Life Is Beautiful (or La vita è bella in the original Italian) is a film I’ve been meaning to see for quite some time. I had long heard whispers about it that I could not quite believe—the fantastic story about a man who cast a cloak of fantasy and unreality over the horror of the Holocaust—was it possible?
The film is the story of an Italian Jewish waiter and his struggles: first, to win the woman he loves, and second, to escape a Nazi concentration camp with his family. They are mighty disparate stories and you’d have to see the film to fully believe that they fit together. The film’s first half centers on Guido, our trustworthy waiter, a comic invention on the level of Chaplin’s Little Tramp, from whom he unashamedly borrows.
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| Chaplin in The Kid; via google.com |
But through Guido, Begnini practices the restrained humor of not just Chaplin, but both of the great silent clowns.
While I hesitate a little to call Guido the perfect marriage between Chaplin and Keaton, the notion is striking. Critics have long noted the manner in which the two silent giants were opposite each other; Chaplin happened to the world while the world happened to Keaton. Chaplin was the consummate actor in his world—actor in the sense of action. Chaplin put events into motion. He was never afraid to make use of his surroundings and improve his situation.
Keaton, on the other hand, rarely ended up in a plot of his own doing. In The General he is practically dragged into the role of a Civil War hero. In The Cameraman his reputation is saved by his pet monkey (acquired, of course, by accident.) The world always wants to steamroll Keaton, but he always comes out on top.
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| Keaton in The General; via google.com |
I think the first half of Life Is Beautiful belongs to Chaplin. Guido, a happy-go-lucky man, exudes goodwill to all around him (save those involved with the Nazis) and extricates himself from sticky situations with a careful grace. But everything shifts once Guido has a family—a wife and a five year-old child; suddenly, things start to happen. His family is taken away to a concentration camp. He is forced to work exhausting hours. His son Giosué is forced to hide from the prison guards.
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The first half amounts to a wonderful, but unimportant, slapstick comedy. The second part is what elevates it. Guido understands that while he no longer has any choice left—he can no longer “happen” to the world as he did before—he can still control Giosué’s world. So he does. He convinces his son that the concentration camp is one large game and that the prisoners are merely contestants. The two of them are a team and must accrue 1,000 points to win. The first prize is a tank.
“A real tank?” asks Giosué. His favorite toy is a toy tank the size of his fist.
After his father convinces him of the game’s reality, for Giosué at least, the horrors of the Holocaust dissolve into a daily game of hiding from the guards.
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Benigni received much criticism for his “soft,” inaccurate portrayal of the Holocaust. The freedom Guido and Giosué are given throughout their imprisonment is improbable. The gruesomeness of their living situations is surely understated. The Nazi guards are…well…not quite evil enough.
But these historically minded complaints miss the point. The film does not set out to be a grim calling card from the past, a historical memorial like so many Holocaust films seem bent on being. Instead, it is a rousing cry to the ingenious endurance of the human spirit.
Guido maintains that spirit through the whole story, keeping his sense of humor at hand even through the tragic second half. Even when a man Guido had thought a friend reveals himself as a shameless egotist, when another might deem it wise to give up on humanity, Guido still manages a smile and draws a laugh from his son.
This is all, of course, at the cost of pulling the wool over Giosué’s eyes; is there anything noble or right in the deception that Guido pulls? Is it enough that the trick helped Giosué survive?
But of course it is right and noble! Were it someone else’s child—not Giosué—that might not be the case. But the fact remains that Guido knew Giosué and knew what he would think and how he would react. So he acted on it. He spun a terrific tale, a fabulous lie, but it was intended for Giosué, not for anyone else.
If you hated the film, then perhaps Benigni wasn’t spinning the tale for you…
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Benigni's acceptance speech for Best Foreign Film on Youtube (it would not let me embed):
And Best Actor speech:
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