Mastroianni in the Mirror: Searching for a Soul in La Dolce Vita

If you know Spanish, "Dulce" means "Sweet." And "Vida"means "Life."  La Dolce Vita is an Italian film but you can easily see that both Spanish and Italian are siblings in the Romance language family, and the meaning is plain: The Sweet Life. 

The iconic Fellini film was cutting edge as a harbinger of the fading of Existentialism and the dawn of new philosophical age, the Age of Irony, later re-labeled Post-Modernism. Irony has become a central characteristic of the postmodern world. Where modernism (the existential response to Nietzsche's Nihilism) still believed (even in its despair) that meaning could be recovered or rebuilt, postmodernity surrendered to the wink, the shrug, the knowing smirk. Nothing is sacred, nothing is serious for long, and sincerity itself is treated as the ultimate naïveté.

In Fellini's La Dolce Vita (1960), Marcello Rubini (Marcello Mastroianni), a jaded tabloid journalist, drifts through the hedonistic high society of Rome in the late 1950s. Over seven nights and dawns, Marcello chases fleeting pleasures—orgies, celebrity scandals, intellectual debates, and miraculous hoaxes—while searching for meaning, love, and artistic fulfillment. The film is ultimately a portrait of the moral emptiness and spiritual malaise beneath the glamour of “the sweet life.”

While watching, I couldn't help but think of the opening scene from a book I'd read about Johnny Carson. It begins with a party. The crème de la crème of Hollywood are gathered at some luxurious home, awkward and slightly uncomfortable until Johnny and his wife finally show up. The author, Carson's personal attorney, paints a cynical picture of a houseful of superficial people living shallow lives.

You can see why that scene comes to mind as La Dolce Vita delves into the same themes of fame, decadence, and the superficiality of celebrity culture. It's a film about the contrasts and contradictions within high society as well as a nuanced commentary on the nature of fame and its impact on the individuals who covet it and the society that is infatuated with it. 

Some people have called La Dolce Vita one of the most influential and visually intoxicating films ever made. Like all major films, it is replete with memorable images, scenes and lines. I doubt that anyone watching today, however, can avoid thinking about Princess Di when celebrity star Sylvia (Anita Ekberg) is being pursued by a barrage of paparazzi.  

The famous set pieces—the opening shot of a helicopter carrying a statue of Christ over modern Rome, Anita Ekberg’s midnight frolic in the Trevi Fountain, the haunting beach sequence with the dead sea creature and the unreachable girl watching from afar—have been heralded as staples of cinematic history. 

"Marcello." Wine and pigment on 
illustration board

Mastroianni’s performance steals every scene: weary, charming, self-loathing, and at times unexpectedly cruel, a lost soul in a sea of decadence. The supporting cast (Ekberg, Anouk Aimée, Yvonne Furneaux, Alain Cuny) inject vivid life to Fellini’s gallery of beautiful, broken souls.

The film is both a celebration and a brutal autopsy of excess, and its critique of celebrity culture, paparazzi frenzy, and spiritual bankruptcy. 

This kind of moral bankruptcy is nothing new. We're more than familiar with the decadence of King Louis XIV, or the Emperors Nero and Caligula of Rome who spent fortunes on palaces, jewels and bizarre amusements including lavish public games to display dominance and curry political favor. The Gilded Age in America (1870s-1910s) featured palatial mansions and extravagant parties (with solid gold flatware and full orchestras while millions lived in overcrowded tenements.) The Belle Époque in Europe (1871–1914), the Roaring Twenties, and the Lolita Express are all reminders that there's nothing new under the sun. For evidence, check out Psalm 73 from 1,000 years B.C. 

La Dolce Vita is currently rated 8 stars out of 10 at imdb.com, and its stature continues to climb. If it has any flaws, perhaps some might give a demerit to the film’s 174-minute runtime. Yet even its sprawl can also be interpreted as deliberate, mirroring Marcello’s endlessly aimless wandering.

Another Dylan Masterwork: Ain't Talkin'

It's been a while since I heard Ain't Talkin', the closing track on Dylan's 2006 album Modern Times, but whenever I do it sends me. Saturday night I heard it played on Highway 61 Revisited, the Dylan Hour radio show here in the Northland hosted by Miriam Hanson. It's a moving song with lots to commend it. 

