By Lubna Abdel-Aziz "Any man's death diminishes me," yet when such a life ends that has unmistakably enriched humanity, there is a clear celebratory note beneath the knell of sorrow. Such was the case last week as the world of Motion Pictures bid a fond farewell to two towering figures of cinema; Michelangelo Antonioni and Ingmar Bergman. No product of Hollywood, both were European directors, born and bred, who elevated the quality and substance of the Seventh Art. Bergman and Antonioni died within hours of each other, as all of Italy and Sweden, joined by the rest of the world, mourned their loss. Antonioni, the older of the two, died at 94 at his home in Rome. Walter Veltroni, the mayor of Rome, immediately made plans for Antonioni's body to lie in state, as he declared: "with Antonioni, not only has one of the greatest living directors been lost, but also a master of the modern screen." More polarising than Bergman, and more influential, he was also more current: "he put the mod, as well as the modishness in modernism." Indeed the classics of Antonioni are much like Rome's many ancient glorious monuments, timeless and everlasting against the erosion of the ages. Antonioni was the most "subversive and venerated" amongst his rebellious generation of directors. He was the maestro of "impeccable angst and elegant aberration." He raised questions which he never answered. Once his fancy was in flight, it did not stoop to answer or explain, challenging his viewers with his intimate intensity, melancholy cadences and sombre despair. Antonioni never bothered with such details as story, progression clarity. The plot was his bête noir. He focussed on characters, faces, moods of human malaise. Although he is best known for his 1966 Blowup, the famous drama about a murder in the park in swinging London, it was his L'�vventura (1955), the first of a trilogy, La Notte (1960), L'Eclisse (1963) that heads the list of his lasting contribution to film. Born 29 September 1912 to wealthy landowners in Ferrara, in Northern Italy, Michelangelo was designing puppets by age 10, painting portraits and landscapes by age 13. While his degree from the University of Bologna was in economics, it was there that he helped found the university's group theatre and became a film critic for a local paper. He tried his own hand at filmmaking and by 1940 enrolled at the Centre Sperimentale di Coinematographia, and thus began the legend of this iconic filmmaker. Neo-realism was the genre du jour in Italian films, exposing the state of the very poor, but Antonioni soon broke away and moved up to the study of the middle- classes, where social aberrations first surfaced. His chilling images of alienation, restlessness and despair, became the cornerstone of international filmmaking. His languorous style was marked by the camera resting so long on a face, "that even the actors sometimes slipped out of character." This became a recurring theme, proposing portals to a blind alley that led nowhere. His apathetic style inspired a huge following which critic Andrew Sarris termed Antoniennui. Who amongst us has not suffered moments of Antoniennui? His masterpiece, L'�vventura epitomises this style, and is considered the second greatest film ever made, following Citizen Kane. Antonioni was not just a legendary director, he was also a major European artist, "one of the few filmmakers recognised as such." He evoked the spirit of contemporary life and regarded the present as notoriously transitional, not worth explaining. With uncanny ability he captured the endless solitude of the individual in this cold, modern world. The maestro was showered with gold, from Palms, to Lions, Bears and Oscars. He received a gold pyramid when the Cairo International Film Festival paid tribute to Italy's premier filmmaker with a Life Achievement Award in 2003. He remained seated in his wheelchair admiring Egyptian cinefiles gave him a thunderous standing ovation. Although as far removed in style from Antonioni as night is to day, Bergman shared similar philosophical and psychoanalytical concepts of exploring on film the mysteries of human existence. They both used the human face as the canvas on which they drew their souls. "They made art out of despair, poetry out of pessimism." Bergman changed the way we perceive movies. He died at age 89, leaving a legacy of 50 films that lifted the art of filmmaking to the same plateau as great literature, music and theatre. His prolific career of sublime art includes Smiles of a Summer Night (1955), Wild Strawberries (1957), Shame (1968), and Scenes from a Marriage (1973). Son of a severe and disciplined Lutheran minister, Bergman was born in Upsala, Sweden in 1918. A wealthy aunt may have inspired a glorious career when she offered the six-year-old Ingmar a magic lantern projector which became his lifelong passion. After seeing his first play at age 10, he was staging his own puppet production at home. Theatre became his obsession at the University of Stockholm, and remained so before and during his long film career. He explored his childhood repeatedly on film, in his attempt to battle his father's malign religious influence. His remarkable use of the close-up was so penetrating, he pierced his vision "through a glass darkly", into the character's soul. He believed that "the great gift of cinematography is the human face," and dreamed of making a two- hour film that was no more than the close-up of a human face. Upon his death, a New York Times front page obituary, quoted director Woody Allen: "he was the greatest film artist... since the invention of the motion picture camera." Few filmmakers received more critical acclaim than Bergman. His power to convey complicated philosophical reflections upon the nature of man and society, "through the cinematic medium is so great, it makes one gasp." Why have Antonioni's movies proved to be more resistant than Bergman's, Fellini's and others? Because he achingly captured the idiosyncrisity of a period, a time, a place, and a character. His alluring concept remains very much en vogue amongst viewers and filmmakers, mesmerising each generation. Then there is that aching ennui, which keeps pursuing us and petrifying us, well into the new millennium. A film is not just something happening on the screen. It goes and follows you out of the theatre Michelangelo Antonioni (1912-2007)
