Journey to Stromboli, travelling in the age of the coronavirus

As of 2 days ago, in a world that is not plagued by the Coronavirus, I would be spending Easter break in Sicily. 10 days with a friend and a rental car to tour the island, lay on the beach, swim in the sea, eat and drink on the sunny terraces, and climb a volcano or two. But, as we all know, whatever plans we had for spending Easter have been completely set on hold or cancelled. It took me a while to get over the bitterness of missing my trip, but I eventually I realized we are all in the same boat and others have it worse. So I guess I will have to settle for traveling through cinema, and I thought what better opportunity than now to catch up on Stromboli, an Italian classic directed by Neorealist director Roberto Rossellini, and the first film he made with Hollywood star and soon to be wife Ingrid Bergman. It seemed most appropriate because, as its name suggests, it takes place on Stromboli, a small volcanic island just off the coast of Sicily.

The world has obviously changed since the post World War II setting of the film, and what is now seen as a hot travel destination for tourists like myself, the island now considered a national park with daily trips available by ferry from Sicily, was for Karin, Bergan’s protagonist, a prison that cut her off from all civilization. The desolate volcanic landscapes are captured with Rossellini’s typical Neorealist style, everything shot on location with no sets, and long takes in deep focus to let the viewer explore the space. The island does feel like a cage, but that does not stop it from being spectacular. The island is a paradox. It’s steep cliffs are amazing and otherworldly, yet also sharp and claustrophobic. The streets in the town are windy and quaint, yet like a labyrinth, and, from her bedroom window is an incredible view of the sea which may sparkle in the sunlight, but also shows the uncrossable water with freedom beyond sight. At the beginning I could not understand Karin’s reaction to her new home. Spending my life in a fishing village on a volcanic island in the mediterranean sounds like a dream to me, but times have changed pretty drastically. I did not have my life blown up by a world war, travel is much easier now than it was, and, most importantly, women now do not have to marry themselves away to survive.

Though we empathize with Karin, she is not necessarily a completely likeable character. Bergman’s image brings a lot to the role. She is a sophisticated Lithuanian woman who was married to an architect and somehow found herself trapped in a camp in Italy, her marriage to a wooing Italian soldier her fastest get out of jail card. Her soldier is Antonio, a handsome yet simple fisherman from Stromboli. It is clear from their arrival at the island that she will be incapable of loving him, and he will be incapable of understanding her. Rosselini constructs a complex three dimensional relationship. We feel for Antonio because he is a simple man from a village who wants nothing more than to marry, have children, work, and return home, yet we hate him when he beats her for unknowingly going to a prostitute’s house or when he locks her in the house to keep her from escaping. Likewise, we feel for Karin as she sees herself isolated from the life she was expecting and forced into the role of a simple fisherman’s wife, yet we feel spite for her when she uncaringly takes the photos of Antonio’s family down or when she is short and rude to his neighbors and family and tries to seduce the priest to get his help. This marriage between the worldly Karin and the small town fisherman was doomed to fail.

The film itself is a pairing of two very different artists. It marks a titanic meeting of two different worlds. The larger than life Swedish Hollywood movie star, and one of the founders of Italian Neorealism, a movement that shook the world of cinema because of its realistic style and content that completely contrasted Hollywood cinema, that would in turn influence it, and change cinema history. Stromboli would lead to both a professional relationship that would include 5 films, most notably Journey to Italy, and a private relationship, with Bergman getting pregnant during the shooting of the film.

Stromboli is considered Rosselini’s break with the Neorealist movement. Yet comparing it in style to his first masterpiece, Rome, Open City, there does not seem to be that many stylistic differences. Both films are shot on location with minimalist filming techniques and both are melodramatic dramas with sweeping action and emotional performances. The one big difference is Bergman. Her internationally recognizable face, the starlet from Casablanca, her image and name as a titan of the golden age of Hollywood, changes the film even if all the rest remains the same.

But to say that the film is a total break from the Neorealist movement and Rosselini’s past films would be ridiculous. Bergman’s presence may be powerful, but so is Rosselini’s direction. Stromboli has nothing to do with Bergman’s Hollywood films. She is not working with Michael Curtiz or Hitchcock whose extremely controlled, scripted, and prepared studio films have a masterfully commercial storyteller's pace and look to them. Rosselini’s films are much more open and free, giving the viewer free reign to inhabit the spaces on screen and the character’s minds without being told exactly what is happening or how they should feel.

The most impressive part of the film is the scene when Antonio and his team are out fishing tuna. The paradox of the island being brutal and beautiful is perfectly represented again in this scene. It is a total spectacle. With the nets in the water and boats placed apart and either side of the net in their hands, a man with a looking glass that allows you to look underwater informs them that the tunas have arrived. There is suddenly an excited exuberance in the air as the men must have been bored and waiting for hours. They begin to sing to keep the same pace as they heave the heavy nets onto the boats. Then, suddenly, a violent disturbing thrashing comes to the surface of the water as hundreds of enormous tuna find themselves forcibly brought up. The men poke them with spikes and drag them onto the boats. As the tuna emerge, enormous, and with dangerously sharp fins and tails, they look like terrifying monsters from the unknown depths. The scene is horrendous yet remarkable. Karin, who went to pay her husband a surprise visit, watches it all in horror. Like Karin, the audience sits with mixed feelings of dismay and admiration. Rossellini, like a documentarian, simply captures this amazing sequence of man versus nature and brilliantly edits it together to give us the full horribly impressive experience. Rosselini is pushing no agenda. He is simply showing. The scene may be terrifying to many, but it is what it is. This is how these men make a living, and this is how tuna arrive on people’s plates. It is a simple fact of life that brings out strong emotions. Like Karin, we may find the entire show disturbing and unwatchable. Perhaps we are too civilized to live in this world day to day, but it is an unforgettable slice of reality that perhaps shows us what hypocrites we all are.

Her fishing experience, coupled with another amazing sequence of the eruption of the volcano that towers above the island, becomes too much for Karin. She decides she must escape and scales the volcano to reach a larger village on the other side of the island with the hope of finding someone to take her elsewhere. As a displaced woman with no money the only thing Karin has left to offer in a world controlled by men is her body. As she marries Antonio and seduces a lighthouse keeper, Karin uses sex not for love or pleasure, but for survival. Left tired, pregnant, and alone on the top of the volcano she sees herself in a living hell. The hard rocks, steep cliffs, and steaming holes are deadly dangerous, and it looks like her journey is a lost cause. Yet at night, exhausted and desperate, she turns to the sky. The clouds part and the stars reveal the entire beauty of the universe. The film ends with Karin screaming My God! out of desperation. She is left with 2 options, return to Antonio and try to live a life with him and their child, or risk her life and continue climbing the mountain. It is an agonizingly perfect open ending.

I certainly did not expect to suffer so much on my trip to the island, and considering my situation is thankfully much more agreeable than Karin’s, I am sure I would have spent my time marvelling at the island instead of trying to escape it. I guess it will have to wait until summer or next Easter break. For now I will only be able to visit it through images. And how thankful I am to live in the world we live in, with cinema at the tip of my fingers thanks to the internet. Though we are trapped in a way, at least it is not for a lifetime like Karin, and at least we can escape with cinema.