We Will Always Have Bari
Spring is an exquisite tale. A story of the innocent abroad meeting the wrong the only woman in true Henry James fashion, it uncoils along the Puglian coast in long, broad, carnal lapses that are as much satisfaction than longing for that unaccessible moment, the surrendering of self, the end of the world.
Yes it has flaws, mostly uselss CGI, but one guesses it is a 21st century thing, a bit like too much gilding in rococo or too many conversations sacrées during the Renaissance. Spring is as much about growing pains that it is about blossoming. But the acting is right and the camera work is fluid. What the story owes to Lovecraft is more than mitigated by things as simple as a bottle of wine, an olive tree, love lost and found.
The best movie monsters are those one could actually love. Spring has such one, but holds much more. It has a prey that is human, full bodied and sweet as a Negroamaro. One can not foretell that at the beginning, when the film seems aiming at an Italian rendition of Hostel, but this rare feast is accomplished with near nothing, a bit of alien dialogue, a tree dying to allow the growth of a new one, and the moon over the ocean. It has, of course, the unspeakable, almost unfilmable splendor of Italy.
A volcanoo is erupting at the end, but this is not what is really happening. A couple of sound effects does the trick.This is where the Rite of Spring has led us, gaping, the ocean rolling its indifferent waves, and we feel happy, and amazed, and wiped out. This is a lovely movie.