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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