| Wis Avant ETE OE t ied raueaiwso! Yo SOCENBTER DINThe University of Chicago Press, Chicago 60637 Original Italian title: Fare un film per me é vivere (Marsilio: Venice, 1995) © 1991 and 1992 by Cinecitta International, Rome © 1994 by Marsilio Editori, Venice ‘Translation © 1996 by Marsilio Publishers, with the exception of the following articles, reprinted here by permission: “Making a Film is My Way of Life” © 1962 Film Culture; “Reflections on the Film Actoy” © 1966-67 Film Culture; “The Event and the Image” © 1963-64 Sight & Sound: “Reality and Cinema Verité” © 1965 Atlas; “What This Land Says to Me” © 1969 Atias; “Antonioni on the Seven-Minute Shot” © 1975 Film Comment; “A Conversation with Michelangelo Antonioni” © 1960 NY Film Bulletin; “An Interview with Michelangelo Antonioni” © 1969 Grossman Publishers. Preface to the American edition © 1996 by Marga Cottino-Jones. ‘This edition © 1996 by Marsilio Publishers. All rights reserved. University of Chicago Press edition 2007 Printed in the United States of America 16 15 14 13 12 11 10090807 12345 ISBN-13: 978-0-226-02114-0 (paper) ISBN-10: 0-226-02114-9 (paper) Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Antonioni, Michelangelo. {Fare un film per me @ vivere. English] ‘The architecture of vision : writings and interviews on cinema / edited by Carlo 4i Carlo and Giorgio Tinazzi ; American edition by Marga Cottino-Jones. ibliographical references and ind 978-0-226-02114-0 (pbk. alle - ) 0-226-02114-9 (pbk. : alk. - ie _2. Motion picture produ: ieeecers pe 3. Motion pictures. 1. Di Carlo, Catto, 1938 I. Tinaaee Gane . Cortino-Jones, Marga. IV. Tile + Tinaezi, Giorgio, PN1998.V.AS8A5 2007 : 791.4302! 33092—de22 {B) 2007016103 © The paper used in this publication meets the minimun requirems = of the American National Standard fe ion Scieree 4 n for Informat ne Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materiale, ANSI ae 48 48-1992,The Passenger (agp, j 4 THE “PASSENGER” THAT You DIpDn’T SEE17 I have always thought that scripts are dead pages. I have also written it. They are pages that presuppose a film, and without the film they have no reason to exist. They don’t even have literary value, The following sequence was not included in The Passanger for reasons of length. Therefore, there should be no reason to publish it. But I filmed it, and therefore it is a sequence that exists somewhere, inside a box at the bottom of some warehouse, and it exists in my memory and in the memory of whoever saw it screened—for example, of whoever edited it with me. I confess that I liked this sequence, not just because it was splendidly acted by Jack Nicholson and the German actor, but also because, in sup- porting the theme of the film, it also gave quite an unreal dimension to the reporter's character. Carried out on the ambiguous thread of memo- ty—you know that memory offers no guarantees—this sequence opened for Locke, the journalist, with daydream moments he enjoyed exploring. The name of an unknown woman, Helga, brings unexpectedly to his mind the memory of a red bicycle. Helga and the bicycle never encoun- — one another, but the fascination of the game issues exactly from that. For a man like Locke, who has already given up his own identity to 17 “Il ‘Reporter’ porter’ che ne . Translated by Allies oe visto,” from Corriere della Sera, 26 October 1975:MY FILMS / rar assume another's, it cannot but be exciting to run after a third at even need #0 wonder how it will end, one Hie T flmed.the scene with sinuous and barely perceptible cam ments. TO think of it now, it seems clear to me that I was unereaciols tying 0 carry oUt 2 movernent similar to that of our imagination, when serps to give life 10 images that dont belong to us, but that, tle b i eae make our own. We color them, we give them sounds—glimmers er golor and sound—but lively, just like our memories. Or like dreams o Gch ae inadequate and laconic as far as content is concerned, but very Fich in sensations and thoughts. Ts Munich, in Bavaria. A square dominated by the apse of a church, and by the imposing side of another. A square that would resemble an interi- or if it weren't for an airy sound of bells that fades away as Locke moves away from the churches. One begins to notice a chorus of young voices coming from another building, hardly disturbed by the sound of a street sweeper’s broom dragging on the pavement. Locke stops to listen for a moment, and then goes on walking again. With his hands in the pockets of his pants, and his shirt unbuttoned, he lets his heels lightly tap over the stone pavement without a precise rhythm. Perhaps he is even looking for anew way to walk. He starts down a street. He stops in front of a storefront that was once a window. Just a few objects; old and exotic stuff, sophisticated. They stand out against the darkness of the store as though they are actually illuminated by an inner light. Inside there is a tall, fat man, about forty- five years old, with a big, childish, red face. The man stops in the middle of a gesture when he realizes that Locke is on the other side of the win- dow. He seems to recognize him. He says, as ifto himself, “Charlie.” And then louder, to Locke: “Charlie!” Naturally, there is no reaction on Locke’s part. The man calls again, and this time Locke bends down and looks to see where the voice is coming from, inside the store. And he sees the man set off towards the door next to the shop window, then go out into the street and come meet him with the happy expression a one who is having a pleasant, albeit unexpected, encounter 1 aaa/ THE ARCHITECTURE OF VISION 122 ts, “Charlie!” Locke turns, thinking th meone behind him, but he doesn’t see : the og a bit hesitantly, he in turn holds out his hand, which the cad Sy, vigorously. “What a pleasure—what a pleasure! What are you