The Conformist (1970)
Critic Consensus: A commentary on fascism and beauty alike, Bernardo Bertolucci's The Conformist is acclaimed for its sumptuous visuals and extravagant, artful cinematography.
The Conformist Photos
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as Marcello Clerici
as Professor Quadri
as Anna Quadri
as Lino Semirama--the Chauffeur
as Marcello's mother
as Marcello's father
as Giulia's mother
as The Colonel
as The Minister
as Cieco ubriaco
as Marcello as a child
as Marcello's Daughter
as Male Nurse
as Hired Killer No. 1
as Hired Killer No. 2
as Hired Killer No. 3
as Hired Killer No. 4
Critic Reviews for The Conformist
It's easy to overlook how stark The Conformist's political and allegorical message is because it's just so damn beautiful.
It's yesteryear remembered with a combination of nostalgia and repulsion, a queasy combination that defines the film and gives it a kind of hideous allure.
The unsettling blend of images and ideas in this movie cannot satisfactorily be disentangled or decoded, and it's the very strangeness of Bertolucci's masterpiece that has made it so influential in cinema history.
Photographed by Vittorio Storraro, it's a mélange of the sensual haziness of '70s European art-house fair and the high-contrast, anxious angles of film noir
Audience Reviews for The Conformist
A different kind of movie about fascism than we're used to in the 2000s--one that makes little use of the jackboots and black uniforms and waving banners that have become almost cartoony fetishizations--The Conformist is in many ways the simple story of a man who takes a job. It's subtle and understated and chilling, a human story in an inhuman time that unfolds slowly, almost like a detective novel. It's rich in every shot and impossible to look away from. An absolute must-see.
Appreciate it more than I enjoyed watching it. Beautifully shot, incredibly insightful, often boring.
A fine movie, but dry and difficult to relate to. I can't imagine many people calling this a favorite. I have a great deal of respect for its craftsmanship, above all, most notably because the filming is beyond gorgeous. Vittorio Storaro, cinematographer extraordinaire and thrice-over Oscar winner, creates a film that looks insular and harsh even when the environment itself is enticing. A jovial dance scene turns into a cruel, claustrophobic show of mockery for our main character; a beautiful snow-covered forest becomes a scene of carnage and despair. The film is bleak and mundane, probably in keeping with its Fascist parallels, which strengthens the thematic link to its detached protagonist Marcello. He's unusual for his primary goal, which is to assimilate into the rest of Italian society and be completely forgotten. Along the way he somehow determines that the best way to do this is to become a low-grade Mussolini hitman, subsequently tasked with putting together a hit on his old college professor. Marcello becomes stranger still when you take his back story into consideration - he was molested as a child, a likely cause of his burning desire to be normal, and creating an unusual sexual ambiguity that adds weight to the ending. His loyal, oblivious wife was also taken advantage of by a much older man, and it's at this point you realize that the fact that they're both card-carrying Fascists is no coincidence. The notion of wanting to find your identity by shedding it completely is somewhat unnerving, and clearly the film's strength, because what still stands as a strong theme now must have been revolutionary in 1970. It's a little easy to kick the dead Fascist horse forty years after the fact, but so be it.
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