“A revealing and enticing glimpse into the life of a woman whose reputation has become borderline mythological.”

There are many who consider Eleonora Duse to be the greatest actor in history (where her very name is considered shorthand for intensity, quality and a specific dramatic flair), which some may find quite bewildering, based on the fact that she’s not as widely discussed as some other more notable names. The reason is accessibility – while writers, painters and composers left their work behind for us to view in posterity, Duse existed during a period when all acting was done on stage, meaning that the only evidence we have of her immense, astronomical talents is found in the testimonies of those who were witness to her incredible work, which has created a very particular image of her as perhaps the world’s most respected thespian. While not entirely obscure as a result of the folklore surrounding her, Duse’s story is not as widely celebrated as it perhaps ought to be, especially outside her native Italy, where she is still revered as a cultural icon, whose impact on the arts has never wavered, the very mention of her evoking pure, unhinged artistry and the continued pursuit of perfection right until the end of your life.

This led Pietro Marcello to take another voyage into the past, taking us back to the years following the end of the First World War, where we witness the final few years in her life, particularly in her triumphant return to the stage, which was complicated by a degenerative disease that would eventually end her life. Marcello has a knack for these historical dramas that oscillate between epic and intimate, and while it may not reach the heights of something like Martin Eden (widely considered one of his best films, particularly as a period drama), Duse is still quite a fascinating achievement, a complex and engaging character study about a woman seeking the glory that she used to bask in, and being reminded of the enormous challenges that come with balancing professional and domestic duties. While we tend to think of it as a relatively recent phenomenon, the concept of celebrity has existed much longer than we imagine. This is where we find Duse starting a conversation around the legacy of the titular character, who is not only revered today as one of the most important stage performers of all time, but highly respected during her time. However, what is interesting about Marcello’s approach is that he refuses to make some fawning biographical story of her life – instead of setting it during her peak, he chooses to focus on the final decade of her life, from the tail-end of the First World War to her death in 1924, a period in which she encountered some enormous challenges, some of which she managed to overcome, others eventually leading to her death at a relatively young age.

Marcello is not interested in wall-to-wall adulation – it would have been extremely easy to just focus on her peak, but in the process we’d lose all the qualities that make this such a wonderfully endearing, captivating work. There is something quite entrancing about how he approaches his subject, presenting Duse as a woman caught somewhere between self-confidence and delusion, someone who has struggled to realise that she’s no longer as beloved as she was before, and instead is viewed as a remnant of the past, albeit one that is still very much respected. Her attempts to revive her career through resting on her laurels work momentarily, and only as a novelty, with the proclamation that the “Divine Duse” is making her triumphant return to the stage quickly being replaced by the realisation that she’s past her prime. Yet, it still has enough respect for the protagonist to show that, in spite of how it is intentionally trying to cast a more critical shadow over her throughout the film.

However, as much as we may attempt to explore the deeper themes around which this film revolves, nothing can prepare us for the performance delivered by Valeria Bruni Tedeschi, whose portrayal of the titular diva is beyond description. Tedeschi not only plays to the rafters, she performs for the heavens, delivering a version of Duse that is simply impossible to put into words, and only enriches the film, making it an immediate sensation. She takes a challenging character and turns her into the definition of a spectacle, a daring and provocative performance that feels complex even from a distance, and becomes all the more compelling when we see it in action. It’s difficult to pinpoint precisely what it is that makes this such a wonderfully engaging performance – by traditional metrics, it should technically be considered too intense and over-the-top (In the words of Joel Schumacher, “no one ever paid to see under-the-top”, and Tedeschi is proof of this principle), yet the film that surrounds her is smart enough to spend enough time developing her version of the character that this all ultimately makes a lot of sense.

There’s something incredibly interesting about how Tedeschi chooses to interpret Duse, especially since she goes for the hysterics when playing a woman known for her subtlety, even in the most intense moments, but it all feels quite compelling when handled by Marcello, whose commitment to bringing this story to life complemented Tedeschi’s more eccentric work in ways that are genuinely quite surprising, if not wholeheartedly engaging. The film is accompanied by some genuinely gorgeous filmmaking – the colour grading and composition of almost every shot is exquisite, and feels like we are being transported back to the era in which the film is set, elevating it beyond mere recreation and instead allowing it to flourish into an experience all on its own. The score is impeccable, with the mix of classical and more modern styles of music creating a pulsating score that underlines the intense nature of this film and its protagonist, quite a strong contrast that the film explores beautifully. Marcello has a great eye for detail, and Duse is an exceptionally well-made film, even at its most extravagant, where we aren’t only able to forgive the hysterics that populate the film, but outright embrace them.

Duse is a film that will certainly be considered something of an acquired taste, a bold and daring exploration of a woman whose face is plastered across museums, theatres and academic institutions, and whose name is associated with the gold standard in her medium. Yet, instead of being anchored by reverence, the film is focused on exploring her as a flawed individual, someone whose own shortcomings are difficult to ignore, but also do not disqualify her from being considered a genius in every sense of the word. Marcello makes some bold decisions (as does his leading star, who takes the opportunity to play this beloved icon very seriously, almost to the point where the spectacle of her intense, exaggerated performance becomes absolutely essential), but he never allows the film to become unnecessarily overblown, choosing to embrace the madness rather than retreat from it, which makes an enormous difference. Perhaps it is going to be more appreciated by those with a penchant for excessive acting that is allowed to spiral out of control on one too many occasions, but Duse is nonetheless a revealing, enticing glimpse into the life of a woman whose reputation has become borderline mythological, but is here unravelled by a director who is entirely committed to showing the layers that lurk beneath the surface.