This is a gently lyrical parable of two people trying to find a quiet corner in their manic world in which to be alone and to fall in love. We are constantly aware of the barriers that make their ephemeral courtship unlikely, in both the cosmic sense (Minnelli's sudden crane shots or omniscient rejoinders to an intimate close-up, which make us all too aware that their moments are marked by something ineffable) and in the modern world (he's great at evoking the terror of losing your lover amid the swirl of vacant, anonymous faces).
Whether critiquing bureaucracy—Alice and Joe have to go through a hell of an ordeal to obtain a marriage license—or simply the impossibility of getting lost in a moment in our fast-paced lives, the film stresses the importance of crafting independent rituals and moments of reverence. For instance, their marriage feels "ugly" and sterilely modern, until, once alone inside St. Peter's Cathedral, they read marriage vows to one another in tremulous whispers, signifying that theirs is a union both traditional and unique, sanctified to and by one another. And there is a really wonderful touch that Minnelli uses to close out this most important of scenes: cutting to a long deep-focus shot, in the foreground an acolyte methodically extinguishes the flames on the holy candelabra, obscuring their faces with the bell of his staff for several seconds—in effect a "wiping away" of this moment, and the religious closure of the altar-boy's ritual gesture, as if blessing their memory of this moment for posterity.
It's very bittersweet on a metaphysical level, because these lovers may never see other again, once more imposed upon by the cruel fate of a massive human construct (WWII)—this is about finding love and happiness apart from the monotony of mass routine, finding a place of serenity in a place of chaos, where there seems no respite. I love how Minnelli emphasizes their guardedness to the world by playing up the fragilely diffident nature of their relationship. My favorite example comes as they're sharing a tender moment in a park, drawing ever nearer to one another, but as they see a stranger approach both curtly withdraw in unison. In that park, the music of the city sounds far enough away that they feel safe enough to embrace it. As they walk on contentedly, this moment, too, dissipates (Minnelli raises the view until we're in the trees, their bodies wiped away), and their night of happy accidents will continue, until they'll have nothing in common but memories.
Whether critiquing bureaucracy—Alice and Joe have to go through a hell of an ordeal to obtain a marriage license—or simply the impossibility of getting lost in a moment in our fast-paced lives, the film stresses the importance of crafting independent rituals and moments of reverence. For instance, their marriage feels "ugly" and sterilely modern, until, once alone inside St. Peter's Cathedral, they read marriage vows to one another in tremulous whispers, signifying that theirs is a union both traditional and unique, sanctified to and by one another. And there is a really wonderful touch that Minnelli uses to close out this most important of scenes: cutting to a long deep-focus shot, in the foreground an acolyte methodically extinguishes the flames on the holy candelabra, obscuring their faces with the bell of his staff for several seconds—in effect a "wiping away" of this moment, and the religious closure of the altar-boy's ritual gesture, as if blessing their memory of this moment for posterity.
It's very bittersweet on a metaphysical level, because these lovers may never see other again, once more imposed upon by the cruel fate of a massive human construct (WWII)—this is about finding love and happiness apart from the monotony of mass routine, finding a place of serenity in a place of chaos, where there seems no respite. I love how Minnelli emphasizes their guardedness to the world by playing up the fragilely diffident nature of their relationship. My favorite example comes as they're sharing a tender moment in a park, drawing ever nearer to one another, but as they see a stranger approach both curtly withdraw in unison. In that park, the music of the city sounds far enough away that they feel safe enough to embrace it. As they walk on contentedly, this moment, too, dissipates (Minnelli raises the view until we're in the trees, their bodies wiped away), and their night of happy accidents will continue, until they'll have nothing in common but memories.