Life Lessons From the Bicycle Thief

I find that when I try to watch films from the past, it becomes very hard to really get into them.  Whether it is the acting, style, social commentary, etc., there’s something about them that makes it really hard to connect with the subject matter.  The Bicycle Thief on the other hand, has the ability to transcend all of these things and manages to engage the audience on a very basic and visceral level that most films cannot do.

I first saw The Bicycle Thief over a year ago after hearing it’s name get thrown around in many film buff circles.  I watched it without any preconceptions or prior knowledge of its status in the film community, but came to one conclusion:  This film is a masterpiece.  A masterpiece to me is a film that follows all of the previous criteria:  It connects with the viewer on a basic level regardless of the time it was made.  It should also bring something new to the table however and The Bicycle Thief did.

The Bicycle Thief taught me that you don’t need fancy equipment or expensive, elaborate sets.  This film could have succeeded on story alone, but true vision was achieved by De Sica, which pushed this film over the edge and into the history books.  This is the kind of film that makes one want to grab a video camera and some friends, write a story, and go out and shoot it.  You cannot say this about many films, but The Bicycle Thief is truly inspirational in that way.

I was blown away when I learned that all of the sets were original locations.  I would have believed that most of them were, but not all of them.  In true documentary style, it seems that De Sica believed he could pull of a film that was natural and realistic and he was right.  Nothing about this film makes the audience aware that they’re watching a film.  It pulls you in and doesn’t let you go until Antonio and Bruno leave for home after many unsuccessful attempts to reacquire Antonio’s bike.

In the same vein as the locations, I could not believe that they used all natural lighting.  Lighting is one of the first things you learn in film school, so to see a great film that doesn’t use it at all is truly inspiring.  Again, De Sica must have known that his story was strong enough to keep the audience enthralled, but it was still a risky move.  It seems like the best directors are the ones that make bold decisions and this is why De Sica’s name will live on in film history.        

The third most shocking bit of trivia about this film is that fact that De Sica used normal, everyday people for his actors.  He put his film’s commercial success on the line when he made this move.  He had no guarantee that Lamberto Maggiorani’s or Enzo Staiola’s performances would come off as believable as a seasoned professional, but again, he made a bold decision, believed in his actors, and made a great film.  It’s really quite a beautiful story when you step back and look at all the facts.  A man wanted to make a film detailing the hardships that were taking place in an area that he loved, so he got a camera, wrote a story, and made film history.

This is a clear-cut example of quality over quantity.  It shows us why Transformers will never be taught in a film history class.  It has a unique style to it that is timeless and elegant.  The fact that it is also a foreign film is another great example of just how influential this film really is.  It crosses time zones and borders without even flinching because its story is universal:  It shows the aftermath of war on a basic level and how it effects every aspect of life, even ones own morality.  It doesn’t point fingers or pass judgment; it merely makes us aware.  If all of these things don’t add up to a masterpiece, then I might have to start rethinking my future profession.