Federico Fellini was never interested in popularity: “Do critics have to understand my films?”
Does a film need to be decipherable to be considered good? It can be frustrating to watch a movie and feel like you’ve been left high and dry, ambiguity triumphing over everything else, but sometimes that’s the point. It’s not about meaning, but rather, feeling.
Federico Fellini has widely been classed as one of the greatest filmmakers of all time, responsible for meta classics like 8½ and satirical masterpieces such as La Dolce Vita, which are, without a doubt, some of the greatest cinematic exports to ever come from Italy. But Fellini never went into each film with a desire to become this incredibly popular director – he claims that he just wanted to entertain people. Meaning was often secondary, even if the final product seemed deeply profound.
He asked Playboy, “Do critics have to understand my films? Isn’t it enough that they entertain the audience?”
That’s not to say Fellini was a shallow filmmaker who just so happened to make movies that could be interpreted with much more depth than he intended. He wouldn’t have made so many incredible works of cinema if that were the case. Rather, he was led by impulse, refusing to overthink the moral meaning of a scene, and instead letting his ideas flow, even if, when he’s done, he could no longer remember his initial intentions behind them.
As a result, critics and academics have long latched onto his movies and taken a rich analytical lens to the themes at play, yet Fellini often found that people’s interpretations of his work were not remotely similar to his initial ideas for the film. But that’s the beauty of cinema.
He revealed, “I’m not interested in popularity, and it’s pointless to talk about philosophical intent. After shooting a scene, I often can’t even recall what my original intentions were.”
Adding, “Intentions are merely tools—devices to get you in the right frame of mind to do something, to get you started. Many great works are successful despite their original intent.”
He used La Dolce Vita, his 1960 Palme d’Or winner, as the ultimate example. “My intention was simply to capture the mood of Rome—the particular way of being of a people. What it became was a scandalous exposé, a sweeping fresco of a street and a society. Yet I never actually go to the Via Veneto—it’s not my street. And I’ve never attended those aristocratic parties—I don’t even know any aristocrats.”
The fact that La Dolce Vita became something else, something much different to what Fellini intended, is a natural consequence of being an artist. He didn’t seem to mind, though, because he didn’t care if he was popular or not; he just wanted to bring his ideas to the big screen. And he knew that once they were out there, his ideas were no longer solely his to keep. Once art is made public, intentions become irrelevant.
He continued, “The left-wing press interpreted it as a reportage on Rome—yet it need not have been Rome; it could have been Bangkok, or a thousand other cities. I had intended it as a report on Sodom and Gomorrah, a journey into anguish and despair. It was meant to be a document—certainly not a documentary.”
So, despite Fellini’s protests against popularity and understanding, he found plenty of success regardless. That’s testament to the sheer beauty of his filmmaking, which could be interpreted in many different ways, but also simply enjoyed as a sensorial experience, where feeling and emotion comes before analysis.
