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In St. Peter's square, the final sequences are being shot

for federico fellini's latest film, the white sheik.

What were you trying to prove with 7he white sheik?

I wasn't trying to prove anything. I have no message for humanity.

I'm sorry.

In all sincerity,

I was trying, first and foremost, to make an entertaining film.

Actually, I wanted to entertain myself.

You see - and I hope no producers are listening -

I think of films as wonderful toys, marvelous pastimes.

Since you consider making films an entertainment,

are you concerned about a film's success or not?

If a film were wildly successful,

if absolutely everybody liked it,

I think I would be greatly concerned.

I hope it's moderately successful, so I can make more.

The theme of the journey is, I think,

one of the great foundations of the art of narration.

All my films are about a journey -

be it an actual or an imaginary journey, like the one in / vitelloni,

where the protagonist dreams of leaving the small town for the Metropolis.

La strada is the story of the wanderings of creatures

bound together by an inscrutable destiny,

which takes them from town to town,

village to village, season to season.

La dolce vila is a journey through the inauthentic.

Preparation for the film was a rather adventurous process.

But I think everything's okay now. Rizzoli, the producer, trusts me,

and I think I'll be able to get to work with my usual enthusiasm.

Here at the trevi fountain, we have an appointment this evening

with a friend who has had much success over the last few years.

A friend who, in the postwar years,

made a living writing humorous articles, drawing,

and recording on vinyl the voices of American soldiers -

of those soldiers, that is, who wanted to send a recording

to their loved ones far away.

We are all familiar with our friend's youth,

because we saw it in a highly autobiographical film,

[I vitellon/.

You'll have realized by now that I speak of federico fellini,

who has invited us here to watch the filming of la dolce vita,

the film he's shooting at the moment,

and this here is one of the most important scenes.

Hi, federico.

I see a man in the fountain.

- Do you want to know who he is? - Yes.

I'm shooting a scene with Anita Ekberg,

one of the protagonists of my film.

In this scene, an American actress, exhilarated by the beauty of Rome,

discovers the trevi fountain one night and decides to take a dip.

Right now we're taking measurements and adjusting the focus of the lens,

and since we can't keep Anita in the fountain all day,

we're using a male stand-in.

You're hard at work here, but whenever I see you working,

I can't help but think of your other, perhaps more burdensome work

of preparation for each film.

I know that even now that you are well-known and successful,

you still have to appease skeptical producers.

I'm used to it by now. In fact, if it were ever not that way,

I'd worry that the film would not be as successful as its predecessors.

So I willingly accept these trials

in the preparation of every film.

For this film too, there were those who were perplexed, worried, alarmed,

but in the end -

if you could spare some time while you prepare the next shot -

I'll be with you in a moment.

It's a complicated shot.

You go ahead. I'll be right there.

You mentioned the difficulties you encounter at the outset of each film,

but let's talk about this one, 1. A dolce vita.

I've heard there was even one producer who attempted suicide.

- You mean the incident with the ink? - Yes.

It was really a joke.

That producer was so worried about how I wanted to make the film

that he said he would rather kill himself than make my movie.

Since at the time his only weapon was a bottle of ink,

he raised it to his lips to poison himself.

He thought the cap was on the bottle,

but it wasn't, so he stained his shirt.

But I found the gesture very appealing.

I saw a great energy in him,

so I decided on the spot I wanted to make the film with him.

All ink-related incidents aside, he's an excellent producer.

He was able to understand the script very clearly,

whereas it has created a lot of unrest and perplexity

in the minds of many other producers.

So I'm glad I chose to work with him.

This, too, will be an autobiographical film, like the others.

Are there recognizable episodes taken directly from your life?

Yes. In a way, it's an ideal sequel to / vitelloni.

Moraldo has come to the big city. He has become a journalist,

and he has achieved a certain level of success.

So the film is the tale of his adventures as a reporter,

combined with parts of his private life.

We'll see Rome as we've come to know her in the past three or four years,

this chaotic explosion of the city in every direction.

- With its various characters. - Strange characters and encounters.

The film is autobiographical in the sense that

it's the sum of encounters I've had over the past few years.

I've traveled the world screening my films,

and this has been my life:

Airports, having to travel at a moment's notice,

the extraordinary people I've met.

It's a feverish life, if you will, a life that turns into publicity.

