Federico Fellini‘s 8 1/2 has a title whose meaning is not evident even after watching the film, let alone before. It’s dreamlike and weird. It is also one of the most acclaimed foreign films of all time, a movie that almost single-handedly defines, for many people, what “foreign films” are like. How did it gain such significance? What’s actually there on the screen for the viewer to enjoy? Let us take eight, maybe eight-and-a-half, minutes to consider.

The praise: It won the Academy Award for best foreign language film, plus another Oscar for its costume design. (That was only the seventh time a foreign film had won anything outside of the best foreign language film category.) It was also nominated for Oscars in the director, screenplay, and art direction categories. Sight & Sound magazine, published by the British Film Institute, polls film professionals every 10 years to make a list of the greatest movies ever made; 8 1/2 was No. 4 in 1972, No. 5 in 1982, and No. 9 in 2002. (Somehow it fell off the list in 1992.) In Sight & Sound‘s poll of directors only, 8 1/2 ranked second in 1992 and No. 3 in 2002. It’s probably no surprise that directors like it so much — it’s about a director.

The context: Federico Fellini came to prominence during Italian cinema’s “Neorealist period,” a term that will definitely be on the final exam, so I hope you’re taking notes. Lasting from the end of World War II until about 1953, the Italian Neorealist period was marked by films set among the poor and working class, often shot on location, sometimes with non-professional actors, with plots centered on ordinary people and their gloomy day-to-day lives. (The most universally famous film of this genre is probably The Bicycle Thief, 1948).

Fellini worked as screenwriter or assistant director on several Neorealist films before striking out on his own. His first solo feature, The White Sheik (1951), and its follow-up, I Vitelloni (1953), retained a lot of Neorealist elements while adding something else: comedy. Realism and humor are not mutually exclusive, after all, as you know if you’ve ever seen someone in real life slip on a banana peel. (It’s hilarious.) From there, Fellini transitioned into his own brand of filmmaking, something that combined the social consciousness of Neorealism with more poetic and artistic expressions.

In 1960, Fellini, who had suffered from clinical depression and was often under a psychoanalyst’s care, discovered the psychiatrist Carl Jung and became keenly interested in his own subconscious mind. From then on, Fellini’s films said goodbye to Neorealism and hello to fantasies, dream sequences, childhood flashbacks, and extravagant craziness. When something is described as “Fellini-esque,” it usually means it’s surreal, dreamlike, perhaps nightmarish, containing the elements of everyday life but weirdly altered. Visiting a Wal-Mart at 3 a.m. is often said to be a Fellini-esque experience.

The background on 8 1/2, Fellini’s first film under this new Jungian outlook, reads like the plot of 8 1/2 itself. He wanted to make a movie about someone experiencing a kind of creative block who has to take a couple weeks off to clear his mind. Fellini’s problem was that he didn’t have a title or a script, or even a real plot outline. He didn’t even know what the main character’s profession would be, only that he was “blocked.” Fellini actually scouted locations, hired actors, and oversaw the construction of sets before he had any idea what the film would be about. It finally dawned on him that he was living it: The film should be about a director trying to figure out what kind of film he wants to make.

The title, like the movie, is self-referential: Fellini had made 7 1/2 movies before this one. Other people figured out the math — co-directing one movie counted as a “half,” as did contributing segments to two anthologies; then there were six others — but Fellini chose the title at the last minute, under duress, and never explained the logic behind it. As with much of what takes place in the film, you can’t get bogged down in forcing the details to be taken literally.

The movie: Marcello Mastroianni, who had also starred in Fellini’s La Dolce Vita (1960), plays Guido Anselmi, a successful Italian filmmaker who has escaped to a spa to relax and work out his writer’s block. Rest eludes him, though, as his producer and crew members follow him to the resort and insist that he work. His mistress, Carla (Sandra Milo), shows up, too, as does his wife, Luisa (Anouk Aimee). As he tries to find peace and quiet and figure out what he’s going to make his movie about, we see his memories, dreams, and fantasies, often intermingling with reality.

