Presented at the main showcase of the 76th edition of the Cannes Film Festival, where it competed for the Palme d’Or and won the AFCAE Award, La Chimera has received numerous international accolades in just a few months. Not only within international festivals, but also from the National Board of Review, which included it among the five best foreign films of 2023.
This mysterious work about a group of “tomb raiders” and the lost loves that may still be found has generated enthusiasm everywhere, confirming the great appeal of the young Alice Rohrwacher, who had already enchanted audiences and juries with “Lazzaro Felice”: the 2018 tale of a young farmer with a tender and naive heart.
La Chimera is a thought-provoking work. Not because it in itself generates deep reflections on the human condition, but because it leads us to reflect on the concept of style and the distinctive mark of an author, and how and why we consider one work more or less sincere than others. The line between authorship and the contrived construction of an author-like way is subtle, and in this film, Rohrwacher seems to transcend it.
Certainly, the director remains true to her pastel tones, to that naive and eccentric touch of her characters, and to the suspended and fantastical atmospheres that are mostly revealed towards the end. But more than in other cases, here she seems to indulge in self-satisfaction.
The story revolves around Arthur, a fascinating and silent Englishman who returns to a small village in central Italy where, at an undefined time, he lost his love: the beautiful red-haired Beniamina. The young woman hovers like a constant presence throughout the film, a taboo, a dreamlike vision or a dream, a memory always present, but above all an unresolved disappearance, so much so that it is only in the second half of the film that it is verbally acknowledged that she is actually dead.
While her mother, portrayed by the extraordinary Isabella Rossellini in a role as an elderly woman in a wheelchair, continues to wait for her in that old house hiding secrets, Arthur, in some way, seeks her. He does so unconsciously, in the tombs he plunders with his desperate companions.
Unlike them, he is not at all greedily attached to the old treasures of ancient funerary objects, which his team will then sell to the enigmatic Spartacus – whose face is only revealed towards the end, in the form of a sophisticated woman (played by none other than the director’s esteemed sister, Alba Rohrwacher). Quite the opposite.
Amidst daring escapes from the police and neighborhood opponents, Arthur embarks on an underground journey within the tombs, which is already a preamble to the journey to the afterlife. It is indeed a dual path: one of discovering the value of beauty, of things not meant to be admired by mortal eyes, of the sacred relationship between life and death that in this film blends with tenderness, and of transcending human materialism. The latter is perfectly exemplified by the relationship between the young man and the enchanting primeval statue, whose head he throws into the sea so that it is not the object of human greed.
But it is also a journey, both literally and spiritually, towards the rediscovery of his lost love. Beniamina, whom we catch glimpses of throughout the film, clinging to the red thread that unravels from her summer dress. The same red thread through which Arthur, lost, would find himself again.
In what can be considered a sort of modern reinterpretation of the myth of Ariadne and Theseus, the Palace of Knossos becomes the tomb of the ancient dead, the Minotaur to run away from is here the meanness of society, and the red thread does not lead to the physical salvation of the modern Theseus, but rather to his death, which is also his only spiritual salvation. Thus, he will meet Beniamina again, finally embracing her in disbelief.
The subject of the film described above can be said to be absolutely impeccable: profound, original, witty. If Rohrwacher had simply told this story in a simple and genuine manner, the result would have most likely been exceptional.
Instead, the director chose to tell it in a seemingly simple and genuine way, but one that is actually artificial. Often, the construction of the scenes exudes a calculated study aimed at creating a niche cinema style, the kind that many directors imitate fervently. The result is felt, it cannot be explained, but it is perceived on an instinctive and animal level. It is not enough to play with the camera at will, highlight natural ambient sounds and alternate them with atmospheric soundtracks, showcase details or different perspectives on objects, cleverly edit scenes, and present artificial or contrived characters and dreamlike sequences to make an auteur film. The only thing is to be an auteur.
But it is important to emphasize that, more than ever in this case, the judgment is confirmed in its textbook definition: an entirely subjective perception.
This is why La Chimera is a film that can only divide between those who will love it madly and those who will detest it.
There is little room for a middle ground.
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