Professione: Reporter (1975)

Frank has writer’s block. Well, not precisely, the story moves round and round constantly in his fevered head. It just doesn’t get anywhere. He considers, Michelangelo Antonioni’s (Blow-Up; 1966) lesser known masterpiece, Professione: Reporter (1975) (aka The Passenger) which was finally released on DVD last spring (April 26, 2006).

Surprisingly, its distribution was picked by the bigger rental houses, where undoubtedly many confused customers picked it up mistaking it for Lindsay Lohan’s classic comic farce, Just My Luck (Petrie 2006). Luckily for you, that means that by this time it’s dribbled down into previously viewed for sale bins and you can pick it up for $7.99 or 3 for $20, whatever special Hollywood Video is running this week.

The Passenger stars Jack Nicholson (The Raven; Corman 1963) as a frustrated journalist in North Africa who switches identities with a dead man in order to spice his life up a bit. He settles into the dead man’s life, finding him to be an arms dealer with all sort of shaggy monkeys on his tail.

Admittedly the tale is dense yet beautiful shot, as most Antonioni pics. And Nicholson looks a bit like the late Dr. Thompson in the film, even drives a similar convertible towards the end. But, it’s also nice to see Nicholson in one of his more “straight’ roles, showing that he doesn’t have to be about to chop somebody up with an axe in every role (The Departed; Scorsese 2006---ha! You thought I’d cite The Shining; Kubrick 1980!).

The other beauty of this film is also the biggest complaint from viewers. The ending (We’ll try to avoid spoilers) is just not all that clear. Much has been made of this. But the confusion is really the beauty of the classic Antonioni-ending. There’s a whole lot in a long panning shot. Jack’s character has certainly begun to find the gun-runner’s life as big a drag as his own. But has he been assassinated? If we watch in widescreen DVD we can make out the killer in the shadows. Or has he shot himself? If we crank the Dolby sound surely there is a gun shot. Or is it a car backfiring? Or has he shed another identity altogether? Wasn't one of the bad guys also a little thin and balding?

Of course that is the key; perhaps some stories don’t require an end?

History is Unbound (or “No Entrance”) A pathetic wistful farce (FRANK is in bed, a tomb-like berth really; ANDREA is standing above him.) ANDREA I‘d love a cigarette. Wish I could afford a pack! FRANK (To self) I’d love for you to have it, too. But, you wouldn’t accept my buying the pack. (Beat; then to ANDREA:) FRANK (Cont.) I’ll split a pack with you. ANDREA OK. What’ll you smoke? FRANK Anything. ANDREA Marlboro lights? FRANK Anything. Here’s money. (He reaches to the bedside for some cash there.) ANDREA Don’t worry. I’ll get it. Pay me later. (ANDREA starts off, but doesn’t go anywhere.) ANDREA (Cont.) I can’t buy it. I’ve no ID. They check in the lounge car. FRANK I’ll go. (He starts to get out of bed.) ANDREA That’s all right. Perhaps it’s a sign. FRANK No. A cigarette would be good after those omelets and pie. ANDREA Sounds good. But, don’t tempt me. (FRANK lies back down and reaches for his pack.) FRANK Here, have one of mine. (He produces a full pack.) ANDREA You’ve a full pack. Why’d you try to help me buy one?

