Well, he was a pretty weird film-maker, so it's fitting that this movie version of his last 24 hours should be packed with weirdness. Willem Dafoe is the only non-Italian in the cast: his scenes are mostly played in English, with just a few Italian phrases (and an interview in French) to remind us we're watching a Continental movie.
And very Continental it is. The night before his murder we see Pasolini on his knees in front of a series of punk suburban toughs in a scene as close to hardcore as anything in his movies. The following day comprises a series of meals and meetings (with his mother, friends, movie people, his rent-boy nemesis): all slow-paced and stylised with echoes of THEOREM Pasolini's own contribution to the cinema of the New Wave. He's writing a book and visualises it in cinematic terms: it combines a vision of the Second Coming of the Messiah with a return to orgy-rich Sodom (does the pun on 'second coming' work in Italian?). And the day ends with his fateful encounter with the rent-boy and the tougher punks who will write 'Finis' to the Pasolini story. Writer/director Abel Ferrara does not venture into Oliver Stone territory to explore the conspiracy theories which sprang up immediately after Pasolini's death in 1975.
So, this is film-making at its weirdest, turgid and pretentious to a rare degree, as were most of Pasolini's pictures. But this one is beautifully shot, and Dafoe gives an immersive performance (and bears a striking resemblance to the man he is playing). One maverick director's epitaph for another.
And very Continental it is. The night before his murder we see Pasolini on his knees in front of a series of punk suburban toughs in a scene as close to hardcore as anything in his movies. The following day comprises a series of meals and meetings (with his mother, friends, movie people, his rent-boy nemesis): all slow-paced and stylised with echoes of THEOREM Pasolini's own contribution to the cinema of the New Wave. He's writing a book and visualises it in cinematic terms: it combines a vision of the Second Coming of the Messiah with a return to orgy-rich Sodom (does the pun on 'second coming' work in Italian?). And the day ends with his fateful encounter with the rent-boy and the tougher punks who will write 'Finis' to the Pasolini story. Writer/director Abel Ferrara does not venture into Oliver Stone territory to explore the conspiracy theories which sprang up immediately after Pasolini's death in 1975.
So, this is film-making at its weirdest, turgid and pretentious to a rare degree, as were most of Pasolini's pictures. But this one is beautifully shot, and Dafoe gives an immersive performance (and bears a striking resemblance to the man he is playing). One maverick director's epitaph for another.