doing he, It has been centuries since we have seen each other.” He has i te) voice, appropriate to his physique. Locke observes him, forcing i to recognize him, but it is evident that the slightly coarse features ae face are totally unknown to him. And he limits himself to saying, J me just passing through.” “But what a pleasure,” repeats the German, a can't believe—after such a long time.” He gives Locke a slap on his left shoulder and continues to stare him, visibly submersed in a wave of memories. “We should celebrate this meeting. Let’s go drink something.” “Let's go,” Locke responds with good-natured resignation. “Just like old times,” the other concludes. They set off. Their footsteps are brisk, youthful. Locke responds to the German's second slap by taking him under his arm. They cross a crowd- ed street. On the sides are yellow and pink houses. The air is clean, calm. Locke is more agile, and reaches the opposite sidewalk at a run. ‘The German, on the other hand, hesitates; he is afraid of the traffic. Locke waits for him and together they enter a pub. woph a ae place, heavily decorated with empty barrels, fice ee : oe ee weighed down by beer. The glasses are oe cellar and then handed over to girls, who bring si YP me One of these girls comes over to greet them. The German SS eed nguyen, “haz ieee 2 aoe and soda.” The girl leaves and the two sit ees ntinues to stare at Locke with a slightly obtuse am eee antl seems truly happy to be there with an old friend. "So, how Ga evthing gone for you?” he asks. Locke shrugs his shoulders. Th continues: “With all of th j ee ae keep up with you was mind bess ose projects that you had going" He talks and laugh ng ooBelings you know?” He laughs. : gountenance, almost creati a Locke, on the other hand, maintains a quiet friend. He no longer ae a barrier between himself and the unknow™ els uneasy. Rather, his recent embarrassment hand, the man repea man is speaking f° sotMY FILMS / 125 «4g to melt away. Nevertheless, he feel cs wel have by himself not inthe compa hl isan experince that me, has begun 0 imitate is old fend Chae een citing the witty remarks that have evidently remained in fe will build a new world’—The human spirit is ready to be ey me always remember it.” Locke avoids looking at him, = ‘A few yards away from them, on the staircase that leads to the uj floor, the legs of those who are walking upstairs can be seen. The nad of the footsteps on the wooden stairs has a strangely military rhythm. ote looks away and glances outside, beyond the windows, at the bus- tle on the street. It is a carefree street. It is morning. The German breaks rot jence: “No children?” “No. I adopted one but it didnt work out” “You were always saying that you would never have children.” Locke turns to look at him. “I don't remember having ever said anything like thut*he observes quietly. "I do,” insists the German, Meanwhile, he pulls a photograph out of his wallet. “Mine have grown up, you know?” He lays the photograph on the table in front of Locke. “This is Maria—and this is Heinrich, Heinrich is a big fan of pop music.” Locke gives a cursory glance to the picture. The girl arrives with the Campari and sodas. Each takes a sip of his. Putting down the glass, the German literally changes his expression. He becomes sly, allusive. He lets a couple of seconds go by before saying, “Do you remember Helga?” Locke smiles. Now he is beginning to have fun. “Helga? What a name.” “She's married. Remember the policeman? Surely he would have arrested me if it hadn't been for you—and every- thing would have been out in the open, my trafficking, my little adven- tures, All of it. Now she is married. She is @ housewife.” ae Locke lights a cigarette, to react to a light sadness that seizes him. After a minute he begins to speak, always ina low voice: “Yes. It’s strange how you remember certain things and forget others. Ifall of the wuld, we remembered everything that we have forgotten and forgot every ung, that we remember, we would be completely different people... a The German, without having ‘understood well, has ae = ae He changes the subject. “Do you remember the song thatISION SHITECTURE OF V ag / THE ARCHITE n't think so.” The fact that Locke doesn’t Eanebes wil i German a certain satisfaction, so he himself does, ae Lars hand to the song. “Living doll vn aaa ving dell_-Remember?” “T remember a bicycle that ] had? ae weplies, “Red? The German's face darkens. “A bicycle? No, I mean—when we were together.” Locke becomes more and more ironic, “When we were together? What was it like? a Now the German seems dismayed. He looks Locke right in the eyes, for a long time, with a consternation that makes it clear that the atrocious suspicion of a misunderstanding has flashed into his mind, although it was then thrown out. Locke, on the other hand, is impassive, and the German can find nothing better to do than explode into a roaring laugh, which slowly dies down in unison with the swaying of his head. Locke also laughs. “Helga,” he murmurs, “how fun she must have been!” “Ah yes,” echoes the German. Again silence. The German finishes drinking and then drums the table with his fingertips. Now it is he who is embarrassed. After a while he gets up, saying: “T have to go. Work, you know.” He looks for money in his Pocket to pay for the drink, but Locke stops him. “No, no—I’ve got it.” The German sighs, almost as if he wanted to show his regret at having to leave. “So—come back and vis) visit me,” he German leaves, He crosses the eee n room which, i i fmptied owl ae the door, He tums Lode ees , Wavin, | @ / hone he is alcadyon se aes sys softly. But the German can't > intent upon finding the righ t £0 ight momen! cross the street. ad and looks sing?” “No, Ido Locke lowers his he; soda in the glasses, “what is left of the Campati and