The symbiotic relationship between people of the land and their environment is the basis of all Michelangelo Frammartino’s work, most strikingly seen in his 2010 second feature Le Quattro Volte, a surprise international arthouse success. His hallmarks – unfussy, majestic photography, a pronounced sympathy for craggy-faced elders whose lifetimes of outdoor work can be traced in every wrinkle, a fine-tuned ear for sound and above all an understanding of the natural world’s delicate balance – are equally in evidence in the long-anticipated Il Buco, a title wisely kept in the original since “The Hole” doesn’t exactly have poetic connotations.
The void in question is one of Europe’s deepest caves, located in southern Italy, and Frammartino recreates a 1961 spelunking expedition, juxtaposing their feat with picturesque images of the landscape. There are vague stabs at drawing critical parallels between the construction boom of Italy’s “economic miracle” years and the more laudatory goal of lowering oneself into the earth’s bosom, yet the comparison feels tacked on for intellectual weight when really the film’s heart lies in the balance between surface life and underground darkness. While unlikely to replicate the acclaim of his earlier feature, Il Buco will appeal to those enraptured by filmmakers dedicated to capturing the synergy between the natural world and cinematic artistry.
The Bifurto Abyss is a seemingly unremarkable opening in the Pollino massif, situated near the border between Calabria and Basilicata, but it burrows far inside the earth to a depth of 683 meters (2,241 feet) and at one time was considered the third deepest cave in the world. When the Piedmontese Speleological Group journeyed south in 1961 to see if they could reach its depth, they were countering the trend set the year before when the Pirelli tower in Milan became the tallest skyscraper in the country and a symbol of the north’s economic might. Frammartino recreates that expedition using spelunkers and a very long optical fiber which allowed noted cinematographer Renato Berta to view the footage from the surface while the director and his team plumbed the cave’s narrow passages, illuminated solely by lights attached to their helmets.
Contrasted with the cave are scenes of the surrounding area, both the village of San Lorenzo Bellizzi, where locals gather in a small square at night to watch a communal b&w TV, to the green clearings on the massif where Podolica cattle graze and cowherds watch the herd, accompanied by the gentle low clink of the cowbells. The combination of above and below, the vibrant world on the surface side-by-side with the barren rockface hidden to all but the explorers, conjures an earthy duality in which the rhythms of the natural realm disappear into the conquerable yet ever-mysterious abyss. It’s the cohabitation of Gaia and Tantalus (minus the latter’s negative attributes), and even though it’s difficult to discern what Frammartino wants to say with this juxtaposition apart from a vague acknowledgment of the timelessness of nature when it is unspoiled, it’s hard not to recall the words of Henry David Thoreau, “Who does not remember the interest with which, when young, he looked at… any approach to a cave? It was the natural yearning of that portion, any portion of our most primitive ancestor which still survived in us.” Just like Thoreau, the director drives home the rather hoary (others may say evergreen) point that the “primitive” is more soul-satisfying than so-called civilization.
While the shots in and around the Pollino are predictably attractive, it’s the visuals inside the cave that really impress. The glow from a lit magazine page as it’s tossed into the void, its modest flame disappearing in the impenetrable darkness, is as evocative a sight as they come, and it’s fascinating to watch the helmet lights fleetingly reveal recesses and tunnels never before seen on screen. The logistics of shooting down there, with Frammartino a part of the spelunking team and Berta up above, waiting for the images to arrive along hundreds of meters of optic fiber, has a fascination that frankly exceeds the director’s push for some kind of half-formed commentary on nature’s harmonies. Sound too must have been a tremendous challenge underground, but it’s remarkably clean and nicely juxtaposed with the bucolic hum of life on the surface.
Director: Michelangelo Frammartino
Screenplay: Michelangelo Frammartino, Giovanna Giuliani
Producers: Marco Serrecchia, Michelangelo Frammartino, Philippe Bober
Cinematography: Renato Berta
Production designer: Giliano Carli
Costume designer: Stefania Grilli
Editor: Benni Atria
Sound: Simone Paolo Olivero
Production companies: Doppio Nodo Double Bind (Italy), Rai Cinema, Parisienne de Production (France), Essential Films (Germany)
World sales: Coproduction Office
Venue: Venice Film Festival (Competition)
In Italian, Calabrian dialect
92 minutes
