L'emploi

Domenico is a young man in a working class family with his parents and younger brother. With the need for money, he decides to climb the corporate ladder. The pay is low and the term is expected to be a lifetime. He joins a large group applying to join the joyless, bureaucratic world. He falls for fellow applicant Antonietta "Masetti". Her family is also in need and it's their first job. The aptitude test is a maze of Kafkaesque hurdles. The young neo-couple gets two jobs in different departments. There is no place at the clerical position for Domenico who becomes a messenger but he spends most of his days waiting at a desk in the hallway.

Ermanno Olmi is a lesser-known great Italian director. He's overshadowed by his more famous compatriots. That does not mean that this movie is any less than the great cinema of that Italian era. This portrays a young man on the verge of a long journey which may not go anywhere professionally and go everywhere personally. It gives a memorable vision of the corporate world. The young love has an adorable awkwardness. These are kids trying to be adults. It leaves the movie with a realism of post war Italy and a surrealism of the new emerging corporate culture. This is a great movie.

This is a shimmeringly beautiful, subtle and very powerful movie about all-too-ordinary people aspiring for "a job for life", and falling into an existence which will kill off any inkling of vitality, individuality and creativity in them, day in, day out. Olmi isn't a filmmaker I often see discussed on this website's boards, not even in a context about Italian filmmakers. Along with Mauro Bolognini, another wonderful but seldom-mentioned fellow countryman of Olmi's, he is occasionally mentioned for The Tree of Wooden Clogs, but not much else. I'll confess I'm not overly familiar with Olmi's oeuvre myself - however, since watching his 1961 gem Il Posto about a month ago, I have barely been able to contain myself and have tirelessly recommended it right, left and centre.

The dehumanising effect of the large corporation, with its ant-like clerks and bureaucrats becoming tiny clog in a faceless machine, is a universal and timeless theme, starting probably with Fritz Lang's Metropolis all the way down to Naomi Klein's No Logo. I never cared for Terry Gillam's Brazil, nor did I consider Sam Lowry an adequate embodiment of the "insignificant" clerk. There was something over-styled about him, something which made him ultimately hip and cool, and something gratingly farcical and rhetorical about Brazil and all its characters generally. On the other hand, Il Posto and its protagonist, the ultimate sympathetic wet rag of a clerk, is achingly real, yet at the same time a sublimely beautiful artistic creation that could probably not have been summarised as successfully by a less accomplished filmmaker. The measured, yet powerful visual satire in Il Posto is probably what I'd wished to see in Gillam's movie, and didn't.

The New Year's Eve office party scene is pure genius and should be studied in film school as a cinematic sequence close to technical, thematical, aesthetic and atmospheric perfection. It conveys so much at once: humour, pathos, social satire and extreme loneliness, besides being beautiful to behold and incredibly original cinematography-wise. It is at once highly artistic and entertaining, accessible. Quiet desperation: there's no better way to describe these characters' condition. Though Olmi doesn't spare us their selfishness and pettiness, he never fails to depict them with humanity and respect, thus showing his eye is a disillusioned, but not misanthropic or cynical one.

One of the final scenes in the movie, in which a gaggle of clerks fight for the privilege of sitting at a recently defunct colleague's front desk, is one of the most depressing sights I've set eyes on. And yet, you can't help but feel deeply sorry for these hyenas in cheap suits and neon-pale faces, rather than feel angry or scornful against them. You just want to scream to Domenico to "Get out while you can!!!" The poor, gormless, meek, dork-boy, bumbling through his first taste of a mediocre adulthood, a boy you fear might probably never grow enough of an awareness or backbone to react against such a dehumanising system. Antonietta, also know as Magali, the pretty girl he meets during the company's selection process of the applicants and fast develops an attraction for, seems to have more individuality, more resources to survive the dehumanisation process. But then, you think for a moment about the fact that from a very early age, Domenico had been designated as the one who'd drop out of school early so that he could go out and contribute to the family's meagre income. Meanwhile, his younger brother had been chosen between the two to continue studying, perhaps even get a high school diploma or degree, thus fulfilling himself and improving his lot. One would assume that from childhood, the milder Domenico had been treated as the "dim" one, the one who'd rightfully sacrifice himself to allow his more promising brother to emerge out of their family's working-class, suburban obscurity. The scary part is that this isn't simply a dramatic plot device to increase the pathos - it's so plausible and depressingly true to life for its time and context!

