There is a creative ambiguity in Italian which doesn’t register in English. It has to do with the term “Novecento”, which can mean the year 1900, as well as indicating the whole of the 20th century – that is, all the 1900s. Bernardo Bertolucci’s historico-political epic Novecento was given the English title 1900, which was a bit silly as it obviously dealt with events over the course of the century rather than just its inaugural annus.
Giuseppe Tornatore’s new film, The Legend of 1900, flirts with that very ambiguity. While Tim Roth’s character in the movie, which was made in English, is named 1900, and is called that throughout the film, it seems clear that part of what is intended is that in some way he stand for a vision of the 20th century as a whole. So bear in mind that “Novecento” can refer to both.
1900 is so named because he is found, as a newborn baby, on January 1 1900. The abandoned child is discovered on a ship, a great ocean liner called The Virginian, and that is where he spends his life, never setting foot on land. He turns out to be a pianist of genius, able to improvise anything; he plays, as jazz great Jelly Roll Morton (who has a small but key role in 1900’s story) puts it, “Ten kinds of jazz rolled into one”.
It is hard to summarise the plot of The Legend of 1900 because it has the irregular shape of a European art movie (or, perhaps, some American “independent” movies) rather than the constrained development and corset-like strictures of mainstream Hollywood product. It rambles a bit, it folds in on itself as the narrative is related in flashback by 1900’s trumpet-playing chum Max (Pruitt Taylor Vince), who has put a certain amount of energy into trying, in one way or another, to save 1900 from himself.
The movie is unlikely to satisfy anyone in need of driving narrative thrust and join-the-dots significance. To enjoy The Legend of 1900, you need to sit back and luxuriate in the offbeat lyricism of the fable-like story – and the mise-en-scene. This is a film in which the sets are more than just a backdrop, in which the great ship on which 1900 spends his life is as much a character, perhaps more of a character, than most of the people involved.
And production designer Francesco Frigeri does a magnificent job of making a complete imaginative world of The Virginian, whether in its opulent glory days or in its rusty, cobwebby decline; from its glittering ballrooms to the vertiginous depths of its engine-rooms. Using an old ship docked in Odessa, Russia, it is a job that is in its way as impressive as the recreation of ancient Rome in Gladiator – and it has been done without the benefit, or the somewhat textureless effect, of computer-generated imagery. (That was saved for the miraculous, ferocious piano-playing that was not within Roth’s competence, and, in some instances, is clearly beyond the competence of any mere mortal.) The exquisite detail of the ship is matched by the costumes of Maurizio Millenotti, who worked on Fellini’s And the Ship Sails on. Tornatore’s film is not quite as fantastical (or as obviously studio-created) as Fellini’s nautical reverie, but it still carries a powerful strain of the magic of a tale that has slipped the bonds of realism.
The cinematography of Lajos Koltai (who shot Istvan Szabo’s Mephisto and Meeting Venus, among others) is also a star player; his camera swoops, glides and circles in a way that deepens the dream-like qualities of the story. No MTV-style cut cut cut for him. And then there’s Ennio Morricone’s music, romantically orchestral when needed, jaggedly percussive when 1900’s solo piano-playing is going right over the top – as in his mythic contest with the arrogantly larger-than-life Morton.
This all makes it sound as though the performances are of little account, but Roth and Vince more than pull their weight. As 1900, Roth is suitably naive but somehow very wise as well; Vince is touching as his devoted friend. Yet this is a movie in which the acting is just one of the elements that combine to create a distinctive cinematic vision.
It could be argued that the underlying motivations of the characters are a bit thin, tending toward flowery mysticism (the immensity of the sea, of life, and so forth), but it doesn’t really matter. This is not psychological realism, it’s a kind of fairy tale, and fairy tales are allowed to be a little mystifying. And, more than anything, this is a movie that relies most deeply on the unique ability of movies to take us to, and make us see, entirely new worlds of the mind. Book your berth and sail away.