Britain

90 THE HERALD (Glasgow) • Hannah McGill

The documentary Fellini: I'm a Born Liar is not to be missed. Composed of interviews with the great Italian director himself, as well as collaborators such as Terence Stamp and Donald Sutherland, this is an expertly judged and beautifully made document. Fellini's eloquent descriptions of his own development and working processes reveal extraordinary insight, not only into film-making, but into art and artists across all disciplinary boundaries...

90 THE TELEGRAPH (London) • S. F. Said

For sheer entertainment value, Fellini I'm a Born Liar is as good as any fiction but then the late Italian director was forever mythologising himself. Damian Pettigrew's documentary benefits from extensive clips from Fellini's oeuvre, as well as marvellous footage of the master at work. There is a lengthy, probing interview in which Fellini is sometimes contradictory, sometimes self-deceiving, but always entertaining. This is neatly played off against the recollections of collaborators, including Terence Stamp and Donald Sutherland, which are alternately affectionate and appalled...

90 56th EDINBURGH INTERNATIONAL FILM FESTIVAL • Shane Danielson, Artistic Director

Documentaries on cinema tend, as a rule, to the hagiographic (or, occasionally, to the exploitive) rather than the truly illuminating. One must therefore commend Damian Pettigrew on his achievement here: a feature-length study of one of the greatest filmmakers of the 20th C, and one which illuminates its subject with a rare acuity and precision. Centred upon a lengthy interview with the maestro himself - in which he candidly discusses seemingly every aspect of his life and work, from his early life, to his relationship with Italian culture, to the inspiration behind his later films - it's also distinguished by superior production values (befitting its subject, it looks magnificent) and a measured, authoritative tone. Tellingly, many of the cameos prove almost as fascinating as the man himself: the late Italian novelist Italo Calvino, for example, makes a noteworthy appearance, predictably wise about the distinction between truth and fiction, as does a somewhat haunted Donald Sutherland (who asserts, rather nastily, that Fellini "is constantly threatened by his own superficiality"), and a wary Terence Stamp.

Fellini's great gift as a filmmaker was his connection to the fabric of everyday Italian life: when this faltered - as in much of his post-1966 output - his films became increasingly baroque and mannered. His reputation suffered and he seemed to founder both creatively and personally. Pettigrew's documentary is clearly made from the perspective of a fan, an admirer, and so he takes care to remind us, from the very beginning, of his subject's genius via a series of indelible images from his films, vignettes freighted with referential power.

We also see some remarkable behind-the-scenes footage of the man at work, clearly enjoying himself immensely as he gives lines to one of his actors, or checks the lighting on a shot. There is something wonderfully comforting about the sight of the director at these moments, happy and engaged, bundled in his trademark hat, overcoat and scarf, as iconic an image of directorial genius as the silhouette of Hitchcock. Somehow, you emerge from this study even more fond of its subject then when you entered it - which, for any documentary, constitutes a rare and remarkable achievement.

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