La luna

Not quite sure how I exactly feel about this film. As with a lot of Bertolucci movies, there are plenty of cringe-inducing moments, from the overblown Verdi opera scenes to Jill Clayburgh campily dancing around to rock music screeching "Oh yeah! In the 60s we believed in THINGS!!!" Taken as a whole, the movie is very uneven, psychologically muddled, heavy-handed and overlong. But there are haunting stretches in this movie which continue to resonate with me -- an opening passage where Clayburgh is biking in the night with her baby, and even smaller moments like the strangely beautiful shot of the teenagers skateboarding down the streets of Rome, or the kid dancing to "Night Fever". I would love to rewatch it and hope it get released on DVD. It's a fascinating entry in Bertolucci's work. A mess, but I think it's stayed with me more strongly than 1900 or Tango, though I think The Conformist still reigns supreme.

Jill Clayburg's acting was powerful and melodramatic as she attempts to use sex and herself to lure this disturbed son away from cocaine addiction. It gets almost pornographic and thereby uncomfortable to watch as the boy was only about 14. One could argue that he was an under-age actor who was being sexually exploited while Bertolucci was acting out some of his own problems while in psychoanalysis.

On the other hand, such movie-makers do the audience a service in bringing incestuous behavior and psychology to consciousness, where it lurks unconsciously in most people. Mother-son seductiveness is not that rare but is mostly denied and rationalized.

This is one of Bertolucci's best films. After the sudden death of his stepfather, whom he believes was his real father, the teenager Joe and his famous mother (played by Jill Clayburgh) depart for Italy. There, the unresolved enigma of his real father, his erotic attachment to his mother, the narcissism of the mother, and his own inability to truly connect with anybody else drive Joe into the world of heroin. His mother discovers his habit, and out of a combination of guilt and her own narcissistic loss of boundaries, first colludes with him to procure the drug, and then attempts to soothe him in his despair through sexual stimulation, and gets drawn into the Oedipal vortex into which Joe has plunged. This film demonstrates with great power the devastating consequences of the failure to resolve the Oedipal conflict. The film is difficult to find in America, but is well worth the effort.

Another memorably visual movie piece to add to this cult director's belt, and again, I was not disappointed, and more so appeased, as I really enjoyed this one, more than I thought I would, by some stretch. If you analyze the story, it actually makes sense. Let's face it, mother-son incest, is not too appealing, but this movie doesn't exploit, but more rationalize it, in a tame and poignant way. The wonderful Clayburgh, really carries this film, with such a roping performance, as a widowed mother and opera singer, who lost her husband (Gwynne) of all people, to a heart attack. She and young son, move to Italy, and it's not the best choice, as son merges with the wrong crowd of friends, and falls victim to heroin, supplied by a local town punk or playboy, who Clayburgh confronts later, and throws him an offer. Such a strong message is plastered across the screen about parent neglect, and we so much feel for the poor son, any mother would be proud to have, who's just drowning in a sea of self worthlessness, and there are moments, when we really hate Clayburgh's character, but we know why she has become, like this. The chosen locations of Italy are beautiful, especially the night shot ones. The opening scene, was beautifully shot and unexpecting, but totally pulled me in, part metaphor if you decide to watch this film , which I highly encourage you to do. Son and mother performance are equally impressive, and Clayburgh, is like a hot potato. You don't know how she'll react, and what she'll do next. The ending is mesmerizingly thought stirring, visually as well. I suggest you take a good look at La Luna. I'm glad I did. A stand alone, stylish, original treasure.

A childhood memory, looking into his mother's face with a full moon creating a halo around her. Beautiful and so Italian. The mother in this case is Jill Claybourgh, she was raiding the crest of the wave then and it's very telling that she would choose to play a part that required, not just appearing completely nude but making love to her teen age junkie of a son. She is awkwardly terrific. Her face is a voyage in itself. I would have use quite a different wardrobe for her character as well as make up and hair style but maybe that was just a sign of its day. Jill laughs saying "I am crazy" and that would explain some of the dangerous nuttiness she indulges in here. Her son, played beautifully, by unknown - before and since - Matthew Barry. A Bertoluccian teen sex object if I ever so one. The film has oodles of moments to cherish. Tomas Milian plays the boy's real father. They've never met, His father still lives in a rather intense relationship with his mother, the stunning Alida Valli. In small, very small parts, Carlo Verdone, Roberto Benigni and Renato Salvatori. A film to enjoy with your heart, your gut and your libido but not your brain. Just live your brain for other Bertolucci jewels.