This is a movie of an author that openly and transparently admits that he has nothing personal to say anymore.
His fantasies about italian communism in the 50s are completely childish. His marriage is sterile and purely based on repetitive ceremonies.
When looking for inspiration, he makes empty copies of scenes by Fellini and Woody Allen. The actor Moretti endures in repeating and enlarging obsessively the very same classic behaviours of his previous movies, so much that my 14 years old son asked me why his character is speaking in such an odd way.
Sadly, this is Moretti reflection on death: death of inspiration, death in movies, physical death, death in endless repetition. Infact, the end of the movie is clearly a funeral, with many of his actors from all his movies paying homage to him, with a smile. A mild attempt at sweetining the overall feeling of the movie, which is sadness and hopelessness.
His fantasies about italian communism in the 50s are completely childish. His marriage is sterile and purely based on repetitive ceremonies.
When looking for inspiration, he makes empty copies of scenes by Fellini and Woody Allen. The actor Moretti endures in repeating and enlarging obsessively the very same classic behaviours of his previous movies, so much that my 14 years old son asked me why his character is speaking in such an odd way.
Sadly, this is Moretti reflection on death: death of inspiration, death in movies, physical death, death in endless repetition. Infact, the end of the movie is clearly a funeral, with many of his actors from all his movies paying homage to him, with a smile. A mild attempt at sweetining the overall feeling of the movie, which is sadness and hopelessness.