"Life Isn't Like in the Movies"

I am of the opinion that all film’s well that ends well. True, films are not fairy tales and their characters do not always live happily ever after, but I might venture to say it is imperative, or at least de rigueur, that a film resolve itself triumphantly and conclusively.

David Bordwell might agree. In his exploration of the traditions established by “Classical Hollywood Cinema,” Bordwell defines a movie ending as, “a decisive victory or defeat, a resolution of the problem and a clear achievement or nonachievement of goals." It can be argued that the film Cinema Paradiso adheres to this paradigm, but in an unexpected way that perhaps undercuts the “Classical Hollywood Movie” structure as we know it.

Centered around the goings-on of an Italian movie house, Cinema Paradiso seems at first to be a tribute to both the art of film and the culture that surrounds it. But, as the film progresses it takes on another raison d’etre: warning viewers of the dangers of being indoctrinated into the mentality championed by the Hollywood myth. Through and ending that is an example of markedly anticlimactic “nonachievement,” this film reveals itself as, not an homage to the idealized Hollywood trajectory, but rather a blatant dismantling of it.

Film is shown to be a literally dangerous medium early on, when Toto’s mentor and fellow cinema-phile Alfredo is rendered blind by a fire caused by an enflamed reel. And even after the development of an anti-flammable sort of film, the dangers of movies remain in the form of the mentality they cultivate. When forced to endure lives that don’t live up to on-screen realities, disillusionment is inevitable. As put by Alfredo in one of his final soliloquies, “Life isn’t like the movies. Life is much harder.”
This declaration is a dramatic change in tune for Alfredo’s character, who, even after his accident, seems to deify the wisdom found in film and, frequently referencing the American movie canon as a source of real-life guidance.

Another example of Hollywood-hero worship is found in the association of Toto’s father with Clark Gable. It is mentioned that the two men bear great physical resemblance. As Toto walks hand in hand with his mother to his father’s burial, we see him glance at an old poster for the American film Gone With the Wind featuring the iconic image of Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh in a passionate embrace. It seems that throughout the rest of the film he is chasing the dream promoted by this film fantasy-- he yearns to live out the relationship his mother was denied by untimely death.

It seems that Toto’s adolescent life becomes defined by his desire to fulfill this fantasy. When he meets Eleanor, he is instantly convinced that she is the consummate love interest—the one and only object of his affection. Her appearance seems indicative of a very deliberate decision on behalf of the director—she may be Italian, but she looks every inch a blonde-blue-eyed Hollywood starlet. Her picture is even tacked to the wall by Toto alongside the headshots of major movie stars legends of the day.

Over and over we viewers are given ample reason to believe the Hollywood love myth. We are convinced that love will eventually conquer all, and that dreams, even if deferred, will eventually be obtained. For example, when a downtrodden Toto becomes convinced on a sad New Year’s Eve that Eleanor will never love him and that romance is worthless, he is proven wrong: she appears in the projection room and they share a blockbuster kiss. Later, we find Toto wallowing in despair, upset that Eleanor is away at college. He stares up at the stars as a movie flickers on an outside projector in the background, and viewers begin to wonder if perhaps he finally feels a disconnect from the film love featured on the screen behind him. Suddenly, his faith in love is restored when Eleanor appears dramatically in the rain for another Oscar-worthy smooch. Every time we are led to believe that Toto has been a fool to subscribe to the beliefs championed in movies, we are corrected by a love scene more dramatic than the previous disheartened one. We are meant to believe that romance transcends and trumps all.

The ending, however, defies all of our expectations and leaves us in the very place of disillusionment that Alfredo warned us about.

The audience expects another grand Hollywood rescue. We expect Toto to buy the theater and restore it, and to thus restore our faith in the concept of the movie. We expect him to follow his mother’s orders and settle down with Eleanor, the original love of his life. We expect him to pay some sort of momentous homage to his late mentor, Alfredo.

Instead, we see the demolition of Cinema Paradiso, the fizzling of the relationship between Toto and the preoccupied Eleanor, and the stoic, no-frills burial of Alfredo. The final scene presents the last stand and eventual collapse of Toto’s faith in film magic. As Toto sits in a dark theater watching a series of once-omitted love scenes, he seems to realize that his love for Eleanor was no more than an infatuation with the love depicted on screen. His tears stem from his understanding that his life’s devotion had been nothing more than a façade, and, as a director, that he had dedicated his own life to producing material that would similarly fool posterity.

While this ending is not uplifting nor is it expected, it is decisive, and proves that there is more than one way to end well.