La Ricotta

Soon after Mamma Roma, Pasolini wrote and directed the delicious satire "La Ricotta" (yes, the title refers to the cheese) for the compilation filmRo.Go.Pa.G. (1963), with the three other segments by Roberto Rossellini (Rome: Open City, Paisan), Jean-Luc Godard (Breathless, Week End), and Ugo Gregoretti (their abbreviated names make up the otherwise cryptic title). In the written prologue which opens his film, Pasolini knowingly mentions the "biased, ambiguous and scandalized judgments" which he expected although he could hardly have predicted the four-month prison sentence for "blasphemy" which he received, although it was later suspended.

"La Ricotta," one of the funniest inside looks at movie-making I know, is the story of a temperamental, Marxist-ideology-spewing director (played by none other than Orson Welles Citizen Kane himself albeit with a dubbed Italian voice) trying to film the Passion of Jesus. Pasolini, in his prologue, calls the Passion "for me the greatest event that has ever happened." The film focuses, however, on the hapless bit-part actor Giovanni Stracci (his name literally means "Joe Rags"), trying to steal enough food from the film's caterers to feed his family and himself in between playing the "good thief" who was crucified along with Jesus.

Like Mamma Roma, Stracci is a universal figure, but here the comedy goes even further, although in miniature. Stracci's literally insatiable appetite caused by both his debased social condition and his own unselfaware greed leads to the unforgettable ending, which is equally hilarious and poignant. "La Ricotta" makes explicit the religious themes of persecution and sacrifice in Pasolini's two earlier features while introducing an even more overtly political theme. That ideology comes across not only in the director's tirade to the uncomprehending reporter (played by the same actor, Vittorio La Paglia, who was the bamboozled restaurant owner in Mamma Roma) in which he goes on, at length, about the hopelessly corrupt nature of the "conformist average man" but through the comedy of Stracci's scenes too. Pasolini makes that crystal clear when the actor playing Jesus (or rather, one of the actors as we'll look at in a moment) tells Stracci, with both of them nailed to their respective crosses and ready for their close-ups, "You're always hungry, yet you stay with those who starve you." Stracci does the equivalent of a shrug and says that that's just his lot in life. Pasolini's feelings about such self-destructive resignation come out clearly in the climax.

Speaking of Jesus here, the role seems to be played by two different-looking actors a wiry one in the color scenes of Jesus being taken down from the cross, and a beefy one in the black and white scenes. This mystifying split, not only between the juxtaposition of deeply-saturated (almost abstract) color and black and white but between two seemingly disconnected yet supposedly simultaneous sequences points up Pasolini's most important stylistic development. "La Ricotta" reflects his change from Neorealism to a more in-your-face symbolic and visionary style, which he uses in most of his

later films. Also, this short picture highlights the rich vein of humor, often earthy, which runs throughout his entire body of work. We can also see reflections of his eclectic choices for two favorite filmmakers: Chaplin ( The Gold Rush, City Lights) in the slapstick and overall pacing, and Dreyer (The Passion of Joan of Arc, Day of Wrath) in the meticulous and thematically- and emotionally-rich pictorialism.

The oil on wood painting which Pasolini recreates is "The Deposition from the Cross" of Jacopo Carruci, known as Pontormo, from about 1528. (In art history, "Deposition" refers to the the motif of Jesus being taken down from the cross; on another historical note, Pasolini would have known that Pontormo, who defined the style of Mannerism, was also a gay artist, like the epoch-defining Botticelli, Raphael, Titian, Leonardo, Michelangelo, and Caravaggio.) Although I don't want to turn this review into an art history lesson, it's worth noting that Pontormo's composition is a twisting knot of figures, and robes, all pivoting on the confused boy in the pink tunic at the bottom-center (like some High Art version of the game Twister). Impressive as this living tableau is, Pasolini also milks it for laughs and maybe with more than a bit of self-mockery at his own artistic ambitions by having this sacred pyramid come tumbling down. Everybody, including Ettore Garofolo (co-star of Mamma Roma) who'd been holding up Jesus, cracks up. That return to real life, and gutsy humor, is one of Pasolini's strong points (although scarilegious to some), and it runs throughout all of his films. Although I'm sure there are many possible readings not only of why there are color inserts in this film but of why Pasolini chose what he did for the effect, here is my suggestion. There are basically two subjects shot in color, and both reveal much about the filmmaker: the director may be played by Welles, but he is pure Pasolini (he's even reading a hardcover book ofMamma Roma). Besides the Deposition which never quite comes off we have a still life of food going to waste on the elaborate spread put out for the always-lounging, but never-working, stars. Of course, this feast ties in directly with Stracci's (fatal) goal of getting as much to eat as he can. It's also worth noting that that final (color) shot is the first of several gorgeous, and thematically resonant (even delicious beauty decays and note the flies darting about), still lifes in Pasolini's films. You might want to compare it to the one in The Decameron direct link to shot. A moment later, when he cuts to the main action in black and white, the effect is purposefully jarring.

Intriguingly, Pasolini opens before zooming in at the end of the credits to the still life with two handsome young male crew members, one barechested, doing a cha-cha-cha together in front of the feast. Later, when we see similar shots of crew guys and the food table, there is certainly no dancing. This puzzling disconnection leads me to suspect that the color shots reflect the subjective perhaps even fantasizing point of view of the film director. Not only does he indirectly "out" himself as gay with a vision the sexy guys dancing (the possible theme of sexual appetite connected with the scrumptious food on the table) but the collapsing Deposition tableau indicates his ultimate lack of control, which further suggests his insecurity. On still another level, it may also indicate Pasolini's playfully self-mocking comment on the folly of trying to duplicate one medium in another. Still another internal connection in the color scenes is the jaunty music, first heard under the guys dancing in the credits, turning up later as the wrong "mood music" for the Deposition: cha-cha-cha instead of the churchy Scarlatti piece the director wanted. Significantly, all of the reverse angles of the color Deposition scenes makes it clear that those shots are absolutely impossible in the world of the rest of the film, which makes up over 90% of "La Ricotta." Not only is there no soundstage let alone a different actor playing Jesus (with his tastes, Pasolini would have found him less sexy than the well-chiseled man in the Deposition scene) but the black and white scenes are all shot on a scorching mid-afternoon in an open field. In other words, there is a total disconnect between the reality of the black and white location shoot and the color "living tableau" scenes, which appear literally disembodied in a completely bare black room (presumably a soundstage or is it some fantasy zone inside the director's head?). You might think that we are supposed to assume that these two disparate plot strands represent different places and times, but everything in the black and white shots makes it clear that the director is stopping action on the Deposition scene. There is much more to savor in this gemlike short comedy, from the many hilarious performances to the gorgeous cinematography (in both black and white and color) to an eclectic mastery of rhythm, from the tongue-in-cheek stateliness of the Deposition (before it collapses into a pile of rolling, giggling actors) to the speeded-up antics of the insatiably-hungry Stracci (reminiscent of the silent era comedies which Pasolini loved). But "La Ricotta" also looks ahead to one of cinema's most beautiful and heartfelt masterpieces, which Pasolini spent years planning: The Gospel According to Saint Matthew.