I see there's quite a crowd here tonight.

Everywhere we go, there's a crowd of curious romans.

This is a fun scene to watch,

since Anita Ekberg is going to dive into the trevi fountain.

Speaking of which, you'll have to excuse me,

because I think they're calling me back.

All night long, in response to her character's demands,

Anita Ekberg remained in the cold water of the fountain,

as the director ordered her to.

Anita is Swedish, so, like a true viking, she's not afraid of the cold.

But at dawn, when she emerged from the fountain,

we didn't have the heart to ask her to linger with us for an interview.

The crowd that had gathered had a chance to see firsthand

that an actress' life is not made only of cocktail parties and glamour.

You wrote to a friend,

"the idea for la dolce vita came to me

when I saw a woman dressed like an artichoke."

Yes, I must have said something about an artichoke.

I can't remember if it was really an artichoke or some other vegetable,

but one sunny morning on the via veneto,

I saw this figure of a woman,

and this little woman was the spark that set in motion a series of emotions

tied to the aristocracy of Rome

and the world in which so many cinematographic rituals are played out:

The excesses, the fancy hotels, the Americans...

I'm with federico fellini and producer peppino amato

here on the via veneto.

This is a special evening. Everyone's here tonight.

There's Pierre brasseur next to annibale ninchi.

Anna Maria luciani next to chirima.

There's luise rainer, and also a very special via veneto.

As you can see, it's actually a set,

built at cinecitta for fellini's film.

The via veneto could be considered the heart of the film.

Many scenes take place on the via veneto,

because the protagonist, marcello, has his office right above this café.

This allows him to keep tabs not only on Roman nightlife,

but also on a more Cosmopolitan life

that unfolds in the many cafes along the via veneto.

I shot a few wide shots on the actual via veneto,

but because of all the traffic, in the end I followed the advice of peppino amato,

who told me from the start that I couldn't shoot on the via veneto.

But I was stubborn.

I was afraid something would be lost if I caved in and built a set.

Peppino amato placed all the resources of cinecitta at my disposal,

and they built a reconstruction of the via veneto which, as you can see,

leaves nothing to be desired.

I was able to go all out and shoot as if I were really on the via veneto,

but with all the amenities of a set.

The architect has been amazing.

He's incredibly creative. The details are realistic,

but at the same time, there's a certain transformation.

His name is piero gherardi. He worked with me on la strada,

nights of cabiria, and now la dolce vita.

What are you up to, federico?

- You're doing the mix? - Yes.

- I'm mixing la dolce vita. - I see.

Listen, when were you born?

January 20, 1931.

- I thought it was 1932. - Actually, it was January 20, 1920,

- s0 I'm almost 40 years old. - That old, eh? Listen.

- That means you're a capricorn. - That's right. Capricorn.

It says here that those born under that sign are very ambitious.

Is that true?

Yes, but I was born at 11:45 on the last day of capricorn.

If I had been born 15 minutes later,

I would have been under the new sign, aquarius.

So I have the faults of both capricorn and aquarius.

What does it say here?

Ambitious.

But here it says those born under aquarius exude purity and Serenity.

So besides ambitious, I'm pure and serene.

Passionate, cold, detached, ironic.

Not bad, eh?

What does that say?

It says their emotional life takes a back seat to their work.

No, that's not true.

Does that mean that he would leave lovers and friends for his work?

No, I don't think that's me.

But, as fond as I am of you, I'd appreciate it if you'd let me work.

Then you know what? I'm going to leave. Bye.

A fascinating grand tableau

a disturbing and searing portrait of our era

I think our duty as storytellers is to bring people to the station.

There, each person will choose his or her train

according to their taste and stage of development.

But we must at least take them to the station.

I would like la dolce vita to take each spectator,

while respecting their individual personality, and without pontificating,

to a point of departure.

I'd like to suggest that my audience maintain a receptive attitude.

Listen, and I'll tell you my story with an almost shameless sincerity.

Don't try to understand or interpret. Simply listen to what I have to say.

These are the passions, the hopes, the fears, the cowardice,

the anguish of a man who feels just like you.

Look, federico, they're all here, all kinds of battleships,

- even aircraft carriers. - Yes, it's the fleet of that captain

who made a scene last night because I didn't call him.

