Filmography Worship: Ranking Every Roberto Rossellini Film
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
Filmography Worship is a series where we review every single feature of filmmakers that have made our Wall of Directors
The Rossellini family was one primed for cinematic greatness. This journey starts way before icon Isabella Rossellini hit the big screen, and even before her father — the topic of today's article — had his own career. Roberto Gastone Zeffiro Rossellini was the son of Angiolo Rossellini, who built, owned, and operated the very first cinema in Rome. Son Roberto Rossellini was given the opportunity to watch any film he pleased during this time, and so he explored the world of film. Once his father passed away, Rossellini wanted to pursue the craft of filmmaking and began as a sound designer before hopping to different departments (all in the name of discovering how films are conjured from every angle). He worked on his first film in 1937, Prelude a l'apres-midi d'un faune: the status of this film is unknown. After some years as an assistant director, Rossellini was able to make his first official feature film (funded by the propaganda centre of the Navy Department). After this debut, The White Ship, and a few similar titles, the Fascist regime of Italy dissolved in 1943, and the next phase of Rossellini's career began: a starkly different one that opposed the work he had just made. This time around, he was not sponsored in any way, and he had to work with barely any financing and assistance (outside of the help of the legendary Federico Fellini, which always helps). At this point, Rossellini was making far more realistic and important works that became formative films in the Italian neorealist movement.
This string of neorealist pictures captured the attention of one of the great actors of that — and all — time, when Ingrid Bergman reached out to Rossellini and wanted to personally work with him. They would have their own series of works together (some of their respective best titles), but their streak was overshadowed by their affair (both were married when they began seeing each other romantically). Their relationship led to a number of children (yes, including the aforementioned Isabella Rossellini). Their partnership ended when they divorced in 1957. The remainder of Rossellini's filmography for the next two decades is not quite as impressive as the works from his prime, and you'll find that he was very much a hit-or-miss kind of director. He passed away from a fatal heart attack at the age of seventy-one. While his weaker works have faded into the fog of time after his passing, his masterpieces have only grown in stature, marking him as one of the most influential filmmakers in Italian cinema. Here are the films of Roberto Rossellini ranked from worst to best.
25. The White Ship
Before Rossellini was thought of as a neorealist master, he was working against these very ideas; his earliest works were strongly tied to fascist propaganda. His debut film, The White Ship, is one such example: while it might not be as forceful as you might picture with such a film, it's still full of enough false notes to not come even close to Rossellini's best. This film — produced by the Italian Navy — blends documentary and newsreel footage with a convoluted romantic storyline; the whole film reads as painfully corny and artificial (everything Rossellini's neorealist period would stand up against).
24. A Pilot Returns
The second film of Rossellini's "Fascist Trilogy" is A Pilot Returns, and it might reek the most of that propaganda stench. Made in support of and by the Italian Air Force, this picture turns a pilot's time serving and being caught into a massively mythological odyssey. There are some good intentions here, but knowing the reason why the film was made (and just feeling its inauthenticity, even without the context) is quite frustrating at times; it's hard to find honour within a film when propaganda works care more about recruitment and advertising than they do respecting their subjects.
23. The Man with a Cross
The third of Rossellini's earliest propaganda films, The Man with a Cross is a tug-of-war between the old and then-new tendencies of this filmmaker. On one hand, you can see Rossellini experimenting with frame composition, camera movement, and other cinematic traits as he was gathering his footing (and was seemingly preparing for his neorealist period). On the other, the film is as kitschy as Rossellini ever got. The Man with a Cross has a fairly strong premise (about an army chaplain who risks his life to help another during World War II), but the film's obvious political leanings sour much of the intended emotion and empathy that the film is begging for.
