La Strada

We watched La Strada Thursday night.

It was probably the last night the three of us would have at home before College Guy returns and life gets real crazy around here until June, I was thinking, so after preparing a nice dinner of flank steak, roasted potatoes, broccoli and homemade bread (with pizza dough for tomorrow made afterwards when the kitchen was still a mess), I declared that it was a movie night, and my choice.

And because I’m the Fun Mom, the choice was La Strada (linked is Film Son’s review).

It had been decades since I’d seen it, but the experience of the viewing – probably on a Saturday night when PBS was still showing Janus Films- stuck in my mind.

One of them had heard from classmates that it was “depressing.” I turned to them at the end and said half-triumphantly, half-jokingly, “Now, that wasn’t so depressing, was it?”

They looked at me in disbelief.

Well, I guess your view of “depressing” changes as you age. As in: if there’s a glimmer of hope and a hint of transcendence, doesn’t matter if almost everyone is dead – nope, not depressing.

Aside from the marvelous performances, what pulls me into La Strada are the yes, Fellini-esque setpieces of crowds responding to spectacle of all kinds, including religious and the glimpses of post-War Italian life and, of course the pervasive spiritual and philosophical questions.

There’s a lot worth discussing, including the tension between self-sacrifice and self-delusion, the balance between…take up your cross and shake the dust off your feet.

Here’s a good, brief piece on the Catholic elements of La Strada.

One must first consider the essential goodness of Gelsomina. She loves people. She seeks communion with all people she encounters, even Zampano. At one point in the film, Gelsomina is allowed to visit the sick room of a grotesquely ill child, and the two of them immediately make a connection. At the convent, a young nun becomes completely enamored by her. And her connection to the world extends beyond human beings to encompass all of nature; Fellini links her to the trees, the animals, the earth itself. During a rather crass religious procession in a small town, Gelsomina is the only observer who seems to fully appreciate the essence of the tribute to the Virgin Mary.

The Fool also is portrayed in religious terms. When we first see him, he is literally made to appear angelic; the spotlight surrounds him like a halo, and he walks across the sky. Like Gelsomina, the Fool is of course only human and given to human fallibility, but in an unforgettable sequence he reveals to Gelsomina—and to us—the fundamental truth that all of us have a purpose, all of us matter, and all of us need both God and one another.

Zampano does not understand this, yet the sad way in which he learns this truth is what makes the film so truly Catholic.

The conversation between The Fool and Gelsomina is worth recounting and remembering. It presents a quite profound truth:

The Fool : If you won’t stay with him, who will? I’m an ignorant man, but I’ve read a book or two. You may not believe it, but everything in this world has a purpose. Even this pebble, for example.

Gelsomina : Which one?

The Fool : This one. Any one. But even this one has a purpose.

Gelsomina : What’s its purpose?

The Fool : Its purpose is – how should I know? If I knew, I’d be…

Gelsomina : Who?

The Fool : The Almighty, who knows everything. When you’re born. When you die. Who knows? No, I don’t know what this pebble’s purpose is, but it must have one, because if this pebble has no purpose, then everything is pointless. Even the stars! At least, I think so. And you too. You have a purpose too.