L’Avventura 1960: Antonioni’s Haunting Exploration of Alienation and Desire in Post-War Italy

READ PART 1 QUEENS OF EVIL 1970, HERE

SPOILER ALERT!

Michaelangelo Antonioni made the statement at Cannes: ” Today the world is endangered by an extremely serious split between a science that is totally and consciously projected into the future, and a rigid and stereotyped morality which all of us recognize as such and yet sustain out of cowardice or sheer laziness (…) Moral man, who has no fear of the scientific unknown, is today afraid of the moral unknown.”

“ L’Avventura” created a stir in 1960 when {film critic} Kael picked it as the best film of the year. It was seen as the flip side of Fellini’s La Dolce Vita. Both directors were Italian; both depicted their characters in a fruitless search for sensual pleasure, and both films ended at dawn with emptiness and soul-sickness. But Fellini’s characters, who were middle-class and had lusty appetites, at least were hopeful on their way to despair. For Antonioni’s idle and decadent rich people, pleasure is anything that momentarily distracts them from the lethal ennui of their existence. Kael again: “The characters are active only in trying to discharge their anxiety: Sex is their sole means of contact…

… It was the most pure and stark of several films about characters who drifted in existential limbo. In America, it came at a time when beatniks cultivated detachment, when modern jazz kept an ironic distance from melody, when it was hip to be cool. That whole time came crashing down later in the 1960s, but while it lasted, “L’Avventura” was its anthem.” -FROM ROGER EBERT 1997

L’Avventura and La Dolce Vita, both released in 1960, stand as grand achievements in Italian art-house cinema, each leaving an indelible mark on the cinematic landscape. While both films emerge from the same river of thought, their singular currents have an organic path that flows from the influential waters of Italian Neorealism; where they diverge is in their artistic approaches.

Antonioni and Fellini, though contemporaries offer distinct perspectives on the societal shifts of their era. Fellini strived to draw a distinction between modernity and tradition, using the Neorealist framework as a gateway to his unique vision. However, his style differed from Antonioni’s. While both directors’ leading protagonists were captured in brushstrokes, painting them as flawed men contending with moral ambiguity, Fellini told his story from Marcello Rubini’s (portrayed by Marcello Mastroianni) perspective. At the same time, with L’Avventura, Antonioni centers his tale through the prism of Claudia’s experience, offering a female-centric exploration of existential themes. Antonioni clearly filtered his story through Claudia’s (Monica Viti) eyes. Antonioni, along with screenwriter Guerra, also adopted a more introspective stance, focusing on the internal struggles of their characters.

The arrival of Michelangelo Antonioni’s L’Avventura in 1960 marked a pivotal moment in cinematic history, coinciding with a period of profound transformation in the medium. Its debut at Cannes was met with a volatile response, with some audience members displeased by the revision in filmmaking style.

This turbulent reception reflected the seismic shifts occurring in film at the time. The traditional structure of narrative cinema was being dismantled and reimagined, both within established movements – “ from inside the “ nouvelle vague” (Koehler) by maverick filmmakers.

The French New Wave, exemplified by Jean-Luc Godard’s Breathless 1960, was pushing boundaries, while directors like Agnès Varda and Alain Resnais (Last Year in Marienbad 1961) were charting new territories with their innovative works.

Directed Alain Resnais’s elegantly theatrical masterpiece of cinematic modernism, Last Year in Marienbad 1961.

“ In this exceptional moment, some of cinema’s old props were being kicked away, including Hollywood’s genre formulae, the three-act narrative structure, the privileging of psychology, the insistence on happy and ‘closed’ endings…{…}… What if endings were less conclusive or less ‘satisfying’? These are the questions Antonioni confronted and responded to with L’avventura, the film that – more than any other at that moment – redefined the landscape of the art form, and mapped a new path that still influences today’s most venturesome and radical young filmmakers.” —(SIGHT & SOUND by Robert Koehler -Originally published 27 July 2012-written in anticipation of our 2012 Greatest Films of All Time poll. Updated: 28 September 2023)

Antonioni’s films of the 1950s were, at one time, sentimental melodramas. In Italy, the landscape had already begun to shift dramatically. He had already started playing a role in deconstructing the existing traditions of the Neorealism movement, which gave way to a new era. This post-Neorealist cinema emerged, unshackled from the constraints of melodramatic conventions and political ideologies that had characterized its predecessor. L’Avventura, his 6th feature film, stood at the forefront of this cinematic revolution, embodying the spirit of a medium in flux and heralding a new chapter in film history.

Described as a painter, Michelangelo Antonioni’s groundbreaking 1960 film L’Avventura (English: The Adventure) redefined cinematic storytelling, challenging traditional narrative structures impactful because of how it deconstructs the classic plot formula and undermines audience expectations. The film was developed from a story by Antonioni with co-writers Elio Bartolini and Tonino Guerra. Sam Juliano at Wonders in the Dark had this to say about Tonino Guerra – “ the genius of Guerra, not simply in dialogue, but even more critically, in the marshaling and pacing of manifestation.”

Antonioni came from the privileged upper class, while Guarra was born of illiterate farmers. He chose to become a poet. Part of the strength of Antonioni’s vision can be attributed to Guarra’s contribution to the poetic substance of the film.

L’Avventura unfolds as a provocative exploration of human nature, set against the backdrop of Italy’s affluent society in the 1960s with the enigmatic event: the inexplicable vanishing of Anna (Lea Massari) during a Mediterranean yachting trip to a desolate volcanic island.

Anna’s fiancé, Sandro (Gabriele Ferzetti), and her best friend, Claudia (Monica Vitti), proceed to search for Anna, who is essentially in the wind. What begins as a search for the missing woman evolves into a journey of modern alienation and the emptiness of affluent society.

As their search unfolds, Claudia and Sandro’s initial determination to find Anna gradually wanes, and their pursuit of their missing friend and lover crumbles and is increasingly overshadowed by their growing attraction to each other, replaced by a complex emotional entanglement that neither if them fully comprehends nor resists.

Sandro: You love Anna very much.
Claudia: Yes, very much.
Sandro: Did she ever talk to you about me?
Claudia: Seldom, but always tenderly.
Sandro: And yet – and yet she acted as though our love, mine, yours, even her father’s, in a way, weren’t enough for her, meant nothing to her.

The initial search proves fruitless, and as time passes, Sandro and Claudia’s efforts to find Anna gradually transform into a burgeoning romantic relationship.

ANNA FADES, CLAUDIA EMERGES: When Absence Becomes the Central Character:

Monica Vitti and Lea Massari exchange places in the narrative. Massari is already disappearing in the frame.

Anna’s disappearance recedes into the background, becoming less a focal point of their journey and more a catalyst for her and Sandro’s emerging relationship.

Her absence continues to haunt the narrative, though not overtly. It inevitably evokes Hitchcock, who played with a similar motif in Rebecca 1940 and Vertigo 1958, not to mention how the director also dispatched his heroine early on in his contemporary psychological thriller Psycho 1960.

Anna at L’Avventura’s center dematerializes, in effect, like a ghost; she vanishes without a trace and creates a void at the narrative’s core. Without tangible evidence, her absence is marked only by rumors of sightings. Acting as the catalyst, Anna has been instrumental in bringing Claudia into her social circle, throwing her and Sandro together. Essentially, Monica Vitti is introduced into the role as, at first, the ‘witness’ (often Claudia is captured ‘looking’) and then as the narrator’s visual ‘surrogate.’

L’Avventura is a fleeting story of a woman’s erasure as she becomes increasingly forgotten long before the film is over. The profound uncomfortability lies in the complete absence of resolution—no sign of her, no investigation, and ultimately, no lasting memory of Anna herself. And though we are haunted. Claudia and Sandro are not.

Anna’s vanishing act causes a visual transformation in the film. Suddenly, the scope expands paradoxically through her absence, with Antonioni employing more expansive and lingering shots. The film’s aesthetic becomes more tangible, and the landscape holds greater importance, emphasizing the elemental forces – billowing clouds, falling rain, crashing waves, and an intensified sun.

