Poetic Film Review: Red Desert (Il deserto rosso, 1964)

In ravaged landscapes of industrial grey,
A world awakens, lost in disarray,
The 1960s dawn, a cinematic tide,
As colour blooms, and black-and-white subsides.

Michelangelo Antonioni, a master of the form,
Weaves existential tales, a sombre norm,
L'avventura, La Notte, and L'Eclisse too,
In monochrome hues, his vision shines through.

But then comes Red Desert, a shift in sight,
A colour palette that dances with the light,
Ravenna's port city, a backdrop of despair,
A world of machines, where love and hope impair.

Giuliana wanders, lost in her own mind,
A fragile soul, with emotions left behind,
Her affair with Corrado, a fleeting escape,
From the bleak reality that her heart cannot shape.

The film's visual feast, a striking work of art,
Carlo Di Palma's cinematography touches the heart,
Desolate landscapes stretch far and wide,
A commentary on modernity's dehumanizing stride.

Antonioni's lens captures the contrast so bold,
Between nature's beauty and industrial cold,
A dream sequence whispers secrets to the wind,
Of pristine beaches and innocence left behind.

Monica Vitti shines as Giuliana so complex and cold,
Her neuroses on display like an open wound to unfold.
The film's deliberate pace may test the viewer's will.
But for those who persevere it offers an introspective thrill,

Red Desert remains an arthouse masterpiece so rare.
Yet its appeal stays limited its style not for all to share.

(Note: The review in its original form can be read here.)

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