DEATH IN VENICE. A masterpiece that would bore even Bergman himself
This status is largely determined by the fact that Luchino Visconti’s work, created in 1971 based on the story by the German Nobel laureate Thomas Mann, is considered one of the most perfect and subtle translations of literary text into the language of film.
Without a doubt, I have a weakness for films in which the plot unfolds on so many levels that the viewer repeatedly wonders what it’s all about. The same is true for Death in Venice – death proves to be both very literal and metaphorical. It concerns the state of the soul, music, and situations where an entire city dies, along with the idea behind the genius who desires to be human.
At first glance, it might seem like a love story, but nothing could be further from the truth. Some accuse the film of sensationalizing the theme of homosexual love, but in my opinion, this stems from their deep misunderstanding of both the work itself and the archetype of genius. Visconti tells his story through subtle images, gestures, and words, and there is nothing vulgar or inappropriate in the film. Interpreting the protagonist’s feelings in this way is not only vulgar but also overly simplistic. In this case, it is necessary to reject the crude corporeality in favor of the inspiring ideal of beauty and youth. Inspiration for creation, and most importantly, for life.
The relationship that connects the characters is extremely intriguing. We never really know what is truly between them. All we see is how they pass each other wordlessly and gaze at each other, as if they are not fully aware of something that emerged between them over the course of a few days. Additionally, Tadzio is portrayed as someone who is fully aware of what he is doing. No gesture or glance is without significance. It’s a kind of game between the characters of Death in Venice, which is both a salvation and leads to inevitable ruin.
The main character somewhat “falls in love” with his ideal. It’s an escape for him from the reality where he is old, useless, sick, and, most importantly, unable to create anything and has lost the meaning of life. The young boy embodies hope that somehow all of this can be reversed, that when inspiration returns, everything will be in a state of desired balance again. Seeing Tadzio, the main character regains faith in the existence of an ideal. And if there is an ideal of beauty, there can also be an ideal of art.
Setting aside any philosophical implications, it’s worth considering the physical beauty of Death in Venice. Each of its elements is breathtaking. We have a meticulous recreation of the world depicted in Thomas Mann’s book. Venice is as beautiful as ever, and when we add to that the costumes, the way each element of the set is arranged, or how the entertainments of that period are portrayed, we get a complete picture. Additionally, attention must be paid to the perfect use of colors. All of this gives the impression that we are truly in the midst of the sirocco wind in Italy in 1911. The visual aspect overwhelms the viewer, showing beauty even in such a tragic act as death.
From the acting perspective, the film performs excellently. Dirk Bogarde’s portrayal deserves special attention. I must admit that the last time I watched Death in Venice was exactly 20 years ago, and back then, his role seemed incredibly repulsive to me. Perhaps because I was 10 years old and didn’t quite understand what it was all about. However, I now see a perfectly acted portrayal of a tragic character torn between internal dilemmas and the desire to return to being a genius and virtuoso. Bjorn Andresen is also incredibly subtle in his portrayal. Every gesture and every glance are extremely balanced and show that the young actor harbored amazing acting potential.
The only criticism I have of the adaptation of the prose is the change in Aschenbach’s profession—from a writer to a composer. This is because the director, fascinated by Mahler to the extreme, throws him and his music at the viewer at every opportunity, which ultimately is incredibly annoying. It seems to me that there was no rational reason to involve the composer in this work. Yes, I know that according to some, he was the prototype of the character depicted in Mann’s story, but I prefer to stick to the autobiographical interpretation of the work. Additionally, the theories expressed during the protagonist’s retrospections in no way fit his position as a composer but rather as a writer, which unfortunately clashes with the entire message of Death in Venice.
Gracja Grzegorczyk-Tokarska