Anna’s enigmatic disappearance serves as symbolism, a narrative pivot, propelling the characters into a profound exploration of existential nothingness, where her absence becomes that aforementioned haunting presence that permeates the film, symbolizing the void at the heart of modern existence and the characters’ futile attempts to fill it with superficial pursuits and fleeting connections.

Anna embodies existential ennui and disillusionment with modern life. Her disappearance symbolizes a deliberate escape from a reality that brings profound disappointment. Anna is now invisible, and… also felt nothingness while she was still present.

At the same time, Claudia moves from the periphery to the center and, ultimately, by the closing passages, returns to the edges of affluence once again, but much more empowered than in the beginning.

“As Geoffrey Nowell-Smith observes in his essential study of the film, the periphery in Antonioni is of absolute importance, for this is where the sense of drift in his mise-en-scène and narratives resides – a de-centred centrality. No filmmaker before Antonioni, not even the most radical visionaries like Vigo, had established this before as a part of their aesthetic project.” – Koehler from Sight and Sound

Claudia ultimately admits she prefers Anna’s absence, recognizing that her friend’s return would disrupt their evolving relationship.

Unlike Anna, who is always purposeful, Claudia emerges initially as a fragile seeker, desperately pursuing Sandro’s lukewarm affections with a vulnerability that betrays her own emotional uncertainty.

Claudia: Tell me you love me.
Sandro: I love you
Claudia: Tell me again.
Sandro: I don’t love you.
Claudia: I deserve that.
Sandro: [Leaves the room and immediately comes back]  It’s not true. I love you.

The evolution of Sandro and Claudia’s relationship is central to the film’s exploration of human nature. Their inability to fully commit to finding Anna, coupled with their growing attraction, highlights the fleeting nature of human connections and the ease with which people can be replaced in modern society.

Claudia: Because I am convinced you could make really beautiful things.
Sandro: I don’t know. I really don’t know about that. Who needs beautiful things nowadays, Claudia? How long will they last? All of this was built to last centuries. Today, 10, 20 years at the most, and then? Well.

Sicily’s Stark Beauty: Antonioni’s Canvas for Modern Alienation – L’Avventura’s Cinematic Landscape in 1960s Italy- From Neorealism to Ennui:

The film follows their journey through various locations in Italy, including Sicily and Taormina, as they ostensibly continue their search while grappling with their growing attraction to each other.

Shot on location in 1959 across Italy on location in Rome, the Aeolian Islands, and Sicily under challenging conditions, L’Avventura is renowned for its innovative approach to pacing, tone, and visual composition. Antonioni prioritizes mood and character development over traditional plot progression, creating a mesmerizing cinematic experience that lingers in the viewer’s mind. According to an Antonioni obituary, the film “systematically subverted the filmic codes, practices, and structures in currency at its time.”

The tepid reception of Il grido in 1957, both financially and critically, left Antonioni at a crossroads. Disillusioned with cinema, he contemplated a permanent return to his theatrical roots. However, his eventual decision to helm L’Avventura proved to be a tumultuous journey. The production was plagued by misfortune, culminating in a nightmarish scenario on the remote island of Lisca Bianca. As financial backing crumbled with the collapse of Imeria, the film’s producers, Antonioni, and his crew, found themselves marooned in a desolate location, grappling with dwindling resources and the harsh realities of isolation.

Despite the initial controversy – the rhythmic booing of the audience, at its Cannes premiere, L’Avventura went on to receive critical acclaim, earning the festival’s Jury Prize. Upon its international release, it reached a wider audience; the film made Antonioni’s career and is now lauded as a classic, recognized to be #3 of the 10 greatest films of all time. No. 1 is Citizen Kane, and No.2 is Battleship Potemkin.

It also was responsible for catapulting Monica Vitti to international stardom. Monica Vitti’s arrival on screen, wearing her chic black dress and possessing her iconic sensually windswept blonde mane, beckoned the dawn of the 1960s. Her magnetic aura transcends mere fashion, embodying the era’s spirit of liberation. Vitti’s iconic style and captivating aura elevated any film she graced, transforming it into a cultural touchstone that defined the decade’s aesthetic. She also stated that this film changed her life. Monica Vitti’s modernist theater background shines through her nuanced performance as she masterfully conveys complex emotions within Antonioni’s deliberately restrained cinematic framework.

The film’s lasting impact is evident in its consistent ranking among the world cinema’s greatest films of all time by critics and its influence on subsequent generations of filmmakers. L’Avventura’s groundbreaking status stems from its pioneering exploration and advancement of the principle of the ‘open film.’ This innovative approach to cinema had been Antonioni’s primary focus since transitioning from his notable career as a critic to filmmaking, mirroring the path of contemporaries like Godard. Its revolutionary nature lies in its fluid structure, having many of his ideas inspired by impressions of places that were visual epiphanies to the director, constantly shifting focus, and defying traditional narrative conventions, thereby redefining cinematic storytelling.

Michaelangelo Antonioni on the set of L’Avventura 1960.

His early works—from documentary to narrative film—which include The People of the Po (Gente del Po, 1947) and Story of a Love Affair (Cronaca di un amore, 1950), already challenged the constraints of Neorealism, revealing an artist attuned to the post-war world’s constant state of transformation and fluidity.

As the first installment of Antonioni’s acclaimed trilogy, followed by La Notte (The Night) and L’Eclisse (The Eclipse 1960), L’Avventura stands as a testament to the director’s visionary approach to cinema, systematically subverting established filmic conventions and paving the way for a new era of artistic expression in film. All three films in the trilogy are bound by the malaise of the modern world.

By the late 1950s and early 1960s, the Italian economy had already been shaking off the dust from World War II and started getting back on its feet, stabilizing and moving away from the devastating consequences of the war with factories popping up left and right – it saw industrial growth and subsequent economic prosperity took place through rapid and widespread industrialization.

As the economy changed, there began a new era of Italian cinema. Those gritty, down-to-earth Neorealist films from the 1940s and early ’50s were starting to feel a bit… outdated.

Cue the new wave of directors like Antonioni and Fellini, who were looking at Italy with fresh eyes. They’re not so much concerned with showing the struggles of the poor anymore. Instead, they’re zooming in on a different crowd – those actually benefiting from all this economic growth.

One can also clearly notice a shift in the sensibilities in the Italian films that were made during these years by acclaimed filmmakers like Antonioni, Fellini, and Ermanno Olmi. Antonioni’s L’Avventura, is worlds apart from the Neorealist films. Instead of focusing on the working class trying to make ends meet, it’s all about the rich and privileged. The very first line of the film is about nature being replaced by houses. It is a commentary on industrialization.

While Neorealist films were all about showing the harsh realities of post-war Italy, movies like L’Avventura were tackling a whole new beast: the emptiness and disillusionment that come with rapid economic progress.

Their films moved away from the concerns of Neorealist films of the 1940s and early 50s. In this context, it is very interesting to note the dissimilarities between a typical Italian Neorealist film and a post-Neorealist film like L’Avventura. While Neorealism dealt with the economic fallout of WWII, L’Avventura deals with a sense of disillusionment in the midst of rapid technological advancement (the very first line of the dialogue revolves around how houses are replacing the natural woods). While Neorealism focused on the poor working-class Italians, L’Avventura focused on the privileged upper class or the bourgeois section of Italian society. Antonioni masterfully portrays the spiritual and emotional emptiness of the modern bourgeoisie.

Patrizia: I never understood islands. Surrounded by nothing but water, poor things.

 

Corrado: Giulia is like Oscar Wilde. Give her all the luxuries and she will manage without the little necessities.

Patrizia: My childhood was like a merry-go-round, now here, now there.
Claudia: Mine was a very sensible one.
Patrizia: What do you mean by “sensible”?
Claudia: I mean without any money.

Sandro: Did you know that when I was a boy I wanted to be a diplomat? Can you imagine that! Me, a diplomat? It’s strange but I never thought I’d be rich. I saw myself living in a rooming house, full of geniuses… Instead, I have two apartments, one in Rome and one in Milan. As far as genius goes, it’s a habit I’ve never formed. What do you think of that?

Raimondo: To think that if there ever was a woman deliberately created, actually custom-made for every kind of promiscuity and betrayal, of sordidness and debauchery, it would be her. Oh, well. She’s faithful, a faithfulness born from a sort of apathy.
Patrizia: [laughs] It amuses me. It’s the only amusement I know besides my dog.

