Federico Fellini may have titled the film 'Nights of Cabiria' - a title that syntactically emphasizes the nights and events in relation to and as “played” on”, Cabiria. Yet perhaps more interesting than the escapades is the complexity of the feisty heroine herself. Giulietta Masina plays a foul-mouthed prostitute named Cabiria, whom the camera follows through a trying part of her life. Throughout her “nights,” Cabiria is repeatedly subjected to the cruelties and ironies of life. Masina portrays Cabiria with the same comedic facade as the film itself – a facade that ultimately makes the more tender moments all the more effective and moving. Her delivery has a courage that matches her physical energy – a fearless and vulnerable performance of a pure heart and soul. The public comes to view Cabiria as a contradiction to conventional ideas about female virtue and sexuality, and increasingly appreciates the sense of honesty with which she leads her life. Masina's performance highlights the dimensions of Cabiria's multifaceted personality and provides effective insight into the formation behind these layers. Her portrayal of the prostitute gradually transforms Cabiria from a cartoonish joke to a well-rounded character, sensitively etched with the deep, underlying implications of human pathos, filled with modest ambitions for happiness that are constantly bogged down by the realities of her situation. Masina powerfully captures and conveys very real and palpable emotions, and legitimizes Cabiria as a character with depth and complexity by the end of the film. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get the original essay Masina's character is naive but tough; she presents Cabiria through a distinctly hardened exterior (no doubt resulting from her lifestyle and profession), a good-hearted, rather simple-minded prostitute who takes herself seriously to an almost laughable degree. It is only as the film progresses that this same self-righteousness takes on a more touching light, because the audience better understands how such a protective measure could have developed. Cabiria sports a deep and exaggeratedly hoarse voice, raw and nasal, as if to draw further attention to her unsophisticated nature and abrasive personality. From her outrageous dancing, to her rough and ready gait, to her caricatured physique and eyebrows, Masina paints Cabiria in a multitude of exaggerated, Chaplin-like character traits. She's impossible to ignore – vivacious, blissfully oblivious, completely uninhibited, ridiculously proud and almost unrealistically resilient. Nonetheless, Cabiria is notably not immune to the harshness of life and its unfortunate circumstances, even if she is remarkably never broken by her tragic roles. It's part of his ironic and passive nature to take things as they come. It quickly becomes apparent how much his inner strength is necessary for his survival. Cabiria's marked pride in owning her little house is at first humorous and condescending, but later seems vital in ennobling her into a lifestyle defined by degradation. She's a character who needs to believe in something, and it suddenly seems natural that she would be sensitive to issues of dignity and self-respect. This internal force is exaggerated to the same degree as its external victimization. Masina reveals Cabiria's optimism as essential armor against the realities of his profession. The commodification of one's sex work is so inherently dehumanizing and physically invasive that itrequires her to feel some sense of control over her life. It is not difficult to believe that if Cabiria succumbed to a sense of self-victimization and objective awareness of her surroundings, she would lose this vital ability to relentlessly move forward. The Psychological Effects It is quickly understood that prostitution presents a very relevant danger for her in particular, as her inner romanticism is revealed, for then her gentleness and vulnerability become the most obvious and poignant. When accountant Oscar confesses his love and desire to live with her, Cabiria's response is surprisingly open and nervously cautious: "Don't say that if it's not true." » We wonder, after watching his performance, how long it took this character to build this resistance, this protective shell. Most likely, our Cabiria was not always like this. Masina's performance brings awareness to the layers of Cabiria, her inner hopes and dreams, and makes the audience think about the background character development that built Cabiria's current personality. We realize that she is not and has not been a static character. She's quite dynamic and has all the potential in the world, which is only compounded by her desperate desire for change. Cabiria takes an eager and serious interest in religion and all kinds of men only to be continually disillusioned and mercilessly damaged. Masina makes Cabiria unique in its aspirations. The character could easily be marginalized as one of all the sound and fury, but behind the negativity and umbrage of his character and actions lies a wealth of hope, sensitivity, and desire for change. Cabiria proves to be a contradiction to conventional notions of female sexuality and female virtue; she is essentially the poor prostitute with a heart of gold. The film reveals Cabiria's anguish and ambitions in direct and timely proportion