Paradiso, the Beginning and the End

"To all things comes and end...and to all things comes a beginning."

--Prologue, Heroes of Might and Magic IV

Cinema Paradiso is an interesting example of my favorite stylistic technique and literary form: the in media res.

In media res literally means "in the middle of the story," and is the artistic form in which a narrative story or literary work pick up from the very middle or even the very end of a complete narrative arc. Examples include Homer's Illiad and Odessey, which start their tales in the middle of the story and must refer back to points in the narrative's past in order to provide background for the events currently transpiring. Cinema Paradiso, without giving away too many spoilers, starts its tale where most pieces end; the death of a paternal role model, and the late-adulthood of its central protagonist. But, in order for the audience to make sense of the matter at hand, the story must go back to the narrative beginning.

It's a refreshing change of pace of the "stereotype" format of traditional film and narratives; instead of beginning, exposition, rising action, climax, falling action and end, works that are in media res turn the "story arc" progression on it's head. Instead, works in the in media res vein have the benefit of immediately investing the reader in the story by skipping all of the boring (but, narratively essential) exposition and build-up right to the point of interest and tension. Instead, the audience starts at the meat of the story: the climax or rising action, perhaps, or even the falling action just after the point of conflict and greatest tension. It's an effective strategy that can liven up and move along a story that might otherwise feel dead or plodding. Stories that follow traditional story arcs must either maintain a constant sensation of tension or awe (as do adrenaline-soaked action films like Wanted or Lethal Weapon), or have such a compelling story and such interesting characters that the reader/viewer cannot help wanting to see the story come to its completion (like Star Wars)

Even if one could consistently create constant tension or characters and plot that continue to involved one's audience, these may all count for very little if the audience in question doesn't see it. Think of a recommended a book that came with the qualifyer "Great book, but skip to the [insert arbitrary point in the story]; that's when the thing really picks up!" The same is true for films and movies and TV series alike; no matter how good the story might be, it's no good unless people are actually willing to sit through all the "other stuff" in order to get to it. You can try to cut down or skim through the "other stuff," but in any story there is always going to be "fluff" that, while it may not be "sexy" or particularly interesting, is utterly essential to understanding the action that's going on. We may be particularly in the entire history of the collective Star Wars galaxy (although I am ^^;), however we need at least some indication of what has happened in order to understand why Princess Leia is running from an Imperial Star Destroyer, and why it's so important that the droids escape whilest everyone else onboard is getting slaughtered.

But where George Lucas resorted to a receding prologue to set his stage and inform his audience about the goings-on of a galaxy far, far away, artistically he might as well have done without. We don't have to know why Leia's diplomatic transport is coming underfire to know that something important is going on, and it would probably be interesting to see what. I call it the "Ooh! Space explosions! Ooh! Giant space ships! Ooh! Dancing lights!" Phenomenon. Likewise, in Cinema Paradiso, we don't need to know what's going on in order to catch that something important just happened, and it might be interesting to see what it all means. We don't have to know who Alfredo is (nor even Toto, the central character) to know that someone is dead, and that he will be sorely missed. And right away, the audience wants to know: who? how? why? And to that end, the tale of Cinema Paradiso takes off.

Human beings want to know. That's our nature; it's why our ancestors first stood up and thought, "Huh. You know, this 'fire' thing is pretty neat. I wonder what else we can use this for...?" Because of this, we as humans are infuriated by stories that start somewhere other than the beginning, even if we otherwise might not care about the story itself. Very few Americans, I think, would care to watch a nostalgic period piece about the decline of the Italian film industry. Maybe a few would be receptive to a bildungsroman about an Italian boy growing up in a podunk villa, but anything more than lukewarm interest is a stretch at best. Regardless of one's interest in Italian cinematography or cultural history, however, everyone in the audience who begins a screening of Cinema Paradiso is thinking one thing:

"Who the heck is Alfredo? Isn't that a kind of pasta?"

In order to find out, we watch the film. And what a film indeed!