There is an irony to progress: Italy finally got its economic miracle, but these filmmakers are saying, Is this reality what people wanted or needed? They’re questioning whether all this progress is actually making people happier or just… emptier, more detached, and alienated.

We see a shift from films that show the struggles of poverty to ones that critique the very progress that was supposed to solve those problems. Italian cinema grew up alongside the economy, but instead of celebrating, it started asking some pretty tough questions.

Antonioni’s Lens: a New Visual Language of Silence and Emotion in Modern Cinema:

Antonioni’s L’Avventura is a masterclass in cinematic language, where every camera movement feels deliberate and profound. His film’s visual language breaks away from traditional cinematography, using long, carefully composed shots that transform the landscape into an emotional character.

His genius lies in his ability to convey these abstract concepts through visual storytelling. The film’s languid pacing, stark landscapes, and carefully composed shots all contribute to a pervasive sense of unease and emptiness. In essence, L’Avventura is a cinematic exploration of nothingness – not in the sense of lack, but as a powerful force that shapes our lives. It challenges viewers to confront the uncomfortable truths we often avoid: the fragility of our beliefs, the transience of our relationships, and the constant specter of oblivion that haunts our existence.

Antonioni juxtaposes human transience with the elemental world’s permanence. He contrasts characters against enduring landscapes and then frames their fragile relationship, capturing their faces in silhouette against ancient architecture, symbolizing humanity’s futile attempt to achieve immortality. This visual technique, skillfully employed in L’Avventura, became a hallmark of Antonioni’s distinctive cinematic style throughout his career.

The director’s meticulous eye for detail shines through in L’Avventura, particularly in the interior scenes. The film’s frame compositions are intricate puzzles, each element carefully placed to convey meaning beyond mere aesthetics.

As the story deviates – as it follows the two lovers (Claudia and Sandro) in their indifferent search, they travel through surreal spaces: deserted villages or, in stark contrast, the frenzied spectacle of lustful Southern Italian men, their gazes fixed intently as they stalk  Monica Vitti in the street.

This precision isn’t just about looking good; it’s a deliberate choice that echoes the film’s themes. The movie’s austere tone isn’t accidental. It’s a reflection of the changing Italian society of the time, grappling with rapid industrialization and a shift toward consumerism.

Antonioni makes a banquet out of his quiet, stark visual aesthetic to critique the emptiness creeping into people’s lives as traditional values give way to materialism. By stripping away warmth and emphasizing geometric, often cold spaces, Antonioni creates a world that feels devoid of genuine human connection. He tells the story through images – it’s almost a re-envisioning of ‘Silent Cinema.’ (Youngblood)

Antonioni’s artistic vision evolved to emphasize temporality and minimalist framing, balancing precision with a broad perspective that equally values human figures, architecture, and landscapes, emphasizing the characters’ connection (or lack thereof) to their environment. This approach created a unique cinematic discourse that challenged traditional visual hierarchies.

By placing images, atmosphere, and emotion at the core of the film, Antonioni creates a new cinematic voice that abandons traditional storytelling in favor of a more visually driven narrative. The barren island where Anna disappears becomes a metaphor for the characters’ emotional isolation.

Novelist and screenwriter Alain Robbe-Grillet (Last Year in Marienbad) notes that several shots in the film’s continental section are presented from the perspective of an unseen observer, suggesting that Anna is silently shadowing Sandro and Claudia to witness their actions. When Robbe-Grillet asked Antonioni about the missing scene, which depicted Anna’s body being delivered from the sea, Antonioni revealed that it had indeed been scripted and filmed but was ultimately excluded from the final cut due to timing constraints. The effect of the mystery of Anna is way more potent in the not knowing.

The extended takes are long, uninterrupted shots that force viewers to confront the characters’ inner turmoil. The symbolic settings, desolate islands, and foggy landscapes become metaphors for the characters’ isolation.

Antonioni’s framing – setting up extreme long shots that diminish and overwhelm characters against vast backdrops, emphasizes their insignificance and alienation. Meanwhile, urban isolation places them in empty streets or imposing architecture, highlighting their loneliness, boredom, emotional detachment, and disconnect from society.

Anna’s unsolved disappearance has sparked considerable discussion, with Roger Ebert linking it to the film’s affluent, entitled, and disenchanted characters, all of whom struggle with unfulfilling relationships. Ebert argues they are all “on the brink of disappearance.”

Claudia: Did you sleep well?
Anna: So-so. Last night I went to bed intending to think about lots of things–and then I fell asleep.

Shortly afterward, in the first stages of the film – Anna dissolves into the ether.

Through the overt existential emptiness, the meaningful dialogue is often replaced by pregnant silences and enigmatic glances, highlighting the characters’ inability to connect genuinely.

The characters’ affluent lifestyles fail to fill the void in their lives, leading to a pervasive sense of ennui. Through his direction, Antonioni transforms what could have been a straightforward mystery into a penetrating critique of modern society. The film’s languid pace and ambiguous narrative serve to amplify the sense of disillusionment and moral ambiguity that permeates the characters’ world. The film carries religious undertones through images of empty churches, emphasizing the institution of marriage, fidelity, and the ideal of everlasting love.

When this ideal remains unfulfilled, it leads to misery, yet people cling to it out of cowardice or complacency.

In a pivotal scene at the convent at Chiesa del Collegio in Noto, Claudia (Monica Vitti) turns to Sandro and says, “ I want to see clearly!” and she rings the church bells, creating a haunting moment of connection as the bell’s poetry surrounds the lovers its resonance echoes across the landscape.

L’Avventura presents a deceptively simple premise that unfolds into a complex meditation on human existence. Anna’s enigmatic disappearance during the yachting excursion to a barren Italian isle serves as a catalyst, exposing the fragile relationships and moral ambiguity of the characters and the unraveling of their relationships, setting in motion a narrative that’s less about finding Anna and more about exposing the existential void at the heart of modern life. As Sandro and Claudia embark on the search that gradually loses its urgency, their own relationship takes an unexpected turn.

Their growing attraction, tinged with guilt and uncertainty, becomes a lens through which Antonioni examines the fickle nature of human connections and the ease with which we replace the absent. Yet, beneath the surface plot, L’Avventura grapples with weightier themes: the omnipresence of the unknown, the futility of seeking meaning in a seemingly indifferent universe, and the hollowness of social conventions and materialism and impermanence. As fleeting as human bonds, an ancient vase unearthed from the island is dropped by one of the group, and it shatters carelessly, its destruction met with indifference—a poignant metaphor for the characters’ disregard for both history and intimacy.

From the outset, the dramatic setting feels raw and primal: an island surrounded by crashing waves against rugged inlets, with ancient rock formations and the wind howling as a storm brews. The people on this pleasure cruise along the southern Italian coast, privileged travelers, drift restlessly across Mediterranean waters off the coast of southern Italy, their relationships fraught with unspoken tensions and quiet desperation. Once Anna (Lea Massari) goes missing, the search begins.

It’s as if the characters are lost in their own emotional oasis, mirroring the barren landscapes of the Aeolian Islands, where part of the film is set. The barren island where Anna disappears becomes a metaphor for the characters’ internal emotional states, emphasizing the isolation and disconnection they feel.

This visual austerity serves a dual purpose. It not only represents the characters’ inner emptiness but also challenges us to confront the dehumanizing aspects of modern life as part of the film’s commentary. Antonioni isn’t just showing us beautiful imagery; he’s asking us to question the cost of progress and the nature of human relationships in this increasingly materialistic world.

Antonioni’s L’Avventura presents a profound exploration of human vulnerability in the face of life’s unpredictability. Anna’s sudden vanishing act serves as a stark reminder of our tenuous grip on existence, jolting Sandro and Claudia into a heightened awareness of life’s fragility. This abrupt confrontation with mortality and the arbitrary nature of fate catalyzes a complex emotional response in the two lovers.

Faced with the void left by Anna’s absence and the unsettling realization of their own mortality, Sandro and Claudia gravitate towards each other. Their burgeoning relationship can be seen as a reflexive attempt to find meaning and connection in a world suddenly revealed as chaotic and indifferent. However, this comfort is shaded by remorse and doubt and our often misguided attempts to fill the existential void. Their liaison becomes both a lifeline and a burden in the face of life’s fundamental uncertainties. Yet Sandro is incapable of a meaningful connection to any woman, while Claudia ultimately finds a connection to herself.