to the escalating humiliation in her experiences. The more reprehensible the episodes to which she is subjected, the more we sympathize with her. This most absurd character becomes a woman we learn to know and take very seriously, even if her modest ambitions are constantly crushed in the face of society. One of the most moving scenes takes place during a carnival hypnotist show, in which Cabiria is exploited in front of a crowd of screaming thugs to reveal her innermost dreams and vain romantic hopes. Hypnotized, she ignores the crowd's ridicule and walks around in a trance, believing she is in a garden with a man. The haunting scene embodies the isolation and loneliness of her life, her struggles to find a good man, and the seeming futility of her efforts to establish a lasting human connection. Like his reality, the interactions of his dream state are not real and are ultimately based on a system of exploitation and moral irresponsibility that is also reflected in all of his other interactions. None of it lasts, none of it comes true, and they more or less end with a feeling of deception (and confusion, from which she quickly recovers on stage once the hypnotist wakes her). The fleeting nature of her happiness and contentment in this scene indicates the insincerity of what she is experiencing in life, and it is heartbreaking. Fellini gives Cabiria's life an element of adventure, following her everywhere as she encounters all the different aspects of life and gets a taste of them. of the ups and downs of humanity. The incorporation of these fantastical elements seems, if not evasive, a rather calming look at the different walks of life. A dream sequence introduces her to the cavemen whoseem to wake up and emerge out of nowhere to greet their weekly altruistic provider. Cabiria hitchhikes with the Good Samaritan, during which she reveals her real name, Maria, which is perhaps just as ironically virginal in its connotations as her stage name (Cabiria comes from an Italian historical epic of the same name, whose main character is rich and virginal). Fellini again incorporates his favorite spontaneity of life when he asks movie star Alberto Lazzati to take Cabiria on a whim, looking for distraction after a lovers' quarrel. During her evening with Lazzati, Cabiria struggles to contain her excitement in the presence of her celebrity. Illa takes her back to her lavish estate, where she presents herself as almost painfully pathetic, needlessly legitimizing herself and proudly insisting, "I have everything, I have everything," detailing her ownership of her small house to the slightly perplexed but bored Lazzati . . When his lover, Jessi, returns, he rushes Cabiria into the bathroom, where she spends the whole night with the dog. With a few bills and a distracted goodbye, Lazzati kicks Cabiria out against her will in the morning. The speed with which she recovers from this incredibly humiliating shame is almost instantaneous, showing the extent to which she has internalized and naturalized this kind of treatment from men and humanity in general. She is unfortunately used to being used and therefore rejected by society. Cabiria is abandoned by all institutions of society, including religious institutions. His desire to seek the Church highlights his dissatisfaction and his search for a deeper meaning in life. However, Fellini presents the Church as zealous, inauthentic, and just as flawed and selfish as other institutions. Cabiria does not leave the church any more spiritually equipped than when he arrived to reconcile his discontent and his inner pain, even if the audience is shown that his desire for transformation on a spiritual level is very real. The moments of the picnic preceding his trial against the church carry a strong sense of urgency, anxiety and frustration. Cabiria's disgust at the inertia of her state is palpable, and she is visibly anxious about remaining static. It’s when we see her suffer the ultimate betrayal – that of love – that we see most clearly how much she wears her heart on her sleeve and how disadvantaged she is. The scenes leading up to Oscar's desertion and theft consist of Cabiria unabashedly pouring out her heart and soul to him, laying bare his hopes, his suffering, his years of financial savings. The intensity of his talkative enthusiasm for their shared future shines like a child's, making his betrayal hit her as deeply as a new loss of innocence. Furthermore, Oscar's betrayal is so ridiculously outrageous (a soft-spoken accountant planning to push Cabiria off a cliff for a small sum!), that it proves the utmost debasement of value and value. existence of Cabiria. When Oscar's intentions slowly dawn on him, Masina delivers an exquisite and excruciating performance that breaks down the character's mind. Oscar becomes conflicted and increasingly agitated as Cabiria literally falls apart before our eyes, broken for the first time. She writhes on the ground sobbing: “Kill me then!” Please do it. I no longer have any reason to live. This graphically vivid scene depicts her at her lowest, almost animalistic in her grief, publicly displaying the horrible honesty and brutality of emotional loss. Indeed, after placing the two characters far away in the woods of nature, Fellini underlines the extent to which Cabiria and Oscar are equally distant from the.