A Troubled Prophet of Vanishing Culture
I am a lifelong fan of cinema, studying film as well as writing at the University of Michigan in the early '70s as an undergraduate and then writing many film reviews and columns about cinema over the past half century. At various points, I wrote film criticism for three different newspapers and a magazine. Always, I was fascinated by one of the world's most challenging directors: Italy's Pier Paulo Pasolini who was murdered in 1975. That ghastly crime sparked weeks of headline news around the world in 1975, connecting both with my emerging role as a journalist and as a film critic.
However, for decades, there was no way to see Pasolini's films except for the occasional showings on campuses like U of M, which has always had a rich diversity of cineastes. When world cinema finally began to circulate in VHS and later in DVD, Pasolini's body of work still was hard to find. Then, on June 27, 2023, Criterion released "Pasolini 101," which is a Blu-ray collection of most of his films, except the so-called "Trilogy of Life" films and "Salo," which Criterion already had released in Blu-ray.
Finally, I felt compelled to "watch my way" through his cinematic career—but that odyssey is quite a challenge, even with the new "101" set and it's "extras." Among the reasons this is such a daunting cinematic journey is the fact that Pasolini regarded himself first and foremost as a writer and a public activist. His films are only one of his many media expressions!
So, to appreciate these films, I knew I had some serious reading to do. Now, I've just finished David Schwartz's remarkably well researched second edition of Pasolini Requiem, which has the imprint of The University of Chicago Press and, among film critics I know, was recommended to me as "the main book you should read about Pasolini's life."
The first thing I discovered is that, as a very young man, Pasolini's medium of choice was posters. He would create vivid posters with prophetic words of wisdom about social injustices and plaster them on the walls around town in the middle of the night.
Another thing I discovered in Schwartz's biography, which I had never understood about Pasolini, was his passion for Friulian language and culture—an endangered linguistic culture in northeastern Italy. That historical area is even further east than Venice. Pasolini became fascinated with this linguistic community that has roots stretching back to Roman Latin, mixed with other European influences through the centuries. Pasolini began to write poetry in Fruilian, an astonishingly iconoclastic feat for a young and aspiring poet! Throughout his life, he worked on projects to highlight Friulian.
Why is this so important? Because it illustrates the authenticity of Pasolini's core values. Within Italy, Pasolini is remembered as a towering "public intellectual" of the second half of the 20th century as well as a filmmaker. Outside Italy, he's largely known for directing controversial films, often because his depiction of sexuality pushed boundaries in the eras when the movies were released. And, if American movie fans have even heard of Pasolini, the one biographical detail they know, beyond the fact that he was murdered, is: "He was a Communist, wasn't he?"
Well, he certainly was not a Communist in any Stalinist mold, which Schwartz makes clear in repeated passages of this lengthy biography. In fact, Italian Communists often were among his public foes. When Pasolini prophetically described himself as "communist" or "socialist," what he really was advocating was a preservation of the cultural heritage of Italy's vast underclass—the communities of peasants and laborers whose lives and unique cultures began disappearing even before World War II. That's why, after World War II, Pasolini was so opposed to American efforts to shore up Italy's new Western affiliations. Pasolini saw Western media, consumer goods and cultural icons as wiping out endangered cultures that had survived for millennia. His entire media presence throughout his life was an attempt to lift up the lives of what he often called "the poor" and show the corrosive effects of global consumerism and media.
So, having read Schwartz's thorough biography, I should be ready to enjoy watching (or re-watching) all of Pasolini's films and writing about the movies. Right?
Well, no, because Schwartz also painstakingly documents Pasolini's other controversial passion: a sexual desire that emerged publicly in his 20s for casual encounters with boys in their mid-teens on the outskirts of various Italian towns. In his 20s, he had his first run-in with police, charged with casual outdoor sex with teens. This, of course, was the sexual obsession that eventually led to his death at age 53. Schwartz documents that Pasolini continued to pursue these desires with mid-teen boys wherever he traveled. In 1975, one of those encounters went horribly wrong. I am well aware of at least a couple of film critic friends who are tempted to argue away this troubling part of Pasolini's life and even to argue that his murder really was a plot by right-wing thugs who assassinated him because of his political activism. Schwartz has sifted the evidence to an almost exhaustive degree and, nope, that rationale doesn't make sense. The truth is: Pasolini's life-long desire for dangerous, taboo sex finally caught up with him.
I include that point last in this review of Schwartz's book because I honestly, as a journalist who has reported from around the world for 50 years, do not know how to assess such a troubled life. Today, for example, there's an active campaign to isolate Woody Allen for pursuing under-age sexuality. I agree with that movement. Because my own professional focus has been on religious and cultural diversity, I was in the vanguard of reporting on sexual abuse within the Catholic church over the past three decades—and I strongly believe that the church still has not atoned for its past or protected the vulnerable going forward. I have reported on the lives of scores of victims. I am not an apologist for the world's predators.
However, there's clearly something different about Pasolini. For one thing, Criterion just released this massive boxed set that took years for professionals to curate, celebrating Pasolini's work. One possible difference to consider between Allen and Pasolini is that Allen is still alive and is unrepentant. Pasolini is long dead and, as Schwartz points out, he actually was forthright in writing about his sexuality. Perhaps that makes these cases so different that, today, we can look at Pasolini's cinematic work and isolate discussions of his personal life to another realm of consideration.
In fact, the sexual lives of film notables are notoriously complex. If we begin purging our cinemas of anyone with a troubling sexual life, well, you can see the moral and ethical and cultural dilemmas.
I feel that I needed to write at this length about this book to explain what Schwartz gives us in this weighty, thorough biography. Why even write about such a controversial subject? Because I feel someone in public journalism needs to write about these issues if only because Criterion has just asked the whole world to begin celebrating Pasolini, once again. My own instinct is that we should, indeed, learn about the life of this troubled prophet and discuss how these issues should be weighed.
So, I think I've been nearly as thorough as Schwartz in explaining—in this review format—what you'll find in this book. I was fascinated by Schwartz's biography. The sections on Pasolini's posters and on his advocacy for Friulian culture are aspects of his life I had never encountered before this book. I'm giving the biography 5 stars for the thorough research and honesty that Schwartz brings to the task from start to finish.