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Feb 22, 2015 Web Exclusive By Austin Trunick

When a film’s described as “Felliniesque,” it’s usually in reference to one or more rather specific qualities. There’s a level of fantastical lyricism; eccentric escapism; and, typically, a preoccupation with the human grotesque. With that loose definition in mind: Satyricon is Felliniesque as f*ck.

The film was loosely adapted from a collection of stories presumably written by Gaius Petronius in the first century AD—Satyricon actually uses the term “free adaptation” to describe itself. The Satyricon is considered to be a work of satire pertaining to Roman life under the reign of Nero, the emperor famous for allegedly “fiddling while Rome burned.” The tales are usually humorous or risqué in nature, many detailing the excesses of Rome’s senatorial (ruling) class. Nearly two millennia after it was written, Petronius’ work survives only in an incomplete form; large sections were lost, and passages start and then cut off abruptly without natural beginnings or endings.

Like Petronius’ manuscript, Fellini’s film primarily centers on former gladiator Encolpio (Martin Potter) and his teenage boy lover, Gitone (Max Born). And like Petronius’ manuscript, Fellini’s film moves from scene to scene abruptly, without following any logical path. (It seems as if Fellini was intent on freely adapting The Satyricon’s form as well as its story.) Thus, looking back at Satyricon a few days after viewing can feel like searching for a connective thread between a series of dreams hours after waking up. In one moment, Encolpio is trapped in a crumbling city during an earthquake, and following the very next cut he’s calmly perusing an art gallery—it’s a jarring, nonsensical transition, and fully intended to be. (Almost every scene arrives in this manner, as if the previous one had never happened.) To add to the feelings of disassociation, Fellini chose a wonky method of dubbing, which makes the dialogue not match the movement of the actors’ lips. It’s a distraction, not only while reading subtitled Italian dialogue—but even more so when characters are spouting strings of un-subtitled gibberish.

“What does the poet say? Each moment presented may be your last, so fill it up until you vomit… or something such.”

Satyricon is a difficult movie by Fellini’s own design. The ways in which it was written, shot, and edited are off-putting enough, but the subjects in front of his camera are every bit as unpleasant. You have to suppose that the manuscript’s descriptions of Nero-era hedonism were a primary attraction for the filmmaker—his cinematic translation of Ancient Roman ribaldry is where Satyricon goes full Fellini. He seems to have taken every opportunity to parade a line of human grotesques through the frame; the screen is frequently filled with extras likely chosen for their distinctive features, rather than traditional beauty, typically in a state of undress and lewd performance. In an unshakeable scene near the film’s beginning, Encolpio escorts his lover home through a nightmarish stone village; in each room they pass, extras are engaged in baffling sexual acts or offering rude gestures—waggling tongues, shaking flesh, etc.. A few minutes earlier, Encolpio is seen rescuing Gitone from a thespian to whom he’d been sold as a slave; we see a snippet of a play they’re performing, which involves both severed limbs and boisterous flatulence. Through much of its runtime, Satyricon is a veritable symphony of belches, gibberish, and farts.

Fellini described Satyricon as his science fiction film, a claim which feels tenuous at best; however, the movie’s grand scale and indulgent set design do place it as a closer cinematic cousin to Flash Gordon than something like Spartacus. The production design, from the bold lighting to the actors’ caked-on makeup, is fantastically over-the-top, and is, for many, the film’s lone element of fascination. Most viewers will find it difficult to look away, as much as they’d like to.

If you’re intent on braving a two-plus-hour film that was made to make its audience uncomfortable, Criterion’s Blu-ray is the best way to go. The 4K restoration is jaw-dropping: colors leap from the screen, and every pock mark and skin defect on actors’ faces is rendered in detail. Extras included are an audio commentary, two documentaries, and interviews, both new and archival. There’s also an interesting walk-through of Satyricon collectibles—posters, programs—that’s a cool feature, and one that would be great to see Criterion revisit on future titles.

www.criterion.com/films/28038-fellini-satyricon

Author rating: 6/10