Film Review: Blow-Up (1966)

There’s a lot to like about Antonioni’s critique on chic, 1960s, swinging London. There are unfortunately some elements to dislike as well. It’s nearly a masterpiece, but its hang-ups—one in particular—resign it to simply pretty good. What irks me most about this particular hang-up is that it seems to have gone completely unnoticed upon its release in 1966. Times change, there’s no doubt about that, but I can’t seem to get over how much of an asshole Blow-Up’s main character is (played to full asshole perfection by David Hemmings). Go-Go boots, miniskirts, and treating the women who wear them like garbage seems to be Antonioni’s vision of 60s London, at least that’s what I got out of it. I’m sure Antonioni, and the public at large, didn’t see it quite like that back then, but, as I’ve said, times change.

I’ll get right down to it so we can be on the same page. I am, of course, talking about the “orgy” scene. A lot of eyebrows were raised in 1966 due to its inclusion, but for the wrong reasons. Back then, it was simply the nudity that was controversial, when it should have been because of the way Hemmings’ Thomas violently harasses the women into compliance (it’s even shown in part in the trailer below). No one seemed to mind that the protagonist of the film was basically a date rapist—there are several very clear “no’s” said, but he continually stalks, grabs, and shoves the girls—they minded that a boob was shown in the process of his crime (and in another example of how times change, the nudity would very nearly pass basic cable censors today). It bothers me that Thomas can still be considered a cool, edgy hero after a display like that. I feel the same way about Alex (Malcolm McDowell) in A Clockwork Orange (1972). Older films are full of this sort of thing. When you start paying attention, the veiled chauvinistic woman-hating is as plain as day. Has much changed?

I still reluctantly think Blow-Up is a worthwhile film, with a lot of pros (even with a con so glaring). Films like this should serve as reminders of how far we’ve come. Or perhaps more fittingly, how far we haven’t come—sad but true. I should pan it, but I can’t. The rest is too good, and the parts that aren’t borderline misogynistic, are amazing.

Hemmings plays Thomas, a sought-after fashion photographer who’s working on a book. He’s talented and he knows it, which allows him access to all sorts of beautiful and willing women. One day, while photographing in the park, he happens upon a couple at a distance. He voyeuristically takes pictures of them with the intention of using the photos in his book. After returning to his studio, the woman (Vanessa Redgrave) shows up and demands the photos back. They seem rather important to her, which piques Thomas’ curiosity. He develops the negatives and finds something interesting.

That’s all I’ll give you. It’s best to let it unfold without knowing too much. Blow-Up is basically a mystery film, after all.  The procedural back and forth of the examination of the photos is a wonderful sequence (interrupted unnecessarily with the above mentioned unfortunate incident), and had me completely fascinated. As Thomas digs further and further into the photos, more and more is revealed until a full-blown—and oddly detached—obsession is formed.  As the plot progresses, this obsession does too, along with the existentialism and the intrigue, until we’re left at the end, questioning what it all means. Was Thomas simply mistaken? Misremembering? Is he crazy?  Can he trust his own eyes? Does he even exist? It’s great.  I like films with open-ended and ambiguous endings, and the final seconds of Blow-Up have to be among the most debatable.

But it’s not just the ending. What about what’s seen in the photos? Or what’s seen in the park when Thomas returns, then is gone the next time? And how the hell did Jane (Redgrave) just disappear into the crowd like that? Antonioni’s camera, like Thomas’, captures deceptive images over and over, ones that make us question what we’re really seeing.  It would seem the more these images are examined, and the more we think we see what’s going on, the muddier the whole thing gets.

Blow-Up is worth your time, even with its typically piggish and very male flaws. It captures a time and place, more or less accurately (or so I’ve read), while also exposing it as an era of hedonism, ennui, and materialism. But it also has artistry and real talent, which seems to come at a cost. What that cost is, is up to the viewer.