L’Avventura captivates with its visual splendor, offering a mesmerizing Mise en scène of monochromatic imagery by cinematographer Aldo Scavarda. This singular collaboration between Scavarda and Antonioni yielded a breathtaking visual feast despite their brief creative partnership.

Aldo Scavarda was an Italian cinematographer behind L’Avventura’s breathtaking cinematography, transforming what could have been a simple narrative into a visual poem. His lens captured landscapes and human emotions with almost painterly precision, making empty spaces and characters feel equally alive. Working closely with Antonioni, Scavarda essentially rewrote the visual language of cinema, turning each frame into a canvas that spoke volumes beyond dialogue. He collaborated with numerous notable directors, including Bernardo Bertolucci on Before the Revolution (1964), Mauro Bolognini on From a Roman Balcony(1960), and Luigi Comencini on On the Tiger’s Back (1961).

For L’Avventura, he created the film’s distinctive visual style, which emphasized mood and composition over traditional narrative techniques. In 1969, Scavarda won the Silver Ribbon prize for his cinematography on Salvatore Samperi’s Come Play with Me, and he also directed his own film, La linea del fiume, in 1975.

L’avventura showcases a cast of irresistibly alluring performers who exude sensuality. Monica Vitti, in her breakout leading role, captivates with her magnetic and quietly simmering screen presence. Her portrayal, along with those of her equally intelligent, sophisticated, and worldly contemporaries, redefined the archetype of the European actresses who shaped the perception of the new, sensually charged European film goddess. This reimagined persona of the Continental actress played a pivotal role in the triumphant infiltration of foreign cinema into English-language markets, drawing a new audience with a potent blend of intellect and sexuality. For cinephiles, the blend of artistic depth and erotic beauty was an irresistible combination.

The Faces Behind the Enigma: L’Avventura’s Defining Ensemble

Monica Vitti in Antonioni’s Red Dust 1964.

Alain Delon and Monica Vitti in L’Eclisse 1962.

Monica Vitti (Claudia): was a prominent muse in Italian cinema, particularly known for her collaborations with Antonioni. Besides L’Avventura, she starred in other Antonioni films like L’Eclisse (1962) and Red Desert (1964). She also showcased her versatility in comedies such as The Girl with a Pistol (1968).

Like Vitti, actresses who redefined the cultural zeitgeist of the 1960s were Anna Magnani’s with her intense portrayal of Mamma Roma in Pier Paolo Pasolini’s 1962 film of the same name. In this powerful performance, Magnani played a former prostitute striving to create a better life for her teenage son. Giulietta Masina for her whimsical performance in Juliet of the Spirits 1965, Claudia Cardinale emerged as a major star, known for her roles in acclaimed films like Federico Fellini’s 8½ (1963) and Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West (1968), Jeanne Moreau became an iconic figure of French New Wave cinema, particularly for her incandescent, mercurial, and transcendent performance in François Truffaut’s Jules and Jim (1962) Sophia Loren solidified her status as an international star, winning an Academy Award for Two Women (1960) and starring in notable films like Marriage Italian Style (1964) Catherine Deneuve rose to prominence with her “cool, frigid femme fatale” persona in films like Repulsion (1965) and Belle de Jour (1967) Anouk Aimée gained recognition for her roles in La Dolce Vita (1960) and A Man and a Woman (1966) Romy Schneider became a defining figure in European cinema, acclaimed for her performances in films such as The Things of Life and L’Enfer.

Vitti, like these wonderful actresses of the decade, played a crucial role in shaping the landscape of European art cinema during the 1960s, contributing to its artistic and cultural significance.

Lea Massari

Lea Massari (Anna): Massari gained recognition for her role as the missing Anna in L’Avventura. She also appeared in notable films like Clara Chevalier in Louis Malle’s Murmur of the Heart (1971) and Christ Stopped at Eboli (1979). Gabriele Ferzetti (Sandro): had a long and varied career in Italian and international cinema. He appeared in other acclaimed films like Once Upon a Time in the West (1968) and On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969). Renzo Ricci (Anna’s father) spent his lengthy career in Italian theater and cinema. Apart from L’Avventura, he appeared in historical epics like Nero and the Burning of Rome (1953) and Garibaldi (1961).

Fusco’s score features “ the sounds of creaky nostalgic ‘Italian’ music” (Koehler). The film’s evocative, at times, primal musical score, dissonant atonalities composed by Giovanni Fusco, was uniquely described by Antonioni as “jazz. The soundtrack features a variety of musical styles, including rhythm-centric, Jazz elements, dramatic themes, and variations, including Swing tunes and repetitive and jarring, offbeat rhythms.

Fusco’s music that appears in the film after the intro comes back in when they are all on the rocks looking for Anna. The composer worked on Red Desert 1964 and Resnais’ Hiroshima. Mon Amour 1959. Antonioni disliked the use of music in films – later, in his films, such as La Notte and L’Eclisse, he used very minimal music. Fusco wrote the beginning and ending music over the credits only.

Film historian Dr. Elena Marini argues that Michelangelo Antonioni’s approach to music in his films was revolutionary, particularly in his collaborations with composer Giovanni Fusco. Antonioni asked Fucso to infuse L’Avventura with a jazz mood but do it like the Hellenic era, which is monophonic using instruments like lyres or mandolin. Antonioni famously disliked traditional “commentary music”—scores that dictate emotional responses or serve as mere background noise, often referred to as “furniture music.” Instead, he sought to strip away such conventions, relying on imagery, actor choreography, and facial expressions to convey emotion and atmosphere. Marini emphasizes that Antonioni’s rejection of conventional film scores introduced a new cinematic language. His minimalist use of music ensured that the visuals remained dominant, preserving the contemplative and ambiguous tone of his work. This innovation has since become a hallmark of modern filmmaking, with many directors adopting similar approaches to avoid overtly manipulative soundtracks.

The film deftly navigates the liminal space between a fading era and an emerging zeitgeist still finding its footing. Giovanni Fusco’s opening score audaciously introduces this delicate balance, where wistful Sicilian melodies intertwine with edgy, prowling percussion. This auditory dance sets the stage for the film’s expansive exploration of tangible environments and psychological space.

Adrift: A Fateful Voyage: Anna’s Vanishing Act:

The film opens with Anna saying goodbye to her father with all the detachment of strangers meeting. Within the juxtaposition of the modern with the old world, Anna’s father is aligned with the architecture of the past. They live in the shadow of a neoclassical church that stands as a hidden gem in the landscape, unnoticed by this father and daughter due to their preoccupation with their own personal troubles.

He is in the middle of a cold business deal to sell off their sweeping property, which will be turned into low-cost housing. Anna (Lea Massari) and her friend Claudia (Monica Vitti) — who had, in her words, “a sensible childhood . . . without any money” meet at Anna’s father’s villa before embarking on a yachting trip along the Mediterranean.

Her father, a conservative diplomat, complains about her frequent travels away from home. “ I should have grown used to it by now.” For him, it is an ongoing issue, implying his displeasure about her struggle to conform to these expectations. She will not be domesticated, as shown by her intense inner life that overwhelms the ordinary aspects of her existence, leaving no room for conventionality.

Il padre di Anna: How long will you be away?
Anna: Four or five days.
Il padre de Anna: Well, I suppose I’ll spend the weekend alone. I’ll rest. I should have grown used to it by now.
Anna: Used to what, father?
Il padre di Anna: To rest, not only from my diplomatic duties but as a father.
Anna: Why do you say such things?
Il padre di Anna: It’s the truth. Allow me at least this much: after 30 years of never telling the truth, I might as well speak truthfully to my own daughter now.

The initial scenes of L’avventura illustrate a generational divide, as Anna – who first appears to be the film’s central character – informs her affluent father of her plans to get away on holiday in Sicily with her friend Claudia , who remains largely in the background, merely following along.

Anna first wants to spend a solitary moment and go for a coffee. “ I’m thirsty,” she tells her friend, who cannot believe she’d take such a detour from her lover, “ While a man you haven’t seen in a month has been waiting for you?” But the very serious Anna assures her, “ I’d happily give up seeing him today.”

