The reason, for me, why The Leopard is so important to understanding Visconti as a director is illustrated by comparing it to his more internationally famous Morte a Venezia (1973). In that film too we have an ageing aristocrat in fin de siècle Italy, obsessed with beauty and his own decay; here Gustav von Aschenbach attempts to transpose this into his music, while Don Fabrizio seeks refuge through the lens of his telescope, observing the celestial motions above him which care not for trivial earthly matters. In the face of death, both men reject traditional religion for something other, a mathematical perfection of sound or light.
Like The Leopard, Morte a Venezia is beautiful to look at. But the later film is overly stylised, and an emotionally cold film, when by contrast, there is a warmth and pleasure in watching The Leopard, even amidst the introspection. Visconti's class identification with the Prince, I think, is the key to this; the tragedy of Von Aschenbach's demise when it comes is less than that of Don Fabrizio's implied death because he is so detached a character, obsessive like the director, but remote from the world around him. Don Fabrizio, though, is aware of his situation but helpless to change it; The Leopard's marriage of the epic and the personal is what makes it Visconti's most affecting work.
Article comments