The Conformist: Bernardo Bertolucci

Bernardo Bertolucci's The Conformist is one of those blessed films where the camera becomes a character in and of itself. The story of Marcello Clerici, a young member of the Italian fascist secret police in the years leading up to World War Two, is fascinating enough on its own to carry an entire film. But the film's narrative is enhanced by cinematographer Vittorio Storaro's virtuoso camera-work and shot compositions. Every single frame is constructed with the skill of a master painter. In fact, the film is so visually striking that it occasionally draws your attention away from the plot. Looking back, I am flooded with memories of striking images: the sterile, empty lobbies of Fascist buildings, the (almost) empty cathedral, the damp Parisian countryside, the squashed yet mysteriously spacious insides of vehicles. Bertolucci's vision of Fascist-era Europe is a kind of lush fever dream. This adds a certain other-worldliness to Clerici's personal odyssey. Desperately seeking acceptance in the new social order, Clerici joins the Fascist police only to be assigned the job of assassinating one of his old college professors and good friends, Professor Quadri, in Paris. Clerici's decision to betray Quadri is a powerful statement on the nature of Fascism and how it can transform seemingly ordinary citizens into monsters. The film reminds me of a moment in Bret Easton Ellis' infamous novel American Psycho when the eponymous Wall Street businessman/serial killer is confronted with the question of why he goes through the hollow motions of living a high life of luxury and refinement even though he is incapable of gaining any pleasure from it. His answer: he wants to fit in. How apropos.

9/10