More than half a century before he wrote (in collaboration) and directed ‘Il peccato‘, Andrey Konchalovskiy co-wrote another memorable film about another great Renaissance artist – Tarkovsky’s ‘Andrei Rubliov’ (1966). A year before ‘The Agony and the Ecstasy’, the adaptation of Irving Stone’s novel directed by Carol Reed, had been a great international success. Konchalovskiy‘s film begins with that moment in Michelangelo’s life where ‘The Agony and the Ecstasy’ ends. Like his illustrious predecessors, the Russian director has created a meditation on the genius artist, his era and his relationship with the Divine. But his hero, even if he is in search of the sacred, appears many times in this film closer to the Devil. ‘Il peccato‘ (distributed in the English-speaking market as ‘Sin‘) suffered the fate of many films released on the threshold of the pandemic, having a limited theatrical release. My impression is that it deserved a better fate and that there is a good chance that this film will be rediscovered and appreciated at its true value in the future.
Art history considers that when he finished the sculpture of David and the fresco on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, Michelangelo was considered ‘The Divine’, the greatest artist of his age, surpassing in talent and fame even his contemporaries Raphael and Leonardo. And yet, the script of Konchalovskiy‘s film presents us as a man torn by contradictions, with an enormous ego but also susceptible to criticism and gossip, receiving respectable fees and advances but just as easily squandering the money on the family or to buy the marble for future creations, leading an ascetic life together with two of his disciples of whom he demands absolute devotion but whom he constantly suspects of betrayal. Much of the story relates the master’s confrontation with the ‘Monster’, a huge block of marble that he wishes to bring from Carrara to his workshop to transform into what will forever become the Pieta. The metaphor seems to combine the stories of Moby Dick with that of Werner Herzog’s ‘Fitzcarraldo’. We see how Konchalovskiy‘s Michelangelo looks in every form around for a source of inspiration. From the ephemeral he extracts the essence to represent the sacred. He has a vast culture, he appreciates his competitors at their fair value but would never tell it, he reads, Dante guides his steps in life and creation, but Bocaccio is no stranger to him either. He cannot avoid getting involved in the political conflicts of the time and especially in the one between the Medici and della Rovere houses who were fighting for the control of the papal seat and the entire peninsula. The two rival groups will not hesitate to use any means – money or blood – to enslave the great artist. Obstinately pursuing his goal, Michelangelo must fight for his art, lie, betray, hurt with or without intention those around him. But nothing matters to the artist who aspires to the sacred and who, in order to reach it, is ready to cross the abyss.
Konchalovskiy creates in ‘Il peccato‘ a complex visual universe that absorbs us in the Rome and Florence of the early years of the 16th century. The meticulous documentation is evident in various details, from clothing and food to the decoration of the palaces and the tools of the artists of the era. The lead role is trusted to Alberto Testone, an actor I did not know, who has a striking physical resemblance to the artist we know from the portraits that have reached us, and who lives his character with intensity. The same can be said about the actors around him, many of them non-professionals. The film is a Russian-Italian co-production and the influence of both cinematographic schools is evident. The result is a meeting between the historical thoroughness and the artistic and religious fervor of ‘Andrei Rubliov’ and the natural and realistic acting style of the films of the masters of Italian neo-realism. However, everything bears the signature of the great director that is Konchalovskiy, including the feeling that we are permanently between two worlds.