La Strada, 1954, is a nearly perfect film, I am not speaking of technical perfection but of artistic excellence, beautifully structured, handsomely photographed, a genius script and deftly edited to offer us a bitter-sweet and tragic dream of a movie. It has its footing in the Italian Neorealismomovement but transcended to something new, realism communicated through illusion and fantasy, painted on a surreal canvas of celluloid.
Everything has to have a beginning and so looking with hindsight we see that Strada is the foundation of the Federico Fellini style, his beginning of telling his stories, his way, at his tempo. In Fellini’s hyper-realistic creation we except to see the fantastic, the uncommon, yet, in this improbable, exceptional Fellini-universe we grow familiar with seascapes, circuses, prostitutes, the simple-minded, things odd and mundane, all of which are important threads used in the film tapestry we now know as Felliniesque.
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