Celebrated composer Gustav von Aschenbach (Dirk Bogarde) falls prey to a singular longing of the forbidden variety in Luchino Visconti’s 1971 Death in Venice.   As far as vacations go, this one’s a killer.  As far as escapism goes, this film is immaculately lonesome.  Out among the unscrubed ancient splendor of Italy’s great water-paved Lido, our irritable and soul-weary protagonist descends ever deeper into his torment.  Modulated mostly, Gustav’s temper nevertheless erupts now and then in sideways frustration.  Words are scarcely spoken throughout Death in Venice; plot is nonexistent.   In Venice, the waters flow everywhere.  As advertised, it mainly streams millions of tourists along the picturesque thoroughfares of the majestic city.  But if there’s a dark side to this paradise, that’s the space Gustav…

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