As I watched Umberto D., by Oscar nominated actor and legendary Oscar winning director Vittorio De Sica, I knew clearly one thing for certain- Carlo Battisti, playing the role of retired civil servant Umberto Domenico Ferrari, is the most convincing non-professional actor in any given decade of European movie-making. He knows the purpose De Sica is after within every ounce of his soul (one can see it repeatedly in his eyes, the small mannerisms)- this is a story of loss, sad yet in an outlook and outcome that is cruel up to a point and never fiddles with the viewer's emotions dishonestly. Therefore, one can see him, in a sense, for what he is- he's us, merely you and I at the end of our lines of life with one wrong step sent to us after another.

Battisti's Umberto is retired, known fairly among his past employees, and living in a dank, infested one room who seems to be on the standard downward spiral for such a neo-realist effort (indeed, like The Bicycle Thief, many of the elements against him are from society's natural pitfalls). His health starts to go, as he gets a fever, and is sent unsympathetically to the hospital and returns to find the place being torn at each wall. The landlady wants him out, since she will only accept full rent instead of partial rent, and the maid of the house (Maria Pia-Casillo), while kind and friendly, lives in a similar prism of fear and emptiness. However, even she can't help him in the financial difficulties. This leads him out into the streets outside of Rome, where the film plays out like a Chaplin movie, without the humor and female companion- only with his best friend in the world, a little dog named Flag.

By the 3rd act of this epitome of heartbreaker movie-making, a quote passed through my head that Michelangelo Antonionni once stated: The actor is a moving object. That sentence, I can guess, is true of Battisti, as well as for his little dog. Aldo Graziati's camera follows him and his companion like another piece of the frame, which makes our focus on them all the more compelling. They're just their, acting the ways an old man and his pet act with one another, which is care and devotion. Battisti, in turn, delivers for De Sica an over-whelming performance of emotion. The very last scene is one of the definitive milestones of the movement at the time in Italy - despite it all; a relationship between a man and his "best friend" can be stronger in desperate times than a man can have with a fellow human being. Truly, this ending is quite suitable for one of the best films of it's time, and for De Sica a memorial tribute to his father. A

Much has been written about this landmark masterpiece from Vittorio De Sica. I first saw it (with my parents) as a young man in high school, at the Uptown (Columbus) Theatre in Providence, and at the age of thirteen I was thoroughly moved by this story of old age, poverty, and near-despair! Perhaps that was a precocious reaction from a youngster, but as the years moved on and I've become closer in age to its sad hero and am retired just as he was, I've never ceased to be moved by this story. The truly stirring scenes are those between Umberto and his dog Flaik. The moment when he saves it from impending death in the dog pound and clasps it to himself as the only thing in the world he can love and be loved by, is utterly overwhelming. Willy-nilly, the dog returns the favor, the gift at life, at the end by saving his master from a suicidal leap before an oncoming train. These scenes are justly extolled by Martin Scorsese in his documentary tribute to the Italian cinema IL MIO VIAGGIO IN ITALIA.

Yes, the film seems to have an almost Dickensian outlook on the world. The bad are truly bad, gargoyles in fact, like that hideous couple that shelter dogs and to whom Umberto wisely decides not to abandon Flaik, and like the caricatured bitch of a landlady that is Umberto's nemesis. And the good are long-suffering, like the unwed pregnant servant girl and like Umberto himself. Through it all the message of director Vittorio De Sica and screenwriter Cesare Zavattini radiates. Life is a treasure. This film celebrates that idea so poignantly and so wisely. We live. We suffer. We are Umberto D.

This is Vittorio DeSica's simple but powerful story of a retired civil servant named Umberto Domenico Ferrari and his pet dog Flag. Umberto cannot afford to live anymore on his meager pension and is about to be evicted by his evil landlady. Umberto's only friend is Maria (Maria-Pia Casilio) but she is pregnant by someone that even she is not sure of. Umberto gets sick and goes to the hospital for a few days and when he gets out Flag is gone. He goes to the local pound and finds him. Umberto is a man who once had a very respectable job and has an immeasurable amount of pride. He has to think about begging in the streets but just can't go through with it. One of the great things about these Italian neorealist films is that we really do see what conditions are like in post-war Italy. The authentic locations are priceless to these films and it also creates a docu-drama feel. DeSica's "The Bicycle Thief" is my favorite of these type of films but this is also a classic gem! *****SPOILER ALERT*****

The last 20 minutes of this film is tough to watch and it can easily bring tears to the most jaded eyes. Unable to find a new home for Flag, Umberto tries to commit suicide by walking in front of a train with Flagg in his arms. A gut wrenching scene where Umberto is unable to go through with it and Flagg is temporarily upset with his master. The last scene of them together is classic neorealism. Umberto realizes he is a survivor and is just going to try and eke out an existence. The two of them playfully bounding down the road. Umberto's fate is unsure, thats the way life is. We have all come to expect these ambiguous endings and when they're done properly like in this film, it helps to create a truly haunting and memorable experience. Martin Scorsese said in an interview that this is one of his all time favorite films. The man has great taste!