Probably the most unloved of all of Fellini’s films, Cassanova culminates his much-maligned “indulgent” period, (as famously characterized by the loudmouth in line at the movies in Woody Allen’s Annie Hall (1977) before being put in his place by Marshall McLuhan). Its reputation is a bit unfair and can be directly traced to the impatience of contemporaneous critics who had run out of clever ways to lament the loss of the Fellini of I Vitelloni (1953) and La Strada (1954). They spent so much time wishing for the “old Fellini” that they never bothered to appreciate what the new Fellini had to offer, and they certainly didn’t accept that he had a right to do what he felt rather than indulge their nostalgia. Donald Sutherland plays the famous Italian lover, and instead of the bawdy romp we might expect from Fellini, the story quickly shifts gears into a melancholy reflection of the man’s lifetime of regret; specifically his failure to be recognized for his efforts in the fields of science and philosophy. The director’s flamboyant performances and production design are certainly present, but these seem secondary to the underlying reflective mood that takes over the bulk of the film, laying the groundwork for Fellini’s more earth-bound, though no less visionary, films of coming years like Orchestra Rehearsal (1979) and City of Women (1981).
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