FRANK I didn’t know it was a full pack. Honestly. (To self:) FRANK (Cont.) Honestly. I didn’t know it was full. I thought I had smoked most of it. Also, I was trying to be sweet. ANDREA But, I only wanted one. FRANK I was trying to be sweet. I mean nice. I thought you might want more. Especially drinking. ANDREA. That was sweet. I mean nice. FRANK I just really would do anything for the five minutes of conversation with you. (They smoke and drink quietly.) ANDREA Hey. You wanna see the move I learned in female self defense class? FRANK Sure. Anything. (She puts out cigarette.) ANDREA Come at me. FRANK Sure. (He sits up and grabs for her. She takes his outstretched arm and throws it over her shoulder. She grunts and can’t pull him from bed.) FRANK (Cont.) Sure. like judo. ANDREA Yea. (She heaves a last time and knocks herself off her footing. She lands more or less spooning him on in the bed. They lay like this quietly for several moments, FRANK smelling ANDREA’s hair. At length, he gently brings his hands to massage her neck. ANDREA (Cont.) Thanks. FRANK You like it? ANDREA (To self) I really like it. (Aloud:) ANDREA (Cont.) I like it. Really. (To Self:) ANDREA (Cont.) What’s going on? What’s taken him so long? (Aloud:) ANDREA (Cont.) What’s going on? Do we like each other? FRANK Yes. I hope. Sorry. (FRANK smiles weakly, then frowns.) FRANK (Cont.) I mean: I do like you. ANDREA Oh. FRANK (To self) Oh? (Aloud:) FRANK (Cont.) Oh? ANDREA Oh. FRANK (To self) Oh? That’s a big meatball to have rolled off the plate. I am wretched. A big greasy hog has left the pigpen of my mouth. I shall never capture it again. (Aloud. Hands drop from her neck.) Frank (Cont.) Oh. ANDREA (To self) I have bruised him. Poor baby. (She smiles back and takes him by the back of the head and pulls him so they are forehead to forehead smiling.) FRANK Oh! (After a moment.) Frank (Cont.) I thought I had to say goodbye to everything. “Forever,” I thought. And then I boarded the train. I wanted to think you might have been on there somewhere. And I thought how romantic it would be to go to you there. On a train going somewhere. Hurtling somewhere in the night. But I could not think it to be true. I just needed the damned old train to whiz me off forever to someplace. ANDREA (To self) The sentiment! Such sweetness! (Aloud:) ANDREA (Cont.) Yet here we are. FRANK Yes. Someplace. ANDREA In the night. Alone. FRANK Yes. Just whizzed off. To here. ANDREA Wherever here is. FRANK Yes. But I don’t care. (He kisses her timidly.) FRANK (Cont.) I don’t much care anymore. ANDREA So why didn’t you ever say anything? FRANK What could I say? You were perfect in everyway except your complete apathy for me. ANDREA

I wasn’t apathetic. FRANK In any case, you gave me little to go on. If you hadn’t grabbed my arm, and pulled me close, and knocked yourself over onto me— ANDREA (To self) What should I have done? (Aloud:) ANDREA (Cont.) I didn’t know what to say. FRANK Astounding. Does one never know anyone else? For so many hours we were meters apart in separate rooms. What did you do and think? I probably guessed wrong! I mean, you never did or said anything to lead me to believe— ANDREA Hush, sweet. We all live such solitary lives. In separate rooms! But we are together now, aren’t we? FRANK So it seems. Wanna dance? ANDREA Do you? FRANK Guess I really don’t. I don’t know how— ANDREA So you’re in love with me? FRANK Sorry. ANDREA Don’t apologize. It’s not attractive. FRANK Sorry. ANDREA Enough. It creeps me out a little; you look at me as though to devour me. FRANK (Head in hands) Oh Christ! Sorry. (Beat.) FRANK (Cont.) You’re just so perfect— ANDREA Nobody’s perfect. FRANK Well, no. Actually. I guess not. But, I mean: Perfect for me, of course. What I want. What all I am looking for. On all levels. I mean you can call the squirrels right to you and they eat out of your hands. ANDREA Nobody’s perfect. (She stands back up.) ANDREA (Cont.) Not me. Not you. And the world’s not made for bliss. Not anymore. We’ve stopped moving. I think the train is at the station, Frank. Goodbye. (She leaves. FRANK rolls over and sobs quietly, sleepily.) FRANK Ah, jesus. It’s over. Were I not an oaf, we would try, even if doomed to fail. (There is a knock at the door.) FRANK (Rubbing eyes) Who’s there? ANDREA Its me. FRANK Come in. What’s going on? Are we moving? ANDREA The train hasn’t left the station. Whaterya doing? FRANK (Sleepy) I’m writing a new play. ANDREA Oh. About what? FRANK About how love is not possible. About how nothing is ever perfect and no one fights for anything. About how I am in love with you and you hate it. ANDREA (Walks closer to the bed) Oh. Can I help? FRANK Dunno. Would you like a cigarette? ANDREA I‘d love a cigarette. Wish I could afford a pack! FRANK (To self) I’d love for you to have it, too. But, you wouldn’t accept my buying the pack. (Beat; then to ANDREA:) FRANK (Cont.) I’ll split a pack with you.