La Dolce Vita



Cinephile

Today, a very nice man who comes into our office brought me an original copy of the book,"La Dolce Vita." The book includes 100 pics from the movie, as well as the SP (English translation).

Both being from this area, we had previously enaged in some small talk about events going on around town. He had mentioned that Nights of Cabiria was playing at The Rendezvous. I told him I loved Fellini and the next time he came in . . . voila, he handed me the book, which he had two copies of. The book originally sold for 75 cents.

While reading the book, for some reason I was reminded of a customer I had back when I worked at the Lusty. Maybe it was summoned by what could have been. He was a regular, although he saw other girls too, and he would request that we act out a particular scene from the movie 9-5. He played the boss, of course, and I played Lilly. The show always involved the same scene, which was the scene where Dolly, Lilly and Jane tie him up. The customer had the lines memorized and he would coach me on mine. However, I always seemed to fuck up: 1)Probably due to the fact that I really didn't give a fuck about the movie; 2) I hadn't seen the movie in 20 years; 3) The customer was an arse and gave me anxiety, making me feel like the character in Carnal Knowledge.

There were points during our shows that his face would actually scrunch up and turn bright red with frustration. If he had a script in his hand, I swear he would have thrown it at the window towards me, told me I was fired, and stormed out of the booth.

Zut Alors!

I now leave you with a scene (one of my favorites) from La Dolce Vita . . . cue the Nino Rota.

SCENE 23: STREETS NEAR THE FOUNTAIN OF TREVI, AND THE FOUNTAIN.

A silent narrow street in the old part of Rome. Marcello stands by the car, looking around anxiously. Behind him not far away, Sylvia is kneeling by the wall. Now she rises, and we see that she has found a little white kitten. She picks it up tenderly and lifts it to her face.

SYLVIA: Meaou . . . meaou . . . Italian kitty, are you hungry?

MARCELLO: Sylvia, what are you doing?

She does not answer. All her care and love are centered on this white kitten and its needs.

SYLVIA: Poor little thing, we must find some milk for you. Marcello, we must find some milk for him.

MARCELLO: Beloved, where do I find milk at this hour?

SYLVIA: I saw a bar over there.

Irritated and upset, Marcello does not know how to respond. All evening he has been counting on being alone with Sylvia, on making love to her, and all evening, in her strangely childlike mood, she has eluded him.

MARCELLO: But what do you know about where to get milk? Look, wait in the car. I'll go. Wait in my car.

He hurries off, annoyed and faintly ridiculous--a man who wants to make love hunting through the empty streets for milk for a kitten. He passes through a small square, past two parked cars and an old cart, its shafts pointing up in the air. In darkness, lovers are embracing.

MARCELLO: Excuse me, where can I get some milk? . . . All right, all right, thanks anyways.

After Marcello leaves her, Sylvia does not go back to the car. Instead she strolls on, enjoying the silence and peacefulness of the streets. For the first time since her arrival in Rome, she is alone. As she holds the little kitten to her face, caressing it, the hard glamor of her public role is dissolved and we see Sylvia as she really is: a woman with the body of a sex queen and the emotions of a little girl. At a crossing, she hesitates, then wanders slowly down a covered gallery. Along the walls are tattered signs and little shops, closed now in the deep night. The music of the nightclub at Caracalla is heard again, gentle and far away, as if played on a distant harp. The little kitten cries hungrily.

SYLVIA: Meaou . . . meaou. Why do you cry so much? Meaou. Meaou.

She lifts the white kitten and places it on her hair, like a hat. Oh hello, pom-pom. Hello, pom-pom. She pauses and asks casually, as if talking to herself: Marcello, where are you? Where did you go for that milk?

From somewhere close by comes the sound of falling water. She hears it and hurries forward. At the end of the street she comes upon a large, open square, completely unexpected. In its center, surounded by a wide pool, is the beautiful fountain of Trevi.

SYLVIA: Oh, my goodness.

She goes to the edge of the pool, takes off her white stole, and places the little kitten on the ground beside it, saying: Wait just five minutes.

Quickly she takes off her shoes and steps into the water. She wades forward, lifting her evening gown as the water rises against her thighs. Then she drops the gown and lets it float on the water. She goes back to the back of the fountain, where the water spills off a ledge of rock, and stands in the flow, letting the falling water bathe her face and breasts. She lifts her arms, and her head falls back in ectasy. At the edge of the pool, Marcello stares at her in wonder, a saucer of milk in his hand. She sees him and calls.

SYLVIA: Marcello, come here. Hurry up.

Marcello puts the milk down by the kitten and goes back to the stone bench. He starts to remove his shoes, never taking his eyes off Sylvia.

MARCELLO: Yes, Sylvia. I'll come too, I'll come too . .

He would like to enter her mood, yet he feels absurb. But her naturalness, her total abandon to sensual delight, pulls on him. He sees her as the figure Eve, fresh and unspoiled in a decadent and sophisticated world.

MARCELLO: Yes, yes, she's perfectly right. I've been wrong about everything. We've all been wrong about everything.

He steps into the water and strides toward her. She holds out her arms to accept him, laughing with pleasure. Marcello takes her in his arms.

MARCELLO: Sylvia, Sylvia . . . who are you?

In answer, she lifts her hand from the water and holds it over his head, letting the drops fall like a blessing.

SYLVIA: Listen!

We hear the thunder of the fountain as the water falls from the rock ledges into the pool. Marcello leans to kiss her.

MARCELLO: Sylvia.

But the sound of the water dies away . . . and now it stops. The fountain has been shut off. Marcello and Sylvia look up. It is daybreak. At the edge of the pool, a boy delivering bread on his bicycle has stopped and stands watching them gravely. They step apart and begin to move slowly out of the pool.

Who Links Here

. . .