L'Innocente (1976)
Directed by Luchino Visconti

Film Review

Luchino Visconti concluded his remarkable career with a characteristically opulent period piece that easily merits a place alongside some of his better known works, Il Gattopardo (1963) and Ludwig (1972).   Adapted from Gabriele D'Annunzio's 1892 novel of the same title, L'Innocente is another scathing portrait of the social mores in the dying years of the 19th century, but one so steeped in character detail and humanity that we cannot help but sympathise with the flawed central protagonist, a libertine who is driven to commit the most heinous of crimes for purely selfish motives.  As with much of Visconti's work, you cannot help feeling that, whilst the film is set in another epoch, it has a modern political subtext.  It is worth noting that abortion was a hot topic in the 1970s and was not legalised in Italy until two years after the film was made.  (Divorce had only been legalised in Italy in 1970).

Visconti is renowned for the exquisite artistry he brings to his films but L'Innocente has a ravishing beauty that surpasses almost anything in his oeuvre.  Despite his failing health (he was confined to a wheelchair as he made the film and died before he could complete it), Visconti exercises such precision and control over his mise-en-scène that there is scarcely a scene in the film that fails to impress with the perfection of its composition.  The camerawork, lighting, set design and performances achieve a synchronicity of elegance that is every bit as impressive as the complex inner workings of the finest antique clock.  Visconti must have known that this would be his last film, and this must have provided an added impetus for him to make it as perfect as possible.

L'Innocente doesn't just look good, it also delivers a powerful emotional charge and is one of Visconti's most involving films, perhaps because it is so narrow in scope, focussing on the fraught relationship of just three characters, that holy trinity of Italian cinema: the husband, his wife and his mistress.  Visconti had wanted Alain Delon to take the lead role of the husband, Tullio Hermil, but the actor was already contracted to star in Joseph Losey's Monsieur Klein (1976).  Giancarlo Giannini is a more than adequate substitute, having, like Delon, a suave ambiguity that allows him to be both sinister and sympathetic, remote and intimate. 

Giannini's Tullio is a despicable egoist, driven by impulses that make him appear narcissistic and irrational, and yet we see him not as a villain but as a victim - a man whose desire to live as freely as possible is frustrated by having to live within a society that is governed by dubious Catholic morality and a social code that represses all true human feeling.  The performances of Giannini and his co-star Laura Antonelli are subtly expressive of the conflict between the desire to love freely and the necessity to do so within the narrow confines permitted by the Church and upper class society.

Tullio's actions may appear perverse, but are they any more perverse than the dictates of the world in which he lives?  At the mercy of desires he cannot control, Tullio becomes 'the innocent' of the film's title - as blameless as the infant he feels he must slaughter in order to preserve the most immaculate thing he has known, his love for his wife.  Tullio's transgressions may be hard to fathom, but they reflect the failings inherent in a society that imposes too tight a control on individual freedom.  As he bids farewell, Visconti leaves us with the sobering thought that a world without compassion and tolerance is one that will be forever disfigured by cruel acts and tragedy.

Film Synopsis

In Italy towards the end of the 19th century, the wealthy Tullio Hermil pursues a passionate love affair with his aristocratic mistress Teresa Raffo whilst keeping up the impression that he is happily married.  Although he still has a fondness for his wife Giuliana, he regards her more as a sister than as a lover.  When he learns that Giuliana has herself been seeing another man, the writer Filippo d'Arborio, Tullio finds that his love for her has suddenly been rekindled and their marriage ceases to be a chaste charade.  The discovery that Giuliana is pregnant with d'Arborio's child coincides with the writer's untimely death.  Neither Tullio nor his wife want the child but Giuliana's Catholic beliefs prevent her from having an abortion.  When the child is born, neither of its parents can bear to look at it.  In the end, Tullio makes up his mind that it must die...