However, she sacrifices her true desires in order to maintain a polite facade. She tries to make her case, “ It’s torture being apart. It’s difficult keeping a relationship going with one person here and the other there… But it’s convenient… Because you can imagine whatever you like. Whereas when somebody’s right in front of you, that’s all you get. Let’s go back. Come on!”

In the beginning scene with Claudia and Sandro, Antonioni introduces characters who indulge in the pleasure principle. First, Anna wants to abandon the idea of the boat trip; next, they are engaging in aimless sex. Antonioni had stated, ‘Eros is sick.’ Their sexuality fills the void of banality as a replacement for meaningful work and the unremarkable quality of a daily emotional life. That is part of what L’Avventura is about.

In the film’s initial moments, as Anna meets up with Sandro and they set out on their holiday boating adventure, Vitti’s heroine, Claudia, finds herself largely sidelined. She appears to be on the edges of the earliest scenes, her presence seemingly inconsequential. Still, her anxious gaze and subtle body language draw our attention, particularly when Anna’s palpable and pervasive angst is ever-present on screen —a discontent that remains unarticulated, even in her quiet moments with Claudia.

However, after Anna mysteriously vanishes during their boat trip to a deserted island, it is Claudia who steps into the spotlight —capturing the attention of Anna’s architect boyfriend, Sandro (Gabriele Ferzetti)—as the search for Anna gradually fades.

Claudia,is from a less privileged background, she hitches a ride with Anna. This act serves to emphasize the separation from the opulent lifestyle that Anna and her friends lead.

They travel to Rome to meet Anna’s fiancé, Sandro, near the Pans Fabricius. Not wanting to go through with their tryst, a broken attempt to stay away from her lover. Anna’s gesture falls short of her intended plan, and she winds up going to see Sandro.

One of the Antonioni close-ups is the abstraction of the frame; Sandro’s face falls out of the frame, nearly vanishing from the camera. Also, Anna is not truly there. She’s not passionate. She’s somewhere else while making love to him.

While Claudia waits downstairs, Anna and Sandro make love in his flat. [Anna starts to undress] –

Sandro: Your friend is downstairs, waiting. Anna: Let her wait!

Anna reveals early on that she is an indifferent lover. Although she is not truly captivated by her partner, Sandro, she impulsively makes love to him. But her body language signals her displeasure.

Sandro drives the women to the coast, where they join their wealthy friends, two Italian couples who plan to cruise the sea near Sicily on a yacht.

Reaching out of Sandro’s car with her hand, Claudia finds the impulse to engage the motion of the air as the convertible moves along the road. She connects with the environment as they travel. She reveals a sense of astonishment that is unfamiliar to her, as if experiencing something profound. This suggests the lightheartedness or spontaneity that she begins to feel, setting the stage for their journey.

The group takes a boat to an isolated island, and on the way, it becomes clear that each is involved in a loveless marriage, with each of them barely able to tolerate each other, if not outright loathe, their partner. Yet they choose to stay together, driven by weakness or simple inertia.

On the boat, we meet characters who show how hard it is for people to connect with each other—the idle rich who are lackadaisical and self-absorbed. And though Sandro comes across as arrogant, who must always have a woman in his life, he’s actually empty inside.

The people on the boat are adrift.

Antonioni has a unique ability to transform ordinary images into something psychologically impactful. In some instances, Claudia observes various scenes, including cliffs reflected in shimmering water. While these are simply rocks of an island, the director’s artistic choices imbue them with a deeper meaning. The rocks possess a striking presence. The director creates a subtle yet powerful emotional resonance through careful framing, lighting, and context.

The next day, while on their voyage, the group reaches the Aeolian Islands; they lay the anchor near the island, and Anna jumps into the water for a swim. Soon, Anna puts herself at the center of the stage again, as she did while she kept Claudia waiting while making love upstairs. Sandro follows her as she swims in the ocean after she cries in distress claiming to have seen a shark—only to discover later that it was a lie.

After creating chaos, Anna deliberately lies about the shark and then casually confesses to Claudia that she completely invented the story: “ You know, the whole shark thing was a lie.”

There is a subtle undercurrent of eroticism in the scene where Anna confesses to Claudia about fabricating the shark incident. This moment ignites a palpable tension between the two women, their exchange charged with unspoken desire. Antonioni’s deliberate ambiguity has led many critics to speculate about Anna’s sexuality, particularly her potential lesbianism. They point to her restlessness and eventual disappearance as possible indicators rather than simply dismissing her as a capricious socialite.

The scene’s composition, with their bare backs turned to the camera in the cabin, reflects Antonioni’s idea of escaping one’s identity. His characters often are shot with their backs turned to the camera. The symbolic imagery hints at an impending shift as one is about to take the other’s place.

After Patrizia (Esmeralda Ruspoli) toys with her puzzle – life’s a puzzle – Raimondo (Lelio Luttazi) makes sexual overtures to her. They are not lovers, but he pursues her. Her rebuff stems not from a sense of marital fidelity or morality. Instead, they are born from a profound ennui that permeates her being.

The group arrives on a craggy island, where apples are casually shared among them. Anna and Sandro ascend to a higher point. They both go ashore, along with her friend Claudia and the others begin to explore.

Anna quarrels with her lover, expressing her growing discomfort with his absence, and she confides in him about her unhappiness with his frequent business trips, “ I got used to being without you.” but he dismisses her concerns as typical unease, assuring her it will pass. Sandro tells her, “ It’s the usual awkwardness. It will go away.” She answers, “It’s a little more this time.”

Anna, in the frame, emphasizes the gravity of their current situation. Meanwhile, Sandro dismisses her concerns with a tone-deaf suggestion that any serious issues will simply take more time to fade away, revealing his complete lack of understanding of Anna’s emotional state. Sandro – “ It’ll take a little longer to go away, then.”

Claudia –“Well, I think we should talk about it. Or do you think we won’t be able to understand each other?” Sandro – “ We’ll have time to talk. We’re getting married. What’s longer than a lifetime?” She walks away from him under the far-reaching sky. Isolated and melancholy, she sits on a rocky ledge, preparing to argue further., “ In that case, getting married would mean nothing. Aren’t we already acting like we’re married?” He asks, “ Why are we arguing… talking? Believe me, Anna, words are more and more pointless.

Sandro as he tries to kiss her, – “ I care for you, Anna. Isn’t that enough?”

Anna- “ No, it isn’t enough.” He tells her, “ I’d like to spend more time alone.” She insists, “ But you just had a month!” He tells her, “ More time!” She shouts. “ Two months, a year, three years!”

Sandro says – “ I know it’s absurd,”

She realizes he will never understand her pain, Anna tells him, “ I’m distraught. The idea of losing you makes me want to die… And yet, I don’t feel you anymore…”

Sandro smuggly – “ Even yesterday, at my place? You didn’t feel me?”

Anna says, “ You always have to dirty everything.” She watches as he leans back on his rock and covers his face. She is overheard saying she wants to be left alone as he takes a nap on the rocks.

This is the moment Anna truly vanishes. After the dissolve, there is a trace of a small boat off in the distance, leaving the smallest crest of waves. Could it be Anna leaving? What we will come to find out is that Anna will not be seen again. Their exchange highlights the growing disconnect between Anna and Sandro, foreshadowing the impending crisis in their relationship and setting the stage for Anna’s mysterious disappearance. After the argument, Claudia and is met by waves at her feet. Anna is gone.

We now see Claudia amidst the waves as if she is surrounded by turbulence.

The group becomes aware that Anna is missing and searches for her.

Guila watches Corrado as he walks far ahead of her. They are distant and lost to each other in their marriage. They are walking together yet separately in the scene.

Antonioni’s use of seemingly extraneous scenes, such as the old man in his cramped dwelling showcasing him pointing out his family photographs, serves a purpose beyond conventional plot advancement. While not directly contributing to the search for the missing Anna, these moments imbue the film with a profound sense of authenticity and depth. By traditional narrative standards, the director’s deliberate inclusion of such meaningless sequences initially bewildered and frustrated the Cannes audience, resulting in their notorious booing. However, these prolonged scenes where ostensibly “nothing happens” are, in fact, rich with subtle significance. These moments exemplify what film historian Seymour Chatman termed “the open text,” inviting viewers to engage in personal interpretation rather than passively consuming a predetermined narrative. What historian Gene Youngblood referred to as “found objects.” For example, the pharmacist and the young couple on the train.

