Criterion Cast: Master Audio Feed

Criterion Reflections is David Blakeslee’s ongoing project to watch all of the films included in the Criterion Collection in chronological order of their original release. Each episode of Season 5: 1973 features a discussion about films that were destined to eventually bear the Criterion imprint, whether published on physical media or made available on their streaming platform. In this episode, David and guest Richard Doyle review Love and Anarchy, directed by Lina Wertmüller. The film streamed on the Criterion Channel in 2019 as part of a bundle showcasing her films.

Criterion Reflections is David Blakeslee’s ongoing project to watch all of the films included in the Criterion Collection in chronological order of their original release. Each episode of Season 5: 1973 features a short video clip in which David offers a few thoughts about films that were destined to eventually bear the Criterion imprint, whether published on physical media or made available on their streaming platform. These clips will occasionally be accompanied by lengthier podcast episodes including other guests for films that call for more in-depth coverage. In this episode, David reviews Don Juan (or if Don Juan Were a Woman), directed by Roger Vadim and starring Brigitte Bardot. The film streams on the Criterion Channel as part of their permanent collection.

This special episode of the podcast steps away from the usual coverage of films with a Criterion connection to discuss The Game of Clones: Bruceploitation Collection Vol. 1, a recently released box set from Severin Films. The set includes the 2023 documentary Enter the Clones of Bruce, plus 12 (or 14) more martial arts films originally released between 1973-1985 that all feature one or more of the actors who were cast for both their fighting prowess and their physical resemblance to Bruce Lee, whose death in 1973 created a void that these movies sought to fill. This episode features a conversation between host David Blakeslee and Michael Worth, who is featured prominently throughout the box set as he gives brief video introductions to each film, provides several commentary tracks, and written essays in the lavishly illustrated booklet that includes dozens of archival posters from his personal collection. Michael’s decades-long enthusiasm for these films was a major factor in pulling this project together and its publication is nothing less than the realization of a dream. David also has an appearance in the set as he provided a commentary track for Cameroon Connection (1985) starring Bruce Le. Listen in as Michael and David fill you in on how this collection of rare and long-neglected films was assembled, Michael’s experiences as he tracked down film elements and creative contributors from all around the world, and how Enter the Clones of Bruce, the documentary he helped to produce, was received during its run through the festival circuit since it premiered in late 2023.

Criterion Reflections is David Blakeslee’s ongoing project to watch all of the films included in the Criterion Collection in chronological order of their original release. Each episode of Season 5: 1973 features a short video clip in which David offers a few thoughts about films that were destined to eventually bear the Criterion imprint, whether published on physical media or made available on their streaming platform. These clips will occasionally be accompanied by lengthier podcast episodes including other guests for films that call for more in-depth coverage. In this episode, David is joined by Robert Cioffi to discuss Charlotte’s Web, directed by Charles Nichols and Iwao Takamoto. In 2020, the film streamed on the Criterion Channel in a limited engagement and is currently available on Blu-ray and DVD and through numerous streaming services.

Criterion Reflections is David Blakeslee’s ongoing project to watch all of the films included in the Criterion Collection in chronological order of their original release. Each episode of Season 5: 1973 features a short video clip in which David offers a few thoughts about films that were destined to eventually bear the Criterion imprint, whether published on physical media or made available on their streaming platform. These clips will occasionally be accompanied by lengthier podcast episodes including other guests for films that call for more in-depth coverage. In this episode, David is joined by Richard Doyle, Josh Hornbeck, Brad McDermott, and James Merritt to discuss The Harder They Come, directed by Perry Henzell. In 2000, the Criterion Collection published the film on DVD as Spine 83. It is currently streaming on the Criterion Channel and available on Blu-ray and DVD in editions published by Shout! Factory.

Criterion Reflections is David Blakeslee’s ongoing project to watch all of the films included in the Criterion Collection in chronological order of their original release. Each episode of Season 5: 1973 features a short video clip in which David offers a few thoughts about films that were destined to eventually bear the Criterion imprint, whether published on physical media or made available on their streaming platform. These clips will occasionally be accompanied by lengthier podcast episodes including other guests for films that call for more in-depth coverage. In this episode, David is joined by Richard Doyle and James Merritt to discuss Black Caesar, directed by Larry Cohen. In 2022, the film streamed on the Criterion Channel in a limited engagement and is currently available on Blu-ray and DVD in editions published by Olive Films and through numerous streaming services.

