1998 in Review: "Life is Beautiful"

A review of two speeches

It took me two decades to work up the nerve to revisit Life is Beautiful, not because it’s such a difficult movie to watch—as far as Holocaust movies go, it might be the easiest—but because it took exactly that long for me to wash the taste of Roberto Benigni making an ass of himself at the Academy Awards out of my mouth. I apologize for using the words “ass” and “mouth” in such close proximity, but I’m hoping it will produce in you the precise revulsion I feel when I think of that particular evening. 

If you’re too young to remember (or you have mercifully forgotten), let me remind you that Benigni won two awards at the 1999 Oscars. First came Best Foreign Language film, and it was one of those things where it was immediately obvious he would win, and not just because he was also nominated for Best Picture, and every single international film that’s up for Best Picture at least wins the international category. No, the thing that set off alarm bells was that Benigni’s countrywoman Sophia Loren was chosen to present. The producers were clearly trying to create A Moment, and they were banking on Benigni’s victory.

They got their moment, and for a second there, it was a nice one. Sophia opened the envelope and exclaimed simply, “Roberto!” But then the camera cut to Benigni, and it all went to shit. The comic star feigned shock and quickly went into a planned stunt. He stood up on the backs of the seats in front of him, climbing on top of people’s heads like an animal. This isn’t a mosh pit, Roberto. It’s the goddamn Academy Awards, and it’s one thing if Joaquin Phoenix or Rage Against the Machine or some other serious artist wants to disturb the still surface of the Oscars with some chaos. But Benigni wasn’t out to create a happening. He’s not Sacha Baron Cohen. He just wanted to be the center of attention. Not shocking for an actor, but typically, winning an Oscar is enough for these people. Not so for Benigni, who stood on those seats and turned around to wave to the adoring crowd like (ironically) Mussolini on the balcony, then climbed back down and literally hopped up onto the stage. Sophia wrapped him in a big hug—lucky sonofabitch—and he walked to the edge, took a second deep bow, insisting on a standing ovation that the audience begrudgingly gave him, and then finally made his way to the microphone.

There’s so much to be annoyed by already. When you win an Oscar, it’s a moment for humility. Not from the craftspeople—let them go nuts. But the actors and directors should not rub our noses in their success. Some wet eyes, a deep breath, a shaky walk to the podium, and then they should steel themselves, as if they’re not sure they’ll get through this moment without breaking down. To be sure, actors can show joy when they win an Oscar, but it must be done correctly. Nobody faulted Cuba Gooding, Jr. for his speech after his win for Jerry Maguire or Ben Affleck and Matt Damon, whose excitement got the best of them after winning Best Original Screenplay for Good Will Hunting. But watch those speeches again: Each had a slow build to their heights of giddy enthusiasm. They started at a four and ended at a 10. Benigni starts at a 12, which calls into question the authenticity of his exuberance.

The same goes for his second speech. That’s right—Roberto Benigni also won Best Actor, and this one was a surprise. If memory serves, Tom Hanks was the favorite for Saving Private Ryan, with some pundits thinking the young Edward Norton had a shot for American History X. But the Harvey Weinstein/Roberto Benigni charm offensive overpowered those poor Oscar voters, who couldn’t resist giving him another bite at the apple. Again, this one strained credulity. At first, he acts as if he can barely speak the language: “Everything is….in a way…I cannot…express.” But then he somehow comes up with, “I would like to go to Jupiter and kidnap everybody and make love in the firmament.” Look, I didn’t even know what “firmament” meant in 1998, and I’m not 100% I do right now. My hunch is that Benigni knew exactly how much Oscar voters enjoyed watching a White foreigner comically struggle with the English language, and by the time the show rolled around, Benigni was an expert at it.

It’s also possible, of course, that those voters really liked the film. 25 years later, the Oscar speeches resonate more than Life is Beautiful itself, which feels like a soft knockoff of The Great Dictator. As a Jewish Italian waiter-turned-book-shop-owner, Benigni spends the first hour of the film courting a beautiful woman engaged to a fascist bureaucrat. There are well-staged pratfalls, comic misunderstandings, and a cleverly-scripted first date in which Benigni spontaneously improvises coincidences to conjure a spirit of magical romance. Cut to a few years later, and he and the young lady are married with a son. Things are going well, until they are all sent to a concentration camp, where Benigni convinces his son that their imprisonment is part of an elaborate game. It’s another improv, but this one is designed to keep the young boy alive and somewhat untraumatized.

It doesn’t line up exactly with The Great Dictator, but Benigni is clearly trying to channel the spirit of Chaplin: the romance, the laughs, and the social commentary that defined the great comic’s late period. The difference, of course, is that The Great Dictator was made in 1940, when leaders in the U.S. were still mixed on the prospect of entering the war, and many in the U.S. still knew little about the Holocaust. Life is Beautiful is in no way a political movie, and it’s risky as hell to make a Holocaust movie that’s not political. The fact that Benigni largely succeeds—the film is occasionally hilarious, sporadically poignant, and immediately forgettable—is an incredible achievement, and if he hadn’t stood on top of those damn chairs, we might remember it as a soft victory, tarnished only by its association with Weinstein, and hey remember that weird Italian guy who starred in it? Instead, I carry my relentless revulsion of Roberto Benigni with me as I watch the film, making it likely it will be another 25 years at least before I have the stomach to watch it again.