I was also deeply moved and touched by the fleeting appearance of the character of the older, married man who miserably fails the first written test (the one that the corporation's applicants take in an empty, grand old palace, so at odds with the suburban squallor and Northern Italian, typical 1960s industrial modernity). He embodies, epitomises and belongs to pre-economic miracle Italy, back when illiteracy and a rural existence was the norm. Probably either almost illiterate, or unable to apply even the most basic principles of arithmetic, he's a throwback to another era, which had ended roughly around the 1950s. He desperately tries to fit into the city, the burgeoning industrial North, the new Italy, but miserably fails before even getting anywhere. How will he and all those like him survive in this dehumanising shift into a brand new, industrial era? It's heart-breaking. Though Il Posto is also so much about Italy and its staggeringly fast move throughout the 50s and 60s from backward rural country to world industrial power, it remains first and foremost a universal, timeless movie. Very highly recommended.

If you summarize the plot of this remarkable movie, it gives you absolutely no idea of how good it is. A shy young man applies for a job, his first ever, with a large corporation in Milan. If he gets it he will be "sistemato" (all set) for life. He takes the entrance test, observes the other applicants, meets a friendly girl also seeking employment. We see in flashback some of the desperate lives of the other employees. The boy gets the job, begins working, finito!

IL POSTO (THE JOB) is more than that, however. It is a sensitive look at what people are and what impersonalized modern industrial society is capable of doing to their humanity. There is a fine Christmas party scene in which people's loneliness outweighs their frolic. In the movie's understated but unforgettable final image, our young hero looks oh so content working in his secure new job in his little back row desk, but the sounds of the mimeograph machines (remember those?) getting louder tell us that he too someday will become lost and crushed as others have been before him.

The film was renamed "The Sound of Trumpets" upon its initial U.S. release, a title which makes no sense for this gentle yet incisive work from the director who would later give us THE TREE OF WOODEN CLOGS and CAMMINA CAMMINA.

This is a film about ordinary people and it is told in an extraordinary fashion; a young man is not terribly excited to be entering the corporate world--and with good reason. But family and custom and lack of formal education can be persuasive, and so he tests for a position and finds himself in a well-ordered black and white world where individuals count for very little; sounds grim, but director Olmi has a keen eye for the richness of humanity, for the sensitivity of existence, for the quiet celebration of being human. This is a remarkable document, all the more so for being without breathless pacing or minute-by-minute explosions or rounds of gunfire; this is a quiet masterpiece about the richness that can be found by merely observing and the loneliness that is a quintessential part of being human.

This is a quiet film, but it leaves a lasting impression. For the good of his family, a young man (Sandro Panseri) has had to abandon his dream of continuing his education to become a surveyor, and hopes to get a job at a big company that's hiring in Milan. From the moment he steps into a crowded room of other applicants, we feel for him. We can already probably appreciate the anxiety associated with the life transition he's going through, but here it's amplified by the dehumanization of the process and the drones who run it. This continues on when he gets a job there, after which he's put at the same desk with an older worker, and finds that his actual duties are somewhat nebulous. It's so absurd as to be comical, especially as he encounters various forms of petty behavior and bureaucracy in the office.

Lightening the mood a bit is a love interest; he sees a young woman also interviewing (Loredana Detto), and has lunch with her. Even here we sense his awkwardness as he tries to make conversation, and then later struggles to re-connect with her. Panseri registers his feelings very well, often without speaking a word, and it helps that he has such a baby face. The scene where he attends a New Year's Eve party, showing up when only an older couple is present, sits through the somewhat cheesy entertainment, and is cajoled to dance by some kindly older women feels incredibly realistic, and of course this is what director Ermanno Olmi was going for.

Another memorable scene occurs after a worker dies, freeing up a desk for him, but everyone then vies for a better desk, and shifts positions. This may be a little exaggerated, but it is how it feels sometimes in a corporate setting, and the film made me think of Bob Dylan's words "twenty years of schoolin' and they put you on the day shift." There's a deadening of the soul that's taking place here, and while we suspect that the young man will be ok as his life plays out, there is a tinge of sadness in it.