Criterion Reflections is David Blakeslee’s ongoing project to watch all of the films included in the Criterion Collection in chronological order of their original release. Each episode of Season 5: 1973 features a short video clip in which David offers a few thoughts about films that were destined to eventually bear the Criterion imprint, whether published on physical media or made available on their streaming platform. These clips will occasionally be accompanied by lengthier podcast episodes including other guests for films that call for more in-depth coverage. In this episode, David is joined by guests Richard Doyle and James Merritt to discuss Wattstax, directed by Mel Stuart. In 2022, the film streamed on the Criterion Channel in a limited engagement and is currently available on DVD through Warner Archive and numerous streaming services.

Criterion Reflections is David Blakeslee’s ongoing project to watch all of the films included in the Criterion Collection in chronological order of their original release. Each episode of Season 5: 1973 features a short video clip in which David offers a few thoughts about films that were destined to eventually bear the Criterion imprint, whether published on physical media or made available on their streaming platform. These clips will occasionally be accompanied by lengthier podcast episodes including other guests for films that call for more in-depth coverage. In this episode, David discusses The Boss, directed by Fernando Di Leo. In early 2023, the film streamed on the Criterion Channel in a limited engagement and is currently available on Blu-ray through Raro Video in partnership with KinoLorber. The video clip below was recorded in ??? 2024, and the supplemental podcast episode was recorded in ??? 2024 with guest Richard Doyle.

Criterion Reflections is David Blakeslee’s ongoing project to watch all of the films included in the Criterion Collection in chronological order of their original release. Each episode of Season 5: 1973 features a short video clip in which David offers a few thoughts about films that were destined to eventually bear the Criterion imprint, whether published on physical media or made available on their streaming platform. These clips will occasionally be accompanied by lengthier podcast episodes including other guests for films that call for more in-depth coverage. In this episode, David discusses Ludwig, directed by Luchino Visconti. In 2022, the film streamed on the Criterion Channel in a limited engagement and is currently available on Blu-ray through Arrow Video. The video clip below was recorded in January 2024, and the supplemental podcast episode was recorded in February 2024 with guest Brad McDermott.

Criterion Reflections is David Blakeslee’s ongoing project to watch all of the films included in the Criterion Collection in chronological order of their original release. Each episode of Season 5: 1973 features a short video clip in which David offers a few thoughts about films that were destined to eventually bear the Criterion imprint, whether published on physical media or made available on their streaming platform. These clips will occasionally be accompanied by lengthier podcast episodes including other guests for films that call for more in-depth coverage. In this first episode of Season 5, David discusses The Age of the Medici, directed by Roberto Rossellini. The film is available on DVD in the Criterion Collection’s Eclipse Series and also streams on the Criterion Channel. The video clip below was recorded in January 2024. A segment from a past episode of The Eclipse Viewer featuring David and Trevor Berrett’s discussion of The Age of the Medici recorded in October 2014 is also included here.

This essay is an update of David’s 2011 review of the film published on this site.

Upon winning the Venice Film Festival’s Golden Lion Award in 1959 for Il Generale Della Rovere, the artistically ambitious yet self-deprecating director Roberto Rossellini soon afterwards expressed ambivalence toward that film, despite its indisputable success. It wasn’t too much further along into his career that the great pioneer of Neorealism, after proving that he could crank out a hit movie if he really wanted to, finally turned his back on commercial aspirations, choosing instead to produce films on his own terms that attempted to elevate the consciousness and inform the intellect of his audience, or at least those who chose to make the effort to follow wherever his vision led.

That decision resulted in a radical shift in direction for Rossellini for the final phase of his life’s work. From that point forward, Rossellini focused on films that sought to capture the essential ideas, technological breakthroughs and cultural milestones of centuries long past that continue to wield a powerful influence on our contemporary world. Three of those films are presented to us in Eclipse Series 14: Rossellini’s History Films – Renaissance and Enlightenment. They’re among his last productions, all shot and released in the early 1970s. In this clip, I’ll focus on the longest of the set by taking a pilgrimage in time, back to The Age of the Medici.

If you’re new to these films, here’s what you’re in for: a drily performed, historically detailed and highly literate re-enactment of pivotal episodes in the unfolding of European civilization, especially in regard to the development of the “big ideas” that shaped the modern society we now take for granted. True to the convictions of a man who could state sincerely that “cinema is dead,” Rossellini makes no attempt in these films to stir our emotions through conventional plot devices or hook us in via charismatic personalities, dramatic narrative twists or any of the usual ploys that gratify the crowds. He knew, with supreme confidence, that the subjects of his study were important in their own right, with little need for manipulative embellishments. If that significance was not readily self-evident to members of his audience, he was content to let them go their own way, distracting themselves with their banal entertainments until they were capable of recognizing the value of the hefty substance he placed before them. And if that sounds haughty, arrogant, pretentious to you, then go ahead and stop reading right now. You’re simply not ready to dig into The Age of the Medici, let me be the first to tell you.

