Ah Fellini... butt of many (affectionate) jokes, progenitor of what would become many arthouse-cliches. Despite having owned this movie for a long time it's taken enforced near-bedridden status to get around to watching it. I just didn't get along with 8 1/2. By that point I'd seen Last Year in Marienbad, a movie I still regard as the apotheosis of that kind of guys in suits/girls in gowns- films as much about architecture and mise en scene as anything else-picture. As my esteemed colleague Mr New is in the habit of quoting Seneca, I shall refrain. But considering the fact that I'd heard so much about the movie, even seen a lot of it before, in clip or homage-form I was surprised by how much there was to enjoy in this movie. Maybe it was the painkillers, or the fact I'd spoken all of about three words to anyone other than triage nurse all day. Maybe I just identified with the story of a dude struggling to reconcile what (and who) he does for a living with what (and who) he is really interested in doing.Damn it, the last thing I need is another well-known, prolific European director to have to find some obscure, forgotten masterpiece in order to sound knowledgeable about.
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