The Flesh

Sergio Castellitto and Francesca Dellera

Marco Ferreri's The Flesh (La Carne) is one of the more successful comedies from the provocative Italian satirist. The ten or so features of his I've seen range widely from good (La Grande Bouffe) to abysmal (Don't Touch the White Woman). To my mind, The Flesh tops them all. Ferreri was known as favoring a loose and improvisatory approach with his actors, but he was more interesting visually, especially in his use of color, than most comic directors of his era. The script for The Flesh, by Ferreri and a host of collaborators, is mostly a two hander with masochistic Paolo (Sergio Castellitto) being tormented by Francesca (Francesca Dellera) at his seaside abode in Anzio. Paolo is a dweeby cocktail pianist who runs off with Francesca after meeting her at a disco. He rejects all contact with the outside world: forsaking work, friends, and family (an ex-wife and two kids), all for his siren. She turns him into a helpless creature, totally dependent on her largesse, but tables are turned at the end. The names of the twosome are supposed to call to mind Dante's tragic lovers from Rimini, but Ferreri only alludes to past mythos in order to subvert and transform it.

Paolo is a schlep who is dominated by everyone, not just Francesca, but even by his own children and dog. Castellitto and Ferreri wisely choose not to make Paolo a complete disaster at his job. Castellitto agreeably navigates Franco-Italian lounge standards, albeit with a kazoo instead of a mouth harp. The score ranges from Paolo Conte to Kate Bush to Queen, all memorably and knowingly used. Castellitto gets to show off his physical dexterity in the role even when his character has been paralyzed. Francesca does this when Paolo has a stiff member so she can utilize his services at her leisure. Castellitto, ironically, is a lively victim. Viewers of the recent Conclave, where he played a conservative Cardinal, would do well to sample this example of the full range of the actor's talents.

Francesca Dellera has little to do in comparison except to loll indolently in various states of dishabilles. She is playing a cartoon of female sexual power; a hard R Jessica Rabbit. Her visual splendor commands the screen with brilliant tongue in cheek. Prince was entranced enough to buy up a Paris theater for a private showing and, presumably, to woo Ms. Dellera. For once, mighty Prince struck out. The film's Francesca uses her sexual power to dominate Paolo. Their relationship is an inverse of traditional sex roles. Paolo hardly leaves the house while Francesca roams free. Francesca applies mascara to Paolo and makes him don a light blue sari with a fetching shawl. Paolo is repeatedly warned to beware Francesca, but falls in her thrall just the same. When she attempts to leave for the next lover/victim on her list, Paolo finally gets proactive. Francesca's fate equates ritual cannibalism with the Catholic eucharist, just like The Golden Bough.

Not that Ferreri is out to make a great statement, but there is a consistent strain of feminist critique bound within the tight framework of The Flesh. The supporting cast is limited to vignettes with the happy exception of the always welcome Philippe Léotard. The feminist tang is most apparent in a sequence at the supermarket where the butcher shows Paolo the various cuts of meat on Francesca's torso and flanks. Women are just a slab of meat in the world of this film. What makes this palatable is Ferreri's reverence for female fecundity. Francesca is not only a sexual beacon and dynamo, but an enthusiastic nursemaid. Paolo can only ape Francesca's regenerative powers by consuming her. The print of The Flesh on Tubi is barely adequate.