He wanted to send a plane to Rome to pick up Anita Ekberg

and take her to a party on the ship.

My room is next to fellini's.

I'm glad, of course, because federico is a good friend,

but I must say that I'm also a little disappointed,

because fellini has wonderful dreams.

He's famous for his dreams.

I thought, of course, that he would shout his dreams out during the night,

or sing, but I didn't hear a thing.

Haven't you been dreaming in cannes?

I can't tell you my dreams on TV.

Besides, I haven't really been able to sleep through the night here.

For one thing, I'm full of curiosity.

I like to walk along the croisette.

And I'm also hounded by...

A film's fate is always a funny thing.

See those three Canadians down there? They've been there for hours.

They've been following me for a couple of days,

because they want to know why steiner killed the children.

Steiner is a character in la dolce vita.

Earlier, I got a call from a spaniard

who wanted to know what kind of fish it was

that appears at the end of the movie.

He says they've never seen a fish like that in Spain.

He wanted me to send him one.

Then last night I met a man who, I believe, was a sailor on leave.

He went around with a pair of women's shoes tucked into his back pockets.

He stopped me - he was American -

and he said, "fellini, I didn't like your film.

I don't believe for a moment that life is as strange as you depict it."

But the funniest was a lady I met this morning. She had a golden nose.

She was in a Cadillac and was holding a monkey in her arms.

She had her driver stop the car and said, "are you fellini?"

"How come there's not even one normal person in your film?"

My intention was to communicate a feeling of chaos, of disorder.

There are no characters, only apparitions.

No episodes, only fragments.

The film's original title was

in spite of everything, life is profoundly and mysteriously sweet.

We live in a brutal, terrifying world,

but it's also magnificent and seductive.

You sealed the success of la dolce vita

by jumping up at the end of the screening and clapping loudly and enthusiastically.

A very unorthodox reaction for the judge of a festival.

What provoked it?

I had the distinct impression

that I had seen an exceptionally vigorous piece of work

that will leave an important Mark in the history of cinema.

What I had seen was unprecedented and alive.

At the same time, I had discovered an artist

rich in both strength and sensitivity.

He's a fully formed artist.

And I want to add that I admire fellini both as a director and as a man.

What do you think fellini represents in our artistic and cultural world?

Fellini represents a rare sincerity, one that never compromises,

that is faithful to itself and takes responsibility for itself.

Do you understand? Fellini is all alone with his stories.

He doesn't belong to any of the many fads.

He doesn't come from any school. In fact, he's created his own school.

He is an original creator, which is equally rare.

Bergman says, "I'm not here to bring peace but war to your souls."

Is there a similar aim behind your provocations?

Bergman really said that?

Well, aside from the emphatic tone,

I think he's right.

I think an artist - or any man, really -

has to face doubts and problems steadfastly.

He has to accept his own war,

as opposed to glossing over conflict by pacifying and calming it.

I think that's what gives dignity to the mission of the artist,

and to the mission of being a man.

At times you've been criticized for being baroque and confused.

What's your reaction to this accusation?

This thing about mental confusion

is typical of a reactionary and dogmatic attitude.

They think one should have crystal-clear ideas about everything,

and that everything should be interpreted according to strict rules of rationality.

They leave no room for doubt.

I think that the vital confusion of life

is our only salvation against these dogmatic mummifications.

What is the feeling or emotion that inspires and nourishes you most?

I don't know. Perhaps the attempt to recapture,

to hear once more an utterance that's been interrupted,

repeated each time with a weaker and weaker voice,

until I could no longer hear it.

This feeling of grasping at the frayed ends of a broken string.

I realize I'm being a little lyrical,

but if you want me to tell you what emotion is most nourishing

and stimulating to my way of expressing myself, of living,

I'd have to say it's this:

Straining to hear, with my ears and my heart,

something that's been nearly forgotten.

How did it go in the us?

In the us, the film was incredibly successful.

It received a very flattering reception from both the press and the audiences.

Speaking of press, what were their most frequently used adjectives?

Adjectives get over-inflated over there.

They happily throw around words like...

Which doesn't mean terrifying, but just very impressive.

They say that your film - I don't know if it's just a rumor -

will increase hat sales in the United States. Why?

Yes. A hat manufacturer from Boston came to my hotel

and wanted my written permission to mass-produce

the hat that marcello mastroianni wears in the film and call it "8 1/2."

