Is
the cinema the seventh art? The question, so often asked, is a classic
problem of definition for the screenplays and artistic projects of the
great filmmakers of all periods in all countries. From the very beginning
the crucial difficulty was the codification of an independent language
for the cinema, one which like that of music, literature, painting and
the other arts could affirm its own identity through its freedom of expression.
Thus, if on the one hand theoretical and linguistic demands pushed the
historical avant-garde movements towards experimental
and innovatory cinema, on the other the cinema, including the most commercially
orientated kind, was concerned to acquire some of the
artistic dignity of the theatre, so that the new form could achieve the
kind of cultural legitimacy which would attract the bourgeois audience
of the early years of this century to the screen from the serious stage
and the opera house.
Thus cinema and the figurative arts formed their first fruitful partnership
at a cross-roads between the search for a specific language and that for
a more than merely popular audience, and set in motion the history of the
Art of the Century, with its interwoven patterns of artistic experiment:
from the problems of perspective and image-framing to those of light and
composition, from the new ground broken by dadaism and the French surrealists
to the establishment of movements such as German impressionism and expressionism,
so clearly linked to schools of painting. In some instances, such as both
futurism in Italy
and dadaism and surrealism, too, the cinema was not only drawn to the figurative
arts, but even became a workshop for painters. Dalì, Man Ray, Duchamp
all laid down their brushes for a time to take up the camera. The twenties
were one of the most fascinating artistic moments of the century. They
may also be identified as the period in which for the
first time a tiny band of cultured and knowledgeable cinephiles began to
gravitate around artistic centres and provide a public for art film screenings.
The Ciné-Club de France was founded in 1924 and supported avant-garde
directors and their work; the Tribune Libre du Cinéma began its
activities at the Exposition des Arts Décoratifs in the same year.
In
1926 the Studio des Ursulines opened its doors to "recruit an audience
from the Latin Quarter's elite of writers, artists, intellectuals and from
among the ever increasing numbers of those disenchanted with the poverty
of certain programmes".
The partnership between cinema and the figurative arts did not cease with
the passing of Europe's historic avant-garde, and although in many ways
a repetition of that level of osmosis appeared unrepeatable, while relations
between the two forms of language
became more tenuous, nonetheless the mutual borrowings between the two
arts continued in rich and intriguing fashion. The great cineastes of the
thirties began to play with a stock of images derived from art history,
and references and allusions to figurative art traced a syncretic pentagram
for giving shape to an ever more complicated language of the cinema. A
few illuminating examples may serve: Max Ophüls' The Bartered Bride
(1932) recreated a circus in which Picasso's Saltimbanques cavort; in Une
partie de campagne (1936), Jean Renoir recreated pictures between naturalism
and impressionism, inspired by the paintings of his father Auguste, but
also by those of Manet, Monet and Degas. The seventeenth century parable
of Carl Theodor Dreyer's Day of Wrath echoed the works of Rembrandt and
Vermeer, while Luchino Visconti faithfully reproduced a painting by Francesco
Hayez, The Kiss, in his Senso (1954); in La ricotta (1963) Pier Paolo Pasolini
produced a new version of Rosso Fiorentino's Deposition; Federico Fellini
referred to the Dead Christ by Mantegna in his Satyricon (1969), while
for Barry Lyndon (1975), Stanley Kubrick drew on the iconography of eighteenth
century painting in Britain, from Fuseli to Gainsborough. Examples abound
up to the present day - we
need only think of any film by Peter Greenaway. But instead of continuing
the list, it will suffice to repeat that there exists a two-way link between
cinema and the arts: both have their differences and their independence,
but both occasionally fall prey to a fascination with one another, whether
by "borrowing" from the palette of the figurative arts for film
or, like Francis Bacon in Three studies of the human head, by "stealing"
the artificial movement of a cinema reel.
Matteo Pavesi