Claudia, Sandro, and Corrado search an empty stone dwelling. Claudia stands by the window, looking out at the sunset. Another use of the camera to capture an open window.  Claudia wears Anna’s shirt like a skin. In this way, she is becoming her – taking her place and poised to transition to a pivotal moment. Now, with Anna’s absence on the island, the sexual attraction between Claudia and Sandro is about to be revealed.

In an atmospheric composition within a tight interior scene, Claudia awakens from a nap. Antonioni begins her arousal with a long contemplative shot. It is a beautiful portrait. Corrado is kind and gentle to Claudia yet is distant and cold to his wife Guilia – – it goes to the substance of marriage and to the relationships he has made in his own circle of friends. Claudia calls for Anna on the cliffs.

Between these two lovers, a volcano of sexual tension will eventually erupt.

The eloquent visual montage intensifies, embodying the emotional weight of the next defining, grand romantic moment. These two figures are framed against an infinite sky and a restless ocean. On the cliff’s edge, Claudia and Sandro stand in stark relief against the neverending sky; they remain motionless, silhouetted against the horizon. They hear a boat off in the distance.

There is a jagged rock in between Claudia and Sandro.

After a while, Anna is nowhere to be found. The others scour the island, which consists mainly of rocky terrain and sparse scrub trees, offering few hiding spots, and she remains elusive. We are left uncertain about whether she left intentionally, took her own life, hid away, or simply disappeared. While there are a only a few subtle clues that emerge upon multiple viewings, the truth remains ambiguous.

After Anna’s disappearance, Sandro shrugs it off as just her usual behavior.

They search the island, but their efforts don’t turn up any answers. Sandro, one of the vacationing friends – Corrado, and Claudia remain behind to continue searching while the others alert the police. As they look for Anna, Sandro becomes defensive when Claudia implies that he is partly responsible for Anna’s disappearance because of his neglect.

Anna’s vanishing act and the initial search on the island is notable as it takes up a third of the way into the film. At the time, it was a groundbreaking notion to shift away from such a central plot point so drastically and never return to it.

Antonioni executes a bold cinematic manipulation by abruptly flipping the switch in L’Avventura; it turns the primary narrative on its head—the search for Anna—dissolves, leaving us adrift in a narrative vacuum. This shift reflects the characters’ own internal void as they struggle with a sudden loss of purpose. What’s left is a group of individuals sleepwalking through their lives without any clear sense of direction.

A yacht is sent to get help. While Anna’s friends search the island, Aldo Scavarda’s cinematography creates a haunting atmosphere: the characters are positioned off-center in the frame, suggesting that the rocks have stood for ages and these visitors might easily fall into the sea—or fade into the sky or swallowed up by the camera. Even the moment on the rocks when the emergence of Claudia and Sandro’s attraction comes to life, by the end of the sequence, Claudia falls off the edge of the frame as if Antonioni obliterates her from the scene. They hear a boat in the distance, and there’s a cryptic shot where we catch a glimpse of it—or we think we almost see it like a ghost. Is it an illusion? And we wonder: Did Anna leave on it?

“These phantom boats are like the dead body that was or wasn’t on the park grass in Antonioni’s (Blow Up 1967). The 1975 Australian film Picnic at Hanging Rock is also about a person consumed by a landscape. The effect of Anna’s disappearance is disquieting; we want to know there either was a boat or wasn’t a boat, and Anna either did or didn’t leave on it. The film remains slippery.” (EBERT)

Eventually, the yacht returns to the island, bringing with it the police and Anna’s father, who seems like he can’t be bothered and appears displeased to be pulled away from his business having to come and try to find his missing daughter.

Sandro reports, “ Nothing, nothing…” Claudia brings two of Anna’s books from the yacht. Anna’s father feels encouraged as he considers his daughter’s fate. He takes note of both – Tender is the Night and the Bible. “ This is a good sign. I think someone who reads the Bible wouldn’t do anything rash because it means they believe in God.”

When the police conducted a search of their own, they found nothing. There is no need to wonder why the police aren’t questioning Sandro or Corrado, who had gone off in a boat to wander on a smaller island right before Anna went missing. You might go in expecting the film to be all about the search for Anna. In essence, all of its characters are on the brink of disappearing. ” Their lives are so unreal, and their relationships so tenuous that they can barely be said to exist.” (ROGER EBERT) But L’Avventure is not a mystery… it is a visual poetic reflection on the intricacies of human existence and the abyss of meaninglessness.

It has only been hours after his lover has gone missing, yet he follows Claudia onto the Yacht and tries to kiss her.

Sandro decides to investigate nearby smugglers, but first comes a scene that is startling because it feels almost ephemeral—like the phantom boat that may or may not have been there. Once the group returns to the yacht before Sandro leaves to continue his search, he suddenly seizes Claudia and kisses her. Taking her off guard, Claudia instinctively recoils from his embrace, and the moment quickly evaporates into thin air. What is going through her mind? Is she repulsed by his willingness to betray Anna so quickly? Like Anna’s mysterious disappearance, the truth remains an open question for the time being.

Sandro makes a report at police headquarters and follows Claudia to the station.

Claudia and Sandro share another closed-in space, while a bright window – one of many windows, to the right of screen is yet another means of escape.

Claudia and Sandro convince themselves that Anna might still be in the same area and possibly attend the next social gathering. Their search for Anna is represented as ineffective; Claudia becomes someone like Anna who begins to question things, while Sandro is the embodiment of weaknesses. As Claudia boards a train heading to Palermo, just as it starts to pull away, Sandro leaps on board and tells her that he loves her. She is annoyed by his impulsiveness.

As they head to Milazzo, they mock a working-class couple’s conversation at the train station. Their obliviousness overshadows this sentiment of the stunning coastal scenery along the train route. The rolling swells of the sea, which they ignore, symbolize a new world emerging, one that Claudia is beginning to sense despite her previous lack of awareness.

Claudia questions the wisdom of their attraction, but Sandro sees no reason to let it go. Meanwhile, Claudia is unsettled by how fleeting life is and how easily things can change. Ultimately, Sandro decides to step off the train at Castroreale. Sandro decides to bribe the journalist Zuria to write a false report that Anna has been spotted in Troina. Claudia winds up at Patrizia’s palatial Villa.

This turn of events allows Antonioni to take a closer look at the superficiality and emotional distance that often characterize the upper crust of society, holding up a mirror to the broader malaise of the times. The film dives into the inner lives of its characters, exposing their deep emotional isolation. Even though they are always surrounded by one another, there’s a striking sense of disconnection among them.

Claudia decides to search other islands by herself, and she and Sandro agree to meet up later in Palermo. The police conducted a thorough search but found nothing. And Sandro discovers the smugglers have nothing to tell him about Anna’s disappearance.

Claudia arrives at the estate, where the gravity of Anna’s disappearance is met with indifference. At Patricia’s villa in the South, there’s cynical talk about aging and loss of sensation.“ When you’re past 50, My Darling, you only feel cold.” Someone makes a dig at Patricia; a sarcastic suggestion is made to turn the villa into a clinic for nervous disorders. This is an allusion to Anna’s earlier awareness of the illness of the soul deeply rooted in society. “ Why don’t you sell this villa to a lovely clinic for nervous disorders?”

To Antonioni’s melodramatic style with Guerra’s added nuance.  “nervous disorders” are a long-standing human condition dating back millennia. The fline suggests that Anna was aware of these deep-seated issues in society.

The stunning tropical landscape surrounding the property goes unnoticed by its inhabitants, symbolizing their disconnection from natural beauty.

Claudia has entered a beautiful netherworld or dreamscape where people idle around for a living.

Claudia tries on a black wig the second time she takes on Anna’s identity. She has become a surrogate for Sandro, within a seemingly real space revealed as fantasy.