Of course, summing up the conflicts of an era as complex and multi-faceted as the emergence of what we now refer to as The Renaissance in 15th century Florence, Italy requires a large canvas, which is why Rossellini delivers this history in a video approximation of one of the favored artistic formats of that era, the triptych. The Age of the Medici is a three-part TV miniseries, each episode focusing our gaze on an important element of a larger story. Part 1, “The Exile of Cosimo,” chronicles the rise of Cosimo de Medici, head of a prominent merchant family whose uncanny business sense enlarged his fortune to the point where he was able to wield massive power and influence, not through the authority of the church or by brandishing the raw military might of monarchs, but through the uniquely persuasive effects of cold hard cash. The series opens with Cosimo attending his father’s funeral, learning the terms of his inheritance, and then swiftly setting in motion the machinations to put that money to work, advancing his personal leverage to steer the course of his own destiny, and in the process, shape the future of European civilization. The Medici were forerunners of today’s ultrarich, able to bend the forces of law, politics, religion, art, culture and even science in ways that favored their ambitions and solidified their grip on power.

Of course, no would-be giant among men makes his way to the top without facing his share of formidable obstacles, and Cosimo found his adversary in Rinaldo degli Albizzi, head of the rival Florentine clan who mistrusted the Medicis’ motives and sought the means to cast them as disreputable, or even criminals, if they could only find appropriately damning evidence to back up their suspicions.

But before we get into a necessarily brief recap of the storyline, a few words are in order about the verisimilitude with which Rossellini captures the spirit of old Florence. As the screencaps show, he had to resort to some creative-but-cheap special effects that some might find cheesy, but I consider admirable. Clearly working on a limited budget, Rossellini had no ability to build suitably convincing replicas of either the Florentine skyline circa 1430 or the several stages of progress achieved in Cosimo’s lifetime on the facade and dome of the Basilica Santa Maria del Fiore. He resorted to hand-painted 2-D mockups that don’t really convince anyone, but they’re brave efforts in any case. Watching the cathedral transition from rough wooden structure to something resembling the ornate extravagance we’ve come to associate with the Renaissance over the course of four and a half hours is one of the small pleasures I enjoyed. And don’t worry, there are more than enough authentic examples of period architecture and costumery to satisfy Renaissance purists. Though Rossellini doesn’t allow his camera to revel in the scenery the way a director like Franco Zeffirelli did, I have no complaints; the settings are often quite wonderful to behold.

A main theme of the series is the slipperiness and malleability of supposedly eternal principles like law and ethics. This dialog-heavy script requires some close listening and even supplemental reading in order to pick up all the nuances it contains. The gist of it though is how increasingly sophisticated (or you could say, hypocritical) the various powers-that-be are forced to become in order to maintain the appearance of respect for ancient religious traditions (for example, the prohibitions against usury) while crafting legal loopholes such as those allowing merchants to operate pawn shops. Those who have agreed to pay a financial penalty and assume the social status of moral reprobates are signified by a red drape on their storefront, in effect given legal permission to break sacred law, reaping tidy profits for both entrepreneurs and the city fathers, and leaving matters of conscience to the individual shopkeepers to sort out for themselves.

Building on such evasive tricks so neatly woven into the emerging economic order, the stage is set to observe how Cosimo maneuvers his way through the legal, religious, and political snares set before him. When his capitalistic instincts lead him to oppose a conflict between Florence and a neighboring city-state (because war is bad for business), he’s scapegoated by the Albizzis after the battle goes poorly and the Florentine forces are routed. Cosimo is summoned to appear before the Signoria, the local council of magistrates, where he faces certain arrest, imprisonment, and possible execution. But Cosimo unwaveringly faces his accusers, intently pursuing a high-stakes experiment to see if his economic clout is able to produce the result he thinks it ought.

And so it turns out that, even within the confines of his lonesome prison cell, Cosimo somehow has the means to arrange for a messenger to visit his captor and drop off a gift, a simple leather bag stuffed with gold coins. And wouldn’t you know, in the very next scene, prisoner and magistrate are seated at the same table, passing knives back and forth to each other, warmly negotiating the terms of a settlement bound to disappoint those who thought they’d seen the last of Cosimo as a free and living man.