22. Anno uno
We leap from the earliest Rossellini works to a film much later in his career with Anno uno (or Year One). Based on the efforts of Christian Democrat Alcide De Gaspari (who staved off the rise in communism out of Italy after its fascist leadership finally subsided), you can tell that Rossellini is passionate about this subject and wanting to grant viewers a critical history lesson. However, Anno uno is far too dull, lethargic, and typical to ever truly connect with audiences; what should be a lesson you never lose sight of winds up feeling painfully forgettable instead.
21. Anima nera
Rossellini's final film of his prolific period (before he would take his time in between pictures), Anima nera — or Black Soul — is meant to be a cautionary tale about the sins of one's past and present ruining what he has. Unfortunately, a story should still make a protagonist — even antiheroes — likeable in the sense that we can follow their story (even if we can not condone what they do or support them in any way); Travis Bickle of Taxi Driver fame is entirely problematic, but he is written to be so fascinating despite his glaring flaws. Our lead here, however, is painfully unlikeable, annoying, and irreprehensible to the point that Anima nera is a chore to watch, and I couldn't care less about what happened to him (good or bad).
20. Desire
While not entirely a Rossellini effort (this film is co-directed by Marcello Pagliero, and I would attribute it more to him), I will still cover Desire here to complete every feature film Rossellini worked on (he began the project, and Pagliero completed it when the production fell through). After all of that, Desire is a decent melodrama about a girl's efforts to start a new life after experiencing much turmoil. This has all of the notes of a classic neorealist effort here, but it also comes off as a somewhat derivative take on one: an example of the wave that possesses all of the storylines and ideas that one would expect while also never truly standing out from the pack (and, as a result, never fully coming into its own).
19. Where Is Freedom?
Is this truly a Rossellini film if the auteur abandoned Where Is Freedom? mid production (out of a lack of passion) and it was completed by uncredited contributors (Mario Monicelli, Federico Fellini, and Lucio Fulci)? Not even Rossellini wanted his name attached to this. Nonetheless, here it is: a misshapen, tonally-sloppy comedy film about a criminal who cannot stop being evil. There is something promising here about the inability to shed one's past of sin, but Where Is Freedom? is too poorly handled to get this point across; despite the efforts of those who wished to resuscitate this project, this film is kind of messy.
18. L’amore
Like I always say, anthology films are a big risk because there is a chance that you will destroy all of the momentum of your film via the stop-and-start action of short stories that do not connect well together (or the possibility of one short greatly outshining those surrounding it). Rossellini was no stranger to short films (they aren't featured on this list), and he essentially slapped a couple of them together with L'Amore. To me, the two stories — one an adaptation of Jean Cocteau's The Human Voice, and the other an interpretation of Ramon del Valle-Inclan's The Miracle — don't have much to do with one another, and so L'amore kind of just awkwardly exists with a pair of partially-realized halves. This one might be more for Rossellini obsessives.
17. Vanina Vanini
By the sixties, it almost feels like Rossellini was trying to blend his fifties epics with his neorealist titles, and such an example is Vanina Vanini: a sociopolitical romantic drama. This take on a forbidden love between a patriot on the run and a privileged countess as all of the passions of a Rossellini classic, but there is something missing in the fold: perhaps some control and restraint, I would argue. Rossellini's prime kicked off with bare-bones works about everyday people, and it resolved with his massive, roaring love letters to broken people in glorious Italy; Vanina Vanini tries its best, but it neither feels intimate or captivating.
16. Fear
Rossellini and Ingrid Bergman's controversial affair wasn't aided whatsoever by the release of Fear: a noir-esque look at a wife's adulterous scandal and the extortion she faces as a result. While quite an interesting film artistically and stylistically, Fear is somewhat tone deaf with its approach to the subject; I don't blame Rossellini and Bergman's relationship (which would end shortly after this film) as much as I do the constrictions of the Hollywood Code ending (that has to wrap everything up nicely). What is meant to be tense and suspenseful winds up being a bit of a drag instead, even though there is a strong Bergman performance to keep us going.
