Archeology is not always a noble pursuit, nor does the hunt for knowledge continually supersede the need to satiate one’s ego. Indiana Jones has danced around this notion for decades, fighting almost as hard for casual colonialism as he does against the Nazis, but Alice Rohrwacher tackles it head-on in her latest film, La Chimera. The Italian auteur, who previously directed Happy as Lazzaro in 2018, is a unique voice in contemporary cinema. Her films feel pulled from a different era, in which the off-the-cuff surrealism of Federico Fellini defined an emergence into a more abstract balance between emotional heft and intellectualism. Her latest — and grandest — effort to date is a treat for both the heart and the brain, teasing a fascinating exploration into the ethics of graverobbing whilst also examining how this pursuit of ancient artifacts can instill meaning into the lives of those who seek out the forbidden fruit.
Balancing delicately between comedy and wistful romanticism, La Chimera follows Arthur (Josh O’Connor), a grumpy and grief-stricken Englishmen inhabiting a small shack in the 1980s in a rural Tuscan village, both out of emotional stasis and financial circumstance. Though it’s never extrapolated upon, Arthur possesses the mystical ability to detect exactly where hidden treasure is buried, a skill that has transformed him into a reluctant folk hero amongst his merry band of collaborators. He hangs around with a group of fellow ne’er do wells (known as “tombaroli,” or grave robbers), including Pirro (Vincenzo Nemolato), with whom he routinely pilfers historical gravesites in search of valuable artifacts that they sell to an anonymous collector. The source of Arthur’s indolence is his pining for Beniamina (Yile Vianello), a woman he loved who has died under unknown circumstances, though he, as well as her mother, Flora (Isabella Rossellini), distance themselves from this tragic realization.
From its delightful opening sequence on a train, La Chimera possesses a remarkable magnetism in how it expresses Arthur’s inner turmoil within the bounds of subtle magical realism. It’s never quite clear what is occurring in reality versus a dream, or whether that even matters for Arthur. His power means that he’s drawn to dig deeper into the Earth even when he seeks to find some form of solace on the surface. Affixed with a permanent scowl and hunched-over 6’1” frame, the talented O’Connor is the perfect match for this type of character. He’s both handsomely charismatic and a bit pathetic, which is exactly his allure for both the audience and the film’s colorful ensemble.
It’s also what draws him towards Italia (Carol Duarte), an apparently tone-deaf singing pupil of Flora, whose earnest integrity (she’s horrified when she learns of Arthur and his friend’s pilfering) as well as keen observational skills, makes her a perfect foil and lifeline for his self-destructive urges. In spite of its dark edges, the film is deeply romantic. Italia loves Arthur. Arthur loves Beniamina. And in ways both different and alike, they share a profound love and respect for the treasures buried deep in the Earth.
Representing this balance between Arthur’s half-formed desires, both real and imagined, Rohrwacher shifts deftly between shooting formats and their corresponding aspect ratios. The film is captured on a mix of 16mm, Super 16 and 35mm, all filmed with a textural grace by cinematographer Hélène Louvart (Beach Rats, Never Rarely Sometimes Always). The playfulness of Rohrwacher’s direction, distinctly Italian in its mix of neo-realism and poetic abstraction, emerges fully realized as an evolution, rather than mimicry, of its influences.
In one of the film’s most memorable moments, Rohrwacher cuts between a montage of the tombaroli’s various (mis)deeds and a scene where they listen to a troubadour performing a ballad about their exploits. Moments like this lend a folkloric quality to the story’s events, as if the unfolding narrative has already been written into legend by those within it. Greed certainly has its part, but the group’s actions are much more about ascribing meaning to their own miniscule lives than monetary compensation. Eventually, history passes into legend. Perhaps by possessing these artifacts, those who steal them are weaved into the cultural fabric as well. It’s a currency, a stake-hold in the ownership of a national heritage that far outweighs any value a physical treasure might possess.
Strange, aesthetically gorgeous and profound, La Chimera is ultimately just as unknowable as the liminal space that Arthur inhabits within it. It’s an easy film to fall in love with, but just as easy to get lost in. That’s part of its beauty, of course, though also a potential point of frustration. This is the work of a confident filmmaker, who delights in the energetic push and pull of plunging her audience in and out of the dark. Even O’Connor’s presence highlights this tension. He’s a British actor, who speaks Italian throughout the majority of the film. The alien quality of his presence is mirrored in his abilities, powers that sometimes feel more like a curse. La Chimera doesn’t feel like a curse, though, it feels like magic.
Photo courtesy of NEON
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