In the states, 8 1/2 is a hat size corresponding to our 39 or 40.

- Of course, you jumped at the chance. - No, but it was a nice offer.

But if I'd been smarter, I could have profited from the offer.

I got the impression the jury wanted to reward something

that was more important:

A new direction, or the hint of a new direction.

It gave me a real thrill.

I've spoken to these young Soviet directors,

and they were really cheering for my film and wanted it to win,

because it would have given them hope for real change.

I feel that this award to & 7/2, and not because it's my film,

testifies to the need for a renewal that is already taking place.

I'm moved. I feel responsible and surprised.

I feel like an innocent who has created a sensation in this faraway land.

We too were moved.

Do you think they truly understood your film over there?

I don't know whether or not they understood it.

Their appreciation was strongly conditioned

by the rather scant Russian subtitles.

I can tell you one thing about this huge audience.

There were 8,000 people there,

and they watched the movie with rapt attentiveness.

I found the silence even embarrassing at times.

I come here with my extremely personal film,

and I force it upon these people, who watch it so respectfully.

Judging by the extremely warm applause at the end of the screening,

I think they must have gotten something out of it.

If nothing else, the strange fascination of an unknown reality.

They introduced me to a cosmonaut, titov, who came to congratulate me,

and I said, "did you like my film?"

He said, "yes, I found it more mysterious than the cosmos."

Fiumicino airport, 1.00 P.M.

Al the security checkpoint are Mr. federico fellini, born in rimini,

his wife giulietta fellini, aka giulietta masina,

and Alessandra ergas, aka Milo.

Theyre the three main members of an Italian contingent

on its way to Hollywood and the Santa Monica civic auditorium

lo fake part in the most important film event in the world:

The 1964 academy awards.

My first question is:

Is it true that 8 7/2 has been awarded 58 different prizes?

I don't think so. It sounds like one of those numbers

that press agencies like to throw around very casually.

It has been awarded many prizes, and of course we're very pleased.

But I think we should have this conversation when we get back.

We could come back empty-handed. The oscars are serious business.

You really don't know who's won up until the very last minute.

But you're going anyway, because you have high hopes.

We're going because we were invited,

and I also have a few actors I would like to cast in the us.

Anyway, you're competing for five academy awards,

as far as the more important categories go.

8 1/2 is nominated not only for best foreign film,

but for four other important awards as well.

Best director, best original screenplay,

best set design and best costumes.

It's certain to win one of those, especially best director.

It's bad luck to make predictions like that.

Not another word, then.

We wish you all good luck

and hope you'll return with the famous gold statuettes in your hands.

Federico, what number Oscar is this?

It's my third. I won one for la strada for best foreign film,

and another for nights of cabiria.

Then la dolce vita got an Oscar for best costumes.

- Is it the first time you've come? - No, I came in '56 for la strada.

Then, for nights of cabiria,

since I didn't think I would win,

and I was busy with another film, giulietta came instead.

Do you think this Oscar has international value?

I think the Oscar is the award

held in highest esteem internationally.

It's the most legendary award...

The one to which everyone aspires as the highest, ultimate prize.

In the movies, fad follows upon fad,

like waves in the ocean that pummel the California shore.

Fellini is neither a hew wave nor an old one.

He is his own wave,

according to the opinions of the entire world.

Another director who has created his own style,

and who has left his Mark, even on the age-old genre of the western,

without imitating anyone else, is king vidor.

Frank Perry has introduced a new, intimate style

with his David and Lisa.

These three directors,

who, instead of representing three different schools,

perhaps represent three highly unique individuals.

Could you spare two words in any language, frank?

I only have one thing to say, and that is,

I'm sorry, but as far as I'm concerned, Mr. fellini is a giant.

- I'm sorry. - You're embarrassing me.

Aren't you ashamed to say things like that to me in public?

Tell marcello I'll be waiting for him upstairs.

Tell him not to keep me waiting.

I don't get it.

Yesterday morning you said it would be fine.

Why do we keep going back and forth?

If you color the eyes that way, it changes the effect.

Like this, see? I can't really see them very well.

Squeeze my hand tight. Sit still. Just be natural.

I know you believe in these things.

You're being watched over by a spirit from the other side.

