Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity. What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun? One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever. … The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.
– Ecclesiastes 1:2–11 (KJV)
You know what is happening in our country? Nothing… simply an imperceptible replacement of one class for another. The middle class doesn’t want to destroy us. It simply wants to take our place… and very gently.
– Prince Don Fabrizio Salina
Holy hell, what a movie.
Luchino Visconti’s “The Leopard,” a grand historical epic set against the 19th century unification of Italy, tells the story of the Sicilian Prince Don Fabrizio Salina (Burt Lancaster, spectacular) and his family as they navigate the revolutionary currents gripping the peninsula. Specifically, it focuses on Salina’s relationship to his nephew Tancredi (an impossibly good looking Alain Delon), the ambitious and opportunistic heir to a family gone broke.
As the film opens, war has found the family at their home — a dead soldier discovered in the courtyard. Tancredi travels to Palermo to fight with the rebel liberal reformer Garibaldi. The prince takes his family to their country estate in the village of Donnafugata. There, Tancredi falls in love with Angelica (an impossibly good looking Claudia Cardinale), the daughter of Don Calogero Sedàra, a local power broker and member of the burgeoning bourgeoisie.
Salina encourages the romance. While he finds dislikes Sedàra, he knows that his legacy will benefit by a marriage between the families — for while Don Calogero may be an unprincipled boor, he has land and money and influence secure in the emerging Italian order. The prince, on the other hand, belongs only to a decaying aristocracy.
And therein lies the nut of the film. Salina knows his virtues — those of the fading old Europe — do not belong to the new emerging order of liberal republicanism. But he is not merely nostalgic for yesterday’s Sicily, nor does he mourn is own loss of station in the world to come. It’s true, Salina is a prince — all he has he inherited by birth and good fortune. But he is not a stupid man, nor is he vain or unprincipled. He knows what’s his is not truly his to mourn; but he also knows that those who will take his place will be no better, no more deserving. And perhaps, he fears, they will not share the clarity and humility with which he sees the serendipity of his own birthright, nor the sense of duty he accepts with it. “I belong to an unlucky generation,” he says, “astride between two worlds and ill-at-ease in both.”
Late in the film, a representative of the new government asks Salina to serve in the senate. We need honest men like you, he begs. Salina declines. Were “senator” merely a formal title of respect, he could accept. But what does he know of real statecraft? As he sees him off, Salina says to the disappointed envoy: “We were the leopards, the lions, those who take our place will be jackals and sheep, and the whole lot of us — leopards, lions, jackals and sheep — will continue to think ourselves the salt of the earth.” As the carriage departs, he asks the prince to repeat himself. He couldn’t hear; the words were lost.
The film ends with a long, incredible party scene. Old Sicily and new gather for a grand ball, allowing Salina to literally mingle between the two worlds. Visually, it is among the most lushly produced pieces of filmmaking I’ve seen — an obvious influence on Barry Lyndon — balanced by sharp writing and sensitive, humane performances. (Again, Lancaster is spectacular here.)
I really can’t do it justice here. If you can find it, “The Leopard” is well worth your time and your full attention.