Federico Fellini’s La Strada (translated “the road”) is a parable about the journey of life in an extraordinary rawness that explores basic human emotions amid a world still trying to heal from the destruction and traumas of war. The film centers on the life of a young woman named Gelsomina (Gulietta Masina) who is sold by her poor mother to become the wife and assistant to the beastly and brutish Zampanò (Anthony Quinn), a traveling circus performer. Gelsomina, a simpleton described by her mother, is plucked away from her impoverished life in order to adapt to a new world where the wounds of World War II are raw but life continues to move forward. Like all Italian Neorealism films reality is an aesthetic, where the visual simplicity transcends into an expressionist parable about life’s miracles amid moments of despair. This is clearly illustrated in the way Fellini paints a black and white documentary–like narrative that captures images of a world ravaged by war juxtaposed with the poetry of human life and the emotions that accompany it. Through this, the magical parable is explored through its paradoxical sentiments. In this case, there is beauty through poverty, kindness and love through brutality, and redemption through tragedy—and such sentiments are chronicled in the harsh journey of both Gelsomina and Zampanò.
Although both Zampanò and Gelsomina come from impoverished backgrounds, Gelsomina and Zampanò differ in their approach to life. Zampanò resents life and sees himself as a by-product of the time, whereas Gelsomina creates a new life outside her simple life as a poor beach resident. Thus, Zampanò is world-weary, whereas Gelsomina is world-hungry. The road they must travel through is marked with dilapidated buildings with peeling paint and chipped edifices, twiggy trees, fields with patches of weed and grass, and debris. As traveling performers, Zampanò and Gelsomina make an arduous journey amongst the cold, biting winter to find an audience who will pay for their performance. The performance consists of Gelsomina sounding off a drumbeat to signal Zampanò’s grand entrance who will then perform a “stunt” of having to fill his lungs with air and causing the chains wrapped around his torso to break. For Zampanò, the performance is merely an end to a means, a belittling of his existential value, which perhaps contributes to his hostile demeanor towards life. He trudges through life like a snarling animal, brutal and hostile to the people around him. He is devoid of any type of endearing human emotions. He feels the chains of his own self-inflicted imprisonment, prompting him to interact with people either through violence, hostility and aggressiveness while he resigns himself to a harsh world. For Zampanò, the world is cruel. He is all about the physicality of life, oversexed and possessed by animal-like and rabid impulses. On the other hand, Gelsomina willingly accepts her new life—unbeknownst of the hardships that await her as wife and traveling performer.
As a result, they each create their own “realism” as they go through life. For instance, Gelsomina approaches life with naïve optimism in the midst of her new role as a circus troupe vagabond. Zampanò is acutely aware of this and disdainfully tells other traveling circus performers that “She is not like us. We’ve seen the world.” He has traveled through an irrevocable “wasteland” and has a temperament of an antagonistic survivor. Her naiveté allows her to be in touch with a new world. And through this, she touches the hearts of the misfortunate as opposed to Zampanò. Her work provides a magical respite to others. Untainted by worldly experiences, Gelsomina moves from a primitive, desolate world that began at a barren beachside where she originally comes from to another world where the ruins of war are still apparent. But her naiveté and innocence are what makes her open to new experiences where she is willing to embrace life—no matter how difficult it may be. Critics have deemed her a female Chaplain with a tattered bowler hat and boyishly clown face. She is the tramp at the right place and at the right time, often providing something new to the hapless during her travels. More specifically, the scene with a wedding event captures the beauty of life juxtaposed with the hardships of day-to-day life. During the wedding celebration, the children lead her into a room with a bedridden boy who is bounded in his bedroom. The room is partially illuminated where the dancing shadows become a surreal, yet magical moment for the boy who has not seen or experienced life. The children tell Gelsomina to “make him laugh . . . do what you were doing before.” She flails her arms like a bird and walks around a chair. The camera lingers on a wide-eyed young boy who sees something enchanting, a clownish figure, which to him, is almost dream-like. She, too, returns a lingering stare. The kinship between two innocents who is still unfamiliar with the world becomes a telling moment for both Gelsomina and the young boy. They are kindred spirits. For the both of them, it is a brief moment of magic—and most of all, a poetic escape.