I've always told you so. Today, you'll be disappointed.

You won't be very happy with today's shoot.

- Let me try for a second. - Of course.

I want to see if you'll be successful.

What would you like to be?

I want to be an actor like gagliostro.

- An actor like gagliostro? - I'd like to do something great.

What's going on with that gate?

Shut the gate.

- All right. - Let's go, giulietta.

Clear the background.

Places.

Bring me a sandwich.

Two slices of focaccia and just one slice of veal.

Let's go. Are we ready? Ready, pasqualino?

Come on, Marisa. It's just a rehearsal.

Sorry. Are we ready?

Silence!

Go on, giulietta. Wait a second. When she moves.

First, she stands still.

- Go on, giulietta. - Marisa, bring the glasses.

- Elisabetta. - Elisabetta, bring out the glasses.

Come forward.

Good. Come, giulietta.

Wait, giulietta. Look that way.

Take a step over. Go, minicuccio.

Taste it and tell me if you like it.

Delicious. What's it called?

Sangria. It's a special drink.

Here, have some more.

Pasquale, tell me if it looks right.

Everything's perfect. I would have said so otherwise.

- Can you see my hand? - No.

Is it Spanish-looking?

Now you finish drinking, and when I say "there," you look here.

Okay, let's shoot it.

Come on, elisabetta. Places.

He goes to sleep at night and in the morning wakes up with an idea.

He tells us his idea, and we do whatever he tells us to do.

At this point, we know him. He's eccentric.

He gets these ideas at night. He never stops thinking.

Go on, elisabetta! You should have been here an hour ago!

Places.

Elisabetta, you have to come out much sooner.

Otherwise, when are you going to come out? When I say "cut"?

Let's go. Places. Roll camera!

Elena, stay back. Stay seated.

No, stay back at first.

Back straight, Valentina. Go down. Elena, come in.

Get up. Go toward the kitchen. Wait. Start over.

When she got up, she started going backwards.

When I was a screenwriter, or even earlier, when I was a reporter,

and I would visit directors on their sets,

either to revise a script or just to interview them,

the one thing that astonished and fascinated me in a director

was how he could command 50 or 100 people,

and make these actresses, these beautiful women,

do whatever he wanted,

without making them feel awkward or shy.

I thought it would be the last profession on earth

I would ever feel qualified to practice.

- Scene 223, take 3. - Music!

Action!

Go! One, two, away!

Here's where we have the "march of the gladiators."

This is how I want it to be, nino.

I'm very tempted, frankly, to leave this piece of music in,

because it evokes a mood so immediately.

In fact, I used it because it's the march used in the circus.

But at the same time,

I don't want it to evoke the circus so realistically and literally.

In the same way that I tried to make the visual images

like the memory of the circus as a child might remember it,

I'd like - and only you can do this -

a piece of music that evokes the atmosphere of the circus

and the "march of the gladiators," while being completely different.

In other words, a memory of the "march of the gladiators."

Like the "grandfather's waltz"? That might be -

what waltz?

It's a waltz, but perhaps with a different tempo -

but a waltz has a very different, more delicate, slow tempo.

How could it be adapted to...

How would the waltz go?

Altention, please. Due to technical difficulties,

we are forced fo attempt an emergency landing.

An emergency landing.

This is mastorna, the hero of my film. A cellist.

His journey was supposed to begin like this,

with a crash landing in the Plaza of an unknown city.

But the journey ended immediately, as you can see.

Actually, it never began.

If you encounter an obstacle, you have to be more humble,

and try to understand that if the obstacle exists,

it must have a meaning, a purpose in your life.

Instead of beating your head against it,

why not try to understand what it's doing there?

If you can't lift your suitcase,

there's no use whining about how heavy it is.

Why not try setting it down for a moment?

And at that moment you'll draw a sigh of relief.

"But I don't have my suitcase.” but at least you're breathing.

That's something. You'll get it later. Or leave it there.

Maybe you weren't meant to take the suitcase with you.

Enough about mastorna. Let's talk about your new film.

Another journey, but this time a journey through time.

Photography for fellini satyricon

is about to begin right here on cinecitta's soundstage number 2.

I feel a profound analogy between that dying society,

a society of men waiting for something to happen,

for a profound change, which in fact took place.

