Part I: Ethics of Excavation - 'La Chimera' and Constructing Concern
A preface and a few dedicatory notes to 'La Chimera'
This is the first section of a larger essay, which I will post in three parts. This film introduced me to a plethora of ideas which did not comfortably fit into a singular Substack essay. This is not a ‘series’, instead it is a complete essay divided into three sections for the sake of digestibility, but please do be cautious that there are no re-introductions/conclusions at the beginning/end of each part.
Due to the nature of the beginning of this piece being a review/deep analysis of the themes discussed in the film, I unfortunately cannot avoid ‘spoilers’. However, I pray that you do take this as an initiative to watch ‘'La Chimera’ as soon as possible (now available on streaming) - it is beautiful both aesthetically and emotionally - I promise, you will not regret it!
A few months ago I had the privilege (although the state of my makeup when the lights turned on may suggest otherwise) of watching Alice Rohrwacher’s new film, ‘La Chimera’ in the theatre. I knew I had to watch the film from the first promotion I saw; a beautiful landscape of Etruscan artefacts surrounding themes of love and loss, death and rebirth. What I did not know was the extent to which ‘La Chimera’ would affect me as an ancient history student and all round classics admirer in general.
The main thesis Rohrwacher proposes towards the latter stages of the film is that the world of archeology has become a monopoly which in part disregards the mysticism and importance of the beliefs of the original owners of the artefacts, and bodies, now being sold for immeasurable amounts. Beneath this too there is concern for the excavation of tombs in general - why disturb resting souls for the sake of our present satisfaction (and, for at least someone, profit?)
Leaving the theatre I was overwhelmed with the thought that the things which I’ve studied (and overtly express my love and respect for) for the past four years, the likes of the mass burial grave in Athens etc. - were stained with immorality and disrespect. Thus leading me to write this essay, first approaching ‘La Chimera’ as a piece of cinema and my opinions on the film alongside the message within the work itself. More so I wish to seize the emotion which the film invoked in me to take a closer look at the ethics of archeology and provide an array of approaches with the hopes of providing at least some sense of closure for both me and my dear reader with regards to historicising the present-come-past.
Some thoughts on La Chimera
As ‘La Chimera’ is at the core of this piece, I wish to utilise the too-often- ‘useless’ skill of my humanities background to explore some of the key elements of the film, (semi) absent of applied ethics.
I approached the theatre under the impression that I would enjoy ‘La Chimera’ for purely aesthetic purposes: from the colour palette in the promotional videos, the buzzwords ‘archeologist’ and ‘Etruscan’ in the synopsis along with the narrative - which seemed subtly reminiscent of Orpheus and Eurydice to me. Mid-way through viewing I realised this is not what made the film important to me, but instead the underlying question: is archeology ethical?
This revelation ran through my blood and into my tear ducts during, arguably, one of the most climactic scenes: the ‘tombaroli’ (a group of grave-robbers) discover a tomb which contains a statue, later acting as a symbol of the monopolisation of artefacts in the world of modern art. Before viewers learn this, they are presented with three still shots depicting frescoes inside of the tomb, each only no longer than two seconds, all exhibiting the same thing - the preserved state of the paint immediately deteriorating due to oxygen exposure upon the opening of the tomb. Subsequently, I broke into an uncontrollable state of tears.
I believe what upset me the most about this was the emphasis of the immediacy of damage which these (albeit in the film, illegal) ‘excavations’ impose upon ancient artefacts. When learning about such things in real life, the first snippet of information we are told is the approximate date, and how this affects our perception of the object; ‘it has existed for so long, of course it will be subject to decay.’ But these three seconds made me recognise that it is not necessarily time which we are to blame for the damage, but our own intervention.
