the great beauty, but… didn’t find it, he reveals in response to Santa’s question about why he had never written another book. What remains to him is a hollow existence filled with meaningless buzz drowning out every single feeling or emotion. Occasionally, in the midst of it all, “haggard flashes of beauty”, imaginary or real ones, heave into view. Then comes a rare moment of “silence, feeling, emotion and fear” and a new novel begins. But that’s “just a trick” devised to detach the hopeless human from his own misery. As is the case with this very film – so ethereal and sublime that it feels like a dream you don’t ever want to end.

© Anna Bajor-Ciciliati, 2014. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Anna Bajor-Ciciliati with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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