The myth of Christ -

today, I feel that our generation is in a similar situation.

We feel that things have to change.

But I don't mean the government has to change.

We have to change our relationship with life itself.

So we're waiting - I, for one, am very trusting and optimistic -

for a profound change, almost on a biological level.

Repeat after me, "one, two."

Keep your voice very low.

Three, four.

No. One, two, three, four.

- You tell me when to say it. - When I say go, you say it.

One, two.

Three, four.

When you get there, and not before.

Very quietly. Quietly, quietly...

No, wait till you're there.

One, two. Three, four.

There.

Okay, let me take a look.

Roll camera.

Now, minicuccio. One, two, three, four.

Cut. That's good.

Two artists, one Italian and one Swedish,

namely fellini and bergman, have decided to join forces and make a film.

The project is still very vague.

Which means that it's rich and vast.

Limits are always confining. The ideal situation is not to have limits.

Why are we in such a good mood? We're both so far away from the project.

I'm busy with satyricon, and he's busy with other things.

No, I'm just kidding.

It's a very stimulating project,

and I feel our approach should be somewhat carefree.

Our fascinating profession is not really a profession

as much as the realization of a calling, and so it's full of joy.

But in the long run, the danger of slipping into routine is real,

and routine can be suffocating.

A project like this restores a certain freedom to our work,

a breaking out of the mold,

which I think is very healthy.

We mustn't jeopardize this health by going into details.

What do you like about bergman?

I appreciate...

The authenticity of this race of storytellers.

He doesn't make films as a profession.

He makes films because it's his calling.

I admire him. I'm moved by him.

I'm relieved and comforted to encounter an artist like this

who pursues self-realization,

who fuses his life and his destiny with the calling he was born to.

I've always admired the way fellini tells his stories,

how he puts his soul info his stories.

Even if he told of a world very far removed from my own,

I thought of him as a brother.

I think our collaboration will be very stimulating,

and I'm sure some excellent films will result from it

fellini has arrived in venice for the screening of his fellini satyricon.

Initially, luchino visconti and antonioni were supposed to come as well.

So I let a certain sentimental patriotism get the best of me,

and I said, "since our cinema, let's be honest, is going through

a rather dark moment, the idea of going to the festival in venice

with luchino and antonioni, two colleagues whom I admire

and with whom I identify, not so much in terms of our results,

but in terms of how they make their movies,

the idea of playing the part of the three aging and arthritic musketeers

who raise high again the flag of Italian cinema."

It seemed to be our duty, and a fun idea.

Then it turned out that luchino wasn't quite ready,

and neither was antonioni, so I was left alone.

So what was I supposed to do? Go to procida or pantelleria?

Good evening, fellini.

How are you?

This is the...

- So you really came. - We're stealing him away from you.

I'll see you later.

So you really want to do this?

It's Saturday. What will you do tomorrow?

I'll get up at 6:30.

I'll throw open the shutters.

Giulietta will complain and tell me to close them.

So I'll close them. Then I should exercise a little.

I've even brought those special Springs. They're lying in a corner.

I don't think they'll ever leave that corner until it's time to leave.

Then I shave, go downstairs, buy the newspapers.

I go through them anxiously to see if they're talking about me, of course.

Then I go to the spring. I stand in line.

I listen to the various little orchestras playing cavalleria rusticana.

Then I take the water cure. I drink a glass of water.

I come back here to the grand hotel. I have breakfast.

I take a nap and dream dreams I'll never tell you about.

Then I go out. I go back to the newsstand, where I buy more papers.

I sit down. I have the typewriter brought down to me.

I insert a sheet of paper, but then I don't know whom to write to.

Actually, these empty hours are when I get myself in trouble,

because I call people with whom

it took me years to sever the relationship.

Or I write letters to people who then feel obliged to write back.

Downtime is dangerous for me, because I tend to reestablish relationships

I had worked very hard to sever.

Then I walk around chianciano,

feeling a little like the inventor and owner of the town,

since chianciano looks a little like a set on one of my films,

because this is where I had the idea for & 7/2,

and it's a town I've portrayed on film.

So there's this surreal feeling of a set that's been used and set aside.

It somehow continues to survive, which always surprises me.

I feel like it should be taken down. The movie is done.

Why does it continue to exist?

Then, dinner at the grand hotel.

