The very mention of the name Federico Fellini is bound to stir a strong reaction – for some, he embodies the very essence of Italian cinema, being one of the foremost auteurs that brought his nation to global relevance through his prolific and varied career that stretches across nearly half a century. For others, he is the epitome of style over substance, someone whose stories were compelling, but mostly weighed down by his tendency to allow the temptation towards excess to overtake the more intimate qualities that would make his films otherwise universally accessible. My opinion has always been one the oscillates between the two – he has made some tremendous films that are wildly entertaining, but also some that are a bit too off-the-wall to be fully appreciated, at least in terms of being coherent texts, which is essentially what he was aiming to achieve (rarely venturing towards the realm of outright surrealism, while still being a formative voice amongst those who make up the movement). Of his more admirable and endearing productions is the wonderful Nights of Cabiria, in which Fellini tells the story of a morally conflicted Roman prostitute that is simply seeking a strong human connection, regardless of who is on the other end of such an interaction. It may not have been quite enough to erode my personal hesitations with the director’s work, but did provide more than sufficient evidence towards the argument that he is undeniably an important filmmaker, even if it also confirmed that Fellini’s work is an acquired taste, albeit one that doesn’t take too much effort to fully adore when we are able to latch onto his wavelength.

If there was something that was an unequivocal merit when it comes to Fellini’s work, it was his willingness to collaborate, not being even slightly hesitant in working with other greatest artists in developing his films, even those considered to be his contemporaries. Nights of Cabiria saw the esteemed director working with Pier Paolo Pasolini in writing the screenplay, in particular handing the reigns over in terms of ensuring that the film’s language matched that of the authentic Italian underworld of which Pasolini had a very concise knowledge. While their collaboration was marginal (especially since Ennio Flaiano and Tullio Pinelli are also credited screenwriters, and likely had a more thorough command of the writing process than Pasolini, whose participation seems more consultary than anything else). Regardless, Nights of Cabiria emanates with the best qualities of both filmmakers – the magical realism is contrasted with the gritty, almost vulgar verbiage, creating an effectively dissonant pairing of two distinct styles of storytelling, which Fellini constructs into a very striking story of a young woman searching for her identity amongst an almost carnivalesque version of Italy. The director transforms Rome and its surrounding areas into an uncanny landscape of debauchery and decadence, which is undercut by the protagonist’s journey towards self-realization, which is a much more interesting way of approaching these issues than the more bare-boned neo-realism style that was more prominent in Italian cinema at the time. This film doesn’t even fit in entirely with Fellini’s own style, since it is a lot more harrowing in how it deals with its major issues than his more eccentric approach would suggest – but when it becomes clear where the film is heading, its origins are not nearly as tenuous as one would normally assume based on these small differences.

One simply cannot discuss Nights of Cabiria without mentioning (or rather structuring the entire conversation around) the incredible Giulietta Masina, who plays the titular character, a young woman searching for answers in an increasingly hostile version of Rome. Any surface-level description of Masina will undeniably reference her supposed similarity to the likes of Charles Chaplin, insofar as she was a great actor who could use her incredible expressivity for both comedy and drama. In her case, she would often do this in tandem – her movements and ability to emote without even uttering a single word in some instances have made her amongst the most important artists to emerge out of Europe at the time. This film is often considered to be her finest work – she’s playing a very simple character who is defined by her complexities, something that Fellini ensures we are all fully aware of from the outset. It doesn’t matter that the film focuses on someone in a line of work that was considered to be immoral and criminal, we still find ourselves drawn to the character of Cabiria purely through the ferocity Masina brings to the role. Ethereal but never fragile, our protagonist is one that is constructed as having a hefty gracefulness, where her voyage through the world is one that may be beautiful, but is far from insubstantial. It’s difficult to imagine anyone else bringing the same world-weary elegance to the role, and from beginning to end, Fellini’s camera captures Masina’s extraordinary beauty and salt-of-the-earth sensibilities, which form the foundation of this vibrant exploration of a woman’s fascinating life.

The collision between the idealistic worldview of Fellini, and the more bleak and cold-hearted perspective of Pasolini results in a vivid and captivating existential drama that carries a very deep meaning. As much as we tend to look at Masina’s performance as being the anchor of the film, she essentially exists as the audience surrogate, someone who is used to navigate this distinct version of Italy that the director and his collaborators were intent on constructing. We voyage with her into the heart of the setting, functioning as outsiders within a sprawling city of indeterminate moral grounding. If there was something that Fellini loved more than the human condition (which has always been the one common thread that flows through every one of his projects, whether as a director or merely a writer), it would be the history of his home country, which serves as the location for the vast majority of his films, and in Nights of Cabiria, that is essentially what he is doing, telling the story of Italy, and specifically Rome, which may not have been his city of birth, but was where he spent most of his personal and professional life. This film presents us with a very different depiction of Italy – it isn’t one that is unrecognizable (especially since Fellini makes sure that he captures the iconic architecture, as well as the very specific cultural nuances that only someone with the intricate knowledge of the city could portray), but is rather situated just outside the realms of reality – the characters are eccentric, and the situations they find themselves in are bordering on absurd. Daytime is used for almost puritanical demonstrations of biblical purity, which rapidly changes into a beautiful grotesque carnival of charming depravity once night falls. Nights of Cabiria is as much about its title character as it is about Italy itself, being one of the more poignant and unconventional depictions of the country from this particular era.

Nights of Cabiria is a fascinating film – it’s a cherished classic amongst those who are devoted to the filmmaker and his peculiar worldview, while for those who consider themselves somewhat agnostic towards Fellini (such as myself), it serves as a good middle-ground between his style and those of his equally celebrated contemporaries. Whether we are invested only in the incredible leading performance, or are enticed by the promise of a daring and provocative depiction of a city that has been captured on film innumerable times, but has always been at its most eccentric when filtered through the lens of Fellini’s camera, which spent many years capturing the inherent eccentricity and absurdity of the Roman landscapes that surrounded the director both personally and professionally. The film does take its time to get to a particular point (and there are certain sequences that feel like they exist merely for the sake of showcasing the madness embedded in this city, rather than having any significant plot development), and it gradually emerges as a poignant and powerful piece of compassion Italian cinema, the kind that doesn’t hide behind patriotism, but rather a genuine sense of fondness for the peculiarities that the director saw as he ventured through his career. Nights of Cabiria is a charming achievement that blurs humour and pathos together to form a vibrant portrait of Rome by both day and night, told through the eyes of a working-class woman struggling to find her place within this intimidating landscape – and it amounts to a unique and captivating portrait of the human condition, as portrayed by someone with a truly unforgettable understanding of the intricate details that go into existence.