“The road begins and the journey is already over”

Pier Paolo Pasolini’s The Hawks and the Sparrows (Italian: Uccellacci e uccellini) is a film built from a fundamentally contradictory perspective – a comedy that is far bleaker than most films made during this time, and a neo-realist masterpiece that has frequent flights of fancy into the realms of fantastical comedy. With this incredibly bizarre film that was formed from a series of fragmented philosophical ideas (as reflected in the quote above), Pasolini voyaged into the inner depths of the human mind to deliver one of the most powerful explorations of social consciousness ever committed to film – a daring tale of social unease, told from the perspective of a director whose intentions have always been to take aim at one particular faction of society, or general institutionalized idiosyncrasy, which form truly unforgettable images. Approaching these ideas from a perspective of controlled narrative chaos, Pasolini is able to put together an undeniably extraordinary dark comedy that implores the audience to not only look inward and consider a deeper set of existential quandaries but also to ponder some of the more abstract questions that tend to weave themselves into our lives as we go about the seemingly endless travail between birth and demise, with the director portraying this ambigious period through an experimental piece that is a combination of so many different genres and philosophical ideas, to call The Hawks and the Sparrows anything other than an uncompromising work of unmitigated creative genius seems misguided. One of the rare films that not only encourages a form of deep existential questioning but truly necessitates it, Pasolini put together a brilliant disruptive tale of social unease and the boundless tenacity of the human soul, delivering one of the most ambitious, if not truly revolutionary, works of the 1960s.

Set on the outskirts of Rome, two men are traversing the various highways, bridges and rural settlements that are seemingly invisible to the upper echelons of society. Totò Innocenti (Totò) is an elderly man on this way towards collecting a debt he is apparently owed, accompanied by his scatter-brained son (Ninetto Davoli), a teenager who would much rather satiate his carnal cravings for mischief than be at the side of his father on a seemingly endless journey. Along the way, they’re joined by an unexpected travelling companion – a talking crow, who is apparently the reincarnation of the general spirit of the long-deceased left-wing political contingents around the time of the Second World War. The trio continues to find their way towards an unknown destination, encountering a variety of eccentric characters, into whose lives the two protagonists find themselves slowly encroaching, bringing their own unique perspective into the existences of a group of individuals who all represent some faction of society rendered invisible or unimportant by the general institutionalized beliefs governing the country and dictating social standards, of which they’re far from compliant. The crow also tells them a parable about a pair of Franciscan monks centuries before, who were tasked with a nearly impossible task of preaching the Gospel to the hawks and sparrows that litter the region, in the hopes of convincing them to accept religion into their lives and to stop the violent bickering that has characterized their entire existence. Along the way, chance encounters and ulterior motives pose challenges for the protagonists, who continue to make their way to a destination that is quite possibly the very beginning of the road they set down on initially.

Trying to make sense of The Hawks and the Sparrows in a coherent way is a fruitless endeavour, as this is a fundamentally bewildering work of unrelinquished genius. However, what Pasolini has made with this film is nothing short of a truly a fascinating social odyssey, which operates as a postmodern text with an apparently endless number of functions, all of which it performs with the kind of intense surrealism that Pasolini often employed, albeit in perhaps not quite as distilled a form as this. Unquestionably, the most adequate way to describe this film as a whole would be to take note of how truly provocative it is. A satire that is brimming with a kind of renegade philosophy that did not become commonplace in the public consciousness until decades later, the film takes quite an intrepid approach to some ideas that were always omnipresent in the director’s work, even when it wasn’t entirely evident, a result of Pasolini’s tendency to weave together narrative and ideology in a way that was intelligent without being overwrought. A filmmaker whose entire career was defined by his incredible directorial vision, and his radical interest in social and political matters, The Hawks and the Sparrows does not avoid the challenges that come with bringing reality to the realm of fiction. Pasolini is exploring deeper issues, even when the films aren’t necessarily overt contributions to the discussion, but rather immensely potent additions to an already divisive discourse that is only further exacerbated by the director’s own ulterior motives. The sheer volume of political and philosophical ideologies sewn into the fabric of The Hawks and the Sparrows is impossible to explore in detail without resorting to in-depth analyses of half a century of Italian social policy and history – and somehow, it becomes almost inconsequential to try and make sense of the specific discursive structures that constitute this film, because not only may it be impenetrable to all viewers who don’t have the working knowledge of mid-century Italian politics and culture that have now naturally been obscured into history by the inevitable progression of time, but also the fact that so much of what Pasolini is attempting to say with this film requires less of an active understanding of the content, and more a pensive acceptance of his message, which is quite simple: the first words that appear on screen are “dove va l’umanità?”, translating as “where is humanity going?” – and serving as the central thesis statement of the film, Pasolini launches us into a bewildering brilliant world where logic is redundant, and ration has no place other than being a contextual structure from which the director asserts his puzzling vision in relentlessly poignant ways.

