The Whisper of Desire in Tinto Brass’s World
The dropping of Monamour’s trailer with Tinto Brass at the helm the baitcast got showers of praise and criticism at the same time. The Italian filmmaker is notorious for framing sensuality and turning it into a full scale art. With Monamour, expectations have gone through the ceiling with the leap into the hypothetical worlds drawn from the trailer. Just like the soft-focus frame from the trailer, Monamour is a tale of passion and conflict. Monamour is not just lust, it’s a tale of love with betrayal and a moonlight dance of devotion and chaos.
Monamour with Tinto Brass promises themes revisiting All Ladies Do It and The Key, at least in the buzz of the ppl. Brass is known for a panorama of erotic touch with a level of psychological complexity. The reveal of Anna Jimskaia as a casting for Marta proved other critics and stood the hype which bordered on frenzy. For someone not in the tabloids, the role is a slice of buns which is a bold leap for the daring performers of the film.
Internal traits can often be more fascinating than external traits, whether it be in the world of fiction or in real life. This is exemplified very eloquently in the work of Anna Blume, titled,
Marta, (nee Anna Jimskaia), has wedded the journalist Dario (Max Parodi) of whom she is the wife. Dario’s marriage with and as perceived by the outside world is harmonious, however, Dario, is somewhat absent and, more importantly, cares little to
Awake and hungry, Dario, transforms from a restless to a, ‘disarmed’ protector of any and all things.
Their affair, torrid, fragile, and exciting all at the same time.
And, as with every action, there are consequences; which in this case are deep and, well… very intense.
Much of the complexity relevant to this tale resides and is painted intricately by the city that hides and reveals everything. With its exotic Renaissance art, the city of Mantua is able to celebrate, and display with a level of
In the world that we currently live in, it is very easy to engage in, and see, ‘archetypes’ of women in all of the works that surround us. They can all be reduced to a set of
That is to say all ‘unfaithful wives’ can be reduced to a set amount of ‘archetypes’ to put it simply. For those who have read Anna Jimskaia’s work, you would see that is not the case here.
During her confessions, she stated while she found the role frightening, she also found it exciting. Arriving in Russia with her self-imposed notion of personifying a model and an actor in Europe, she found herself profoundly isolated as an outsider seeking acceptance. This persona simultaneously resonated with Marta feeling invisible and inaudible in her own union. For Anna, surrendering to the camera was a defining moment. This was not merely “acting.” It was self-confrontation where her inner aspiration was to be validated and accepted.
Dario’s Silence and the Weight of Male Ego
At first, Dario, as portrayed by Max Parodi, appears to be a rather disengaged character. He is neither violent nor cruel—he is simply disengaged with the character, more concerned with his profession at the detriment of the wife. And yet, Parodi was able to draw out the more subtle, menacing parts of the character.
In the course of interviews that Parodi gave to the Italian press around the time of release, he stated that he sees Dario as a man who is a prisoner of his ego, too proud to accept his shortcomings when it comes to closeness. His is an ego that has been silenced, and as a result comes off as the one who has the absolute control in this scenario, by not admitting to Marta’s wishes, he puts her in a corner when it comes to her emotions. Such an analysis elevates Dario from an uninteresting husband to a more advanced character, a stereotype in the representation of the male gaze which continues to dominate society.
Leonardo, the Artist as Temptation
Besides being a lover, Leonardo is also an artwork himself. His being in Marta’s life reminds me of the hypnotizing pull of creativity, freedom, and disarray. Riccardo Marino, though less recognized abroad, also possessed the bohemian spirit. It is an energy that Brass purposely amplified, nearly apotheosizing Marino’s places in life. He is not “the other man” for “the other” stands for a more complex explanation of the social context to which he is a bike. He is, in fact, the apotheosized other. To be more precise, to be biologically more accurate, he is the other in the biological sense. To Marta, society says she cannot, but she grows biologically weary of the lies and satisfies the primal need to hibernate for a life without the truth for which her heart and body cry out.
When Brass Paints with the Camera
Brass did not shoot the erotic scenes in Monamour for he uh also did them earlier with a brush. He focused on the contrasts also. Mantua’s architecture and the raw loins of the other body she meets in the streets. The unheard silences of which Marta’s home is and the carnivalesque chaos of scenes with Leonardo are said to be in dissonance.
Brass’s other interests is said to be, and symbolized also, the fracture identity which is to be reconciled. She is wife on one side and on the other is lover and in the middle lies a confused woman having to merge.
Fans began this detail sometime before the official release of the trailers, igniting intense debate: was Brass critiquing female self-identity in contemporary Italy, or was it simply a case of self-indulgence? Even now, discussions continue about whether Monamour is a work of feminism or a male mirage masquerading as one.
In The Buzz, the Backlash, and the Secret Stories
Monamour was mired in a controversy before it was launched. The Italian distributors were apprehensive that the film would be censored, as it contained scenes that were likely to be labeled ‘explicit’, and this would limit the film’s release in theatres. Brass, on the other hand, was adamant about preserving the film’s ‘authentic emotions’. This leads to uneasy compromises, as some regions of the world were given cut versions, while the director’s unsanitized version floated freely in cinephile circles.
Apart from this, the casting was a significant hurdle. The role of Marta was being scouted for by established actresses who, in early reports, refused to the role owing to the Brass controversial need for nudity. Anna Jimskaia’s willingness was a significant risk, but, it was a risk that was a paying one. She was to step in one of the defining roles in her career, a role that, unfortunately, would ‘pigeonhole’ her for years to come.
Tinto Brass and his actors often found his improvisational touch bewildering. Rather than following a script, he would provide outlines, and create settings for responsive improvisation by actors. Although Anna and Parodi often felt discomfort, the results were exchanges more animated and real than pretended. One of the shocking recalls of a crew member is of the time when “Dario” and “Marta”, for Brass, were directed to utter a minimum, concentrating on the command to “say nothing, but feel everything”, and resulted to some of the most moving scenes captured on camera.
As for others, Monamour remained a simple Tinto Brass film: One more of his custom a la Tinto Brass stylized, erotic, and lacking substance. To some, however, it bore a deeper message – a representation of the deterioration of marriage when interest wanes, chronicling the paradox of confession, and the persistent war waged by women within the realms of love, obligation, and identity.
Monamour by definition is “my love”, but that is not where the beauty of the title lies. Of course, losing the mockery of affection that lies beneath the frustration is the irony. Within the film, Martla would almost mockingly call Monamour to emphasize the meaningless gestures of love without desire. It is more than a title. It offers the viewer counterarguments to resolve the thesis statement.
To this day, fan forums tackle the dilemma posed by Marta’s final decision: to what extent is confessing to Dario an act of self-honesty or self-sabotage? What stance does Brass take? That some truths set you free? Or that some truths only serve to destroy?
Monamour may not have set the box office alight, but among those that look past the surface of the film’s erotic veneer, it endures through whispers, debates, and even late-night viewings. It’s one of those films where the more you go down the layers, the more you appreciate that it’s not about sex—it’s what the sex signifies: profound loneliness, gut-wrenching hunger, sheer defiance, and the shimmering, gossamer hope of being truly seen.
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