Polar Bear's Film Journal

Coming in around the middle of Bertolucci’s career, La Luna feels almost like a caricature of his greatest films. Once again he tries to push the boundaries of taboo and erotica, but unlike Last Tango in Paris, this attempt was not nearly as successful or well received. It just isn’t as whole of a film and it almost always feels like something is missing. There is so much build-up, but so little payoff, and the drama and conflict feels contained and exploited. Perhaps in trying to push audiences even further, Bertolucci was forcing too much out of his film, and ended up turning it over on itself, with bland oddness and overlong moments of emptiness. It’s frustrating to think that he may have approached this film with less than the best in purely artistic intentions. However, that does not mean La Luna isn’t delicately polished with lush mise-en-scène, which Bertolucci will always be proficient at. Unfortunately, it just isn’t nearly enough to overcome the tired shock value of the story, or the uninspiring flatness of the main characters, despite their excellent performances.

Sweetly, the film does have an almost epic quality which I was able to, at times, get lost in. This is brought about by the sinuous camera, sexual undercurrents and prominent use of opera, which heighten the experience considerably above simple depravity and exploitation. There are multiple themes laden across La Luna, the most prominent of which being the incestuous relationship between mother and son. As if this wasn’t enough to work with on its own, there is also a bout with heroin addiction and the search for a father figure. It’s heavy, no doubt about it, but it doesn’t go far enough into the characters, or even far enough outside them, to justify so much transgression. Perhaps there was just too much involvement needed that I wasn’t able to find, so I ended up feeling distanced when I should have felt embraced and affected.