Italian Neorealist auteur
Ermanno Olmi never considered himself a member of the neorealism movement due
in large part to his use of non-professional actors and often natural
preexisting locations rather than a studio backlot. His films are also noted for being
independently financed. With his 1988
studio financed and star studded Golden Lion winner The Legend of the Holy Drinker, however, the Palme d’Or winning
filmmaker arguably made with it the very definition of the neorealist movement
in Italian film while harkening back to flights of magical realism akin to
Vittorio De Sica’s Miracle in Milan
by mixing the impossible with the plausible, divinity with practicality,
culminating in a quietly charming while ultimately profoundly moving spiritual
experience.
Based upon the novella of
the same name by Joseph Roth and starring Rutger Hauer in one of his finest
performances of subtlety and nuance yet, The
Legend of the Holy Drinker follows perpetually intoxicated homeless man
Andreas Kartack in Paris, France who is given a second chance at life when a
random upper class stranger played by Lawrence
of Arabia actor Anthony Quayle loans him 200 francs. The man’s only request is that, when he is
able, to repay the 200 francs to a local church. Andreas agrees but when thrust back into
upstanding society in a timeless Paris, the temptations of finding ordinary
work, sleeping with women in finely sheeted beds and dining out in classy
restaurants prove too difficult to resist.
It doesn’t help that his wallet is mysteriously replenished everytime he
runs out of cash.
Told in minimalist,
simplistic fashion with carefully prepared long takes while beset by ornate
cinematography by soon to be Heat cinematographer
Dante Spinotti and subtly haunting use of music by Igor Stravinsky, The Legend of the Holy Drinker is a
quietly moving fable concerning man’s ongoing struggle to be good while living
the life of a sinner. Much of the film
is anchored by Rutger Hauer who gives one of his finest performances to date,
exuding a mixture of angst, longing and torment with his tear streaked eyes
often times choosing his words carefully in between long stretches of
silence. Considering Hauer’s eclectic
oeuvre with a wide range of performances from working with Paul Verhoeven and
Ridley Scott, it was kind of a shock to see such a galvanizing performance
delivered with such skillful subtlety, allowing viewers to peek inside the man’s
soul while still remaining cloaked in mystery.
One of the virtues of Olmi’s
film is how little we’re allowed to know about this man’s past, seen only
through glimpses and flashbacks of his prior life as a miner in Poland before a
traumatic event sets him on his self-made purgatory. Though told in direct fashion, much of the
introspection is asked of the audience to try and decipher if his internal
struggle results in finding peace or more ongoing torment. Some viewers may close their hands on air
trying to determine just where the film’s hero goes spiritually but that’s part
of the film’s wonderment, that you’re drawn into his craggy and sauntering
broken worldview without having a clear picture of his denouement.
What is obvious to anyone
who sees it is that his struggle to live a life of virtue while drenched in a
life of sin is instantly relatable. We’ve
all been there and somewhere in ourselves is an Andreas Kartack, desperately
trying to do penance while the gift of life constantly distracts us from
salvation. For a film to deliver such a
message with eloquent simplicity and tender quiet is a remarkable thing of
beauty that simply doesn’t happen in the movies anymore.
Score:
- Andrew Kotwicki