THE LEOPARD: Blu-Ray (Titanus Productions, 1963) Criterion Home Video

Sumptuously mounted, if somewhat disappointingly uninspired in its execution, Luchino Visconti's Il Gattopardo (The Leopard, 1963) is an oft’ resplendently staged social critique on the end of the Italian artistocracy, their wealth and decadence, succumbing, by violent means, to the impassioned uprisings of the struggling masses. Based on Prince Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa's sprawling, and rather scathing chronicles of Sicilian culture at height of the Risorgimento, the novel was twice rejected for publication before finally appearing on book shelves in 1958 after Lampedusa's death, where it instantly became the top-selling Italian novel of all time. Despite being in very poor health at the time he began this opus magnum, the cantankerous Visconti endeavored to capture an essential - almost ‘embalmed’ quality for which the aristocracy so closely mirrored the reflections evolved from Lampedusa's heart. Alas, the movie’s weighty budget forced Visconti to seek box office security in an international cast. Hence, the part of Prince Fabrizio Corbera of Salina was first offered to Lawrence Olivier, who was unavailable. While Visconti contemplated finding a replacement, the studio chose for him, Burt Lancaster, causing an acrimonious settlement between director and star on the first day’s shooting, and for sometime thereafter. In fact, Visconti is reported to have said "What am I supposed to do with this American gangster?" Undaunted, Lancaster assumed the role, redoubling his efforts to assure Visconti he could handle the part. Visconti was very impressed with the results. Tensions abated and Lancaster and Visconti went on to work splendidly together, to become lifelong friends thereafter.

There are actually 3-versions of The Leopard: the original 185-minute Italian cut, its 161-min. North American counterpart, and, a 151-min. Spanish cut not seen since the movie debuted in that country, and likely, lost to us for all time. The Leopard’s English title is perhaps deceiving in that Il Gattopardo, in literal translation, means a Serval, a North African cat that roamed near Lampedusa's own territory. The novel and the movie begin in May, 1860, the invasion of Sicily by Giuseppe Garibaldi, a heroic figure who united Italy through a daring thrust of military might. But the story is actually centralized on the sad, stoic demise of Don Fabrizio (Lancaster), a 19th century nobleman who quietly observes the slow withering of his family's stately position within the aristocracy. Usurped of his power, and forced to surrender his lands, Don Fabrizio solemnly endures these momentous winds of change with reflection on the happier times when his word alone was absolute, frequenting the brothels of his youth to escape the stifling social climate of his own decaying, if still regal household. From this auspicious debut, there are considerable differences between the novel and Visconti’s filmic adaptation, beginning at Don Fabrizio's Tuscan palace where we are first introduced to Father Pirrone (Romolo Valli), in the novel, a spiritual guide of immeasurable foresight, but in Visconti’s re-envisioning, owing to his own aversion to the Catholic church, is played strictly as an ineffectual clergy and comic relief.

Don Fabrizio is counseled on the civil unrest and looming invasion by Garibaldi's troops. Yet, his gravest concern veers to his nephew, Prince Tancredi Falconieri (the utterly handsome, Alain Delone), a wily playboy and would-be suitor for Don Fabrizio's daughter, Concetta (Lucilla Moracchi). Tancredi is an egotistical turncoat, having taken up Garibaldi's cause as a soldier. If only his truest passion were not for banal adventures of any kind, thereby making his conscription worthy of more than a lark against his own class. Ironically, Don Fabrizio is accepting of his nephew's shortcomings. Father Pirrone declares Garibaldi's invasion will destroy the church and the aristocracy. But Don Fabrizio is more prudent in his assessment; change - regardless of its trajectory - takes time; enough, at least, to see him through the remainder of his own life, relatively unchanged.  Nevertheless, Don Fabrizio moves his family to their estate at Donnafugata, presumably, to distance his family from the revolution for as long as he can. In truth, his decision is selfishly based on his ability to be nearer his mistress, who resides near Donnafugata. There, Don Fabrizio is also reunited with loyalist, Don Calogero Sedara (Paolo Stoppa) whose daughter, Angelica (Claudia Cardinale) has grown into a stately beauty.

