It is quite inexplicable to me why many North-American critics and viewers have a visceral negative reaction to sentimental Italian movies. By Italian I don't mean necessarily the language but a certain easily identifiable directorial style. So this category contains movies such as _Il Postino_, _Cinema Paradiso_, _Malena_, but also English language films such as _Stealing Beauty_ and _The Legend of 1900_.
What they all have in common, besides beautiful cinematography, is that they try, quietly and modestly but nevertheless ambitiously, to investigate some aspects of the very essence of the human soul. The emotion used by many such movies, especially the ones directed by Tornatore, is nostalgia: by understanding the pain of irrecoverable loss we are supposed to understand what we truly needed. These movies express perfectly HL Mencken's definition of the artist as "one who observes the eternal tragedy of man with full sympathy and understanding, and yet with a touch of god-like remoteness."
However, for reasons I fail to understand, the unavoidable sentimentality of these movies bothers many critics and casual viewers to no end. It's true that sentimental art exposes itself the most to irony and cynicism, but it is nevertheless disappointing to see many critics taking advantage of its vulnerability and indulging in hitting hard and hitting low against such movies. No wonder that art in general, not only movies, is nowadays almost devoid of sentimentality. Artists choose to clad themselves in critic-proof armors of irony and sophistication. Honesty has long become a dangerous no-win proposition.
So I say 'Bravo!' to Tornatore for having the courage to give us some bullshit-free insight into ourselves by showing us what moves us and why. I also say 'Boo!' to the critics who don't get it, and who mistake their expectations and biases for some kind of objective artistic standard.
What they all have in common, besides beautiful cinematography, is that they try, quietly and modestly but nevertheless ambitiously, to investigate some aspects of the very essence of the human soul. The emotion used by many such movies, especially the ones directed by Tornatore, is nostalgia: by understanding the pain of irrecoverable loss we are supposed to understand what we truly needed. These movies express perfectly HL Mencken's definition of the artist as "one who observes the eternal tragedy of man with full sympathy and understanding, and yet with a touch of god-like remoteness."
However, for reasons I fail to understand, the unavoidable sentimentality of these movies bothers many critics and casual viewers to no end. It's true that sentimental art exposes itself the most to irony and cynicism, but it is nevertheless disappointing to see many critics taking advantage of its vulnerability and indulging in hitting hard and hitting low against such movies. No wonder that art in general, not only movies, is nowadays almost devoid of sentimentality. Artists choose to clad themselves in critic-proof armors of irony and sophistication. Honesty has long become a dangerous no-win proposition.
So I say 'Bravo!' to Tornatore for having the courage to give us some bullshit-free insight into ourselves by showing us what moves us and why. I also say 'Boo!' to the critics who don't get it, and who mistake their expectations and biases for some kind of objective artistic standard.