Feel free to ignore the smart-alleck comments from the teenagers here. *Blow-Up* is a classic film -- not a masterpiece, but a very influential movie that still holds up. Let's clear the air a bit by saying at once that Antonioni's symbolism is meant to be shallow: it's as shallow as David Hemmings' fashion photographer and his milieu. Antonioni is by no means trying to pull a fast one on you, so don't feel like you're the king of the world if you "figure it out". *Blow-Up* is a movie whose techniques are all on the surface, as befits the Swinging London scene in which it was made. The question is: how do you respond to it? If the comments here are any guide, it would seem that at least half the viewers of today have put all their eggs in the symbolism basket and have therefore claimed a triumphant superiority to the film. But that's okay -- in the Sixties, the kids assumed that Antonioni was simply digging their scene. These very different responses tend to strengthen the film's claim to enduring importance rather than the reverse. The movie somehow manages to be smarter than every audience that happens upon it.
If anything, the original audience of *Blow-Up* was on the more correct track. The movie earns demerits due to its hypocrisy: Antonioni DOES dig this scene, no matter how much he pretends to excoriate it by peopling the film with shallow nitwits. At least these nitwits aren't stumbling around in the malaise inhabited by the director's upper-class sad-sacks in his earlier films *L'Avventura* and *La Notte*. It becomes clear pretty quickly that Antonioni was seduced by the wild freedom of London's denizens, as the generally light mood of *Blow-Up* suggests. The director's usually trenchant commentary seems rote in this film, and the misery-index is low compared to his earlier work. But to be seduced by the Sixties is better than having exploited the Sixties, as Mike Nichols did with his *Graduate*.
(And as Kubrick was soon to do with *A Clockwork Orange*, whose main character Alex bears no small resemblance to Hemmings' arrogant, misogynistic photog.)
And unlike Antonioni's earlier upper-crust anti-heroes (or whatever one calls them), this film's anti-hero actually possesses constructive skills. Much of the film's famous centerpiece -- the gradual revelation of an inadvertently photographed murder -- consists of Hemmings eventually arriving, bit by tedious bit, at his discovery by virtue of his own talents in the darkroom. Imagine if Gabriel Ferzetti had taken this much effort to find his missing girlfriend in *L'Avventura*! It's as if Antonioni is conceding the overall positive value of these Swinging London kids as compared to the ineffectual bourgeois glamorpusses, trapped in their eggshells of ego, in his older films. Granted, we'll end up disappointed with how Hemmings acts upon his discoveries, but the film makes it clear that this is not entirely his fault. Whenever Antonioni shakes a disapproving finger at the characters' actions (cf. the pot-party scene, the "orgy" scene, etc.), we don't buy it, because everybody -- including the director -- is simply having too much fun. Decadence, after all, does not necessarily portend the Downfall of Civilization: sometimes, decadence is merely hip. And that's okay! Lighten up, Michelangelo!
He's on much firmer ground when delineating the paranoia uniquely endemic in our modern civilization. The movie has several classic sequences that are downright spooky, including any of the scenes at that deserted park with its ceaselessly whispering trees. Occasionally, Hemmings is trailed by shadowy figures. And the emergence of the killer's face in the bushes of the park, after Hemmings has blown up the photo, connotes the paranoia of post-Dealey Plaza conspiracy theories. It comes as no surprise that Hitchcock was deeply impressed with this movie, concerned as it is with the Master's own laundry-list of modern-day problems such as surveillance, selfishness, greed, conspiracy, murder, sexy girls, and voyeurism.
But hey kids, by all means stick with more honest productions like, say, *The Lord of the Rings*, wherein the moral problems are solved far in advance.
If anything, the original audience of *Blow-Up* was on the more correct track. The movie earns demerits due to its hypocrisy: Antonioni DOES dig this scene, no matter how much he pretends to excoriate it by peopling the film with shallow nitwits. At least these nitwits aren't stumbling around in the malaise inhabited by the director's upper-class sad-sacks in his earlier films *L'Avventura* and *La Notte*. It becomes clear pretty quickly that Antonioni was seduced by the wild freedom of London's denizens, as the generally light mood of *Blow-Up* suggests. The director's usually trenchant commentary seems rote in this film, and the misery-index is low compared to his earlier work. But to be seduced by the Sixties is better than having exploited the Sixties, as Mike Nichols did with his *Graduate*.
(And as Kubrick was soon to do with *A Clockwork Orange*, whose main character Alex bears no small resemblance to Hemmings' arrogant, misogynistic photog.)
And unlike Antonioni's earlier upper-crust anti-heroes (or whatever one calls them), this film's anti-hero actually possesses constructive skills. Much of the film's famous centerpiece -- the gradual revelation of an inadvertently photographed murder -- consists of Hemmings eventually arriving, bit by tedious bit, at his discovery by virtue of his own talents in the darkroom. Imagine if Gabriel Ferzetti had taken this much effort to find his missing girlfriend in *L'Avventura*! It's as if Antonioni is conceding the overall positive value of these Swinging London kids as compared to the ineffectual bourgeois glamorpusses, trapped in their eggshells of ego, in his older films. Granted, we'll end up disappointed with how Hemmings acts upon his discoveries, but the film makes it clear that this is not entirely his fault. Whenever Antonioni shakes a disapproving finger at the characters' actions (cf. the pot-party scene, the "orgy" scene, etc.), we don't buy it, because everybody -- including the director -- is simply having too much fun. Decadence, after all, does not necessarily portend the Downfall of Civilization: sometimes, decadence is merely hip. And that's okay! Lighten up, Michelangelo!
He's on much firmer ground when delineating the paranoia uniquely endemic in our modern civilization. The movie has several classic sequences that are downright spooky, including any of the scenes at that deserted park with its ceaselessly whispering trees. Occasionally, Hemmings is trailed by shadowy figures. And the emergence of the killer's face in the bushes of the park, after Hemmings has blown up the photo, connotes the paranoia of post-Dealey Plaza conspiracy theories. It comes as no surprise that Hitchcock was deeply impressed with this movie, concerned as it is with the Master's own laundry-list of modern-day problems such as surveillance, selfishness, greed, conspiracy, murder, sexy girls, and voyeurism.
But hey kids, by all means stick with more honest productions like, say, *The Lord of the Rings*, wherein the moral problems are solved far in advance.