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Wertmuller's Direct Course
| Article
# : |
10471 |
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Section : |
THE ARTS
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| Issue
Date : |
1 / 1993 |
1,726 Words |
| Author
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David H. Ehrlich
David H. Ehrlich, an avid theatergoer, is an independent
writer based in Washington, D.C. He has previously written
numerous essays for The World & I. |
"Che ora sona, Lina? What time is it?" The little silver-haired Italian lady glances automatically at the clock on the Wall. Reflexively, she answers, "It's almost two o'clock." But then she follows her interlocutor's eye down toward her arm and realizes the purpose of the questions. The arm sports five large watches, all set to different times. They're all gifts from good friends." Five watches. They all work. One is set to Rome time, one to London, another to Moscow. None of them tells the local time. They came from friends like Russian film director Andrei Konchalovsky, Krizia the dress designer, Benetton the retailer, and Filmfest DC.
As is true of many of her countrymen, the silver-haired lady has an extravagant string of names, but the one by which she is best known is the one that's least Italian: Wertmuller. One of Italy's foremost film directors, Lina Wertmuller breezed through Washington a few months ago, beating the drum for her newest film, Saturday, Sunday, Monday.
The vehicle for which Wertmuller enticed Sophia Loren out of retirement, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, was adapted from a 1965 Broadway farce. Although not the best of Wertmuller's twenty-film oeuvre, it is remarkable for its ineffably beautiful star. It's a pleasure to report that even though the close-ups were a bit out of focus, the years have treated La Bellissima Loren gently. Her liquid brown eyes and sensual lips are as expressive as ever, and her throaty voice has lost none of its urgency.
To Wertmuller, both Loren and her character embody the eternal Nietzchean combination of Apollo and Dionysus (a metaphor for the smoldering Mount Vesuvius across the bay). At the same time, although she's traveled a long way from the back streets of Naples, Loren is backing the familiar role of Neapolitan housewife whose Sunday pasta is a work of art so good that she's made a habit of inviting the entire neighborhood to share it.
Among the regular guests at Loren's table is a pleasant, inoffensive professor toward whom her husband conceives an unjustified jealousy that borders on violence. Fortunately, he's too much in awe of his wife to do anything serious. And sure enough over a somewhat tedious weekend, all protagonists are vindicated and everybody lives happily ever after: Loren junkies will love the film; most others can probably find better ways to spend their money. But the catalog of Wertmuller's cinematic triumphs is too thick to hold this mild soap against her.
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