Bernardo Bertolucci’s 1970 masterpiece is, even by the standards set at the tippy-top of the film canon, required viewing. Told in Proustian hops, the story follows Marcello (Trintignant), a wannabe Fascist who gets behind Mussolini in the ‘30s as compensation for his own – wouldn’t you know it? – psychosexual shortcomings. This is merely the beginning of Marcello’s quest for ‘normalcy’.
In his messed up, diseased fancies, ‘normal’ requires him to marry a flexible Catholic girl and climb the greasy pole of the Party by framing his old university mentor (Tarascio). Handy that. It might just leave a space in the Professor’s martial bed right next to his glamour puss widow (Dominique Sanda).
Bertolucci’s chronological experimentation makes for a perfect storm of dramatic flashbacks and background psychology. Even when nobody’s pants are down everything Marcello does is a sex crime. His base motivations are only counter-pointed by some of the most ravishing compositions in cinema.