Married to a man she barely knows and haunted by a childhood spent being taught to be good, Juliet drifts through her days until a séance, a suspicious husband and the spectacularly louche neighbour Suzy start pulling the wallpaper off her life. Fellini’s first colour feature is built like someone handed a subconscious an unlimited costume budget: memories, fantasies, religious shame and erotic panic bleed into one another until “did that actually happen?” becomes a question I kept asking — before realising it was the wrong one.
Almost none of it is about what happens. It’s about what Juliet feels is happening, which turns out to be a lifetime of being quietly erased by marriage, religion and everyone who taught her obedience was a virtue. Suzy isn’t the answer. She’s another fantasy trap: freedom in feathers.
Gorgeous, maddening, and about twenty minutes too in love with itself, Juliet of the Spirits still lands. Not one to half-watch. Pay attention or surrender early.
My favourite Fellini film, in which his "surrealism" is at its most explicit. Don't worry about the plot (thin at best, and its so-called Jungian resolution hardly matters). Instead concentrate on the images (that, at first, accuse and terrorize Juliet) - it doesn't matter if she reaches emotional emancipation, the journey being better than the destination.