Besieged
With Thandie Newton, David Thewlis, and Claudio Santamaria.
For me the best of these was The Last Emperor–if only because it suggested a temporary resolution to the uneasy competition between Marx and Freud that had dogged Bertolucci’s work from the beginning–and the worst was Little Buddha, a film that floundered conceptually and sprang to life only momentarily, approximating the magic of a fairy tale. But all three confirmed that Bertolucci was no longer a mannerist with a manner, or even a culture, he could call his own. Even Stealing Beauty, which represented his return to Italy after over a decade of wandering the globe, seemed a good deal more tentative and cautious than any of his exciting early work; I liked it more than many of my colleagues did but concluded that Bertolucci was still feeling his way back to his stylistic roots.
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Nothing more on the subject is said by either of them. But as time passes and Shandurai sees the villa’s various artworks–paintings, sculptures, and tapestries–gradually disappear, she comes to realize that Kinsky is responding literally to her impulsive challenge. After he sells his piano and she gets word that her husband, freed from prison, will join her in the morning, she gets drunk on the bottle of champagne she’s bought for the occasion, tries to write a simple thank-you letter to Kinsky, concludes before the night is over that she loves him, and proceeds to his bedroom. After a night of drinking on his own, Kinsky is fully dressed but fast asleep; Shandurai undresses him and lies down beside him. In the early dawn, when her husband rings the doorbell downstairs, she hesitates, then gets out of Kinsky’s bed to greet her husband, and the movie ends.
Yo soy como el chile verde, llorona,
Spicy but delicious [or “tasty”].
