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Many have ranked Vittorio De Sica’s LADRI DI BICICLETTE (THE BICYCLE THIEF in the U.S., BICYCLE THIEVES in the U.K.) as one of the premiere films of all time. When the British magazine Sight & Sound first conducted its definitive survey of the top critics around the world in 1952, the film had already made such an impression that it was voted the greatest film in history. When the survey was done ten years later, it had fallen to sixth and by 1972 it was no longer on the list. However, the most recent polling year in 2002, directors were polled and the film made their top ten.

I begin my review this way, because it shows over time styles have fallen out of style and how critics have changed with the times. But when directors are asked, they choose the simplicity of De Sica’s style. Often collaborating with writer Cesare Zavattini, whom was nominated for his work on this film, De Sica often chose non-professional actors to play characters close to themselves. The plot is simple; a man named Antonio (Lamberto Maggiorani, UMBERTO D.) desperately needs a job. When he gets one, the only stipulation is that he needs a bike; unfortunately Antonio has pawned his bike. His wife Maria (Lianella Carell, ZITELLONI, I) pawns their linens to get the bike back. Brimming with pride, Antonio heads out on his first day of work, but then a young man steals his bike. The next day, Antonio, along with his plucky son Bruno (Enzo Staiola, THE BAREFOOT CONTESSA), goes out to look for the bike. The family’s survival depends on it.

De Sica chronicles the brutal reality of unfairness that plagues the poor. The lines of the employment office are filled with men willing to take any job, but if they aren’t on the right list they aren’t eligible for just any job. A bricklayer can’t have the poster-pasting job that Antonio receives, because he is a bricklayer and that’s the list he is on. Antonio pastes glamorous Rita Hayworth posters on the walls of buildings, symbolizing the stark difference between the neorealism of this film and the glitz of Hollywood’s view of life. For a wealthy person, a stolen bike is an inconvenience, but for Antonio, it could be the event that pushes him and his family off the edge into an uncontrollable spiral. Could it lead to Antonio becoming a thief himself?

At one point, a frustrated Antonio lashes out at Bruno and is soon reminded of what is really precious in life. With what little money he has, he takes his son out to a restaurant where a rich little boy stares at Bruno for the way he eats. Antonio jokes that you have to make at least a million lira a year to eat that way. The scene is a short reprieve from their desperation, but it only reminds them of how important getting the bike back is. When hope is at its bleakest for the poor, there is always someone there to take advantage. Maria wants to thank an arrogant Wise Woman for predicting that her husband would get a job, but the same Wise Woman has nothing to say to Antonio about his lost bike. The police are little help and even religion is looked upon as less of a real help than a temporary band-aid.

Stripped of artifice, BICYCLE THIEF plays like a parable, presenting simple, yet hard truths. With little dialogue, much of the film’s message and emotion is told through its beautiful black & white photography. With the title cluing us in, the story hints at what is to come and De Sica grips us with anticipation, dreading the tragedy we know is certain. And that’s just it; a stolen bike represents so much about human tragedy in this masterpiece of neorealism. For everyone, no matter where we come from, life puts cruelly unfair roadblocks in the way of our dreams. That’s what makes Antonio’s story so universal. But when you’re at the bottom of the economic ladder, once you fall off the bottom rung, you end up in the gutter. A place where opportunities drown. This sobering classic reminds us that there are non-melodrama tragedies happening to average people every day.

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