I recently watched Fellini's And the Ship Sails on once again. Sometimes, as filmmakers get older, they infuse a certain innocent, childlike charm into their films. This is what Fellini did so delightfully in his film about a cruise ship’s funereal sail to the home island of a deceased opera singer, where her ashes are to be thrown. It all sounds heavy-handed, but as I said, nothing could be more lighthearted (and serious, as only the lighthearted can be) than And the Ship Sails on. Here is a long, and well written, synopsis of the film.
But, as complex as the film is – I never said Fellini opted for mindless simplicity in this film - one of the themes that permeates throughout is music. And how music (according to Fellini, anyway) is the great leveler - of peoples, of races, of love and even in death. And we're taken in during those moments of musical cinematography.
* In the enchanting sequence of the "wine glass concerto" Fellini, in his mischievous humor, has two cranky musicians perform their piece in the kitchen, with cooks and aristocrats listening and applauding.
* The ship's upper class, mostly musicians and artists, decide to go down to the netherworlds of the boiler room. One of the laborers asks them to sing. This sets off a rivalry between the singers - like some kind of operatic duel. But, still in this moment of aggression and competition, the beautiful music shines through, and the laborers below cheer with appreciation.
* Serb refugees, who magically appear on the ship's lower deck, are joined with the ship's regular passengers, in an exotic dance to Serbian folk music.
* And near the end, there is the scene of the young concert conductor, who is obsessed with the deceased opera singer. As I wrote in my first blog on this film:
The most whimsical [scene] is the resurrection of the dead diva through a film projector, obsessively hand cranked by a deeply admiring conductor.All this while the ship is sinking.
As her silent image (paradoxically, for this singing star) flickers in black and white on the makeshift screen of scarves strewn across a rectangular shape, the lovely, light music of Debussy's piano suite "Clair de Lune" provides the perfect sound.
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This is Fellini's beautiful conjoining of film and music, of sound and image, of color and black and white. And it is also a concise condensation of his portentous outlook of where all this might lead us (this film is set in the months before WWI). I think it is the most memorable scene of the whole film.
And from this scene, it is obvious that Fellini's first, and true, love is film. He bookends his film with black and white silent shots of him and his crew, replete with cameras and stage sets, in the process of filming. This is done as though in memory of the early, soundless era of the first films. An era in which the actual story of the film is set, albeit in full sumptuous color.