Martin Eden

Jack London’s semi-autobiographical novel gets a masterful Italian makeover courtesy of director Pietro Marcello.

Life’s bitter contradictions inevitably take a toll on every human being, but none more so than the writer with plenty of time on their hands. The mental cost of endlessly thinking and philosophising are readily apparent throughout Pietro Marcello’s mesmerising drama Martin Eden, which transposes Jack London’s Oakland-set novel about a self-made novelist/poet who experiences success and creative disappointment during an unspecific moment in 20th-century Naples.

During the film’s beguiling opening sequence, Marcello uses degraded silent film footage to signify a tormented, broken artist slipping back in time to confront his past. We see crowds of aged faces, and a train disappearing into a dark tunnel. Here, in the textural realm of 16mm celluloid dreams, Martin Eden (Luca Marinelli) ascends the stairs of a merchant ship, a young man with scars on his face, the torso of Burt Lancaster and the visage of a Roman god.

At this point, Martin seems to careen through life almost instinctually, taking jobs without thinking beyond the next paycheque, and seducing women who kindly look his way. He even intervenes when the dock’s local security guard harasses a young man for trespassing, levelling the former with one punch.

This Good Samaritan act gives him access to the wealthy Orsini family, whose oldest daughter Elena (Jessica Cressy) instantly catches his eye. But aside from their mutual physical attraction, Martin sees in her the appeal of education and knowledge. Their interactions inspire him to think differently about the world. To paraphrase one exchange on the subject, he wants to be intellectually bold, like Baudelaire’s poems.

Almost immediately, judgments associated with class and political affiliations complicate Martin’s pursuit of becoming a published writer. This doesn’t stop Marcello from infusing the film’s first half with the stylistic energy and vitality that mirrors the character’s breakneck evolution. Marco Messina and Sacha Ricci’s score, a convergence of classical tones and modern synch beats, plays a pivotal role in giving the film this sense of momentous grace.

But Martin’s infatuation with individualism is no doubt clouded by naiveté and self-indulgence. There are numerous moments when supporting characters warn him of the cultural, social and historical tensions that will inevitably complicate his quest to be a writer. Elder statesman poet Briss (Carlo Cecchi) tries to enlighten Martin about the worthiness and necessity of socialism. A surrogate matriarch named Maria (Carmen Pommella) once tells him: “I don’t dream like you. I look life straight in the face.”

That sort of blunt confrontation with life is something Martin goes from experiencing everyday to observing from afar. Like London’s disillusioned American protagonist, this numbs him to the institutional and political norms that allow fascist movements and poverty to flourish. By the film’s stagnant and distressing conclusion, all the vibrancy that was once present has been hollowed out.

Martin’s hair is bleached blond, and his teeth have been stained brown. “Life disgusts me, “ he confesses. But it’s his cancerous arrogance, the choice to live and create and judge from a vaulted ideological perch, that has led him to forget about all the worthy stories that would invalidate this cynical statement.

Little White Lies is committed to championing great movies and the talented people who make them. But to keep going, and growing, we need your support. Become a member today.

Published 6 Jul 2021

Tags: Martin Eden Pietro Marcello