What it influenced: Nearly every movie about the frustrations and difficulties of filmmaking probably owes something to 8 1/2, some more directly than others. Woody Allen’s Stardust Memories (1980), shot in black-and-white, was essentially a loving parody of it, and What’s New Pussycat? (1965) — for which Allen wrote the screenplay — has a scene where a man meets all the women he’s ever loved, just as in one of Guido Anselmi’s fantasy sequences. Terry Gilliam has acknowledged that much of his work, especially Brazil (1985), was inspired by 8 1/2. Alex in Wonderland (1970), Day for Night (1973), All That Jazz (1979), and Adaptation (2002) also parallel Fellini’s film. As evidenced by the movie’s placement on Sight & Sound‘s poll of directors, Fellini was the kind of filmmaker that other filmmakers loved, and 8 1/2 is the most obvious reason for it.

In 1982, 8 1/2 received what at that time was a rare honor: It was turned into a Broadway musical, called Nine. This week, a movie version of that musical hits theaters; as you can imagine, Fellini’s original is barely recognizable after being translated to the stage and then back to film again, but the basics are intact. At right is the character from 8 1/2, a prostitute named Saraghina, portrayed by the Black Eyed Peas’ Fergie in Nine. Just FYI.

What to look for: It is tempting to say that a movie about a man who doesn’t know what kind of movie he wants to make is bound to turn out looking like it was made by a man who didn’t know what kind of movie he wanted to make. You would not be alone in that appraisal of Fellini’s work here. While the vast majority of reviews upon its release were positive, there were a few naysayers, including Pauline Kael, Judith Crist, and Time magazine. (“[Fellini says], ‘It did me good to make it. It was a liberating experience.’ But is that a reason for showing it publicly?”)

That’s the minority report, though. Those who admire the film like it for reasons such as these, expressed by The New York Times‘ Bosley Crowther:

“Here is a piece of entertainment that will really make you sit up straight and think, a movie endowed with the challenge of a fascinating intellectual game. It has no more plot than a horse race, no more order than a pinball machine, and it bounces around on several levels of consciousness, dreams, and memories as it details a man’s rather casual psychoanalysis of himself. But it sets up a labyrinthine ego for the daring and thoughtful to explore, and it harbors some elegant treasures of wit and satire along the way.”

Fellini mocks his own reputation in 8 1/2, as when one of Guido’s fans says, “What are you working on now? Another film without hope?” I admire Fellini’s confidence. Near the end, Guido’s producer tells him, “How presumptuous to think others may benefit from a narration of all the errors you’ve made.” Elsewhere, Guido is cautioned to “make sure what interests you interests everybody,” or else his film will come across as self-absorbed. In other words, if you make a movie about your own neuroses, you run a serious risk of seeming narcissistic — a criticism that could be leveled against Fellini for 8 1/2. But many people love that Fellini addresses that issue in the film, indicating he was aware of it and had the nerve to try the stunt anyway. Not everyone would be gutsy enough to do that, nor talented enough to pull it off.

Like many Italian directors of his day, Fellini filmed without sound and recorded the dialogue later. (It’s much easier to handle a film shoot when you don’t have to deal with microphones and recording equipment.) As a result, the actors’ lips don’t always sync up exactly with what they’re saying, and it’s often quite obvious that the dialogue was recorded in a soundproof studio rather than live on the scene. Having to read the subtitles (unless you speak Italian) adds another layer of emotional distance between the viewer and the movie, making it seem even less realistic and more artificial. It can take some getting used to.

As Crowther observed, the film’s plot is negligible. Think of it as a tour of the main character’s subconscious, which by extension reflects Fellini’s own psyche. Even if you’re not a filmmaker, which you probably aren’t, you may appreciate the insight into the way a creative mind works (or, at times, doesn’t work).

What’s the big deal: Fellini was already a beloved filmmaker when he made 8 1/2 — he’d been nominated for six Oscars, more than anyone else working outside the English language — and this film had two major things going for it. One, it represented a radically new style for him, the first movie to be truly “Fellini-esque,” and is thus a must-see for those wanting to understand one of foreign cinema’s largest figures. Two, it was transparently autobiographical, and people tend to love autobiographies of people they love.

Further reading:

Roger Ebert’s “Great Movies” essay does an excellent job of summarizing what the movie’s admirers love about it.

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Eric D. Snider (website) doesn’t know what to make a film about either. So he isn’t making one.

Tags: 8 1/2, fellini