There are a great many people who genuinely believe Federico Fellini changed cinema and helped redefine film as a form of boundless artistic expression through his numerous brilliant works. If we are referring to a directorial career that was the definition of longevity, quality and playfulness, there are few that come close to achieving what Fellini did, and it isn’t surprising that he has amassed the status as one of the greatest Italian artists of all time. Unfortunately, like is commonly demonstrated with a variety of filmmakers that are ascended to almost deity-like status, Fellini’s reputation sometimes supersedes his work, and considering his prolific career, it isn’t difficult to find occasional faults in his otherwise impeccable filmography, especially in films that are hardly viewed with the same scrutiny as others, based solely on the virtue that it hails from the great maestro, who could apparently do no wrong. Luckily, Amarcord is a film that may not reach the dizzying heights of something like La Dolce Vita or 8½ in terms of defining his career or being inventive dramatic pieces, but it still is an exceptional example of why he was one of the finest filmmakers of his time, someone capable of beautiful imagery and intimate storytelling. It is also one of his most personal films,a glorious testament to his childhood, which sees the director exploring the past through utilizing his seemingly boundless imagination. Amarcord is a masterful film that may meander at some points, and even be questionable in certain instances, but compensates for all of it through its empathy, warmth and enormous heart, and an enduring sense of humour that never fails to leave the audience thoroughly entertained.

Like any text written on this film will doubtlessly tell you, Amarcord comes from an Italian neologism meaning “I remember” – and naturally, this film is focused mainly on memory. Set in a small Italian village in the 1930s, we are introduced to the eccentric characters that occupy the region, many of which are surrogates for actual figures from Fellini’s past. It isn’t entirely clear which of these characters is based on the director himself (it is all kept quite vague, as well as the film being mainly an ensemble piece that doesn’t have a definitive lead), if it even serves to be autobiographical to begin with. Told over the course of four seasons, from the end of one winter to the beginning of the next, and narrated by many of the village’s strange but endearing residents, we witness the changing mentality that a year can bring to even the most stagnant of towns. We witness the rise of fascism, and the slow decline of the idyllic European ideals that were harboured mainly in these small villages, as society starts to change. The core of the film is the Biondi family, who love each other almost as much as they fight with the other over the most trivial of matters, and we follow them as they go through the year, experiencing an array of different sensations and finding themselves undergoing a series of hilarious but heartfelt misadventures, and in traditional slapstick style, no matter the predicament, they always end up living to see another day.

Amarcord is a tremendously fun film and one element that I appreciate about it, and by extent, most of the director’s work is that Fellini makes his intentions for this film very clear. There is no need for hiding the underlying message beneath allegory or implication, because while this works for some directors, it has never been something he has been particularly interested in, and his films always tend to work better when they’re more direct. This film occurred towards the second half of Fellini’s career when he was already an elder statesman of world cinema, someone who had earned the respect of audiences and critics, as well as the accolades that come along with being seen as one of the finest filmmakers of your generation. It makes sense that he would make a film that focuses mainly on memory, which sees the director concocting a magical series of images that takes the audience on a journey into the past. Memory is obviously a fascinating cinematic tool and something that is often used extremely well, especially when based in reality. However, Amarcord is not the archetypal coming-of-age story, and instead of following one particular character and his growth, Fellini rather tries to capture the essence of his childhood, rather than his own personal past (which is why it may be difficult to discern which of these characters is based on the director himself). The film takes the form of an episodic series of moments over the course of a year, where we are shown a vivid tapestry of an ordinary village, and over the course of the film, we follow a variety of them in their daily routines, each one being presented as individual sequences that are individual but not fragmented enough to detract from the central ideas. A mosaic of moments drawn from the director’s upbringing, Amarcord isn’t about one person or idea, but several intersecting ones that converge into a glorious celebration of life and its idiosyncrasies.

The basis of this film being memory allows Fellini to investigate certain ideas in a way that makes great use with the nature of recollection. Throughout Amarcord, there are the subtle indications that while this is not a particularly absurd film, being grounded quite significantly within reality, it is also one that looks at the tendency whereby time distorts our memories into almost carnivalesque moments that are a lot bolder than they were in reality. An area explored significantly by many artists that have undergone an excursion into the metaphysical past, it is well executed by Fellini, as he crafts something brimming with vivacity. The visual style of the film is perhaps what is most memorable – it is brightly-coloured and filled with life, and it is clear that a lot of meticulous attention went into the creation of this film, which is evidently a passion project for the director, who makes a film that may tend towards being less overtly story-driven and more focused on the underlying message, but when it is filled to the brim with this kind of vivid, exuberant imagery, we tend to forget about other issues and focus on the buoyant images in front of us. The film also has a great sense of humour, always keeping everything relatively light and free of any kind of gloom. Considering Amarcord takes place in the 1930s, it’s very obvious that the rise of fascism would play some kind of role, even if it is only a minor element. It does form a considerable part of the film, but not in a way that is dour, but whereby Fellini makes fun of it without being vitriolic – he exposes the hypocrisy and arrogance of those under that political mindset, but rather than portray them as sinister villains, they’re just misguided, overly proud simpletons who are jumping at a system that they feel benefits them, when in actuality the opposite was true. Fellini should be revered for many things, but the one element that deserves the most admiration is his incredible humanity to his subjects, even those rarely offered the same sympathy. Throughout Amarcord, absolutely everything is infused with a sense of surreal magic, where the director is able to draw on his distinctively flamboyant but generous style in telling the story of ordinary folk going about their daily lives, which works extremely well within the context of this film.

Ultimately, Amarcord is a film about growing up, and considering that this film is very openly dealing with the director going back to his formative years, working through his earliest memories, it only makes sense that there is some sense of underlying melancholy to the piece. This is not a particularly sad film by any means – it is bursting at the seams with positivity. However, Fellini is very much looking back at his childhood with a heavy heart, a yearning that wishes to go back to a simpler time, when our problems were small and our conflicts trivial. The nostalgia in Amarcord is very much evident, mainly through the presentation of this film through the lens of magical realism, but it never feels gauche or tacky. By this point, the director had certainly learned how to convey a particular message and the most effective modes of communicating any of his plethora of ideas. Childhood is a difficult time for everyone, so the fact that Fellini returns to it in a way that doesn’t neglect to show the trials and tribulations, but also doesn’t dismiss the experience of being young, is quite profound. We all know how the world looks very different through a child’s eyes, and Fellini superbly manages to combine innocence and experience in this deeply moving film. Amarcord is a colourful cinematic bildungsroman, which takes the viewer on an adventure to another time and place, delighting us with the sights and sounds of rural Italy, where every story is sumptuous, fascinating and meaningful. Federico Fellini truly was a director who held a firm grasp on his profession, and consistently created real masterpieces. Amarcord may be somewhat rough around the edges, and perhaps far more populist, in both the story and the humour (I can’t recall the last time I saw so many jokes about bodily fluids in an arthouse film), but it is far from pedestrian and remains an enduring and poetic testament to the simple joys of growing up, and the nostalgic pleasure that comes in recalling those moments that would go on to form us at individuals, a fact we were so blissfully unaware of back then.