The coolest, most happening movie of the “Swingin’ Sixties” was made by someone in his mid-fifties.
A self-absorbed London fashion photographer (David Hemmings, wonderful) snaps photographs in Maryon Park, prompting a woman (Vanessa Redgrave, anxious, vibrant, haunting), apparently with her lover there, to demand the roll of film. The boy refuses. After successive blowups of portions of the developed photos, he comes to believe that the assignation preceded murder. In the park at night, he locates the corpse. But both photos and the body subsequently show up missing.
Michelangelo Antonioni’s brilliantly directed Blowup, inspired by a Julio Cortázar story, claims a mesmerizing first half that follows the photographer about, including into an antique shop, where he buys an airplane propeller; when the mystery plot kicks in, though, the film turns feeble. However, the contrast created by black-and-white photos in a (beautiful) color film is surprisingly powerful, and the photographer’s gradual slippage into his humanity convinces. Moreover, the return to the park and the finale are fabulous, with the protagonist, embracing the illusionary nature of reality, tossing an imaginary ball to a couple engaged in pantomiming a tennis match.
Sound is as exquisite as image in Blowup: the rustling of tree leaves in the breeze; accompanying a closeup of the boy’s face as his eyes follow the ball, the sound of this imaginary ball as it strikes opposing racquets. The boy’s face registers the loss of innocence—the loss of the safe, insulated, egotistical world in which we first found him. This conclusion is wry, satisfying and deeply moving—the equal of the finish of Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958).
One thing more: Blowup contains the best movie line ever. “I thought you were in Paris,” the photographer tells a model at a party. Zonked, she replies, “I am in Paris.”
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BLOWUP (Michelangelo Antonioni, 1966)
By grunesThe coolest, most happening movie of the “Swingin’ Sixties” was made by someone in his mid-fifties.
A self-absorbed London fashion photographer (David Hemmings, wonderful) snaps photographs in Maryon Park, prompting a woman (Vanessa Redgrave, anxious, vibrant, haunting), apparently with her lover there, to demand the roll of film. The boy refuses. After successive blowups of portions of the developed photos, he comes to believe that the assignation preceded murder. In the park at night, he locates the corpse. But both photos and the body subsequently show up missing.
Michelangelo Antonioni’s brilliantly directed Blowup, inspired by a Julio Cortázar story, claims a mesmerizing first half that follows the photographer about, including into an antique shop, where he buys an airplane propeller; when the mystery plot kicks in, though, the film turns feeble. However, the contrast created by black-and-white photos in a (beautiful) color film is surprisingly powerful, and the photographer’s gradual slippage into his humanity convinces. Moreover, the return to the park and the finale are fabulous, with the protagonist, embracing the illusionary nature of reality, tossing an imaginary ball to a couple engaged in pantomiming a tennis match.
Sound is as exquisite as image in Blowup: the rustling of tree leaves in the breeze; accompanying a closeup of the boy’s face as his eyes follow the ball, the sound of this imaginary ball as it strikes opposing racquets. The boy’s face registers the loss of innocence—the loss of the safe, insulated, egotistical world in which we first found him. This conclusion is wry, satisfying and deeply moving—the equal of the finish of Alfred Hitchcock’s Vertigo (1958).
One thing more: Blowup contains the best movie line ever. “I thought you were in Paris,” the photographer tells a model at a party. Zonked, she replies, “I am in Paris.”
Tags: Antonioni/Grunes, Vanessa Redgrave
This entry was posted on November 2, 2007 at 11:05 pm and is filed under Formal Capsule Film Comments. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.