In the witness role again, Claudia catches Guilia coming up the stairs with the young boy she was flirting with. In his book, writer Seymore Chapman points out that it’s more about a moral and legal sense than passive observation. Claudia makes judgments about what she sees – Guilia takes the young artist to his room while Claudia watches them embrace – Claudia’s disapproval vexes Guilia, and she closes the door on her. Claudia gives a revealing smile as she exits the door. She has turned her back on this way of life. Claudia keeps herself emotionally and psychologically withdrawn from the pretext of the search for Anna while remaining on the periphery.

Claudia, however, is portrayed as someone capable of appreciating this beauty, with a hidden understanding of the need to counteract the venomous superficial lifestyle.

Claudia’s initial ignorance is seen as potentially constructive, suggesting her naivety might lead to growth. Giulia’s questionable indiscretion after she encounters the young artist painting nude women drawing a comparison to Titian’s early work. The young artist’s response of feeling “a shiver” while painting is highlighted as significant, even in an otherwise trivial context. Guerra’s intention is to show that even small moments of genuine feeling or inspiration can be meaningful.

Sandro and Claudia head to Troina, where they manage to find the chemist who claims he sold tranquilizers to a woman who matches Anna’s description. In their search, Sandro and Claudia learn that the woman identified by the chemist had taken a bus to Noto in southern Sicily. They drive there together.

As they journey south, they pause at an abandoned village, where they embrace on a hill that overlooks the town. Unexpectedly, Claudia and Sandro engage in passionate lovemaking near a rural train track. Claudia exclaims possessively, ” Mine. Mine. Mine…” Another beautiful montage – they are elevated above the landscape – the camera gets close up on their faces as the sounds of a train echoes in the distance. As film historian Gene Youngblood points out in his extraordinary commentary for Criterion, you would never see in a traditional Hollywood film the back of someone’s head obscuring their lover’s face while they were kissing. ” The camera shares the diegetic space of the story itself. When they leave it, the frame is empty. This seemingly random cutting against the action gives you a sense more of you being there.”

They quickly resume their journey. A fast train rushes by; its thunderous passage leaves a lasting impression. As they continue their hasty walk, Claudia admits to Sandro, ” What I’m doing is ugly…”

Continuing on to Noto, they search for Anna at the Trinacria Hotel but fail to get any answers. Throughout this journey, Claudia remains conflicted by her emotions—torn between her growing feelings for Sandro and her sense of betrayal of Anna.

He and Claudia’s connection to architecture is intricately linked to their physical presence as they navigate spaces that alternately elevate them above the Italian structures and nearly swallows them up; their shared intimacy begins in open spaces but gradually closes in on them, framing their confinement.

They reach Noto, drawn by whispers of Anna’s presence. As the journey unfolds, Claudia’s character undergoes a transformation. Initially introverted and hesitant, she gradually emerges from her shell, gaining confidence with each passing scene. In Noto, she assumes the role of witness once again, becoming acutely aware of the men’s intense gazes. The sequence takes on a surreal quality, with the town seemingly populated entirely by lustful men. Their exaggerated behavior, following Claudia and overtly ogling her, stands out as a theatrical element in a film otherwise known for its de-theatricalization (Youngblood).

Sandro is constantly placed against architectural edifices.

They climb up a church steeple reminiscent of Hitchcock’s Vertigo. Claudia engages with the beauty of her surroundings by pulling on a church’s bell rope, whose sound resonates with pure natural effect. The sound rings out to someone else who answers the call, creating a moment of connection through the bell’s song. Yet the emotional impact of Claudia’s stirring is undermined by Sandro’s absence of romantic intuition. Instead of appreciating the beauty and meaning of the heavenly sound, Sandro becomes distracted by his career and the architectural aspects of the church rather than connecting with Claudia or the moment.

She says to him, “ Such imagination, such movement.” Sandro,  “ I used to have ideas, you know.” She asks, “ Why did you stop?” He tells her, “ It isn’t easy to admit that a red floor suits a room when you think exactly the opposite, but the lady wants it red. So I give estimates…”

Claudia tells him, “ You could make beautiful things.” But lazily, he asserts, “ Who needs beautiful things nowadays? How long will they last? But then they built for the ages…”

At the Chiesa del Collegio, Sandro proposes to Claudia, but she turns him down. The next morning, despite the undeniable chemistry between them, Claudia feels uncertain and suggests they part ways. Ultimately, she comes to terms with her feelings for Sandro, allowing her thoughts of Anna to fade.
Neither of them mourns her absence; Anna, as a friend and lover, is now gone, and they move on without a second thought.

He changes the subject, “ Shall we get married?” She says, “ Not yet, anyway,” He tells her, “ I don’t know… Why can’t things be less complicated? I’d like to be clear-headed. I’d like to have clear ideas.”

She tells him, ” I want to see things clearly.”

Sandro voices his discontent. “ I’ve never met a woman like you who needs to see everything clearly.”

Near the Cathedral in Noto, while waiting for it to open, Sandro, distracted while observing a student sketching an old doorway, deliberately knocks over the artist’s ink maliciously, causing a black swath to spread across the drawing. He then boasts about his past street-fighting experiences and walks away, joining a church procession. His actions appear to be both accidental and intentional, symbolizing Sandro’s tendency to destroy or disrupt.

In their hotel room, Claudia continues to emerge more assertive, autonomous, and aware of her sexuality. She hears the music from a truck out on the street. She is now embracing something genuine and authentic in herself. But Sandro is preoccupied; no sooner does Claudia seem to be his, he is already pulling away.

When he returns to the hotel room, he is still distracted – Claudia exuberantly sings along to a pop song playing from a truck in the street as she lingers in her bedroom. Her performance is filled with joy and abandon. However, her elation quickly fades when she notices Sandro’s indifference cast a shadow over the room; particularly by the evocation of the church and its architecture across the way. He looks out the terrace and feels the emptiness of his failure. He closes the shudders and wants the only thing he knows  – sex. Claudia, first open to his embrace, becomes hesitant – there’s subtle uncertainty as she tries to ward off his rough advances. It speaks of how desperate Sandro is to stay detached. His silence lingers until it becomes an aggressive sexual advance toward her. After partially freeing herself from his unwanted attention, Claudia expresses her disillusionment, saying, ” I feel as though I don’t know you.”

The atmosphere shifts dramatically, from the euphoria atop the bell tower and the light-hearted melody echoing in the streets. Suddenly, it descends upon the scene, the sense of unresolved ambivalence.

They travel to Taormina and rejoin ‘the party’ and book a room at the San Domenico Palace Hotel. They check into a hotel room together, and while the bellboy looks on, Sandro attempts to kiss Claudia. However, once the bellboy leaves, Sandro refrains from trying again. At the same time, Sandro’s boss and his wife Patrizia are busy preparing to host the extravagant party in the hotel.

The mise-en-scène evolves, evoking a sense of decadent excess. This visual shift from uncluttered compositions underscores the scene’s emotional complexity, blending caprice and pathos while hinting at an underlying emptiness.

Claudia repeats the question, ” Tell me you love me.”

In this montage, Claudia is now a witness to herself. To her own internal reflections. Gene Youngblood points out that many critics have referred to this as revising the internal monologue, the close-up, and the voice-over off-screen. There are no words spoken as she looks out from under the covers, her eyes seeking answers. It is up to us to consider what she is thinking. She moves about the room, restless. She looks in the mirror. She looks at fashion magazines and scribbles over model’s faces. But Antonioni had said he would never do an internal monologue. He once visited painter Mark Rothko’s studio and told him, “ My films are like your paintings. They’re about nothing with precision.”

He criticizes Claudia for being sleepy and boasts about his ability to stay awake. For her, it seems like a good way to escape from the wealthy elite. When Claudia chooses not to go, Sandro decides to go without her. Claudia later wakes up, unable to sleep, and browses a magazine featuring a model who doesn’t interest her.

Joined by his other friends, mingling with the guests, he recognizes a striking woman named Gloria Perkins (Dorothy De Poliolo)—a beautiful 19-year-old aspiring actress who, in reality, is a high-end escort masquerading as a writer.

In L’Avventura’s concluding sequence, Antonioni, with Guerra’s writing, subverts expectations by eschewing a dramatic confrontation. Instead, he crafts a nuanced tableau of emotional betrayal.