The conceit of suffering enables Gelsomina to come into grips with the meaning behind it, which, in turn, becomes a form of martyrdom—a position that is frustrating to watch—but it also reveals the beauty behind Gelsomina’s forgiving personality. In essence, her journey with Zampanò “is a fable about Beauty and the Beast; in the case, however, Gelsomina’s beauty is interior, not exterior, and it is Beauty who loves the Beast, not the other way round—at least for most of the picture” (39). Although Zampanò is contemptuous of intimacy and love, she tries to connect with him anyway by asking him where he is from. He grunts in response and dismisses her attempts to bond with him. In pure Chaplin playfulness, she imitates his scowl, making light of Zampanò’s disdain for life. Most of Zampanò’s interactions with Gelsomina consist of treating her like a circus animal. When he tries to teach her how to play the drum to signal his grand entrance, he whips her with a tree twig when her performance or training is not exactly on par with his act. As a result, she responds to him like a nervous animal. When Zampanò engages in his dalliances, she is abandoned on the side of the road—naïve in her understanding of adultery. And when she finally develops the gall to leave him, she is able to see another side of the world. For instance, when she meanders through a town, she is caught in a crowd of worshippers amid a Virgin Mary procession. The event becomes something hopeful, powerful, and indeed spiritual. But before she can ever make sense of it in her life and truly relish in it, Zampanò finds her, and she reluctantly returns to him only to be mistreated again. Because she is his paid wife, the concubine equivalent, she feels obligated to him. This becomes a very frustrating sacrifice in which some critics such as feminist critic Molly Haskell points out. She does not see Gelsomina as an admirable martyrdom who will one day save Zampanò. Instead, she is a mere doormat “up it flips and ready for a new day” with “a new foot in its face” (311). Gelsomina is a mere object used and tossed aside according to Zampanò’s temperamental whims.
However, when Gelsomina befriends the Fool, another traveling circus performer, he becomes an angel of hope as she struggles with her existence amid Zampanò’s unbearable abuse. Because the Fool is a foil to Zampanò, he is both an angel and temporary reprieve for Gelsomina’s physical and existential suffering. Unlike Zampanò, he is gentler in temperament and approaches life light-heartedly. From this, the Fool is her teacher when it comes to achieving a skill and understanding her self worth. For instance, the Fool teaches her how to play the trumpet through encouragement and inspiration—a glaring contrast to Zampanò’s abusive instruction. The melodic tune becomes a symbolic motif, emphasizing a moment of comfort or a reflection of personal woes. When Gelsomina masters the art of playing the trumpet, the melodic tune signifies comfort and personal triumph. Moreover, in moments of despair, the Fool teaches her how to reassert a new and worthy identity. After enduring Zampanò’s abuse, she asks the Fool “Why was I born?” Between sobs she says “I’m no use to anybody.” The Fool thinks otherwise. He tells her “Everything in the world has a purpose . . . Even a pebble has a purpose.” The Fool convinces her to proceed through life with a purpose, that is, to inspire love. From his words of encouragement, she is awakened to her identity as a martyr where it eventually becomes Gelsomina’s raison d’être. In turn, this begs the question: “Does the world create who we are do we create the world around us?” According to the Fool, people are capable of creating who they are. She is a woman who is worthy because she has the power to turn a horrible situation into something positive. From this, he convinces her to believe that Zampanò actually loves her. Her worth is important because she can be Zampanò’s spiritual guide. Thus, “she, the idiot, ugly and useless, learns one day from this vaudevillian that she is something besides an outcast” (Bazin 58). Instead “she learns that she is irreplaceable and that she has a destiny, which is to be indispensable to Zampanò” (Bazin 58). This again gives gravity to her raison d’être. And, therefore, she stays with him, recreating a new type of reality that miraculously gives Gelsomina the will to continue on in life with hope as opposed to despair and futility.
But such purposeful existence is short-lived. This is clearly illustrated when Zampanò kills Gelsomina’s angel (i.e., the Fool). Such tragedy is no surprise because the Fool’s main flaw is having no limits. Literally and figuratively, he is faulted for living on the edge. For instance, when Gelsomina first sees the Fool, he is performing a risky acrobatic stunt during night hours, which consists of walking on a tight rope, in the middle of a piazza. He is also is a chronic risk taker when it comes to mocking Zampanò. The animosity between them is exacerbated when the Fool’s uninvited comedic jab interrupts his performance and trivializes its seriousness. (In contrast, Zampanò haughtily hails the performance for being too much for a “delicate” person to witness.) It is no surprise that the Fool will eventually become a victim of Zampanò’s wrath. Therefore, when Zampanò and Gelsomina inadvertently meet the Fool who is stuck on the side of a road due to an inoperable vehicle, Zampanò becomes vengefully opportunistic. Zampanò and the Fool engage in another scuffle. Zampanò, twice in size and greater in strength, is able to fatally pounce on the frail and puny Fool. Before the Fool drops to his death, he utters the final words “you broke my watch.” Symbolically, time has stopped for both the Fool and Gelsomina who has witnessed the horrific tragedy. Her martyrdom and hope have suddenly ceased. Because her angel is gone, Gelsomina is pulled into perpetual bereavement. She cannot go on through life. Instead, she becomes a whimpering dog as her spirit is killed. When Zampanò tries to resume his journey with her, she can no longer play the drums to signal his grand entrance because she is stuck in time, whimpering, saying over and over again “the Fool is hurt.” When Zampanò tries to get her to eat, she is reminded of the Fool’s tragedy and grieves for the Fool. As a result, her raison d’être is no longer relevant. Not only does Zampanò kill the Fool but he has killed the spirit of Gelsomina as well. Therefore, her will to live has vanished. She has no purpose. The encouraging words from the Fool no longer exist. Troubled and disturbed by Gelsomina’s depression and grief, Zampanò realizes that the murder of the Fool is not limited to just one casualty but two.