Superficially wounded in battle, Tancredi retreats to Donnafugata for a grand party at Don Fabrizo's estate. Tarcredi is smitten with Angelica, shifting his romantic infatuations away from Concetta over the course of dinner, much to her mother, Princess Maria's (Rina Morelli) impatience and regret. Tarcredi seizes on Angelica's interest to listen to his war stories. Now, he regales her with a rather sordid tale, involving a contingent of his fellow soldiers in an invasion of a convent. The story draws hushed gasps from around the table; all, it seems, except Angelica, who is not disgusted, but rather charmed by his audaciously perverse humor. The next afternoon, Don Fabrizio goes on a hunting expedition with Don Ciccio (Serge Reggiani), to quietly pick his brain about Don Calogero and his family. Ciccio is disdainful and bitter in his scandalous stories about Calogero. But he extols Angelica's untarnished innocence before moving to a rather lustful critique of her obvious physical attributes. Contented Angelica is a good match for his nephew, Don Fabrizo informs Ciccio respect must be paid to earn her love. Unshaken by Concetta's rejection in favor of Angelica - for he might just as easily have pursued a sexual relationship with her in his younger years, Don Fabrizio encourages Tancredi's advances. The courtship proceeds and Angelica and Tancredi are married. In the novel their marriage is problematic, buffeted by competitive egos and an escalating mutual disdain. But the screenplay by Suso Cecchi d'Amico, Pasquale Festa Campanile, Enrico Medioli, Massimo Franciosa and Visconti is more forgiving and optimistic about what their future life together may have in store. In fact, we get only a glimmer of Tancredi's possessive nature after Angelica dances a waltz with Don Fabrizo at the ball.

The Leopard’s final act remains its most problematic. Visconti has deliberately omitted the last act of the novel, including Fabrizio's death, to instead celebrate the stoic glimpse of the Prince as he slinks off to his mistress in the slums after an elegant ball has sullied his opinion of the aristocracy for good. In presenting Tancredi and Angelica's marriage as mostly ideal, Visconti has also diffused the erotic tension that served to elevate the final act of our story. So, what we are left with is a rather elegant reinstatement of cultural mannerisms and mantras, strangely lacking in a full-blooded embrace of this crumbling caste system, the characters deposited as sincerely wrought, but otherwise stiffly cardboard cutouts. As example, Prince Fabrizio spends large portions in eloquent pontificating on the end of his class. Yet, in those reflections, there is little to suggest he would dare to assume any responsibility for their demise. Instead of being engaged by his own convictions, the Prince merely delivers soliloquies, pointedly aimed at another place and time - a soothsayer from the future, yet disengaged in his reflections as though they possess no immediate bearing on his own well-being.

Visconti opted to dub his movie in its entirety, depriving us of Burt Lancaster's magnificent range (heard only in the North American cut). In this dub we also lose Claudia Cardinale's tenderly nuanced interpretation of her character. Odd, Visconti should have dubbed her, since Cardinale spoke fluid French in her recitations and exchanges with Alain Delon, and, perfect English in her scenes with Burt Lancaster; none of which survive the Italian cut.  When The Leopard had its premiere it was a colossal flop in North America, bankrupting Titanus Productions and all but bringing about an end to this sort of lavishly-appointed picture-making in Italy. Today, The Leopard has enjoyed something of a renaissance with audiences. Indeed, and despite its shortcomings, there is much to recommend it, not the least Mario Garbuglia’s elaborate production design, Laudomia Hercolani and         Giorgio Pes’ plush set decoration, and Piero Tosi’s gorgeous costuming, all of it expertly photographed by Giuseppe Rotunno . What is curiously lacking here is the script – especially in its last act, to devolve into a sort of middling drawing room dramedy melodrama to instantly become rather one-dimensional in its storytelling.

Criterion Home Video's Blu-Ray represents a stunning and immaculate reference quality 1080p transfer. The image is solid and, for the most part, breathtaking. On Disc One we get the restored Italian cut, properly preserved in its 2:21:1 aspect ratio from the original Technirama elements. Here, colors are fully saturated. Flesh tones are quite natural. Contrast levels have been superbly realized. Blacks are deep. Whites are very clean and film grain is properly represented. Criterion has taken painstaking care to eradicate all age-related damage from the original camera negative. The result is a handsome image with stunning clarity, well preserved for future generations to admire.  Disc Two houses the North American cut with Burt Lancaster speaking his own lines in English. Regrettably, this version has not been restored and is re-framed at 2:35.1, transferred from an inferior Cinemascope print master. Colors are faded and age-related artifacts are everywhere. Comparatively, this is a substandard presentation. Keen eyes will note the Twentieth Century-Fox studio logo that precedes the Italian cut is not the same as the one on the North American cut. This is a curiosity since both the North American and Italian versions were released simultaneously by Fox.

On the Italian version the Fox logo appears to be derived from the studio’s mid-60’s vintage with its iconic art deco facade slightly cropped at the bottom and ever-so-slightly horizontally stretched. On the Cinemascope version the logo, although probably from the same vintage, is more naturally framed and horizontally uncompressed.  Extras on Disc One are limited to an informative audio commentary by Peter Cowie. On Disc Two we get a nearly hour-long retrospective with surviving cast and crew, as well as personal reflections from the late, Sidney Pollack. There is also a pair of video interviews - the first, with producer, Goffredo Lombaro, the second, with scholar, Millicent Marcus. Original trailers, newsreels and stills round out an appreciation for the film.

FILM RATING (out ot 5 - 5 being the best)

3

VIDEO/AUDIO

Italian cut - 5+

North American cut – 2.5

EXTRAS

3