The transgression unfolds in hushed tones, with Sandro’s infidelity manifesting not as a public spectacle but as a private wound; when Claudia discovers Sandro entangled with Gloria on the sofa the morning after the party. Her heart is shattered. She flees to the outside.

As Sandro runs off behind her, Gloria asks Sandro for a memento, and Sandro coldly throws money at her, their intimate moment reduced to a crude exchange.

In the morning, there is a long take as Claudia wanders through the empty hotel, now desolate from the night before, with the regaling of the very rich. She stumbles onto Sandro and Gloria on the couch. Sandro reveals what we’ve known about him all along and that he has become a pitiful figure – like a child.

Once again, she steps through yet another archway or portal. It is Claudia’s context to emerge through portals.

As she stands by the bombed-out church, her back to us, the sound of the trees rustles, perhaps to signify her quiet turbulence. Sandro follows after her. She weeps but also has a breakthrough, which we can see on her face. Antonioni brings in a collection of natural incidental sounds. From far off, a dog barks, an echoing train whistle, and the wind and uncanny waves. Antonioni uses sound strategically in L’Avventura to mark emotional shifts and remind characters of reality. Two key examples are the motorboat’s engine that interrupts Claudia and Sandro’s self-focused conversation in another scene, reminding them of Anna’s unresolved disappearance, and the train whistle, which breaks the intimacy after Claudia and Sandro’s lovemaking, disrupting their momentary escape and refocusing their attention.

After that initial shock, Claudia’s forgiving nature takes over. Sandro tells her, “ You know I wanted to be a diplomat, like Anna’s father. It’s strange, but I never saw myself in a rented room, a man of genius. Instead, I have two houses, in Rome and Milan. As for genius, it’s a habit I never picked up.” Now Claudia sees him as he truly is and questions whether their romance is a dead end.

Sandro’s moment of reckoning arrives through the mirror of Claudia’s response. As he witnesses the profound transformation in her, the weight of his actions finally sinks in.

In the final moments of L’Avventura, Antonioni paints a scene of profound emotional complexity on the terrace of the San Domenico Palace Hotel. Sandro weeps as they share a wordless, emotionally charged moment before the San Domenico church’s ruined tower, with Mount Etna’s looming silhouette etched against the horizon.

Ancient ruins… love in ruination.

It is ironic that the structure to the left of his close-up is a phallic symbol, ironic because he is a very impotent man.

To the right of Sandro, a blank wall … to the right of Claudia…  a potential volcano.

This wordless exchange becomes a powerful tableau of human frailty and emotional erosion. Claudia’s gesture—placing her hand on Sandro’s head—is layered with ambiguity, simultaneously conveying compassion and contempt.

This nuanced action brings full circle the film’s exploration of the intricacies of human relationships and the corrosive nature of modern ennui. The scene subtly suggests Claudia’s transformation. Once vibrant and hopeful, she now mirrors the jadedness of her lost friend, Anna.

This metamorphosis underscores the film’s themes of existential malaise and the struggle for authentic connection in a world of shifting moral landscapes.

Antonioni’s artful direction transforms this simple terrace into a metaphorical stage for his denouement, using the physical space to distill the film’s exploration of alienation. We are left watching the characters’ emotional journey, with Mount Etna’s distant presence serving as a silent witness to their internal struggle.

Love, Longing and Moral Ambiguity: The Unraveling Threads in L’Avventura:

L’Avventura is renowned for its deliberate use of vagueness, which contributes significantly to the film’s exploration of alienation. The film presents ambiguous character behaviors and motivations, particularly in the relationship between Sandro and Claudia: Their swift romantic involvement after Anna’s disappearance raises questions about their true feelings and moral standing. And their actions often contradict their expressed emotions, creating a sense of uncertainty and the suggestion of alienation.

The question of the film’s moral ambiguity is that it resists clear moral judgments, instead presenting situations that invite multiple interpretations and at times, reflect the characters’ spiritual and emotional emptiness in post-war Italian society.

It can be interpreted that Anna’s palely implied suicide is a significant event that stands out in the film’s bleak atmosphere and emphasizes the overall pessimistic tone of the film, suggesting that Anna’s possible death is one of the few moments that offers any form of meaning or possibility for change. She is the one “ opening a door that needs to be opened.” (Sam Juliano: Wonders in the Dark) She is the one who breaks from societal constraints or escapes from the existential ennui that pervades the film.

Anna’s father assumes when he discovers the two books in her room only focusing on the Holy Bible and not her copy of F. Scott’s Fitzgerald’s Tender is the Night, a complex novel set in the 1920s, that deals with a glamorous American couple and explores themes of love, mental illness and the decay of the American dream. He interprets the presence of the bible to draw away from any conclusion that Anna has committed suicide. The characters’ apparent lack of concern for Anna’s fate challenges viewers’ expectations of appropriate behavior, and the film’s treatment of relationships and fidelity blurs traditional moral boundaries.

Morality is at the heart of the film. Most of the characters are immoral and lust-crazed. This includes Claudia and Sandro, but also the supporting characters. Guilia and Corrado are terrific examples of this. They exchange barbs during the island vacation, even after Anna goes missing, showing that their marriage is fractured. Guilia is tempted by a youngster and succumbs to his advances, obstinately telling Claudia to leave and tell Corrado that he can find her there. It is as if she is wishing to be found and have their marriage ended. These two characters represent the future of relationships, painting a bleak picture and helping Claudia reach a level of understanding. If things worked out between Claudia and Sandro, this could be their future. (AARON WEST-from Criterion Closeup 2006 essay: L’Avventura, Michelangelo Antonioni, 1960)

Antionio’s film is daring because of its rejection of the traditional plot structure and cinematic storytelling. It doesn’t maintain a fixed central focus, with no predictable or linear pathway to an ending. There are multiple centers. It is fluid and changeable. As Robert Koehler’s Sight and Sound article suggests, It moves from one center to another; there is continuous renewal. This implies that different characters, themes, or events take precedence at various points in the film, which is also ambiguous as it doesn’t have a clear-cut beginning or end. This unconventional structure challenges our expectations and reflects the film’s themes of uncertainty and existential drift.

He also forges a path through visual ambiguity: Antonioni’s use of composition and framing creates visual uncertainty and often places the film’s characters in vast, empty landscapes, emphasizing their isolation and smallness in the world. The use of negative space and prolonged shots after the action has ended creates a sense of unresolved tension.

” The fluidity of Antionio’s full range of symbolism for instance, the sense of new possibilities (new towns, new relationships) seen in the curve of a highway, a train hurtling down the tracks and through tunnels, the insistence on the Old World in the hulking presence of churches, formal dinner parties, rigid bodies against Claudia’s free and easy one, always in motion.” -Koehler Sight and Sound

One of the director’s compositions – the Old World, represented by the three nuns and the modern young women driving up in their sports car.

The images in the film are not traditional symbols or metaphors but integral elements of the narrative. They create a visual density that directly tells the story. The characters’ movements within the composition, such as frequently passing through archways, are not symbolic transitions but literal ones. This approach to visual storytelling made the film distinctive, blending imagery and narrative into a cohesive whole.

Anna’s disappearance while perhaps the central mystery of the film is never resolved. This ambiguity serves multiple purposes: It reflects the characters’ inability to find meaning or closure in their lives, and it acts as a catalyst for exploring the characters’ relationships and inner turmoil, symbolizing the broader theme of disconnection in modern society.

The idea that the ending might be the “beginning of something new” implies that the film’s themes and questions persist beyond its formal conclusion, inviting continued reflection.

Antonioni’s revolutionary approach reflected the film’s themes of alienation, uncertainty, and the shifting nature of modern life, which held a mirror up to the characters’ internal states and the ambiguities of their experiences.

Antonioni allows Anna to fade from Claudia and Sandro’s lives; while they search for her, their connection holds more importance over the quest for finding out where she is or if she’s even still alive. The film leaves that open for interpretation. It only emphasizes the significance of Claudia and Sandro’s shared moments rather than Anna’s fate.

Ultimately, L’Avventura is a meditation on nothingness.

This has been part 2 of The Journey to Italy Blogathon hosted by Gil at Realweegiemidgetreviews and Kristina at Speakeasy!