Visconti's Death in Venice qualifies as one of the most beautiful films ever made. While watching, we acknowledge we are in the hands of a visionary genius. Endlessly opulent Death in Venice surely is; but in other important ways, it's an unsatisfying film. Thomas Mann writes with contempt and from a distance of von Aschenbach's literary career and output; of his imperious manner, his layer-upon-layer of programmed, self-conscious behavior. When Tadzio appears and obsession arises, it's evident that Aschenbach hasn't the slightest idea who he is beneath his Gilded-Age trappings and carefully lived life. In fact, upon seeing Tadzio, the 'Solitary,' as Mann sometimes calls him, splits in two. Aschenbach No. 1 absorbs the sight of a beautiful 14-year old boy, then attempts to intellectually process the giddy jolt in blood pressure as he would a work of art - a 'divine' work of art. But Aschenbach No. 2, emerges as a stalker who takes control of, then replaces, the rational Aschenbach No. 1. Like the original Aschenbach, his sexual-doppelganger is mortified to make human contact with the object of his obsession - and thus Tadzio remains a far-off ideal. Thomas Mann has no mercy for this game. Every shred of self knowledge comes too strong and too late; the excitement of sexual flush is too great to resist. That Venice is gripped by disease means nothing to Aschenbach - except that his game now has higher stakes. When he finally whispers beneath his breath 'I love you,' he knows that all is lost, and the abyss awaits. Is any of this filmable? Perhaps, and Visconti creates a visual feast impossible to look away from. But there are errors: He and Dirk Bogarde create Aschenbach as sympathetic; Mann, again, did not. Aschenbach's POV dominates the film and we are expected to identify. But nowhere on screen is there a man being torn apart from within. Bogarde toggles between the sublimely controlled and the ridiculously temperamental with ease - but what's underneath? Bogard's reactive performance has no mooring. Mann writes a character who is, in his imagination, doing the Dance of the Seven Veils, all too aware of the consequences such freedom invites, yet unable, unwilling to resist. Also, Visconti's screenplay creates a character not in the original - Alfred, a friend of Aschenbach's - to dramatize Mann's discussion of Art and Artists. These scenes are badly written disasters, and the actor who portrays Alfred is difficult to watch. Also, Visconti's Aschenbach is a Gilded-Age Teutonic composer, which I think works for the film; and the symphonies of Mahler substitute for Aschenbach's novels. Mahler's great music unfortunately is badly recorded and very badly played. So Death in Venice, as Visconti hands it to us, is not the complete success it might have been, but as a purely visual experience its power cannot be denied. All students of film, especially cinematography, will want to take a look.
Review of Death in Venice
