Rétrospective du Festival de Cannes: Film d’amore e d’anarchia, ovvero: stamattina alle 10, in via dei Fiori, nella nota casa di tolleranza… / Love and Anarchy, 1973

Lina Wertmüller might have a German name, but she is an unsung heroine of Italian cinema. The writer and director was the very first woman to be nominated for the Best Director Academy Award, for Seven Beauties. Her 1973 film, Love and Anarchy, is a vigilant, candid, humane story of political upheaval. The full title, Love and Anarchy, or: This morning at 10, on Via dei Fiori, in a noted brothel (translated from Italian), could almost be the headline of a newspaper. Oh, yeah, it is.

A film so vivid with passionate players, stirring emotions, and that locale of historic oppression. The anarchism of the title is that which attempts to battle against the tyranny of pre-war Italy in the nineteen thirties. Love and Anarchy is invariably immersive in its portrayal of such a turbulent time. Wertmüller has the compassion and the talent to make such a film slightly haunting and with an air of vulnerability, while still giving off a hopeful energy.

Set during the Fascist Italy that dictated before World War II, the plot focuses on an anarchist who takes over the duties of assassinating Benito Mussolini after his friend was killed by police for attempting the same thing. One of the elements that makes Antonio Soffiantini ‘Tunin’ (Giancarlo Giannini) so fascinating, is that he genuinely fears being killed himself, yet shows little resilience in completing his task.

The majority of the picture takes place in a brothel in Rome, where Tunin takes contemplative shelter for a couple of days. There – and this is going to sound obvious – he spends much of his time with two women. Salomè (Mariangela Melato) is a fast-talking firecracker, who has her teeth buried in Tunin’s cause – her former lover was also killed by Mussolini’s police in Milan. And Tripolina (Lina Polito), another prostitute, but one with bustling pheromones and a natural sweet side – and Tunin knows it.

The three converge to distract Spatoletti, the head of Mussolini’s police, venturing to the countryside. While Salomè keeps an eye on the boisterous Spatoletti, Tunin tries to put the pieces together for his fatal mission. The issue is, the love-at-first sight betwee Tunin and Tripolina is going to cause the biggest distraction of all.

But matters of the heart, as the film’s title alludes to, play compromising table-tennis with anarchy. What Love and Anarchy does so very well, even with the personal plights, is allow you the space to empathize with the smitten souls. That’s not to say you feel sorry for them for falling in love, but rather not being able to fully embrace their feelings in troubling times. Wertmüller is not afraid to put on the drama breaks, and allow Tunin and Tripolina the time to just talk, or to look longingly in each other’s eyes. These fleeting moments keep the film’s heart beating.

As far as the imminent assassination of Mussolini, Tunin always has his eyes on the ball. Big, absorbing eyes, you can practically see the emotion he wields. As the morning of the big event arrives, the conflicting outlooks of Tripolina and Salomè spill contrasting shadows across proceedings.

The climactic sequence is extraordinary. Tunin finds himself in a tight spot, centrally with his own wills, desires and anguish. What follows is a furious bout of chaos. So full of tension, especially with how far we have all come with this characters, this reviewer will not dream of spoiling it.

Giancarlo Giannini, who won the Best Actor prize in Cannes, is impeccable. A scruffy, freckled farm worker, a childlike enthusiasm and sensitivity clear to see behind the beard. His wide-eyed expressions and heart fixed firmly on his sleeve, Tunin is a man we support through and through in all his vulnerability and ambition. Makes his eruption late on all the more unforgettable.

And those women. Mariangela Melato as Salomè, platinum blonde and a mouth on her ready for any battle, is outstanding. She’s flamboyant, fiery, but brimming with an addictive charm. Lina Polito is also mesmerizing as Tripolina. She demonstrates the physical beauty and the mindful fragility, buried deep in a love that yearns to offer protection and devotion.

Love and Anarchy is certainly one of a kind, a film that ticks boxes you weren’t even looking for. Edited with a confident panache, timing the strands of wit and joy perfectly to the rather droll social canvas of the era. The score from the music maestro, Nino Rota (with Carlo Savina), is integral to the film’s brilliance. Stretching from steady orchestral to punchy vocal segments – even allowing some scenes of action to continue with sound so just the music accompanies the visuals.

The cinematography from Giuseppe Rotunno provides us with a substantial flourish of historic Rome, we get to walk the monumental streets, and admire the rural greenery – often in moments of suffering. The brothel, too, exhibits an inner comfort, where folk can feel at ease from the outside world and its stresses. Of course, the production design and costume work are essential to that audience investment.

Surrounded by acting favourites, Lina Wertmüller has crafted a powerful, engaging, stylish piece of cinema. One which no doubt hits a soft spot for some familiar with the regime of thirties Italy. Love and Anarchy is most definitely an intellectual, memorable journey, in so many ways articulating various declarations of courage, fear, longing. There are scenes of such intimacy, of rebellion, of demoralization – often with little catharsis. And still it manages to balance the heavy subject matter with the whimsy of the human spirit – which is no mean feat.