Modern Times was Dylan's first album to become #1 in the U.S. since Desire in 1976. (EdNote: Scarlet Rivera, whose sizzling electric violin was featured on Desire and in Dylan's Rolling Thunder Revue, has been here in the Northland this weekend.) And the album was hailed as the top album of 2006 in Rolling Stone's list of Top 50 for that year. Here's a deeper dive into some features of this sprawling, 8 minute-plus folk ballad. 

It was the third album written and produced by Dylan under his pseudonym Jack Frost. The song features a lone pilgrim navigating a desolate, morally bankrupt world, hence its ongoing relevance. It's dark, introspective and vivid. Some mark it as one of Dylan’s most evocative works of the 21st century, blending spiritual yearning, vengeance, and existential despair. Rolling Stone ranked it third among Dylan’s best songs of this century.

The lyrics of "Ain’t Talkin’" paint a portrait of a weary, silent wanderer moving through a bleak, apocalyptic landscape. Or as this writer on Reddit says, "For me, it perfectly achieves an atmosphere that Dylan had been trying to capture for a long time, that of a man moving through a world gone wrong - a world which feels distorted and disconnected." 

Andy Greene of Rolling Stone called it “Dylan at his bone-chilling best,” evoking a “desolate, violent landscape” straight out of Cormac McCarthy.

Something I've said about Dylan--for decades probably--is that no one, going all the way back to the beginning, writes songs like this guy. Hard Rain, Desolation Row, It's Alright Ma, Changing of the Guards, right up to the present, lyrics that surprise and capture the imagination, sung in evocative tones that resonate in your bones. Here's the opening stanza:

As I walked out tonight in the mystic garden

The wounded flowers were dangling from the vines

I was passing by yon cool and crystal fountain

Someone hit me from behind

That's an opening stanza that hits ya. 

The refrain, “Ain’t talkin’, just walkin’,” underscores the narrator’s withdrawal from communication, reflecting a rejection of superficial engagement with a corrupt world. This silence suggests both resignation and resilience, as the narrator trudges through a “weary world of woe” with a “heart burnin’, still yearnin’.” The refusal to speak underscores a deeper soul-searching, as if words can't capture the weight of the narrator’s experience.

The song wrestles with the tension between righteousness and moral compromise.

They say prayer has the power to help

So pray for me mother

In the human heart an evil spirit can dwell

I’m trying to love my neighbor and do good unto others

But oh, mother, things ain’t going well

Like many of his songs across the decades this one is steeped in Biblical imagery, The opening reference to the “mystic garden” can easily be a reference to Eden, and those "wounded flowers dangling from the vine” indicating the starting point of man's earthly sojourn is after the Fall. Being “hit from behind” can evoke betrayal and divine judgment, possibly alluding to Genesis 3:24 (expulsion from Eden) or Judas’ betrayal in Gethsemane. The plea for prayer (“They say prayer has the power to help / So pray for me mother”) and the acknowledgment of “an evil spirit” in the human heart underscores the inner nature of this spiritual battle. 

Of course the ambiguity is also endless with Dylan. When it comes to the details, what he says and what it means is frequently open ended, even when the primary thrust is perfectly rendered and underscored: alienation and emptiness.

The song’s landscape is a “world mysterious and vague,” filled with “cities of the plague” with  The narrator’s journey to “the last outback at the world’s end” suggests a quest with no destination, amplifying the sense of futility. (This phrase, borrowed from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, was one of several that leaped out at Harvard Professor Richard Thomas, author of Why Bob Dylan Matters.)  Lines like “The suffering is unending / Every nook and cranny has its tears” convey a world in moral and spiritual decay, resonating with Dylan’s recurring fascination with apocalyptic themes.

The repeated “heart burnin’, still yearnin’” (lifted from the Stanley Brothers’ “Highway of Regret”) reflects an unfulfilled longing, possibly for love, redemption, meaning or a lost ideal. References to “thinkin’ ‘bout that gal I left behind” and “got to get you out of my miserable brain” suggest personal loss, perhaps romantic, adding a layer of human vulnerability to the narrator’s stoic facade.

Musically, the song is a minor-key folk ballad with a hypnotic, repetitive structure. (For some reason "What Was It You Wanted?" from Oh Mercy comes to mind. The band—featuring Dylan on vocals and guitar, Stu Kimball and Denny Freeman on guitars, Donnie Herron on viola, Tony Garnier on upright bass, and George G. Receli on drums and percussion. The relentless, understated groove replicates and complements the narrator’s ceaseless walking, while Dylan’s weathered voice is (as always) perfectly suited to the song’s bleakness. 

