The Bicycle Thieves: This is the Taste of Unemployment

The sensation of unemployment is something that those who haven't undergone it may struggle to comprehend fully.

First, there was humiliation. Being called into an empty conference room in front of everyone, whether it's with kind words or business-like manners, can be a huge blow and shock, leaving one dazed and disoriented. A short walkway suddenly becomes a "shame parade." It's polite to quietly pack up and leave, but if any colleagues come to say goodbye, even the most sincere and considerate words of comfort with regrets will be distorted into the background noise of pity and ridicule, making you messy and confused.

Following unemployment, denial sets in. The mind, overwhelmed and unable to process, goes blank, forming an impassable divide between the past and the present. Once the initial shock subsides, there's an irresistible urge to revisit and analyze what led to this misfortune. Was it fate or merely a rare occurrence? Is there still a chance for a turnaround? Could it be just a temporary setback? Perhaps it's all just a bad dream – a plea to wake up, reassuring oneself that nothing has occurred, and that eventually, everything will revert to normal.

Denying failure is followed by despair. How can fate be so unkind, always tripping us up and causing one stumble after another? The worries of parents, the judgments of peers, and the complaints of loved ones create an endless cycle of human suffering that seems to have no end. Amidst repeated self-denial and doubt, it's easy to conclude that we are mediocre in ability, dull in personality, and narrow-minded. While it's not necessarily a matter of blaming others or giving up on ourselves, our confidence is shattered, our pride is gone, and we feel overwhelmed with depression, unable to move forward. How should a person who has lost their job cope with life? What kind of dead ends do society and fate push people into?

“The Bicycle Thieves,” a representative work of Italian Neorealism, starts with Antonio, who has been unemployed for two years, finally finding a job posting posters. Post-World War II Italy is in shambles, struggling to make ends meet, and high unemployment rates have plunged Rome into poverty and panic. Every job is fiercely competed for. Antonio's newly acquired job posting posters require him to ride a bicycle. To do this job, Maria, Antonio's wife, pawned the only valuable dowry sheet, and the family had to sleep on the mattress without sheets. They redeemed their old bicycle that they had previously pawned for food. For Antonio, this broken-down bike is a major lifeline for the whole family and the only hope for changing their fate.

Antonio's six-year-old son Bruno treasures his father's dilapidated bicycle. He polishes it every day, memorizing even the smallest dent. His admiration for his father is written all over his face. In the early morning, the father and son both wear rough overalls to work, each carrying a lunch made by their mother in their pocket - a smile on their faces, full of vigour - a new day, a day with work and income, is about to begin.

Antonio, in contrast to the innocent and adorable Bruno, has multiple layers in the film. He was extremely excited when he first found a job, but as soon as he heard that he needed a bicycle, he immediately freaked out. He sighed and groaned like a child in front of his wife, Maria, waiting for her to come up with a solution. After his bike was stolen, he was panic-stricken and sought help from his friend who worked as a garbage truck driver to regain some stability.

As hope gradually faded away, his anxiety and despair grew stronger until it became more than just a matter of livelihood - it was about a father's dignity and image in the eyes of his child. When this dignity faced unprecedented blows in the face of merciless life, his frustration turned into restlessness, and innocent Bruno became the target of his anger. However, once Bruno's safety became the top priority, paternal love immediately triumphed over everything else. This tall man was flustered and almost fawning over the still angry little one by his side.

Lamberto Maggiorani, the amateur actor who played Antonio, was a blue-collar worker before he became famous. His slightly sunken cheeks and the way his forehead wrinkled when he spoke made people sigh in silence. But what was most memorable were his eyes, which held a kind of seemingly calm yet silently surging sadness, soaked with many unspoken restraints.

Antonio's unique sadness was not the product of romantic sentimentality, but rather the exhaustion that seeped out from within after enduring the harshest blows of life. This was accompanied by an unconscious physical weariness. Antonio always moved slowly. When his car was stolen, he didn't immediately chase after it, but stood there in a daze for a few seconds, allowing the thief and his accomplices to escape; he rushed after an old man begging for food with Bruno in tow, but was always one step behind; his movements were extremely heavy, as if he had to break free from some invisible obstacle before finally taking that step. Such a thin, tall, slow, and melancholic character, while exhaustedly fighting against fate, also had to strive to maintain the illusion of being all-powerful in Bruno's eyes. This made the brief moment of happiness between him and Bruno in the restaurant during the increasingly worsening series of events even brighter and more precious, while at the same time enhancing the severity and destructiveness of the subsequent emergencies.

In addition to the main storyline of Antonio and Bruno looking for a bike, the movie also skilfully incorporates criticism of reality into the supporting characters and scene arrangements. The pitiful mother of the car thief is a typical lower-class woman who is fiercely protective of her child. When faced with Antonio's questions, she can be aggressive, but as soon as she encounters the police, who represent state power, she immediately becomes submissive. Although she glares at them, she ultimately allows them to search her dilapidated home. The old man who partners with the thief to sell the stolen goods is shabby and tattered on the one hand, easily intimidated by Antonio's threats and willing to confess everything; on the other hand, he is cunning and sly, quickly disappearing right away. In the aftermath of war, with both government and religious salvation routes blocked, what other options did the impoverished masses in Italy have, besides stealing and robbing, in a large city like Rome where wealth disparity was severe?

The original work of “The Bicycle Thieves” was created by Italian painter, writer, and poet Luigi Bartolini in 1946. The film adaptation was directed by Italian director Vittorio De Sica and released in 1948. Over half a century later, the world has experienced a new electronic technology industrial revolution, creating unprecedented wealth and miracles. However, at the same time, the employment situation has not improved qualitatively. “The Bicycle Thieves” of 1948 is far from being irrelevant in reality. It vividly portrays the most concrete images of unemployment and poverty for all, reminding us that countries and governments must be committed to social justice and fairness in institutions, and must be committed to the rational and fair distribution of wealth, rather than the opposite.

The most heart-wrenching scene in the movie is the last 50 seconds, where Antonio and Bruno are pushed along with the crowd, aimlessly moving forward. De Sica's lighting for this scene is truly astonishing. The sunset at the entrance of the alley first quickly passes over Antonio's right cheek. In that moment of light and shadow intertwining, Antonio is still doing his best to maintain his composure. The camera switches to Bruno, who has tears and sweat on his face, looking up at his tall father with wide eyes. The next second, the sunlight disappears. Antonio looks down at his son, who is holding his hand tightly as they walk together. All the grievances, hardships, despair, guilt, helplessness, and regrets converge in that instant, rushing to his brow. At that moment, Antonio breaks down and cries.

This tall, strong man who has been running around all day finally breaks down in front of his six-year-old son. The camera shifts back to Bruno, who keeps looking up at his father. Meanwhile, Antonio's rough big hand tightly grips Bruno's small one. The father and son duo say nothing, they just aimlessly keep walking forward.

The taste of unemployment is the sensation of being pushed and squeezed by life, aimlessly rolling and crawling in bone-chilling darkness. It involves treading upon shame, pressure, and confusion with razor-sharp knives, all while carrying the unwavering determination to shoulder family and responsibilities. It manifests as a silent, stone-like silence following continuous trauma, blows, denial, and despair. It's the tears that Antonio couldn't hold back on his face and the fear of an uncertain future in Bruno's eyes.

In moments like these, facing such harsh realities, what else is there to do? Beyond shedding tears, what other options remain?