Dillinger is Dead!
A man, some dinner, and a gun. A typical night in Marco Ferreri's late-sixties existential classic
Crazy month, folks! I’m still trying to find time to breathe between pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, and making movies with friends (stay tuned for more)! Speaking of, an old pal Derek Zimmer (whose words you’ve once read in this very substack) released a trailer for his upcoming short Fountainbleau — which you can watch here! Shot on beautiful 16 mm to boot. Exciting times, people. With all that going on, I still wanted to sneak in a move before November is up.
Over the break I watched Marco Ferreri’s 1969 film Dillinger is Dead, starring the French icon Michel Piccoli (Contempt anyone?), as well as La Grande Bouffe (1973), the latter which is available on Tubi for free; the former made available by C&C!
Call me crazy, but Dillinger is Dead kind of feels like the perfect movie to watch over the holidays. Whether you’re at home alone or back with the folks. Because there’s a loneliness and isolation that comes from these holiday situations. A melancholy you can’t shake. How can you go through the holidays without feeling a little alienated from everyone around you? Impossible, I say!
So no matter which way you slice the tofurkey, you can’t escape it. And not to mention, both flicks feature some good eatin’. La Grande Bouffe is literally about some guys that want to eat themselves to death. If that ain’t what the holidays are about then I don’t know what is.
The Quick Gist
Dillinger is Dead is an experimental Italian film that follows Glauco — a bored and alienated employee of a gas mask factory — as he spends a night at home. He cooks dinner for himself, checks in on his pill-popping wife, seduces the live-in maid, and watches Super 8 home movies, all while cleaning the gun he randomly found — a gun which may or may not have been owned by the bandit John Dillinger.
Dillinger is Dead
The thesis for Dillinger is Dead is spoken just a minute into the film. While winding down for the day, Glauco’s colleague casually bounces some ideas off Glauco regarding the state of humanity in this modern age:
“Isolation in a sealed off room where external communication is impossible because it’s full of a deadly atmosphere. In a room where it is necessary to wear a mask to survive is very reminiscent of the living conditions of modern man... One can’t reflect on this mythical one-dimensional man without analyzing all the characteristics of our industrial society. But an effective metaphor could be very informative, and shed light on extreme consequences which are not explicitly addressed… Doesn’t the fact of being forced to wear a mask create a sense of anguish?”
Let’s face it. We’ve all had co-workers like this. Total punishers who get way too deep way too fast. C’mon man. Some of us are just trying to get home to a warm cooked meal. But what if this guy has a point…
So, it’s clear that Glauco is that modern man and this film is that metaphor. Glauco, like all of us, is wearing a mask. The mask of a dutiful employee at a gas mask factory. The mask of a happily married man, one with a beautiful wife. The mask of a man who lives in a cool posh modern apartment, who takes nice vacations, and enjoys to cook.
Not only does Glauco need a mask to survive in this toxic world, but it’s also used to hide the anguish produced by living in such a world. This forced repression causes him to become alienated from himself and the people around him. The produced state of alienation further insulates and isolates him, forcing Glauco to constantly try to escape his reality — through things like consumption, television, and film.
With these ideas planted into Glauco’s (and our) head, Glauco goes home to his modern little apartment, with his modern wife who loves her sleeping pills and who never leaves the bed. A home that even comes equipped with a sexy live-in maid. He’s surrounded by all the things that allows him to live an ultimately unfilling life under capitalism.
But Glauco is happy! Right? Well, it’s hard to tell. Because while he listens to upbeat pop tunes while he cooks, chats with his wife, or messes around with the maid, there are very little external clues to Glauco’s inner turmoil. We’re given very minimal context to his internal thoughts or feelings. Aside from those early proclamations from Glauco’s colleague, the film refuses to provide a clear stance on anything. It’s slow and gets increasingly surreal and experimental. And in a way, it even alienate us from Glauco. A vicious cycle!
As he cooks himself dinner, Glauco happens to come across a gun wrapped up in newspaper, which may or may not have been owned by the bandit John Dillinger. Our only clue? The newspaper headline “Dillinger is Dead!” and some archival footage of the criminal. And the film only gets more abstract and surreal from here.
Glauco proceeds to clean the gun, paint it red with some polka dots, and sets himself up to watch some Super 8 home movies. He goes as far as to almost insert himself into these memories, interacting with the images projected on the wall. He watches these films to escape his reality, but it’s not enough. The comfort of cinema, of his memories perfectly encapsulated on those tiny strips of celluloid, can’t save him. They can’t mask the anguish for much longer. Maybe the gun, this symbol of power, can be used to break free from the monotony. Something he can use to blow his way out of his isolation.
Ferreri’s film is like a poppier, sardonic Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du Commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (though not nearly as long). There is a hyper fixation on the agonizing minutiae of domestic life, the mundane repetition of doing the same things day in and day out, that ultimately can lead to an irredeemable act. The film becomes as much a repudiation of traditional narrative cinema as it is a condemnation of capitalism.
The co-worker at the beginning of the film ends his impromptu manifesto by commenting that these ideas are “only notes.” And so are these. At the end of the day, who knows what I’m really saying…
With that enjoy Dillinger is Dead, presented in both its original widescreen format or the made for TV 4:3!
Password to watch on the site: dillingerisdead
Or request access to the Plex server here for best quality.
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Supplements
“Dillinger Is Dead: Apocalypse Now” — Michael Joshua Rowin