Monica Vitti in Michelangelo Antonioni's "L'Avventura"
Monica Vitti in Michelangelo Antonioni's "L'Avventura"

Instead, "La Notte" languishes in the unspoken intimacies between two people in a long-term relationship, where words are useless and only damaging, and feelings are telegraphed through gestures, sidelong glances, raised eyebrows of suspicion. Through the inward, aching performances of Mastroianni and Moreau, the history of their marriage is written on the faces of Lidia and Giovanni. 

In 1960, Antonioni already denounced speech as an effective tool of communication between people in "L'Avventura" where one character says to another, "Words are becoming less and less necessary. They create misunderstandings." 

So if you're not on board with Antonioni's studies in the "failure of communication," "La Notte" is not for you. 

Hitchcock dismissed most movies as "pictures of people talking." Through the purity of his images, Antonioni not only shared that sentiment but actively explored it. He denounced speech in "L'Avventura," a film that in essence rewrote the rules of narrative as we know them where, like his ambling characters, the story simply wanders off inconclusively into anticlimax.

There is little plot to speak of in "La Notte" but what makes this film more conventional than the rest of Antonioni's is the sense of an ending.

A year before, Fellini made "La Dolce Vita," a lush panorama of Roman decadence full of vigor and life. And in its opening scene, a helicopter carrying a statute of Jesus encircles a city vista. In "La Notte," Giovanni and Lidia stop to pause at a helicopter passing over the hospital. But it bears nothing. There is no god, no hope, only absence and nothing, because if you hope for anything in Antonioni's world, you're as good as dead.

Criterion's gorgeous, crystal-clear 4K transfer retains the grainy celluloid look of a 35mm print. But to have and to hold it on Blu-Ray is something special, encouraging you to look closely at Antonioni's composition as he intended. Supplementing the disc is a sharp essay by New Yorker critic Richard Brody.