Obsession

Luchino Visconti’s Obsession is worth an evening for the performances and the uncomfortable closeness of its people. It gives desire the urgency of a chance that may not come again, while remembering that the people involved still need food, work and somewhere to sleep. We recommend it with a reservation about the pace: 140 minutes is a long time to sustain this degree of unhappiness. The film sometimes lingers after a scene has made its point.

Massimo Girotti makes Gino Costa’s hopefulness painfully convincing, with desperation never far behind it. His face has an openness that keeps the character’s desires understandable even when his judgement gives us little confidence. We were moved by the eagerness in that performance; Girotti makes being wanted seem important enough to cloud everything else. Even when Gino seems certain about what he wants, Girotti leaves enough uncertainty in his expression to make us worry about him.

Clara Calamai’s Giovanna Bragana is a less immediately inviting presence, and the performance is stronger for that. Her dissatisfaction can be abrasive, but her reluctance to exchange the security of the inn for the road makes sense. Calamai keeps the practical cost of romance visible, preventing Giovanna from becoming merely someone for Gino to desire. Juan de Landa’s Giuseppe Bragana contributes a coarse, intrusive presence that makes their shared domestic space uncomfortable without making him negligible as a person.

Domenico Scala and Aldo Tonti’s photography gives that space its importance. The inn’s rooms feel occupied by people with jobs to do, and the kitchen looks like somewhere a person must spend the day working. The bodies within these rooms seem heavy and inconveniently close, while the road outside offers little reassurance despite the space to move. The images make it easy to understand the appeal of leaving, and harder to imagine what a life without this place would look like.

Mario Serandrei’s editing lets us spend enough time with the characters to notice discomfort that a more hurried film might pass over. That patience helps the attraction seem to develop among ordinary interruptions and obligations. It also becomes the film’s chief weakness: some encounters continue to underline feelings that the actors have already made plain. We do not need a quicker succession of incidents, but we do need the longer scenes to change our understanding more often than they do.

Giuseppe Rosati’s music can be too insistent about the distress on screen. Its intensity suits the characters’ desperation, though it occasionally tells us how much to feel when Calamai and Girotti have done enough. Visconti is more persuasive when he trusts their physical presence and allows the surroundings to remain ordinary. The inn needs no extra help to seem an unhappy place to be stuck.

As a crime drama, Obsession gives unusual attention to the small practical reasons people remain in arrangements they resent. The characters’ misery will not suit an evening in need of relief, and Visconti offers little distance from their dissatisfaction. Yet the attraction between these people remains credible without being made pleasant or sensible. Choose it when there is time to watch the actors closely, and no urgent need to be cheered up.