L'Avventura

I was watching an old black-and-white movie about a man whose life was much better than mine. Well-groomed and well-dressed, he lived in a well-appointed apartment overlooking the Tyrrhenian sea. When he wasn't staring at his private ocean, the man draped himself across a sleek mid-century leather armchair, contemplating his cufflinks while talking to Monica Vitti on the phone, drinking different types of drinks at different times of the day. Sometimes he drove along a coast road in an open-top Alfa Romeo like a one-man carnival float, right arm cradling the steering wheel, left arm flung over the back of the passenger seat, his lustrous hair flowing in the breeze, tanned face reflected in the rearview mirror which revealed a gridlock of Vespas trailing in his wake.

There was a great deal of ennui in the atmosphere, obviously. But it was the glamorous cinematic ennui of the nineteen-sixties that always seems so enviably stylish and sophisticated. A glamorous listlessness that has consistently topped my list of enviable lifestyles. It's ennui that pairs well with sunglasses and Italian shoes, tapping its toes to cool jazz trio soundtracks while thumbing through existential books beneath the umbrellas of sidewalk cafes. I've seen it in the theaters, I bought the VHS, and now I own the Blu-Ray too. Don't get me started on the framed posters and lobby cards displayed in every corner of my mind. 

Provided you know how to mix a Negroni, it isn't difficult to Live Action Role Play the protagonist in this kind of movie once you're suited and booted and have collected all the requisite Italianate props. Nevertheless, I can't imagine anyone sitting through a film of my daily grind for ninety minutes, no matter how much ersatz European chic I exude when commuting to work on the subway. Perhaps it's because I appear in a full color palette and not an artful black and white frame. Or the fact that the only ocean my apartment overlooks is a narrow ocean of wintry grey city streets unlined with either elegant cypress trees or seductive palms. No matter how far apart I fling the curtains, the world outside my window will never be widescreen. So I've decided to finally edit out the suave Neorealist antihero and recast myself as the happy-go-lucky star of a modern TV dramedy, available to stream right now. Whatever happens, I hope the result will be 'binge-able' as they say nowadays.

Comments

[Tatyana]

Did Italy had British road system? If not, he drove the wrong way in his A-R coffin.
[and thinking of roaring 60s, in more ways than one]

[Stephenesque]

Well, he was an Italian driver so God knows what was going on.
Or it’s possible I still can’t tell my left from my right. In fact, that’s very possible.