“Are you flirting with death?”
Luchino Visconti’s 1963 historical epic is set during the Risorgimento, a crucial time in Italian history. As the story begins, early in 1860, Sicily and Naples are under Bourbon rule. However, there are moves afoot to unite the entire Italian peninsula and Sicily.
Other than a fierce and protracted battle between royalist troops and the red-shirted Garibaldini, the movie doesn’t focus conspicuously on revolutionary events. The story is more concerned with the (fictional) Prince of Salina, Don Fabrizio Corbera (Burt Lancaster) and his family. He’s a Sicilian nobleman who is well aware of the winds of change and knows that he must accede, at least in part, in order for things to stay more or less the same.
Apparently, there was quite a bit of criticism of Visconti (a member of the communist party) for pretty much leaving the conservatism of Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa’s source novel intact. The director had supposedly made assurances that the film would deal much more with the plight of the underprivileged classes. For the most part, however, they remain in the margins of the film – often onscreen but always, literally, in the service of, or paying deference, to nobility.
The screenplay does, though, deal with shifting class structures. Instead of simply rich and poor, there is now also the rise of the bourgeoisie – the ‘new money’, most acutely represented by Don Calogero (Paolo Stoppa), a man quite a few rungs down from the Prince’s lofty social position but someone who conversely is far more wealthy – and rather disgustingly acquisitive. Of course, the one thing that doesn’t change in the shuffle is the plight of the poorest members of society.
As for the Prince – he’s a fascinating character. We can see this in the strong relationship he has with Don Ciccio (Serge Reggiani), an organ player and confidante from a decidedly lower class. The Prince is quite disarmingly frank with Don Ciccio, as well as Father Pirrone (Romolo Valli) – and Chevalley (Leslie French), who arrives late on in the film from Milan to try and persuade the nobleman to become a senator in a new republic. The Prince will, though, hold his tongue (at least a little) whenever it is expedient to do so – he’s a shrewd operator and no mistake.
He’s also a complicated man; regularly seeing a prostitute, for example, in order to satisfy his carnal desires but, in the brief time we see them together, they appear to have a tender relationship that goes beyond mere sex. He also favours his nephew Tancredi (Alain Delon) over his own son. Tancredi initially courts Concetta (Lucilla Morlacchi), the Prince’s eldest daughter but her father rather ruthlessly decides that Tancredi can and must do better, which is where the daughter of Don Calogero, Angelica (Claudia Cardinale) comes in…
When we first encounter Tancredi, he’s idealistically fighting with Garibaldi’s men but is seen to quickly change allegiances, both politically and romantically. He soon discards Concetta in favour of the admittedly rather beautiful Angelica (the fact that Don Calogero is exceedingly affluent is also a factor). Naturally, Concetta isn’t exactly elated at being dropped like a stone but she’s actually more disgusted by the ease with which Tancredi shifts his loyalty from Garibaldi to that of the King’s army.
The impossibly handsome and ridiculously charismatic Delon ensures that Tancredi is very hard to dislike but his volte-face (and indifference to the fate of men who were once his comrade-in-arms) does show him up for being a very shallow individual.
Deliberately paced, sprawling yet contained, The Leopard successfully delineates the messiness of human emotions and desires and the chaos of a tumultuous time in Italian/Sicilian history with equal amounts of humour and poignancy.
Initially, I was dubious that Lancaster would be able to carry a film of this kind but I have to give him full credit for doing so. It’s a performance of great subtlety and he expertly uses his undoubted presence to portray the film’s once-dominant ‘big cat’, whose powers are beginning to ebb. The Prince is conscious of his advancing years (although he’s only in his late 40s – as was Lancaster). It’s refreshing to see a Hollywood star playing their age and not pretending to be a young buck who can easily woo women half his age. Having said that, there is definite sexual chemistry between him and Cardinale that briefly brings a flicker of vitality to the Prince during the film’s third act – the justifiably celebrated (and nearly hour-long) ballroom sequence.
Without wishing to sound too trite, almost every frame of The Leopard is like a painting, with Visconti and cinematographer Giuseppe Rotunno taking full advantage of breathtaking Sicilian vistas, villages and edifices. There are many fine vignettes, too, most noticeably one that depicts the film’s literally dusty aristocracy; they are viewed seated in a church in Donnafugata (the town where the Prince’s summer palace is situated) – a portrait of the aristocracy as the living dead.
Actually, the attention to detail that Visconti and his team bring to The Leopard is outstanding. For the production design, costuming and genuine locations alone, the film fully deserves to be viewed in as high a quality print as possible.
Last but not least, Nina Rota’s majestic score aptly reflects the movies romance, spectacle, sentimentality and farce. It’s really good stuff and is guaranteed to stay with the viewer long after the film has stopped. (And it’s hard not to be reminded of the Sicilian scenes in Godfather II – also scored by Rota, which, coincidentally, features a character called Don Ciccio.)
Elektrical Turbulence 