Though the centerpiece of the film is a man going through a transformation
(which merely implies hope as Gino, we believe, will leave Spiro when the tanker
reaches Italy); it is Spiro himself that is the symbol meant to anchor and improve morale.
Admittedly, Spiro is slightly mad (a sympathy play not unlike the melodramatic closing
act of ‘Umberto D.’ when Umberto contemplates suicide, betrays, and finally, makes
peace with his dog). But the way in which his character is written to embrace his
generation (in fact, we are unsure whether or not he truly believes he is stuck in another
era) who are either dead or institutionalized, shows us that Amelio wants this to be a film
about hope. In neorealism, the director sees himself as the force of hope and in
‘Lamerica’, that force can be felt as the tanker glides towards Italy and Spiro says to
himself “Lamerica”. The delusion dictates his belief that he is in the fifties and headed to
America like many of his Italian compatriots. But it is at this moment, when Amelio
likens America to Italy, that we realize the symbol America has become. This is surely a
difference (and a large part of the updating method as well) in neorealism, as neorealists
in the forties were very anti-American and wouldn’t have let a positive symbol of
America into one of their films. The notable difference in a final product rendered in the
nineties is that ‘Lamerica’ has a ray of optimism at its closing, even though devoid of a
conclusion. In ‘The Bicycle Thief’ and ‘Umberto D.’, there is little resolution and even
less optimism as these films end. All of the positive infusion in ‘Lamerica’ comes from
the film attempting to rouse us into rooting for these characters, even after the movie
ends. Had it been made by an Albanian and not an Italian, it would most likely have
ended much more cynically, perhaps with Spiro, who was an Italian to begin with, stuck
in Albania or, even more out of line with the neorealist movement, the film would have
ended in Italy with Spiro being sent back to Albania and Gino having a cut-and-dried
sense of regret and sadness. As the film stands, we get the sense Spiro will probably be
let into Italy when the tanker arrives. Had the less popular front produced the film,
namely the front that was war-torn and had just emerged from conflict, the film may have
reflected a bottled anguish and concern spilling over from living through the bloodshed
and political chaos preceding. As it is, the film remains neorealist even though it is not
overtly disturbing at its conclusion.

 Physically, ‘Lamerica’ resembles ‘The Bicycle Thief’, perhaps the most
well-known of neorealist films. Under the surface, however, ‘Lamerica’ is more like
‘Umberto D.’ in the subplot of Spiro’s search for identity in a world that was physically
and emotionally in the dark for upwards of fifty years. As a film meant to expose the ills
of a country recently ravaged by war, ‘Lamerica’ goes a highly neorealist road in its
photography, giving the film’s most memorable moments over to wide, sweeping shots
and populating these shots with crowds (as in both ‘Umberto D.’ and ‘The Bicycle
Thief’). The updating is done by changing the aspect ratio from the standard in the forties
and fifties (1.33:1) to the scope aspect ratio (2.35:1) often utilized in our modern times to
show off settings and deepen the strength of a director’s composition by giving him a
larger, more photographic canvas to work with. Amelio uses the cinematography to etch
heartbreaking wastelands, cavernous ruins of factories and one gigantic, clunking tanker.
These shots are in color (something unavailable to directors in the forties and fifties who
were forced to work cheaply) and are more telling. The harsh realities are not spared and
just like in ‘Rome, Open City’ and ‘The Bicycle Thief’, they are shot on location in
actual postwar locations. There is no embellishment in Amelio’s statement about a
decaying country and how short a distance it is from Italy, a thriving civilization.

