Cinema Paradiso

Movies about the movies are a bit of a cheat; we wouldn't be watching if we didn't already share the same love of cinema and recognize the collateral impact it has on our lives. Cinema Paradiso (1988) reaches further back into film history than usual, following young Toto's obsession with the movies and, in particular, the projection room, which sets him on course to become a professional filmmaker. Based on writer/ director Giuseppe Tornatore's own experiences growing up in his small Italian village in the 1950s, the movie is an idealized reflection of life projected on the screen; full of colorful supporting characters, faded love-interests and the theater that brings them all together.

Salvatore - "Toto" for short - is a precocious kid whose only father figure is the surly projectionist, Alfredo, working in the theater where they both spend most of their time. Begging for a chance to work the equipment, Toto eventually serves an apprenticeship under Alfredo, keeping the Paradiso running night and night to a packed house. The theater itself is an important link to the outside world, serving as a community hub that inspires as much drama in the seats as it does on the screen.

But as Toto matures, his interest in the opposite sex splits his time between celluloid fantasy and the chance for a real romance with Elena, a staggeringly beautiful fellow student. Their affair ends, however, with as much tragedy and mystery as any Hollywood script, sending Toto off to study abroad where his destiny as a filmmaker awaits...the point from which Cinema Paradiso's story actually begins.

A product of the '80s, Tornatore's film is a manipulative, eager-to-please piece of nostalgia that leans heavily on Ennio Morricone's equally sappy score. Cynics might have a hard time swallowing the director's sepia-toned reminiscences today, but no one can deny its good intentions. Cinema Paradise longs for a time when movies brought people together, that sort of group euphoria of a shared experience in which even our own lives seemed part of something bigger.

But it does so using the language of cinema, cutting and pasting characters for maximum effect: the prudish local censor who spits from the balcony, the lonely couple who connect across a sea of empty seat, the kids caught masturbating in the front row. Tornatore makes village life seem as interesting as anything happening on screen, masterfully using the medium to comment upon itself, culminating in the famous montage of censored screen kisses Alfredo leaves for a now adult Salvatore to discover. It's a moment that would seem hopelessly phony...if it weren't so damned perfect!

Arrow Academy presents both the theatrical (124 min) and expanded director's cut (174 min) on Blu-ray newly restored from original negative materials. And it looks marvelous! There's been plenty of debate over which version is preferred, with the director's cut adding quite a bit to the third act. But now you can have both to choose from, plus a 52-minute documentary profile of Tornatore (including some early home movies), another 27-minute Making Of with interviews from the actors, audio commentary, Kissing Sequence breakdown and collector's booklet.