I watched Federico Fellini's La Strada a few months ago, and one thing that I really took away from it is that it felt like such a cynical and tragic film. La Strada is about the naive but earnest Gelsomina (Giulietta Masina) whose life is one devastating incident after another. Her mother sells her to brutish traveling performer Zampano (Anthony Quinn) who abuses her as much as she is devoted to him. She longs for his affection but he humiliates her and treats her like a slave. Gelsomina tries to be everything for him, and she has such a curious and excitable personality. Zampano is a mediocre performer with a useless act and he exerts his power over Gelsomina. They are tied together, and Gelsomina is helpless to escape his grasp even when she tries to leave him. La Strada is a beautiful movie, beautiful in its ugliness and despair. It suggests that the brief moments of self-actualization that Gelsomina experiences are worth the endless cruelty she endures.
Watching La Strada for me was a weird experience. I had just watched La Dolce Vita and 8 1/2, two of Fellini's glamorous classics, and the malaise and suffering in La Strada is far more projected onto the visual landscape. The rough terrains and ugly people are such a contrast to the fabulousness in those other movies. The score and Masina's hopeful performance are the anchors keeping the audience from drifting away from this film. I have seen Nights of Cabiria almost a decade ago, and I was reminded of that film while watching La Strada. It's that same parade of indignity in both films. La Strada is a crueler film, a rougher film, but one that find small moments of heart and connection.
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