  The film doesn’t flinch when faced with the tragic aspects of life in
post-war Albania. Specifically, when a mob of recently freed prisoners converge on Fiore
in a darkened tunnel of a prison; when objects are stolen (jeep tires, shoes, clothes); when
people are beaten trying to leave the country; when Gino is thrown into a prison; and that
potent image that will probably never leave me, the overcrowded tanker headed for Italy
that looks like a tin coffin ship. The images are clearly manipulated to avoid
embellishment and very nearly represent the real thing clearly. The key difference being
that in the fifties, when neorealism was conceived, all of the aspects and settings that
were present at the movement’s birth were still standing and were, in a way, cast as
themselves. This is visible in ‘The Bicycle Thief’, which constantly has visions of
poverty (food shortage, overcrowded sleeping arrangements, theft) and ruin (the
architecture seems to be, more often than not, rubble) that provide a background that has
shaped the social aspects of these characters and either crushed or motivated their spirits.
The same is almost true in ‘Lamerica’, with the notable exception that things have been
tinkered with and staged more. The obsession with showing in a verite style, the
heartbreaking suffrage tolerated by the people of Albania immediately helps us to
understand Spiro, who, in a chain reaction, affects Gino (also somewhat shaped by his
surroundings). None of that would be possible if the director had not beefed up the
surroundings.

 ‘Lamerica’ addresses the hopes and ideals of the neorealist generation in sync
with the movement. To set the stage, the film contains sequences that very few films not
associated with neorealism dare to include; namely, the static moments where nothing
but real life happens and the daily rituals of ordinary people are incorporated to equalize
the film’s documentary side in relation to the dramatic edge. The whole thing is a
balance. The sequence where the little girl dances in the hotel; the moment where
everyone walks on the train tracks, not really contributing anything verbally to the
storyline; Gino trying to get to sleep and eventually drifting then awakening to hear the
buzz of the hotel as he quietly steps around his room. These scenes are absolutely
necessary to make neorealism as powerful as it is. They go back to an argument that
without a knowledge of people shaped by their surroundings in modest, often
uninteresting passages of daily work and life, you cannot fully grasp the impact politics
and social decay will have on them. This positivism is often manipulative, but
well-intentioned. In ‘Lamerica’, you can feel the driving energy of the director in his
attempt to bring you into a quintessential postwar world you always knew existed but
never had glimpsed in all its disturbing glory when confronted with snippets of it on the
news. Vittorio De Sicca, one of the leaders of the neorealist movement, used the same
exact mindset to arrive at the same end with his films.

 If anything, the film doesn’t clearly address where the neorealist attitude took
people of Spiro’s generation. Sure, he’s interested in setting the scales even and returning
to Italy, but it seems to be more for himself and his denial that fifty years have passed,
than anything else. Surely the fact that Italy is thriving and Gino drives a jeep and dresses
well shows us that everything turned out alright, but never does ‘Lamerica’ step up to the
plate and make a case that Amelio will start (or restart) a movement of his own. Is
‘Lamerica’ just an experiment to Amelio? Like the “Dogme 95” filmmakers of today,
was he just painting in a certain style as he felt it would be an effective way to tell this
story? I  think so. If he were Albanian, a case could be made that it was a personal
journey to come to terms with the horror that sprung up around him. Being that he’s
Italian, it makes me believe that he was paying homage to the neorealist masters by using
the technique.

 As I stated before, ‘Lamerica’ is a relic. It takes few of its own liberties, instead
following the trend-setting technique exploited in films like ‘Paisan’, ‘Rome, Open City’,
‘The Bicycle Thief’ and ‘Umberto D.’ In both the aesthetic of the film (wide crowd
shots, nothing occurring often and lacking embellishment) and the direct way its maker
uses it to show up a social abhorrence (in effort, one thinks, to educate and eventually
correct), ‘Lamerica’ is neorealism defined. Some new directions which come out of
technology and the need to modernize bring the movement into focus with the same
strong views but a slightly different spin. Just as Spiro looked around him and believed
he was still in the fifties, striving to reach America; the viewer believes he is in the fifties
within the confines of Amelio’s earnest dedication to making ‘Lamerica’ feel like the
neorealist films of that age, and we strive to understand and change the way people are
treated in poor, war-torn countries. The towering ambition of social change is made
universal as art strives to make a difference in the world it is reflecting.