15. The Machine to Kill Bad People
The best news is that the film is better than its silly, sophomoric name (but that's quite the low bar, and I'd argue that this film is only so-so). The Machine to Kill Bad People is a unique Rossellini effort in the sense that he partook in the niche genre of fantasy neorealism (like Vittorio De Sica's Miracle in Milan); here, a photographer is given a mystical camera that can destroy the evil within society (including the devil who is hiding where you least expect him). A little hokey and overtly whimsical, The Machine to Kill Bad People at least has something interesting to say like so many other films: love conquers all, and good will triumph over sin. This film is kind of fun, but I wouldn't call it astounding or revelatory, either.
14. Joan of Arc at the Stake
While not my favourite cinematic retelling of the life and death of Joan of Arc (believe me, there are some clear winners by Carl Theodor Dreyer, Robert Bresson, and Jacques Rivette), there is something between the Rossellini and Ingrid Bergman tandem that sees both lovers pushing each other to their limit (with Bergman rendering herself quite vulnerable here, and Rossellini getting his most unorthodox as a filmmaker). That's where the real spark comes from: the visceral sacrifice from both parties in this heightened film. It's not quite their best collaboration (and it would prove to be their last as well), but Joan of Arc at the Stake is at least an attempt at something new (even with a tale as old as time); it also isn't their worst, as I'd give that dishonour to Fear.
13. Garibaldi
Released the same year as Vanina Vanini in 1961, the far-better Garibaldi (also known as Viva l'Italia!) is a film that Rossellini clearly put everything into (he declared it the work he was the most happy with). Following historical figure Giuseppe Garibaldi and his efforts to lead the Expedition of the Thousand throughout Italy, the aptly named Garibaldi sees Rossellini going bigger than ever before in this war epic, with swooping battle sequences and intense combat choreography. I don't know if I find this film leaving as much of a personal impression on me as Rossellini's greatest works, but this showed me another side of the Italian giant: one who can streamline chaos and work with a much larger canvas (without losing sight of his creation); this one is worth checking out if you are already a fan of Rossellini's works.
12. The Messiah
A few years after the buzz surrounding the Biblical epic had died down, Rossellini — a known atheist — tried his hand with his final narrative feature film, The Messiah, in 1975. Considering how late into his career this film is, this take on the life and times of Jesus Christ is actually quite great. What I appreciate is how Rossellini tackles this subject more as a cinematic artifact about an existing figure as opposed to a faith-based act of devotion, allowing Christ to feel more like a humanistic, neorealist figure than an untouchable icon; to me, spirituality stems from an established, obtainable connection, not via gatekeeping and the unimaginable (faith has to stem from somewhere). Both in Rossellini's canon and the history of Christian films, The Messiah is quite underrated.
11. Escape by Night
What does freedom look like to you? The answer may vary depending on the person responding. In Escape by Night, we have three drastically different walks of life, as if they are the set up to a corny joke about a trio of people walking into a bar (an American fighter pilot, a British major, and a Russian sergeant); all three of them are pressed to find solace during the times of Nazi-occupied Rome. A young couple grant this group a place to hide, but things aren't that simple when this plan goes awry. Rossellini's film cleverly finds common ground between these starkly varied people when the chips are down; unlike those in the film, Rossellini doesn't get blinded and fooled by the possibility of pure optimism, as he instead delivers us the sad reality of such a situation instead.
10. Beaubourg, centre d'art et de culture Georges Pompidou
Rossellini's final film is the documentary feature, Beaubourg, centre d'art et de culture, released in 1977. Commissioned by the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs to celebrate the opening of this facility, Rossellini does more than just promote the Centre Pompidou; instead, he wanted to capture the essence of being a part of the exhibitions on that fateful day. With hidden microphones throughout the building and careful camera placements (as well as a lack of voiceover narration), Rossellini's documentary is more of a living installation that you can revisit without the dread of the changes of time. As a result, this documentary becomes an open discussion about art and how it is received, rather than how meaning can be dictated to open ears and eyes.
