I vitelloni (1953, Federico Fellini) (Patreon)

72/100

Second viewing, last seen 2003. “Didn’t you like it here?” the adorable child laborer asks Moraldo, as the latter looks out the window of a train about to depart for Anywhere Fucking Else; that Moraldo can’t summon any kind of response, looking genuinely uncertain of what the correct answer would be, gives this portrait of small-town restlessness a poignant kick that reverberates backward. So does the bait-and-switch that apparently sets up an ensemble piece about five buddies, only to entirely ignore one (Riccardo’s just a singing voice), largely ignore two (Leopoldo and Alberto get a single brief showcase each), and lavish attention upon a fourth, only to finally reveal that perpetually watchful Moraldo (beautifully underplayed by Franco Interlenghi; I’m embarrassed to say that I’ve still not seen Shoeshine) has been the stealth protagonist all along. This strategy wouldn’t work were Fausto’s struggle to keep it in his pants not thoroughly enjoyable for its own sake; there might be no finer moment in Fellini’s oeuvre, for my money, than the tiny pan left from Fausto and Sandra snuggling at the movies, revealing a hilariously vampy woman sitting to Fausto’s right, who then asks him to light her cigarette in the sultriest voice imaginable. Granted, I’m not terribly keen on Fellini in general, and it’s hardly a coincidence that I vitelloni’s Carnival sequence, which points toward the gaudier aesthetic he’d soon favor, finds my attention drifting. (It's also maximum Alberto Sordi, which is this film's equivalent of maximum Steve Guttenberg in Diner.) Everything else, however, feels atypically relaxed, almost to the point of inconsequential—a vibe that can be at once soothing and maddening for characters and viewers alike. Hence the consternation written on Moraldo’s face at the end, representing the universal tug of war between comfort and boredom.