Bicycle Thieves (1948)

Bicycle Thieves (1948)

Directed by Vittorio De Sica

Screenplay by Cesare Zavattini, Suso D’Amico, Vittorio De Sica, Oreste Biancoli, Adolfo Franci and Gerardo Guerrieri, based on the novel by Luigi Bartolini

Runtime: 1 hr, 29 min

In my hobby of watching classic cinema, one conclusion I have arrived at is that the most fragile situations are always the most heartbreaking.  Whether it’s the car engine sequence in Charles Burnett’s Killer of Sheep or the slowly dissolution of the doorman’s psyche in The Last Laugh, nothing brings about depression quite like life slipping off the tightrope.  Today’s picture, the first picture to ever top the prestigious Sight & Sound poll of the greatest films of all time, most certainly fits into that particular mold.

The name of the film is Ladri di biciclette, literally Bicycle Thieves.  Though often translated into English as The Bicycle Thief, that title is a bit misleading; there is more than one such character in the film.  Our protagonist is Antonio Ricci (Lamberto Maggiorani), a struggling family man in post World War II Rome, has just found work placing posters around the city.  It has given him the chance to provide for his wife, Maria (Lianella Carell) and his young son, Bruno (Enzo Staioli).  On first day on the job, however, his bicycle is stolen; unless he can recover it, he is going to lose the position.

Losing the bicycle is devastating for Ricci.  That we see the build-up to moment makes it even more wrenching for the audience.  From the Ricci’s cramped quarters to the throng of people in the opening sequence desperate for work, the film’s universe is riddled with poverty.  Just acquiring the bicycle involves tremendous sacrifice for the family.  Ricci had previously pawned his bicycle, so Maria pawns off the bed sheets from her dowry to raise the money to buy it back.  Even then, they don’t get all that much from it: 7,500 lira, less than what Ricci would make in one month pasting up posters.

And then, in one fell swoop, it’s all for naught.  Someone pilfers the bicycle before Ricci can react.  It’s a position of hopelessness and weariness which Maggiorani portrays beautifully.  Despite, like the rest of the cast, being an amateur actor, Maggiorani's performace is completely convincing.  His demeanor is bleak throughout most of the film, oftentimes frustrated and occasionally rage-filled.  Yet, every once in awhile, he is able to reach down and find something, even the most insignificant thing, to smile about.

Equally as powerful is Staioli as Bruno.  Unlike his father, Bruno has yet to be beaten down by harshness of lower-class Italy.  He’s ecstatic to give his father’s bike a cleaning before his first day of work, and has the mental acuity to instantly recall the serial number when they go searching for it in the markets.  This is not to say that Bruno is never depressed.  Far from it—in fact, he probably has a wider range of emotions than Ricci.  He is the mirror for the audience, reacting to the plight of his father as best as someone his age can.  In this sense, then, Bruno is the heart of Bicycle Thieves.

As wonderful as the two leads are, the real star of the film is post-war Rome.  Virtually the entire city is in some way desperate.  The apartments are all cramped, the police are unresponsive and the unemployment office is in way over its head.  All of it beautifully photographed, with intimidating empty space for the exteriors and deep gray shadings indoors.  Some of it borders on expressionist, but grit underlines nearly every frame.  The Rome of Bicycle Thieves is most definitely the place where as stolen bike really is a matter of life and death.

Of course, good luck telling the picture’s aristocracy that.  Even more heartbreaking than the loss of Ricci’s bicycle, to me at least, is the indifference of the wealthy.  Two instances stand out.  First, when Ricci first reports his stolen bicycle to company, the man in charge just shrugs and tells him to look for it; when another worker asks what’s been lost, he replies, “Nothing.  Only a bicycle.”  There’s no reason for the boss to bother doing much, since there’s no shortage of unemployed men with bicycles.  What gets lost, though, is Ricci’s humanity.  Only a bicycle, indeed.

The second incident, involving Bruno, is even more gut-wrenching.  At one of the few happy sequences post-theft, Ricci and Bruno stop in a restaurant to get food.  The clientele is much for refined and the waiters clearly look down on the two.  But what is most unnerving are the looks that Bruno keeps getting from the rich family having lunch at the table behind them.  Ricci attempts to reassure his son, but their presence only reminds the father of all the money, of the promise of a stable life, that the stolen bicycle has robbed him of.

So, in conclusion: Bicycle Thieves is the sort of film that, when you've finished watching it, makes you hope somewhere in the back of your mind that you accidentally walk in front of a speeding train.  When even the momentary reprieves from the daily grind serve to remind the protagonists that their lives are broken, you know that the Earth is actually a cold dark place.  I cannot stress how moving Bicycle Thieves is as a motion picture.  Just make sure you keep several boxes of tissues on hand for the last ten minutes.  Fair warning to you, there.