9. India: Matri Bhumi
One of the greats of Italian neorealism, Rossellini migrated his efforts over to Bombay, India for his docufiction picture India: Matri Bhumi. Blending a series of vignettes together to weave a tapestry of the culture, history, and sociopolitics of South Asia, India: Matri Bhumi is a testimony to the authentic side of the country, one uninhibited by the landmarks of tourism. Rossellini captures the tales and flows of the citizens, having — as per usual with neorealism — non-professional actors relay their experiences onto the big screen for the world to see. Years after Satyajit Ray brought neorealism to South Asian cinema, Rossellini tried his hand here with this hefty, revelatory project.
8. The Flowers of St. Francis
Rossellini and Federico Fellini go way back, and seeing them work together on The Flowers of St. Francis is quite the treat (Fellini co-wrote the film with Rossellini). Years before Andrei Tarkovsky's Andrei Rublev did something similar, Rossellini's motion picture takes a beloved, religious figure (Saint Francis of Assisi) and provides him with his own set of parables in the form of cinematic vignettes; all of these micro stories add up to a larger picture of fulfillment and enlightenment. Even though it is just shy of ninety minutes, The Flowers of St. Francis feels like a lifetime because of how much we experience in this endless conquest for purity and selflessness. I think it's almost better that Rossellini isn't a practicing Christian himself, because he gets to observe the sacrifices and healing of others like St. Francis (and the monks featured in this film) as a wide-eyed student and not as a holier-than-thou expert.
7. General Della Rovere
After a highly prolific 1954, it took five years for Rossellini to return with General Della Rovere: a sign that quality can often surpass quantity. Here, Rossellini features Italian neorealist great (as a filmmaker and actor) Vittorio De Sica in the leading role, and the two legends work sublimely well together to deliver a harrowing political thriller. Whether it is theft, exploitation, torture, or other brutal means, General Della Rovere depicts how low people are willing to go when they are desperate, particularly during wartime (here, it's World War II). Rossellini operates with a calculated and precise hand: something he developed over the years. The end result is one that will burrow itself into your mind and under your skin.
6. Europe '51
We have reached the greatest works in Rossellini's career, and all of the films I consider essential for your collection. Europe '51 feels self-reflective for Rossellini in a sense: it considers the martyrdom of a person when they have experienced tragedy. For Rossellini' he devoted his entire career to projecting the crises within a war-torn and economically-eviscerated Italy. In this film, he features a woman who gives up all of her fortunes after the suicide of her son; this lead is played magnificently by frequent collaborator and romantic partner, Ingrid Bergman. Can one do too much good in the world before they are deemed insane? That is one of the key themes of Europe '51: are we inhuman if we give up too much of ourselves for the greater good? Should that not make us more human?
5. Paisan
The second of Rossellini's classic neorealist trilogy, Paisan is a far stronger example of what an anthology film can be (compared to, say, L'Amore). Over the course of nearly two years in Italy during World War II, Paisan shows a detailed tome of what being a civilian in a nation dominated by bloodshed looked like. I only place this film the lowest of the three in this trilogy because I find the other two works even more direct with their results, but Paisan is nothing to sleep on: all of these chapters excel on their own, and they converge to make a bittersweet portrait as a whole. Here is a beautiful country and its people experiencing hardship; Paisan also makes sure to spotlight the perseverance that kept everyone — and Rossellini — going.
4. Stromboli
Rossellini's first film of the fifties — and his preliminary work with his then-partner Ingrid Bergman — is Stromboli: a breathtaking and overwhelming look at the many twists and turns a chaotic life can offer. Following Karin (Bergman) and her challenging adjustments to a new and difficult life, Stromboli shows this character being engulfed by the titanic world around her; most of Rossellini's films are ones you can feel, but the scale of Stromboli is one that may envelop you as well. Alongside these behemoth backdrops on a catastrophic island is an exemplary score; Rossellini's brother, Renzo Rossellini, scored a number of the former's films, but he was at his absolute best with the exquisite, booming compositions here. A neorealist film that verges on being melodramatic to the point of psychological hyperbole, to watch Stromboli is to experience your heart beating out of your chest; out of love; out of anxiety; out of passion, either way.
