Among our (many) favorite pieces by Lillian Ross, who died on Wednesday at the age of 99, is a little story about Federico Fellini, the filmmaker, from 1985, for The New Yorker’s Talk of the Town section.
He came to New York to be honored by the Film Society of Lincoln Center. Ross (and we) tag along with Fellini and his wife, the actress Giuletta Masina; Marcello Mastroianni, the actor; and Anouk Aimée, the actress; along with a few assistants, on a day-trip to Darien, where they’re invited for lunch by Dorothy Cullman, chairman of what Ross refers to on second reference as the F.S. of L.C.
The gang, in “a cavalcade of limos,” makes its way north. Ross sits in back with Fellini, Aimée and Mastroianni; Masina is up front with the driver. Ross writes:
“There were lots of high-spirited ‘Ciao!’s and laughter and the Italian equivalents of ‘Get a horse!’ from those in our limo to those in the one behind us, and then Fellini settled down… ‘This is the first time we are all together in New York,’ he said. ‘And now we go to Conneckticut,’ he added, giving a phonetic rendition that was used comfortably by everybody thereafter…
‘Is that Conneckticut?’ Mastroianni asked, pointing out the window at New Jersey as we drove up the Henry Hudson Parkway. Fellini pointed in the opposite direction, at Grant’s Tomb, and we identified it for him. ‘Cary?’ Miss Aimée asked, looking stricken. We explained Ulysses S., and everybody looked relieved.”
Discussion ensues – about the possibility of changing into bathing suits in Darien, about the making of “La Dolce Vita” – punctured by exclamations – “Look at the trees!,” Mastroianni calls out. “Look! There’s Conneckticut!”
“Not yet, we said,” Ross tells us.
The caravan finally arrives at a white clapboard house built around 1720 that overlooks a perfect lawn with a huge swimming pool that’s like a pond. Out of the limos, “up a white-and-tan pebbled walk Fellini and the gang strode – like characters in a Fellini movie – toward the house,” where they’re greeted by Mrs. Cullman, whom Ross describes:
“She wore an ample peach-and white antique Japanese kimono over a white cotton jumpsuit, and she had on flat-heeled white sandals. On her wrists she wore handsome matching wide antique Indian bracelets of ivory and silver. She extended both hands to the guests. ‘An apparition!’ Fellini whispered in awe… Fellini kissed one of Mrs. Cullman’s outstretched hands, Mastroianni kissed the other, everybody relaxed, and we were off on a Sunday-in-the-country.”
Mrs. Cullman apologizes that Mr. Cullman has just taken their cook, who had suddenly become ill, to the hospital, but assures them there will be lunch.
The gang heads into the house, to a glass-enclosed porch that looks out over the lawn and pool. They snack on crabmeat on apricot halves and pâté on toast.
Mr. Cullman appears, dressed in jeans, sneakers and an Italian striped cotton shirt, and reports that the cook is now healthy and back in the kitchen.
Mrs. Cullman sits down next to Fellini. “I have only two Italian words – molto bene,” she confides. The filmmaker smiles and lifts “a crab-filled apricot half in a gesture of salute to her. ‘Molto bene,’” he says.
Mr. Cullman reappears – he’s changed into “a cream-colored Issey Miyake sweater shirt, cream-colored slacks, and white loafers” – and proceeds to lead the guests on a tour of the house.
“Why all the houses made of wood, not stone, in Connectikut?” Mastroianni asks. “Plenty of wood in this part of the country,” Mr. Cullman says. “I thought wood because the pioneers moved all the time – away from the Indians,” Mastroianni says, acting the part of an Indian shooting an arrow at Mr. Cullman. “Yeah,” Mr. Cullman says.
The gang and its hosts head outside and wander down to the pool. Mrs. Cullman asks who’s for a swim. “Fellini looked at Mastroianni, who looked at Miss Masina,” who turns away from some hanging bells she’s admiring, “and all shook their heads” no.
The group makes its way back to the house, more crabmeat and pâté, and Mrs. Cullman and Fellini get to talking about travel. She notes that Fellini hasn’t spent much time in New York. He tells her that he visited once only to turn around and head back to Italy. He said he came to regret leaving so soon.
“Do you feel when you travel that you’re too close to it, and that later you feel differently about it?” Mrs. Cullman asks.
“Language is the medium for the relationship to reality,” Fellini says, looking apologetic, writes Ross. “If I don’t know the language, I feel lost.”
Lunch follows: “Curried chicken, seafood pasta, steamed mussels, steamed clams, green salad, white wine, three kinds of cake, ice cream, candied-ginger sauce, fresh fruit, and espresso,” Ross reports.
In the limo on the way home, the director of the tribute walks Fellini through the run of show. “It will be pictures, people, pictures, people, et cetera, and at the end, you,” she tells him.
“I want the Rockettes,” Fellini says.
Cut to the next night, at Avery Fisher Hall. Backstage, Fellini runs into Mr. Cullman, who is wearing a tuxedo and bow tie that Ross tells us has “spectacular blue polka dots the size of dimes on a bright-red background.”
“It is the tie of a Connectikut Yankee,” Fellini says knowledgeably.
The tribute “goes off nicely,” says Ross.
She reports that Fellini read a short speech, which we know is lovely, because Ross gives him the last word. There’s a sweetness to his remarks that’s missing from our current age.
“My dear American friends: You are truly a simpatico people, as I always suspected since I was a child… In the small movie house of my village – with two hundred seats and five hundred standing room – I discovered through your films that there existed another way of life, that a country existed of wide-open spaces, of fantastic cities which were like a cross between Babylon and Mars. Perhaps, thinking about it now, the stories were simplistic. However, it was nice to think that despite the conflicts and the pitfalls there was always a happy ending. It was especially wonderful to know that a country existed where people were free, rich, and happy, dancing on the roofs of the skyscrapers, and where even a humble tramp could become President. Perhaps even then it wasn’t really like this. However, I believe that I owe to those flickering shadows from America my decision to express myself through film. And so I, too, made some films and gave life to some flickering shadows, and through them I told the story of my country. And tonight, I am extremely touched to find myself here, together with my beloved actors and honored by the people who inspired me in those old years.”
