Cinemateca’s programming sometimes has a random feel. Every now and again it throws up a gem which I would never have got to see on the big screen if I were not a socio, who goes two or three times a week. As such I will go and see a film purely on the basis it is showing. I knew nothing about Martin Eden or the director before watching it. There was no danger of being seduced or betrayed by the hype. What I discovered was a film whose complexity and verve, both aesthetic and political, took me by surprise.
Martin Eden is an adaptation of a Jack London novel, published in 1909. My grandfather liked the work of Jack London, as did so many born at the start of the 20th century. London’s writing appealed to a working class demographic, fully aware of what they had missed out on by not having had a secondary education. My grandfather was not a widely read man but he respected the power of the word, and treasured poets like James Elroy Flecker. The narrative of Martin Eden follows the eponymous hero, a working class man who sets out to acquire an education and become a writer. The film, adapting the novel to southern Italy, follows this Italian Eden as he struggles against rejection, determined to be recognised as a writer, something he finally achieves, albeit at the cost of his soul.
Pietro Marcello and screenwriter Maurizio Braucci’s adaptation of the novel to an Italian context is of itself bold, but the streets of Naples, both the poverty and the opulence, make for a perfect setting for the tale. However, the director goes further in his re-imagining of London’s novel. He sets it in an ahistorical zone, which could be 1929 or could at times be 2020. For long periods it feels like we’re in the first half of the twentieth century, the time when the book became popular, at other times, a container ship glides past in the background and we are given a Brechtian jolt, realising that the story could be happening today. As indeed it could. The war on education is something that has become more and more endemic in the twenty first century. In constructing the tale in an anachronistic fashion, the film draws out parallels between this century and the last. In so many ways, when you remove the surface patina of technology, smartphones and the like, so little has changed. The adroit use of music reaffirms this, as does the utilisation of vintage footage, which is inserted into the fabric of the film, lending depth and complexity to its texture.
Finally, there is the complex issue of the film’s politics. Eden goes on a journey towards Fascism, after having rejected socialism as being anti-individual. The way that Martin Eden maps on to the nuances of Italian politics is clearly one of the reasons Marcello has chosen to adapt the novel. The rise of an individual ‘liberty’ seeking right wing has become prevalent all over the world and has echoes in the protagonist’s journey. It’s to the film’s credit that it sets out a more complex political worldview than the standard right-left dialectic, one that perhaps has far more relevance to the way that the world is headed than the more standard Loach-Hollywood dichotomy. The issue is too complex to be addressed here in a single paragraph, but it is rare indeed for a filmmaker to be exploring politics with such a nuanced, potentially controversial perspective.
Martin Eden isn’t flawless. In the adaptation of the novel, there are gaps and threads which feel somewhat loose. Nevertheless there’s a bravura and ambition to the film which reminds one of Bertolucci at his best. The film taps into a tradition of politically aware, neo-operatic Italian cinema which used to be so potent but seems to have been on the wane. It’s as bold a piece of contemporary filmmaking as you are likely to encounter.
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