BFI Top 50: Bicycle Thieves, Released in 1948, Directed by Vittorio De Sica

What I know going in

I know the movie involves a man searching for his stolen in post-war Italy. I know it is also one the first, and possibly the most famous, film in the Italian Neo-Realist genre.

Immediate Reaction

I have recently been watching The Story of Film: An Odyssey, which is an extended essay on film history put together by film historian Mark Cousins. An argument I often hear against a film is that is unrealistic. This is an area I have grappled with as well. Should film attempt realism or embrace the visual and clipped nature of its form to try to create a fantastical world? What The Story of Film has helped me realize is that neither side is right or wrong. Instead, the history of film has been a long back and forth between the display of romantic, idealistic fantasies, and attempts at depicting the world in all of its gritty glory. What a film should do however is transport you. Whether that is to the far reaches of the universe in 2001: A Space Odyssey or to the rubble-strewn streets of post-war Rome, as in Bicycle Thieves. The film is a warning shot, announcing a new cinematic movement and boldly rejecting the decadence and falseness of previous Italian features. It is also an excellent document of a city, and people, still wounded and literally in ruins after suffering the greatest catastrophe in modern history.

I’m going to make an odd comparison. I recently watched the film Alien, for the first time. It was a bit of revelation, because I realized that every science fiction film that has tinges of horror released after Alien, should be sued for plagiarism. In a similar manner, any film that deals with poverty in an honest manner or attempts to provide an unblinking view of a place or group of people, owes everything to Bicycle Thieves. Such recent films as Gimme the Loot, Fish Tank, and War Witch come to mind, and even an action film like The French Connection, with its detailed depiction of the grubby milieu of New York, seems to be linked directly back to De Sica’s classic.

Now, I should probably start talking directly about the film. At its most basic, Bicycle Thieves concerns the struggling Antonio Ricci as he drifts through the crumbling paths of Rome with his son Bruno in an increasingly vain attempt to recover his stolen bike, which he needs to keep the job that will feed his family. For the most part, the focus is on Antonio and his many trials. However, what I found I most interesting was the depiction of the other people in Rome. The city almost seems alive, with people in huge masses always gathering, running, grifting, or struggling. Antonio’s actions poke and prod at the other people around him, until they rise up against him. He enters a church in an attempt to harangue an old man to take him to the eponymous bicycle thief. As Antonio gets louder and angrier, the church-goers crowds around him, people give him side glances, and the clergy erupts in anger at him for disturbing the service. Later, near the end of the film, Antonio is at his wit’s end and is surrounded by people rushing past him on bikes. He notices a lone bike, and in an act of desperation, attempts to ride off with it. A huge group of concerned citizens bursts out of nowhere and envelopes Antonio. After being released due to the cuteness of his son, father and son are automatically moved forward by a group of people, bikes, cars, and trams. They are unable to contemplate their situation and are forced, by Rome, to face the next day.

Further thoughts

The critic Roland Barthes defined a term known as the punctum: unplanned natural details within an image that move us. I’m not sure if certain images within Bicycle Thieves were planned, but the basic point still applies. The reason Bicycle Thieve remains affecting, even today, is due to its gradual accumulation of tiny, human details. A fantastic example is when Antonio goes to hock his bed sheets not only buy a bike, but one he just pawned and has to re-buy. At the pawn shop, the camera peaks behind the counter and we see the mountains of shelves full of bed sheets. The clerk then takes Antonio’s package, climbs all the way to the top of one shelf (without using a ladder), and deposits Antonio’s linens. From a plot perspective, this serves no purpose. De Sica could easily have had Antonio go to the pawn shop, sell his sheets, and then leave, cutting out the part with the clerk entirely. Such a cut wouldn’t be noticed and wouldn’t seem jarring. However, that small moment, speaks volumes about the then-current state of Rome. Antonio’s situation in that moment is depressing enough, but when I saw the clerk’s ascension, I began to imagine the story behind each item and the terrible conditions that led to their sale. That’s pretty powerful for a “pointless” shot.

Another moment comes in the wistful sequence where Antonio, feeling guilty for slapping his son, takes him out to eat at a decent restaurant. Overall, it is one of the few happy moments in the film. There are two punctums in this scene that any parent, or child, should be able to recognize. The first is when Antonio orders a full bottle of wine and in a sort of jokey manner allows Bruno to have a sip. Antonio even amusingly flouts his wife’s authority. The second is when Bruno eats his mozzarella bread, and, like every child since the beginning of time, takes a bit and stretches out a huge string of cheese that he then linearly munches up.

Why is the film on the list?

The film is an important document of not only of a new style, but of a tragic time and place.