As the Beatles noted, "Boy, you're gonna carry that weight a long time," I'm reminded of the Christina Rosetti poem Up-Hill.  

Does the road wind uphill all the way? 

    Yes, to the very end.

Will the day's journey take the whole long day?

    From morn to night, my friend.

Some say the song's ending suggests a note of optimism when it shifts to a major chord from the despairing minor progression, the first glimmer of hope amidst all this despair. Bleakness, however, is nothing new with Dylan, of course. "It's not dark yet, but it's getting there," is a far cry from Abbey Road's "Here Comes the Sun."

To some extent "Ain’t Talkin’" is a theme Dylan has explored throughout his career, particularly in his later works like Time Out of Mind and Love and Theft.

Dylan played this song 118 times in concerts from 2006. His last performance of "Ain't Talkin'" was in Rome, November 7, 2013.

More can be said here, but I'll leave off and let you draw your own conclusions.

Full lyrics Here

https://www.bobdylan.com/songs/aint-talkin/ 

Official recording from Modern Times

https://youtu.be/fcHJsW8V5uo?si=vIFqiEQ9VWvF04ON

Bonus Track: Powerful cover of this song by Bettye LaVette**

**I discovered this on Tony Attwood's always thought-provoking Untold Dylan

RELATED LINK

Every Grain of Sand: Dylan Finds a Basis for Hope in the Darkness of Despair

Our Personal Watersheds: Navigating the Paths to Our Destinies

All roads lead to... No, it's not that simple. The roads diverge and do not have identical ends. Think in terms of watersheds. Think in terms of destinies.

Is life a singular road leading to a predetermined destination? Or, as experience seems to suggest, is it a vast landscape of forking paths, each shaped by the choices we make?

Just as watersheds guide stream to rivers that pour into different seas, in the same way our decisions carve the courses of our destinies. Each choice, no matter how small, ripples outward, shaping who we become and where we end up. Yet, too often, we wander through life as if these paths are chosen for us. Carried by currents we drift along the easiest routes, avoiding the steep climbs and turbulent waters. The benefit of this aimless approach is we can avoid having to assume responsibility for what happens to us. 

But the truth is profound and empowering: we have the power to choose. Our destinies are not fixed; they are forged.

Fate versus free choice isn't just an issue that philosophers have wrestled with. I recently learned this was a theme in Tchaikovsky's fifth and sixth symphonies, and in Beethoven's work as well. It's something each os us must come to grips with.

The Illusion of Powerlessness

For many, life is lived under the illusion that we have no control. We fall into routines, follow societal expectations, or surrender to the momentum of circumstance, convincing ourselves that the path of least resistance is the only one available. It’s comfortable to believe we’re merely passengers on a railroad, carried along by forces beyond our control—family obligations, financial pressures, or the weight of habit. This mindset may absolve us of responsibility but it also robs us of agency. Deep down, we know the truth: choices abound, but they often come with a cost.

The things we want most—whether a fulfilling career, meaningful relationships, personal growth, or a legacy that outlives us—require effort, sacrifice, and sometimes pain. Most of us shy away from that reality. Who relishes the grind? Who eagerly embraces risk? Our natural inclination is to seek ease, to glide down the smoothest stream rather than paddle against the current. But ease rarely leads to greatness. The paths that demand the least from us often deliver the least in return.

The greatest achievements in life—those that stir our souls and leave a mark on the world—are born of risk and sacrifice. Consider the artist who pours years into mastering his or her craft, the entrepreneur who stakes everything on a vision, or the parent who sacrifices personal ambitions to launch their children on a successful trajectory. These pursuits are not easy, and that’s precisely why they matter. When we invest ourselves fully, when we pay a price for what we seek, the results carry weight. An achievement handed to us without effort feels hollow, like a trophy won by chance rather than merit. 

Sacrifice imbues our goals with meaning. It’s the late nights spent studying that make a degree feel earned. The achievements I'm most proud of feel gratifying because I know the work involved in pursuing them.

Without cost, there is little value; without struggle, there is no triumph. Yet, too often, we hesitate at the crossroads, unwilling to pay the toll. We let fear of failure, discomfort, or uncertainty steer us toward safer, less demanding paths. In doing so, we risk betraying the deeper longings of our hearts.

The Drift of Indecision

When we fail to choose deliberately, we don’t simply stand still—we drift. Life, like a river, keeps moving, and indecision is itself a choice, one that often leads to destinations we never intended. We ramble through the years chasing fleeting distractions or settling for what’s “good enough,” only to wake up one day wondering how we strayed so far from our dreams. Regret is not just about missed opportunities; it’s about the quiet betrayal of our own potential.

