Il Divo

There’s something about the atmosphere of a cinema that makes seeing a film in it much more enjoyable. The simple elements of total darkness except for the light from the screen; wall-to-wall screen and painfully loud surround sound, that when combined, push the cinematic experience over the cliff and straight into the abyss of pure enjoyment. Certain films just beg to be seen in a cinema and Il Divo is one of the finest cinematic experiences I’ve ever encountered. It’s undoubtedly at the top of the list along with Inland Empire, Mulholland Drive and Blade Runner. In terms of style, the film is excellent and manages to utilise all the cinematic constructive elements while still retaining perfect acting and a flawless script.

Il Divo follows certain parts of Giulio Andreotti’s political career, including his controversial ties with the Italian mafia. It also exposes a certain dream-like nature to Andreotti’s persona, making him far from likeable but, ironically, not entirely unlikeable. This is not to say that he is perceived as a fair-handed individual, but rather that he becomes more of an entertaining figure. Whether this was Paolo Sorrentino and Toni Servillo’s intentions is unclear, but it did certainly provide an interesting reflection of a dark, murky and mysterious past.

Sight and Sound recently said that Il Divo was one of the best shot films of the last few years and in all honesty, that is a very fair statement indeed. Like previous Paolo Sorrentino’s films that I’ve seen, Il Divo has a certain flowing and wispy nature to its cinematography. Each film seems to have been shot in such an objective way that it seems to stand back and let you take the film at whatever perception you seem to interpret it, whilst at times feeling somewhat surreal and intriguing. In my mind there are two scenes that immediately spring to mind to highlight this – the first being the large party scene at the start, in which we see the camera seemingly fly around the house; moving from room to room and halting on Andreotti. The second is the scene where Andreotti is simply sat in a chair and he is justifying to the camera, why he is the way he is. Although, strictly speaking, this scene doesn’t retain particularly outstanding cinematography, the sheer plainness and simplicity of it make it all the more engrossing. This monologue also carries itself with such poise and tenacity that it becomes so powerful that it throws you back into your seat, it becomes almost like watching 3 blockbusters simultaneously.

Something that I’ve always admired about Sorrentino is the way in which he uses the sound track. By this I do not mean soundtrack – music, ambience and dialogue – as separate entities, but sound track as a possessive nature; all three together. Sorrentino has always had a definite flair and finesse for making them all seem just as important as the last. Often at times, he seems to make it one of the most defining features of a scene, which is not only awe-inspiring, but it makes the visual and aural elements of the film at a perfect harmony, something which is often over-looked or neglected. Certainly one of the only other directors I know to achieve this kind of harmonisation on any comparable level is Stanley Kubrick.

Although some may say that Paolo Sorrentino is a style-over-substance director, but I would find this to be a mildly ignorant viewpoint, as not only are his scripts perfect and the performances he brings out of his actors sublime, but so is the way in which he controls his films. The fact that he brings out the highest quality in all of the elements of this films is a true testament to a director’s abilities. The way in which he makes his films is a type of filmmaking that seems almost lost in contemporary cinema and the way in which he presents them in the cinematic space of a theatre is one of the most powerful pieces of cinema that I can think of in recent years.