3. Germany, Year Zero
If Paisan focused on giving us multiple stories, then the final film in Rossellini's celebrated neorealist trilogy, Germany, Year Zero, tried to achieve the same via one vehicle this time: a lone protagonist in the form of an adolescent boy and the ruination of Germany that circles around him. In an environment post World War II, we are left to wonder: what is this all for? If combat is to bring us a brighter future, is that future present in the devastation that Rossellini shows us here? How have we failed the next generation so badly to the point that there can even be lives like our lead character, here? In the context of Rossellini's trilogy, we have the origins of destruction (Rome, Open City), the spread of such catastrophe (Paisan), and Germany, Year Zero: the aftermath and how impossible it is to find normalcy in the shadow of such massacre. This is some food for thought we are left to nibble on: is any of this violence and slaughter worth it?
2. Journey to Italy
Rossellini released four films in 1954: Where Is Freedom?, Fear, and Joan of Arc at the Stake, alongside one other film. That work is far more instrumental to Rossellini's legacy and the annals of Italian cinema than the other three, and that title is Journey to Italy. The best of Rossellini's collaborations with his then-partner Ingrid Bergman, this treacherous look at a marriage on the rocks (which was echoing the reality of their union) is sterling in a metaphysical way. Seeing our discouraged and separating couple (Bergman is joined by George Sanders, who suspiciously looks a lot like Rossellini here) drift further apart before that polarizing, Hollywood ending is one thing; to understand that Rossellini was hoping to manifest a miracle into existence via this film is another. A memento of the neorealist movement, a love letter to Italy and Italian cinema, and an honest effort to resolve a tumultuous relationship in real life, Journey to Italy is simply extraordinary as a slice of modernist, deeply-rooted, extravagant filmmaking.
1. Rome, Open City
Rossellini's breakthrough film was one in multiple ways; not only did it put him on the map as a serious name in Italian cinema, but it helped him break out of the confines of propaganda filmmaking that he was entrenched in previously. Rome, Open City is the effort of a handful of major names in Italy, including Rossellini and screenwriters Federico Fellini and Sergio Amidei (in 1945, none of these men were known yet; Rome, Open City changed that overnight). Told in a general sense without any major lead characters (think Gillo Pontecorvo's The Battle of Algiers), Rome, Open City conveys the titular city when it is moments away from being liberated by the Allies. Well, you can consider the core Resistance fighter, Luigi Ferraris, the protagonist of the film, but Rome, Open City is far wider than the perspective of one individual. You can pinpoint many different lives in this picture and find volumes of worth, context, and impact from them; for me (and many), the minor role of Pina is the heartbeat — and source of heartbreak — in the entire film.
What makes Rome, Open City feel nerve-wracking and highly effective is how uncontained it seems: as if virtually anything can happen within this short time frame. The film is just over one-hundred minutes long, so it is hardly an epic by definition, and yet it feels as though it towers over the viewer with this monolithic projection of atrocity and torment. When Rossellini freed himself from the grasp of propaganda filmmaking, he made up for all of those wrongs with a film steeped in truth and urgency. He wasn't trying to sell you on the initiatives of those who serve or convince you that there is always hope at the end of despair. He was giving you a dose of reality: that war ruins and even ends lives. It sets nations backwards. It prevents us from working together and achieving great things. Roberto Rossellini refused to be a catalyst for mistruths and manipulation, and with Rome, Open City, he delivered one of the realist films ever made: a punishing analysis of a country — and world — in peril. It remains an important film to watch as a cinephile; as a history buff; as a citizen of the world who wonders why we were — and still are — as hateful as we are.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Toronto Metropolitan University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.