Then, sometimes in the evening, a friend from Rome will visit.

We'll take a stroll. We'll say we should live in the country.

"Doesn't the air smell fresh? Isn't it nice to be close to nature?"

And then, when the evening bells begin to ring,

we're all struck by a moment of regret, the usual emotional blackmail.

I remember certain Sundays in rimini, on the deserted streets,

the empty squares, the pointless walks we took,

with the intention of having fun because it was Sunday.

We were expected to have fun. We waited for this day to have fun.

And I remember suddenly these bells ringing, this chain reaction of bells,

that planted a feeling of sadness, fear and unease in your heart.

When it's unexpected and sneaks up on you by surprise,

you sort of jump and feel like,

"it's time to change my ways, to stop being a wvitellone.

It's time to behave, to be a good husband, a good citizen."

These are Sundays that you remember, connected to your memories.

Yes, but my memories are very often figments of my imagination.

I can no longer distinguish between what actually happened...

In fact, now and then my mother says,

"when did you ever run away with the circus?

When were you ever in boarding school?”

And I say, "I really think it happened.”

That's what it means to have a vivid imagination.

I think one's hometown has to do with an area of one's memory

in which certain presences are stored.

Our moms, our dads, and therefore also our relationships with them.

I have trouble seeing my city objectively and in realistic, concrete terms.

It's like diving into a dimension that belongs to the past.

Do you still feel something for the rimini of your youth?

In concrete terms, that's impossible. It's changed completely.

It was almost totally destroyed during the war,

so it's changed enormously.

Naturally, when I go back to rimini,

I nostalgically seek out certain buildings, certain back alleys,

a certain window or facade.

But in this sense, rimini has changed completely.

Did the rimini of your imagination ever actually exist?

For me, that half made-up, half dreamed-up,

half reinterpreted rimini, steeped in nostalgia,

is much more real than the other rimini.

What did the grand hotel represent for you as a boy?

That was the architectural embodiment of all my fantasies of opulence,

riches, the most lascivious sexual fantasies.

I'm fond of amarcord in the same way that I'm fond of the others.

Do you think the American or Japanese public perceives it in the same way?

And why?

I think if you talk about the things you know,

about yourself, your family, your town,

the snow, the rain, the bullying, stupidity, ignorance,

hopes, fantasies, political or religious conditioning -

if you talk about life with sincerity, without trying to lecture anyone,

without being too heavy-handed in your philosophizing

or in the messages you send -

when you talk about life with humility,

and most of all with a sense of proportion for things,

I think everyone will be able to identify with you,

and make your story their own.

I think that the characters in amarcord, in this small Hamlet,

for the very reason that they are limited to this little town,

a town I've known very well, and whose characters, real or imagined,

I either knew or imagined very well,

they suddenly no longer belong to you but to others as well.

When did you find out about the Oscar?

I found out from Alberto sordi. He called me at 8:15 and said,

"federico, damn it, I wanted to give you the good news,

and my sisters, too, told me to call you as soon as they heard.

But unfortunately they didn't give it to you.

They gave it to tanio boccia."

But by his tone of voice, I knew he was joking.

So you found out from Alberto sordi. Were you expecting this award?

- I don't know. - Your first Oscar was 20 years ago.

It was in 1955, for la strada. Twenty years have gone by.

Want me to start crying?

No, I'd like to know how you feel.

What do you feel is the difference between the two oscars?

- I was 20 years younger. - And what does that mean?

It means I have a lot less hair, and my chins sag more and more.

I mean for the director, and your recurring theme of memory.

You want me to say something edifying and comforting.

You want me to address young directors and show them the way.

What would you like to say to the young directors?

Make good movies. Make movies in which you talk about yourself.

La strada, nights of cabiria, 8 1/2, amarcord.

Which of these films do you feel most attached to, if any?

I wish I could find an answer to that question

that I felt happy giving each time.

But I have no answer,

because I never ask myself this type of question.

This vision of a father well-pleased with his children

is completely alien to me.

The truth is that I wasn't trying fo prove anything.

I have no message for humanity. I'm sorry.

I think of films as wonderful toys, marvelous pastimes.

There are no compromises in what I do. This is exactly what I am.

The final result is a mirror I hold up to myself.

Its reflection speaks for itself. I can add nothing fo it.

What can I say?