NeoRealism and the Bicycle Thief
:: Travis D. Else ::

I watched Vittorio de Sica's 1948 neorealist masterpiece "Ladri di Biciclette" tonight. Actually, I started watching it; I couldn't finish. Though the film had moved me upon my initial viewing several years ago, my emotional response to it was aloof. At that time, I was most interested in seeing whether or not the critical adornment given the film was deserved. This time, I watched the first 30 minutes with a large lump in my throat (undoubtedly my own anxiety in knowing what was to come). The bike is stolen, the desperate search begins, and I turn the television off.

"Ladri de Biciclette" remains an outstanding entry in the Italian Neorealist movement of the late 1940's. Though nearing 55 years in age, the film still shows up on most critics' listings of best all-time films. Starring non-professional actors, filmed on location (the streets of Rome), and shot in documentary style with simple editing, the film was initially panned because of its grand departure from the slick production values seen in most films of the day.

The story is simple: In post-war Italy, poverty is rampant. We are introduced to a man, Ricci, who, desperate for work, takes a job posting signs. The only requirement is that he have a bicycle. He has none, but his wife is willing to pawn the sheets from their bed in order to purchase one. We experience Ricci's (and his family's) excitement at this new opportunity. On his first day of work, Ricci proudly rides his bike through the streets of Rome, his young son, Bruno, happily sitting atop his handlebars.

Not long into this, his very first day, the bicycle is stolen (undoubtedly by another desperate man seeking work). Sick and in shock, Ricci begins searching for the thief and, hopefully, his bike. Thus begins an anxious, heartbreaking search through Rome. Ricci's frustration is almost palpable, though for several heartbreaking moments he forsakes his plight and treats Bruno, who has joined him in the search, to cheesebread and wine in a restaurant.

The search continues in futility until the end when Ricci, "continuing the cycle of theft and poverty," steals another man's bike and rides away. (Roger Ebert, Chicago Sun Times) Though simple, the story is timeless: poverty, desperation, hope, loss, defeat. These themes are inherent to De Sica's style in his attempt to show real people in very real situations. That was my problem in rewatching the film: I associate with Ricci's plight.

Though not impoverished by any stretch, I am a man of very limited means with a family. I have been entrusted to care for my wife and son: to provide food, clothing, and a place to live. More or less unconsciously, I have also been entrusted to model behavior for my young son. With great thankfulness, I am employed. My employment gives me the things mentioned above, and the dignity in knowing that I can provide those things. All of this a part of my being and identity, imagining Ricci's tenuous position is not difficult. Here is a man who lives in poverty. Given an opportunity to work, he feels dignity in finally knowing that he will be able to provide for his family. That opportunity is stolen from him.

Filmed so simply and straightforwardly, Ricci becomes a real person. He becomes me. My thoughts begin to trace those that surely go through Ricci's mind as he frantically chases leads to the bike: The thief can't be far! A day's wages lost isn't great, but it could be worse! Am I on the right track? Can it possibly be gone? What will I do? What will we eat? First disbelief, then hope, and finally the exhausting, defeating reality of impotence.

Some critics call the restaurant scene the single "happy" scene of the search. I find it to be the most heartbreaking. With young Bruno by his side, Ricci gives up the search and tries to be philosophical: "You live and you suffer," he tells Bruno. They go into a restaurant and, surely spending money he does not have, Ricci treats Bruno to dinner. While eating, Bruno watches an obviously wealthy family eating pasta. It is clear that his meal suddenly becomes less special because it is purchased out of their poverty and not out of their wealth. His are the eyes of the young child who gets a cheap ball for Christmas while all of his friends get Playstations.

Continuing the search, Ricci actually tracks down the bike, but nothing can be done as it is simply Ricci's word against the transgressor's. Defeated, Ricci returns to the chaotic streets. Bruno watches as Ricci steals a bike. There are two perspectives in this situation. First, Bruno's innocence is lost: his model for moral order crumbles as his father rides off to the choruses of "Thief! Thief!" The second perspective is that of Ricci, and, in fact, it is double: He has failed to provide for his family, failed to keep his job and dignity, and failed to be a positive model for his son. Conversely, Ricci does what any man would do in the same situation. He acts desperately in response to a desperate situation. He loves his family and wants to support them, and subsequently does what he believes is necessary to take care of them.

Ladri di Biciclette is a powerful film. A compelling story that all persons can relate to, it remains one of my favorites for both its technical and aesthetic achievements.

Copyright © 2002 Film Notes