Christy by Request — Bicycle Thieves

So I’m trying a new feature here at my little website called “Christy by Request.” I asked folks on Twitter to suggest movies they’d like to see me review — older movies, newer releases, whatever. Then I put all the suggestions in a bowl and had my delightful son, Nicolas, read the title of the movie he’d randomly chosen for me. (He wasn’t totally thrilled about this assignment, by the way: “When do we have to do your bowl thing?” he asked with annoyance.)

But Nic picked a good one, courtesy of a British follower named Barry Deacon, who goes by the Twitter handle @ShieldJock. One of Barry’s many suggestions was “Bicycle Thieves,” the 1948 Vittorio De Sica neorealist classic which — I’m embarrassed to admit — I’d never seen. Even after 19 years as a film critic, I still have some gaps to fill. So maybe the “Christy by Request” feature will allow me to play a bit of catch-up as well as interact in a fun way with all of you guys.

For those of you who’ve similarly never seen “Bicycle Thieves” — which is often translated as “The Bicycle Thief” — it’s a deceptively simple story. A man needs a bicycle for work. The bicycle is stolen. The man tries to get it back. But De Sica uses this tale as an intimate and vivid way to explore the economic struggles of everyday people in post-World War II Italy. It’s a specifically detailed time and place, but the themes “Bicycle Thieves” conveys are universal and relevant: the pressure to support your family, the drive to find financial security, the challenges of being a good parent and the need to seek justice after being wronged.

The fact that he used non-actors in bringing Cesare Zavattini’s script to the screen also gives the film a strong element of authenticity. Handsome Lamberto Maggiorani had never been a film before starring as Antonio, the husband and father who scours the city for his pilfered bike, but he brings a steady, stoic masculinity to the role, even as his character’s desperation increases. This is also true of Enzo Staiola, the child who plays Antonio’s spitfire son, Bruno, whom De Sica plucked from the streets after noticing his distinctive walk. He’s totally self-possessed and undaunted, regardless of the obstacles he and his father encounter as the day goes on, yet there’s also a childlike directness to him that’s hugely engaging.

Decades later, you can see the influence of “Bicycle Thieves” everywhere in a variety of genres and languages, from the work of the Belgian Dardenne brothers and their stripped-down focus on the hardships of ordinary, working-class citizens, to last year’s acclaimed “The Florida Project,” in which Willem Dafoe is the rare established actor, serving as the glue in a cast of neophytes in Sean Baker’s tale of poverty on the fringes of Disney World. You can see it in Steven Soderbergh’s experimental “Bubble” from 2006, a love triangle set in a small-town doll factory featuring non-actors, and in Zhang Yimou’s 2000 drama “Not One Less,” about the struggles of schoolchildren in a rural Chinese village played by … schoolchildren in a rural Chinese village.

Certainly, it’s hard to show up on camera and just be yourself, or even a version of yourself; look no further than Clint Eastwood’s most recent film, “The 15:17 to Paris,” as an example of how casting non-actors can result in an ambitious disappointment. But there’s substance and truth to the people who populate “Bicycle Thieves,” an authenticity to the rhythm of their lives, that just works.

And De Sica’s overall approach is modest and matter-of-fact. His characters have efficient conversations and the film’s forward momentum is propulsive in an understated way. At the start, when Antonio goes home to tell his wife (Lianella Carell) he needs to buy back the bike he’d pawned in order to perform his new job hanging posters all over the city, she pragmatically strips their bed in order to sell their sheets without thinking twice. (Later, in one of the movie’s most striking shots, we see the pawn shop worker take their sheets to a storage area, where he climbs up a wall of folded-up sheets that others have sold to make ends meet, stuffing Antonio’s in with hundreds more.)

But De Sica offers glimmers of hope along the way. There are simple pleasures to be found within this sad setting — dewy streaks of morning light through the alleys as the men make their way into work on their bicycles, or a moment of father-son bonding as Antonio and Bruno ride into town together with the wind in their hair.

The bicycle theft itself just sort of … happens. There’s no big dramatic build-up. It’s a random event that comes out of nowhere in the middle of a bustling city, as you might imagine this sort of thing would happen in real life. As Antonio goes on his quest to retrieve his bike, the tough and trusty Bruno by his side, De Sica immerses us in the street life of Rome: regular people with fantastic faces who make up a sea of humanity. You can feel anxiety of these men struggling to support their families; everyone is fighting to survive.

In their midst, Antonio becomes increasingly assertive, leading to a scene of panic at a church that results in a rare bit of absurd comedy. But he truly comes to life when he finally snaps, says screw it and takes Bruno out for a meal and some wine — a secret they’ll keep from his mom.

“We can do as we like,” Antonio says with a giant grin, clearly trying to convince himself of his own words. Ultimately, though, “Bicycle Thieves” is about determining what you can and cannot change in this unforgiving life — and finding the wisdom to know the difference.

I’m so glad I finally caught up with this all-time classic. And I’ll never watch “Pee-wee’s Big Adventure” the same way again.