An aspect that normally helps in making sense of Pasolini’s fascinating career is in looking at how his films were provocations of both form and content. We’ve already acknowledged the wealth of ideological yearning that the director infuses into the film, but where The Hawks and the Sparrows truly succeeds is in how he realizes some of these hopelessly abstract ideas, making them as tangible as they can be considering their metaphysical nature. The film takes the form of a picaresque journey, whereby two men are on the road to nowhere. A simple premise that is combined with a certain genial playfulness that hides a more bleak social message, it perceives humanity in such a strangely heartwarming way, where the director’s more abstract ideals manifest in an almost joyful affection for the characters he has constructed. The Hawks and the Sparrows exists at the perfect intersection between gritty neo-realism and perfectly-calibrate absurdism, with Pasolini taking the opportunity to not only explore the theoretical beliefs of his ideological role-models but also to pay tribute to the various artistic figures that inspired him. He seamlessly blends numerous genres, employing their conventions in an abstract manner, ultimately resulting in an uproarious comedy that contains a very melancholic view of the human condition. Comedy is an important tool in a film like The Hawks and the Sparrows, as it doesn’t merely exist to entertain, but also to supplement, and occasionally intentionally contradict, for the purpose of lending both gravitas and subversion to a familiar formula. It is a whimsical romp through the outskirts of post-war Rome, proudly detached from reality and relishing in its gleeful disregard for logic – how else can we describe a film that hinges its entire narrative on a talking crow, while still being as sincere and earnest as even the most authentic neo-realist drama? The humour conceals a certain sadness that is slowly unveiled throughout the course of the film, whereby Pasolini explores deeper themes by looking at them through a lens of surreal comedy, which isn’t merely a tool to evoke laughter, but also one utilized to indicate and investigate the various idiosyncrasies of a society that isn’t quite sure of what to make of itself just yet.

Despite containing such a labyrinthine set of ideals, The Hawks and the Sparrows makes use of a very simple approach, with the director clearly being fully aware that he could say the most through demonstrating the least and allowing the audience the chance to form their own thoughts about this film. Comedy is a fascinating tool, and Pasolini realizes the full might of a well-placed joke, or a visual gag, in conveying a certain message that the most overwrought narrative preaching could never hope to accomplish. He employs several different forms of comedy – clever wordplay, slapstick comedy, immensely strange surrealist humour, and sinister social satire, all of which converge into this beautifully bizarre experiment that finds the director venturing into the roots of the human condition by way of outrageous comedy. It takes a very special filmmaker to make something that explores such grave subjects, such as political despair, heartwrenching poverty and the challenges of living under restrictive religious doctrine, while still being sweetly sentimental and endearing, with broad overtures of unhinged comedy. The Hawks and the Sparrows is a daring work for the sole reason that it takes the risk of forming itself as a comedy when the logical approach would have been to make use of the bleak social despair that some of Pasolini’s cinematic forerunners frequently employed in their highly-influential glimpses into the shortcomings of humanity and the suffering it tends to inflict. Pasolini is singularly uninterested in this perspective, while still acknowledging this line of humanistic storytelling by showing the restraint he subjects deserve, but not avoiding the opportunity to subvert expectations by putting together one of the most ambitious comedies of its era, and one that has rarely been matched in scope, intention and execution.

The presence of various comedic elements, which intertwine with an achingly beautiful story of humanism that never falls victim to an often cynical view on the part of the director, only buttresses the intentions of The Hawks and the Sparrows in its sheer audacity. The presence of Totò, in what would become one of his final screen performances, is both bizarre and entirely welcomed. A comic icon that was not known to take part in such complex works, he brings such a different perspective to a character formed for someone who possessed both the physicality and timing of the early screen comedians of the silent era, and the sardonic wit and nuance of cinema’s finest social critics. The Hawks and the Sparrows may have been borne from the mind of Pasolini, but its Totò who works alongside that vision to evoke the more compelling narrative nuances. The actor brings out the heightened comedy, evoking images of so many great screen comedians, but also evoking the underlying sadness that persists throughout this character. Totò and Ninetto are two radically different protagonists who share the same fundamental qualities – a curiosity for what lies ahead, but also an immense uncertainty that makes them question whether this journey is actually worth it. Pasolini often extracted fascinating performances from his actors, and considering he made use of one of the most enduring aspects of Italian neo-realism, namely the casting of unknowns and non-actors, the contrast between the seasoned comedic veteran, the incredibly talented young upstart and the legions of ordinary individuals who are given a place in this poignant social tapestry, forms an extraordinarily compelling exploration of humanity, told through the guise of truly outrageous comedy.

Ultimately, The Hawks and the Sparrows is a film that looks at the human condition. As we’ve noted, the film begins with the question “where is humanity going?”, which is constantly answered throughout the repetitive refrain of “boh!”, or “who knows?” – this kind of reckless existential rebellion repeated in this impactful refrain is one that sets this film apart from many other humanistic masterpieces, and the uncertainty the characterizes these individuals and causes them to have to negotiate their identities in social contexts where it should not be necessary, all indicate the director’s intention to explore an underlying urban malaise that manifests in this darkly comical satire that continues to disrupt the natural narrative order in a way that is bold and truly revolutionary, provoking certain themes that are both resonant to reality, and indicative of a surrealist approach that may be thoroughly entertaining, but also harbours a much darker sentiment. Consider the ending, whereby the two protagonists decide that the natural response to having sampled from the immense knowledge of their avian companion was to eat him, and you’ll understand exactly why The Hawks and the Sparrows is so ahead of its time – it goes in entirely unexpected directions, while still holding some semblance of logic, never deviating from its broader meaning. Pasolini has essentially made a harrowing social drama disguised with unhinged absurdity and bold comedy, constructed as a melody that resonates with the notes of despair, becoming a bewildering, but nonetheless poetic, ode to the invisible majority who were struggling to reconcile their desire for a simple life with the convoluted intentions of the ruling class. It is an unusual work of fiction, a haunting tragicomedy that approaches the theme of social and cultural alienation in an unexpectedly cheerful manner, creating an intrepid neo-realist odyssey that is as outrageous as it is unquestionably enigmatic. Its a story of journeys, beginning in media res, ending just as it began, cyclical in nature, starkly authentic in its execution, boldly disconcerting in its intentions. A slice-of-life comedy formed from the most unsettling fragments of both social standards and our inner psychological machinations, The Hawks and the Sparrows is a surreal masterpiece that lingers with a ferocity that has yet to be matched.