This drift is seductive because it feels safe. It asks little of us. It spares us the anxiety of risk or the sting of failure. But it also dulls our lives, leaving us with a vague sense of emptiness. The deepest longings of our hearts—those audacious dreams of creating, connecting, or achieving something extraordinary—require us to step out of the current and choose a different path. They demand that we embrace discomfort, confront uncertainty, and trust in our capacity to endure.

The Power to Choose

The beauty of life’s watershed moments is that we are not powerless. We have the power to choose, to shape our paths, to pursue destinies that align with our truest selves. This power is both a gift and a responsibility. It requires us to be intentional, to reflect on what we value most, and to summon the courage to act. Every choice, from the mundane to the monumental, is a brushstroke on the canvas of our lives.

To choose well, we must first know ourselves. What stirs your heart? What dream keeps you awake at night? What would you pursue if fear were not a factor? These questions are not mere musings; they are compasses for navigating life’s diverging paths. Once we identify our deepest desires, we must weigh the costs and decide what we’re willing to sacrifice. Time, comfort, security—these are the currencies of ambition. The question is not whether you can avoid paying but whether the goal is worth the price.

Dreaming Big

Young people should have dreams, the bolder the better. Envision a life that stretches beyond the ordinary, that reaches for the stars. But dreaming alone is not enough. A dream without action is just a wish, fleeting and insubstantial. To turn dreams into destinies, we must pair them with resolve. We must choose the harder path, the one that demands growth, grit, and perseverance. We must be willing to stumble, to fail, and to rise again.  

Think of life’s choices as watersheds, each one directing the flow of your story. Some paths lead to quiet, contented lives; others to bold, transformative ones. Neither is inherently better, but only you can decide which aligns with your soul’s calling. The tragedy is not in choosing a modest path but in never choosing at all, in letting the current carry you to a destination you didn’t intend.

I myself believed I that becoming a writer was a calling. When you feel something is a calling, you feel obligated to do it well, to excel. My first article generated feedback (letters) from three continents from people whose lives were touched. I recognized from this experience the power of the written word.  

Embracing the Journey

As you stand at the crossroads of your life, remember this: the roads diverge, and their ends are not the same. All roads don't lead to Rome. Each choice shapes your destiny, and while the journey may be daunting, it is yours to chart. Embrace the power you hold. Dare to dream big, to risk greatly, to sacrifice willingly. The deepest longings of your heart are not frivolous—they are the map to your truest self.

So, choose boldly. Pay the price. Paddle against the current if it leads to the sea you seek. The watersheds of life are yours to navigate, and the destinies you reach will reflect the paths you dared to take.

Candid Captures: A Visual Symphony of (Almost) Wordless Wednesday Moments

Every. Picture Tells A Story 

Did your mom have one of these?

Do you know how to talk with one of these?

Did you ever do one of these?

Lost in an Escher display.

The end of Troy was the beginning for Rome.

Aphrodite played a role in both stories.

The streets of Florence are like a dream.

There's no place like home, especially when your home is Italy.

Miscellaneous Notes Off Scraps In My Office

I am in the process of attempting a thorough beginning-of-the-year cleaning of my office and a few other spaces in my life. I've tried a variety of techniques for accomplishing this in the past, but most are just temporarily effective and never thorough. This weekend I visited someone's home that was extreme on the other end of the spectrum, orderly and uncluttered. Every item in the house (with the exception of maybe one room) had been purposefully arranged. Everything had a place and everything was in its place.

As a result of this visit, I felt inspired to tackle my own space. In the past I've tried books like Clutter's Last Stand to no avail. Perhaps I was using the book incorrectly, as a prod to poke me instead of a vision to inspire me. For whatever reason, I consider clutter to be something like the tide. It goes out, it comes back. It recedes, it rushes back in.

Sunday afternoon I began once more to give it another go. Some progress has been made and to the degree that I continue, more will be achieved. As for now, it feels good to be able to see the top of my desk again. I also found some important papers that I hadn't seen in a while.

Here below are some less important notes from various scraps I found buried on my desktop. Maybe you'll find some of this as interesting as I did.

*****

Dream about Misplacing Things
I hate misplacing things so when I went to put my gutter back on in the spring, I went out to my garage and it wasn’t where I usually store it for the winter. I started looking for it, first in the obvious places and then in the basement and then behind the shed. Finally, I remembered where it was. I had shipped it to my brother in New Jersey. He said it was in a storage locker in Atlantic City.

