"Fog of Myself" | In the cinema of Michelangelo Antonioni and Theo Angelopoulos

In the cinema of Michelangelo Antonioni and Theo Angelopoulos, we encounter a profound exploration of the existential void, the clash between individual consciousness and a world devoid of inherent meaning. These filmmakers invite us to traverse the barren landscapes of the human soul, presenting characters engulfed by an unbearable sense of isolation and the crushing weight of an existence that appears absurd and meaningless. Through the lens of existential philosophy—particularly the works of Sartre and Camus—this article seeks to analyze the interrelation between existential angst, cinematic imagery, and the photographic choices employed by Antonioni and Angelopoulos. Here, the camera not only captures but also interprets the depths of human despair, bringing into question both the nature of reality and the gaze that confronts it.

Jean-Paul Sartre’s Nausea introduces a world where the individual is overwhelmed by the palpable awareness of their own existence. This nausea is not just an emotional response but an existential condition, a confrontation with the absurdity of being. In the cinema of Antonioni, especially in L’Avventura and Red Desert, we witness this very nausea manifest on screen. The protagonists, trapped in worlds of emotional and physical desolation, echo Sartre’s notion of existential sickness, a sense of discomfort that arises from the awareness that life, devoid of meaning, is ultimately absurd.

Antonioni’s characteristic framing and his approach to space are intrinsic to this concept of nausea. His use of wide, desolate landscapes in L’Avventura, the barren coastlines and vast, empty skies, creates a visual metaphor for the emotional emptiness of his characters. These vast, unfocused spaces contribute to an aesthetic of alienation, where the human subject appears infinitesimal in comparison to the infinite void around them. The landscape, so often a silent witness in Antonioni’s work, mirrors the inner turmoil of the characters, who are confronted with their own insignificance in a world that provides no answers.

Similarly, Theo Angelopoulos’s films—particularly Landscape in the Mist and The Travelling Players—employ long, meditative takes of barren, timeless landscapes that evoke the same sense of existential alienation. However, Angelopoulos’s framing is more expansive, often utilizing the horizon as a space where the human figure seems lost in a sea of history and time. His camera moves slowly, almost reluctantly, like a mind weighing the enormity of its own thoughts, its gaze traversing the physical and emotional spaces between individuals, communities, and the past.

In both Antonioni and Angelopoulos, the absurdity of existence is compounded by a historical dimension that seems to trap the individual in a never-ending loop. In Red Desert, Antonioni intertwines personal alienation with the destructive force of modernity, depicting a world where technological advancement exacerbates the existential isolation of his characters. The industrial landscapes are both symbols of progress and harbingers of an irreversible loss of innocence, reflecting Camus’s Myth of Sisyphus—where the human condition is reduced to an endless struggle against an indifferent universe.

Angelopoulos, however, introduces a deeper historical perspective. His characters are often caught in the grip of political and historical forces that they cannot escape. In The Travelling Players, the camera is not merely a passive observer but an active participant in the narrative of history. As it slowly tracks the movement of characters through time, it reflects the Greek tragedies that have shaped their lives, reinforcing the idea that personal despair is inextricably linked with the collective fate of nations. The human face becomes a battleground for historical forces, and Angelopoulos’s long takes and slow zooms evoke the slow march of time, where the past is never fully past, and the future is always uncertain.

Both Antonioni and Angelopoulos employ space not just as a visual element but as a philosophical inquiry into the nature of perception. Antonioni’s use of wide, empty spaces forces the viewer into a contemplation of the void. His characters seem dwarfed by the immense, uncaring spaces they inhabit, mirroring Sartre’s conception of human existence as a confrontation with nothingness. In L’Avventura, the vast Mediterranean landscape becomes a metaphor for the inner emptiness of the characters, who search for meaning but find only silence. Antonioni’s camera lingers on the horizon, as if waiting for something—perhaps an answer, or perhaps the very moment in which the characters will give up the search entirely.

Angelopoulos’s approach to space is equally meditative but infused with a more profound sense of history. His use of wide, panoramic shots often features characters in the distance, as though they are ants caught in the vast web of time. The long takes that define his cinematic style compel the viewer to linger on the futility of human endeavor, reinforcing the idea that existence itself is a slow, inevitable drift toward an unknown conclusion. In Landscape in the Mist, the film opens with a journey toward an unattainable place, echoing the impossibility of true transcendence. The search for something better, for meaning, is a journey that leads nowhere but deeper into the labyrinth of existence.

The photographic choices of both filmmakers reveal an essential truth about the human condition: we are caught between time, memory, and the absurd. In Antonioni’s work, the frame often isolates the human subject from the background, emphasizing the void between them. His use of color in Red Desert—a muted palette of industrial greys and unnatural greens—further emphasizes the alienation of his characters, as though they are part of a world that they cannot reconcile with. The color scheme becomes a reflection of the psychological state of his protagonists, mirroring their inner desolation.

n contrast, Angelopoulos uses the long shot to encapsulate the passage of time in a way that recalls the philosophical treatment of memory and history. His films are imbued with the sense that time is not linear but cyclical, a never-ending loop that traps the individual in a moment that has no resolution. His long, unbroken takes create a rhythm that mimics the experience of time itself—unforgiving, continuous, and indifferent to human effort.

Through Antonioni and Angelopoulos, we witness a cinema that transcends mere narrative storytelling. These directors, through their photographic choices, spatial configurations, and slow, deliberate pacing, force the viewer to confront the absurdity of existence. Both filmmakers depict characters who are caught in a never-ending search for meaning in a world that offers no answers, their journeys echoing the existential quest for significance in a universe that remains silent.

In this shared vision of the absurd, the photographic eye becomes not just a tool of representation but a philosophical instrument that interrogates the very nature of being. Antonioni’s desolate landscapes and Angelopoulos’s historical panoramas invite us to question not only the meaning of the images before us but also the nature of our own gaze as spectators. In this way, the cinema of Antonioni and Angelopoulos serves as a mirror to our own existential dilemmas, reflecting back to us the profound, unavoidable truth of our absurd existence.