It may be worth pointing out that The Age of the Medici was broadcast in 1973, the same year that Francis Ford Coppola released The Godfather. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that the stories of these two prominent Italian families, known for using both legitimate and ruthless means of establishing their fortunes, both came out around the same time? There’s certainly enough of a Mafioso flavor in Cosimo’s smooth criminality to make the mental connection for many viewers, especially in a scene when the word vendetta is used to describe the punishment meted out on a poor soul who broke the code of honor by sharing silk-weaving secrets with others outside their ancient and notoriously secretive guild.

And just as central as economics and politics are to Rossellini’s ideas, so also art figures prominently in the story of the emerging Medici dynasty. Episode 2, “The Power of Cosimo,” depicts his return from exile in Venice, more coldly calculating and relentlessly ambitious after a few years spent plotting his ever-so-respectably applied revenge. Though Cosimo’s not beyond enforcing compliance through the administration of pain, he’d much rather get his point across building sublime monuments and establishing himself as a prominent patron of the arts. And what a time to be in that business, as the Italian Renaissance was about to burst into full bloom. Masaccio’s “Expulsion from Eden” and Donatello’s statue of King David are just two of the famous masterpieces put into historical context, enabling us to see the works as something beyond merely fancy ornaments as they’re often regarded nowadays. The locals respond to them with indignation and confusion, unsettled by innovative, sensual details that call older traditions into question. We’re reminded that progress in the visual arts is not simply an exploration of aesthetic vanities, then or now. Each breakthrough, each shifting perspective in the portrayal of the human figure, carries with it larger implications about how we regard and value life, and how we understand our place in the cosmos.

But before we lose ourselves entirely in ponderous highbrow musings, Rossellini injects moments of visceral brutality to keep our feet firmly planted on the ground. Art, architecture, philosophy, and religion may all seek in their own way to inspire heavenly meditations, but there’s still a dark, dirty, competitive world we each live in that has to be reckoned with as well.

Episode 3 shifts the focus away from Cosimo (though he still plays an important part) and on to another important Renaissance figure, “Leon Battista Alberti: Humanist.” This final installment is the most philosophically dense of the three, and one that I recommend to anyone who’s looking for a well-rounded overview of the mindset of that era. Here Rossellini really indulges his appetite for extended rhetorical exchanges, with characters routinely tossing out profundities and speculations that are worth pausing the film to ponder a bit before proceeding on to the next priceless nugget of insight. Of course, some of the philosophical musings that so preoccupied these men (and this is, for sure, a man’s world on screen; women are almost entirely silent during the scarce moments when they even appear) may not be so relevant for many viewers, but for those whose taste in movies runs toward the cerebral and analytical, I think there’s a lot to chew on here, and it makes these discs very rewatchable if you’re into that sort of thing.

One thing I will add here is that even though the default setting for the DVD and streaming presentations of these films is Italian, there’s absolutely no reason why an English-speaking viewer should watch it with subtitles instead of the dubbed English audio track, unless you just enjoy the sound of people speaking the language native to that setting. The program was originally filmed in English, in the hopes that it could be sold to a forerunner of today’s PBS TV network. That plan fell through, so they dubbed an Italian language track over the top, and then re-dubbed an English track later on when it eventually was picked up for American distribution. The net effect is that the English dub actually syncs better with the actors’ mouths than the Italian does. The subtitles really only help if you need them to follow the progression of the dialog. Unfortunately, the streaming version only includes the Italian audio track, so if you want to hear the film in English, you’ll have to get access to the Eclipse Series DVDs.

So yeah, these late Rossellini’s are definitely not among the thrillingest, sexiest, awesomest offerings to be found either in the Eclipse Series or on the Criterion Channel, there’s no arguing that. But they do serve as important and unique specimens of what film can accomplish and preserve for the sake of a small but appreciative audience. Maybe even more significantly, they represent a lost utopian possibility for what one visionary director hoped the medium of television could become. Rossellini’s desire to provide solid, historically informed visualizations of defining moments in our cultural heritage, without either the dumbing down of content or the hyping up of conventional potboiler gimmicks deemed necessary to win a mass audience, hasn’t shown itself to be all that commercially viable. It’s fair to speculate that if Rossellini himself hadn’t established his reputation so profoundly in the 1940s and 50s, films like those he made in the late 60s and 70s might not even be revisited today. Still, watching The Age of the Medici makes me mourn just a bit for the wasted potential of commercial cable TV and what an entity like the History Channel might have become, if had we more directors of Rossellini’s singular integrity and intelligence working behind the cameras.