Word: vitti
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...hiding my Jeep," bellows the lord of the manor, Curt Jurgens. To please his eccentric sister, he dresses in period costume and banishes all evidence of the 20th century from the family's isolated ancestral estate in the Swedish lake country. Jurgens' second wife is Monica Vitti, a sultry charmer who enjoys a casually incestuous relationship with her brother Sébastien (Jean-Claude Brialy) and soon begins cooing with Cousin Eric (Jean-Louis Trintignant...
This self-consciousness keeps him from expressing gracefully any emotions he might actually feel and also from understanding anyone else's feelings. Vittoria (Monica Vitti) brings him to her mother's house and makes an innocent joke: she lies on her old bed--now much too short--and laughs gaily. Piero makes an ill-timed and unsuccessful pass at her and destroys her pleasure...
Eclipse. A mess of burnt-out butts. A young man (Francisco Rabal) and a young woman (Monica Vitti) sit looking at them, at what is left of their relationship. ''I tried to make you happy," he says hopelessly, and hopelessly she replies: "You did not succeed." Why not? What was missing in their lives? What do people need in order to be happy? In this gloomy little masterpiece, Michelangelo Antonioni does not try to answer such questions. He simply shows how one young woman tried to answer them-and failed. He tells the story of a luteless Orpheus...
...extraordinary effort of style, as a definitive treatment of the themes Antonioni developed in L'Avventura and La Notte. As in those films, he employs the method of tedium to explain the nature of tedium, but he employs it so skillfully now that boredom is seldom boring. Vitti, as always, is endlessly fascinating, a luminous mannequin clothed with Antonioni's projections. And Delon is appropriately repulsive as a young man in a hurry. In the scenes at the stock exchange, Antonioni finds his brokers, as Auden found them, "roaring like beasts on the floor of the Bourse...
...early morning. The scene is a street, somewhere on the outskirts of a large city, almost always deserted. A bird might light on a telephone wire or a tree shudder briefly by the wayside, but all else is still. The camera pans in on a woman (Jeanne Moreau? Monica Vitti? Anouk Aimee? Emmanuelle Riva?). She is doing The Walk. Her hands flutter at her skirt, her hips tip from side to side, slowly, sensually. She walks past the tree, or telephone pole, or both, or a thousand of each. Occasionally, she stops, touches a fence post, a tree trunk...