![]() Sal was always intense and expressive, and sometimes prone to anger and moods. Sal - or Salvatore - was as Italian in ancestry as I was Norwegian. I used to have long discussions with friend and colleague Sal Caputo, who was pop music critic for the newspaper I worked for. When focused, as in La Dolce Vita and 8½, he was one of the three or four greatest filmmakers of all, and even when he was noodling in fevered Fellini-Land, still provided indelible visions and emotions. As he once said, “Even if I set out to make a film about a fillet of sole, it would be about me.” It gave him the secret of breaking out of the Neo-Realist mold and find his own way, but it also let him wander off into a sometimes almost solipsistic dream world of images and obsessions. As is so often the case, Fellini’s best and worst were manifestations of the same thing - his ability and his need to put himself into his films.
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