Such tragedy becomes a turning point for Zampanò as he begins to feel something less barbaric—and more human—in this case, guilt. Because he is constantly reminded of the Fool’s death through Gelsomina’s undying grief, he realizes he has gone too far and cannot truly justify his actions, especially to Gelsomina. He states: “I didn’t mean to kill him. I just punched him a couple of times. He wasn’t hurt. I bloodied his nose a bit. I turn around, he drops dead. The rest of my life in prison for a couple of punches? Just let me work in peace. Don’t I have a right to live?” But can he go on living with the sin he has committed? Can he live in peace? Because he is wracked with guilt and Gelsomina’s anguish becomes contagious, he, too, can no longer continue on with his life as before. Gelsominia becomes a penitential reminder. In order to avoid battling with his conscience, he tells Gelsomina that he is willing to send her back to her mother. However, she responds, “If I don’t stay with you, who will?” In spite of her willingness to stay, he decides to leave her anyway while she is sleeping—and tries to live life without Gelsomina. But unbeknownst to the Zampanò, Gelsomina is someone he actually needs. Without her, he continues to drink and gets into more needless scuffles. His world is more of a hellish wasteland than before—as he is still troubled not by his angst but more so by his guilt.
Thus, part of the paradox of sentiments is that compassion stems from tragedy—and this is definitely the case in Zampanò’s predicament. Moreover, “The stupid and stubborn brute who is Zampanò could not have discovered the need he had of Gelsomina through his conscience, and certainly could not sense the eminently spiritual nature of the tie which united them” (Murray 58). Bounded by his own animalistic imprisonment, something needed to be released—in this case, it is his own humanity. His world without Gelsomina, places him in a penitential purgatory. He feels the pangs of guilt and loneliness as his life is devoid of Gelsomina’s spiritual guidance. Gelsomina who has demonstrated a sense of warmth and affection towards Zampanò in spite of his cruelty is no longer with him to remind him of the basic principles of humanity. She was the embodiment of the kind human spirit. Without her, he resorts to a destructive escapism—continuous drunkenness as opposed to repentance.
The turning point in Zampanò’s life happens when he stumbles around a woman who sings a familiar melodic tune—the same tune Gelsomina learns to play because of the Fool. When Zampanò hears it again, it becomes a signal or a cue that channels love, compassion, and most of all, grief. He asks the woman the origins of the tune. She tells him that she got it from Gelsomina. The woman tells Zampanò that her father discovered her at a nearby beach and was kind enough to take care of her. However, she ends up dying anyway. Zampanò is overwhelmed with sadness after hearing the news of Gelsomina’s death. Towards the end, he is seen crawling on hands and knees in the middle of the seashore while being enveloped in darkness. He then releases a loud wail. The pathos of humanity now become part of his primordial urge—prompted by the surfacing of his own humanity he can no longer deny. What he tries to hold back is too strong, too unbearable. Therefore, it was not love that begets love—as Gelsomina once hoped for. Rather, it was tragedy that magically begets love.
Works Cited
Bazin, André. La Strada. La Strada. Essay in Criticism: Federico Fellini. Peter Bondanella
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editor. Oxford University Press, 1978.
Haskell, Molly. From Reverance to Rape: The Treatment of Women in Movies. Penguin, 1974.
Murray, Edward. La Strada. Essay in Criticism: Federico Fellini. Peter Bondanella editor.
Oxford University Press, 1978.
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Written specifically for Film Criticism and Theory class who needed to appreciate the powerful allegory behind La Strada, December 31, 2017
And dedicated to my beautiful noir cat, Fellini, who died November 14, 2017.
