- Cinema Paradiso is a film that loves film. That's true about a lot of movies, but this one is unique in that it focuses on the typically overlooked details of film projection itself. Sure, it also includes a dash of moviemaking and an abundance of shout-outs to film legends ranging from Keaton and Chaplin to the Italian comedian Totò, but the real stars of the show are the reels, the canisters, and the splicing. Although I'm not particularly sentimental when it comes to the gradual ascendence of digital over traditional film projection, Cinema Paradiso presents a strongly romanticized argument for the classical way of doing things, even if they did tend to be more incindiary.
- The story presents the life of Salvatore Di Vita, mercifully nicknamed "Totò," in three distinct episodes. As a child, Totò (Salvatore Cascio) is charmingly mischevious, constantly sneaking away to the local "Paradiso" theater to watch whatever's playing with wide eyes and dropped jaw. His attachment to the grandfatherly local projectionist Alfredo (Philippe Noiret) overwhelms any influence his hapless mother (Antonella Attili) may have had, and Totò completely devotes himself to the projectionist trade. As a teenager, Totò (Marco Leonardi) falls in love and joins the army, but the true measure of change in his life is how his favorite theater has evolved over the years. Finally, as a middle-aged man, Totò (Jacques Perrin) returns to the small Sicilian town he abandoned to visit his aging mother (Pupella Maggio) and to pay his final respects to Alfredo.
- The most interesting aspect of Cinema Paradiso is how it portrays the diverse ways in which people experience film. Some of the locals go to the theater to socialize, others for romance, a few to work, and presumably some number even come for the films themselves. Regardless of their motives for being there, everybody is always having a good time, and that may be the film's most lasting message. Incidentally, I'll never think of a censor board again without picturing an austere priest (Leopoldo Trieste) ringing a bell every time there's a kiss onscreen. Unfortunately, the film counterbalances these moments of humanitarian insight with overdoses of melodrama that strain, rather than tug at, the heartstrings. If you don't believe me, just translate Toto's real name. The film's most famous scene, the kissing montage, is probably also its most representative. I liked it at first before gradually realizing the shamelessness with which director Giuseppe Tornatore was manipulating the audience. If he had approached Cinema Paradiso with this level of affection, but with the sincerety of, say, Truffaut or Scorsese, he could have made a great film about film instead of a merely decent one.
- Tornatore has a cameo as a film projectionist, naturally.