*****

Zelig
Educating Rita
About Schmidt
Tenth Man
Tender Mercies
Remains of the Day
Groundhog Day
Awakenings
12 Angry Men
Truman Show
Trip to Bountiful
What About Bob?

*****

The bigger the plane, the longer the runway.

Fiddling while Rome burns?

“Our destiny chooses us. You can’t run from who you are.”

“It’s about letting the butterfly go and it comes back by itself. Animals and children instinctively recognize that energy around a person. If someone really wants the child to come over, the child usually doesn’t, because it’s not as sweet an energy. But if they sense a bigness and not just a pulling, it’s sweeter.”

“Describe what you see.”

“Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”

Idea for a painting. Have someone paint something for me, but I sign it, and call it mine. Title: “Damien Hirst Made Me Do It.”

The Last Shard (title)

Garrett McKinnon. The Dark and Deadly Sky

Proliferation of Meanings

Matthew Oman, Red Yellow Blue Green

George Catlin

Murder Is My Beat: Classic Film Noir Themes
Bohren & Der Club of Gore
John Zorn, Naked City
Another Shade of Blue
Jazz In Film, Terrence Blanchard
Pete Rugulo
Stan Kenton

“In every relationship there lies a possibility of influence.” ~Andre Gide

Electric wires and sky

Vulnerability

And the Beat Goes On

Have a great day... and let the light guide your way.

Bread and Circuses

Are Americans indifferent to the events in the larger world because of their preoccupation with bread and circuses?

In the course of a lifetime I’ve often seen writers compare our American empire to that of Rome. As with all the great empires beforehand Rome, too, fell. In Gibbon’s classic analysis, the cratering of that empire was due to internal factors, not external.

By means of bread and circuses the ruling class of ancient Rome maintained their power and control of the people. As long as the masses were happy, their labors could be used to fuel the wheels of progress... or at least maintain the status quo.

Starvation, infant death, malnutrition, terror, slaughter, oppression, torture, violence… these things abound in our world today. Simultaneous to these global maladies, we have in this country a 24 billion dollar amusement park industry, a 30 billion dollar entertainment industry, a 200 billion-plus sports industry, and an even larger gambling industry. (Called “gaming” because gambling has negative connotations.)

Meanwhile, according to the World Hunger Organization, 800 million people go to bed hungry every night, mostly women and children. 24,000 die every day. Two hundred million children under five years of age are underweight due to lack of food, which can lead to mental retardation and stunted physical stature. And while you read this, one child will die of starvation every seven seconds.

By way of contrast, according to A.C. Nielsen stats from a recent year, the average American watches 3 hours and 46 minutes of TV each day (which would add up to more than 52 days of nonstop TV-watching per year). By age 65 the average American will have spent nearly 9 years glued to the tube. A few may be watching educational television, but most are simply watching whatever distraction the channel is tuned to at the time.

As tensions rise between India and Pakistan, most Americans have no clue what the fuss is about. As tens of thousands visit the grave of Benazir Bhutto, how many understand the significance of this woman who was killed in a gun-and-suicide attack one year ago already? How many understand that the Mumbai incident has significance nearly as important as our 9/11? Just because it is not longer in our U.S. newspapers, it doesn’t mean there have been no reverberations set in motion.

I’d be half willing to bet that most Americans don’t even know where Pakistan is located, let alone that there was a 1971 war fought between India and Pakistan that cost hundreds of thousands of lives. We were pre-occupied that year with All in the Family, Flip Wilson, Marcus Welby, Gunsmoke, and earning money for our next Disneyland vacation.

I realize I am being a little harsh. Let me say that I am not aiming to impose new restrictions to behavior. (“Don’t smoke, don’t chew, don’t go with girls who do.”) I am simply making an appeal to conscience. We live in a world where there is suffering, and the aim of our lives needs to be something bigger than next weekend’s bash. An Old Testament maxim from the Book of Ecclesiastes comes to mind here. “The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning, but the heart of fools is in the house of pleasure.”

Is it possible that those who control the marionette strings love the power they hold? Who gets the bailouts? Who has the golden parachutes? Who gets the wool when the sheep are fleeced?

A lot of questions in life have no easy, clear cut answers. One of the toughest: What should our relationship be to the culture we find ourselves in? Sure, the gladiators are putting on quite a show for us today. Is that what it’s all about? More bread? More circuses?