The Leopard
(Il Gattopardo)

Programme Notes

Visconti's adaptation of Giuseppe di Lampedusa's The Leopard is that rare thing - a great film based on a great book. It is good to have it back in a new print, 20 years since it was last shown publicly in British cinemas in the form approved by its director.

From the authoritative opening sequence when the camera moves around the gardens of a palace in Palermo of the 1860s and then enters the house to discover Don Fabrizio, Prince of Salina, and his family at prayer, we know we are in the hands of a master. When the prayers end and word comes that Garibaldi's army has landed in Sicily and that there is a dead soldier in the orchard, we understand we are to be told a story about the relationship between public events and private lives.

This beautifully designed, costumed and photographed film progresses in a stately fashion as the prince (Burt Lancaster), an old man at 45, comes to terms with his knowledge that times are changing and that there is no longer a place for him as an aristocrat, a disinterested observer of the world and a man of honour in this newly reunited Italy. His charismatic nephew, Tancredi (Alain Delon), knows that 'if you want everything to remain as it is, everything must change'. So he throws his hand in with Garibaldi's red shirts, moves into the traditional army that replaces them, and becomes engaged to Angelica (Claudia Cardinale), the wilful daughter of an opportunistic nouveau riche businessman and politician (Paolo Stoppa). Neither before nor after did Visconti confront so directly the conflict between his aristocratic background and his socialist convictions.

The Leopard is shot in a series of long stately sequences, most of them of ritual occasions. The greatest and most influential is the climactic 45-minute ball in Palermo where we can see and feel a society in transition. The majestic, grey-mustachioed Prince dancing with the young, lovely Angelica to a Verdi waltz as the other guests stand back and observe them brings to mind Turner's poignant painting of one age giving way to another, The Fighting Temeraire.

Il Gattopardo is one of those rare epics that works both on the grand scale and in the intimate moments. Prince Salina (Lancaster) is only 45 years old but is already feeling himself to be part of a world that's disappearing. It's 1860s Sicily, where revolution is underway to unite Italy as a republic. In an attempt to guide the next generation and preserve aristocratic privilege, he helps his favoured nephew Tancredi (Delon) in his pursuit of a beautiful and eligible girl (Cardinale), even though it leaves his daughter (Morlacchi) heartbroken. And while political tides shift around him, he tries to maintain his calm, cool exterior, knowing his world is at an end. The leopards and lions are being replaced by jackals and hyenas ... and they all think they're the salt of the earth.
If that plot summary sounds grand, just watch! This is one of the most gorgeously produced films in history, with sweeping scenery, sumptuous sets and costumes, and a cast of thousands. And it all works to tell a deeply personal story. Visconti marshals all of this impeccably, keeping the scale epic and the drama intimate. With a fine attention to detail, he takes us right back to the place and time, filling each scene with throwaway humour and authentic touches, drawing out the script's subtleties and keeping the emotions taut.

Visconti's gorgeous, epic account of Lampedusa's novel is restored here 40 years on, in the form in which Visconti originally licensed it before its unhappy history of being butchered and redubbed. At just over three hours, however, it is still 20 minutes shorter than some preceding versions.

Burt Lancaster gives a superb performance as an enigmatic Sicilian prince in 1860, uneasy at the republican forces of change sweeping Italy. He scuppers a love affair between his daughter and his handsome nephew Tancredi (Alain Delon), and encourages instead Tancredi's liaison with Angelica, played by the breathtakingly beautiful Claudia Cardinale, the daughter of a wealthy, boorish merchant. The prince sees the dashing and entrepreneurial Tancredi as his heir and nurses poignant hopes that the patrician spirit and energy of his own class will survive in Tancredi's political career, but is clearly not ready to abdicate from his own existence. This emerges in the prince's frank admiration for Angelica's beauty and the remarkable sequence in which he dances a waltz with her during the final, magnificent extended ball scene: a moment replete with political and erotic meaning.

The battle scenes at the beginning of the film are awe-inspiring - clearly a source for Scorsese's Gangs of New York - and presented in exquisite symmetry to the subtle, socio-psychological battle-ground of the ball, in which the Prince's caste are in full retreat.

The screenplay, co-authored by Visconti, is full of insights about Sicilian life and culture, and cinematographer Giuseppe Rotunno conjures a dazzling vision of the harshly beautiful landscape, to be revisited in the next decade by Coppola. A must-see.

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