The title, ‘La Chimera’, connotes a dream or unrealistic hope of an individual. This is presumably referencing the main character’s, Arthur (Josh O’Connor), dream to reunite with his deceased lover, Beniamina (Yle Vianello). Many other dictionaries label the chimera as being ‘unlikely to be fulfilled.’ Britannica goes as far as claiming that a chimera is something “that exists only in the imagination and is not possible in reality.” These all embody a pessimistic approach towards the hopes and dreams of not only Arthur but of the state of the archeological-art world as expressed through the mysticism of ‘Spartaco’ (Alba Rohrwacher) the ‘lord’ of the tombaroli.
In the latter stages of the film, viewers come to realise that the reason the tombaroli sack tombs of the dead is to fulfil the international art market, and the artefacts which are uncovered are sold on an ostentatious yacht-auction for indescribable amounts. This in and of itself is overtly immoral and I felt overwhelmingly saddened at the potentiality that the after-life is repeatedly disturbed for materialistic gain, which really made me reconcile with the ‘unlikely hope’ the title references.
One (most) may hope for peace in the afterlife, and attempt to obtain it through a burial alongside certain objects of personal and cultural value; but it is unlikely. Ancient cultures would place artefacts alongside their bodies to aid their journey into the afterlife (ironically, the most remembered amongst pop culture today is the understanding that people would be buried with money or a coin in their mouth.) Perhaps the ‘chimera’ not only references Arthurs hope but the ‘unlikely’ hope of the dead too. A hope not only to successfully reach the after-life, but to remain with their possessions and the value which they contain even in death, something that will remain utterly unanswerable to humanity for all of time regardless of our moral or immoral intervention.
Another message that struck me was the dread which the minor love interest, Italia (Carol Duarte), has with regards to the intervention of humans in the affairs of the dead. Upon realising that Arthur is a part of the illegal gang of grave robbers, she exclaims that the objects which they steal are ‘not made for human eyes.’ This is something which Arthur repeats during the climatic scene of the film, holding the head of a stolen statue. A comment on a Letterboxd post (of course) informed me that this line, “Tu non sei fatta per gli occhi degli uomini”, translates better to ‘you are not made for the eyes of man.’ Both translations embody the same message - I personally prefer the somewhat more traditional syntax of the latter. Yet the use of ‘human’ in the certified English translation emphasises the intervention of the realm of the lively into the realm of the dead which is presented by Italia as a line which has been dangerously and selfishly crossed.
This was the main ethical, and in part philosophical, dilemma that I was left questioning at the end of the film. Are we allowed to disturb the dead? How long must pass until disturbing them is permissible? Do we have an obligation to respect the beliefs of those so long deceased? Is the intellectual benefit gained from excavations more important than those beliefs? Is there truly any intellectual benefit at all or is it truly for financial profit? and ultimately: is archeology ethical?
Whilst ‘La Chimera’ is without a doubt my top film of this year, and I recognise it withholds a multitude of other artistic merits which I cannot fit into this piece - these are the main questions I wish to shine at least a hint of light on throughout the rest of this essay, which from hereon shall concern the ethics of archeology rather than a continuation of the review for the film that inspired my research into the topic.
as a fellow lover of the film, I absolutely enjoyed this first essay. I prefer the translation "you were not made for the eyes of a man" as well. I personally felt Rohrwacher seems to pin manic greed as a primally "male" quality. A subtle commentary on the violating nature of male chauvinism. Italia is the only one who outrightly criticizes the tombaroli. At the end, Fabriana is the only one out of the tombaroli who kind of redeems herself, and pulls away from their clutches, apart from Arthur. The statue they find is also of a female goddess. But I do find it interesting that ultimately, Spartaco is in fact not a man, but a woman. That greed stemmed from a place of patriarchy but has encroached upon the entirety of mankind in this modern age, if that makes sense?
Soooo interesting!! Reminds me of the old addage: if a tree falls in the woods and noone is there to hear it, did it really make a sound? Makes me wonder if we should disturb ancient artefacts in order to be able to view them, even if this means damaging them! Great start to the essay :)