THE BEDEKEPER (L'APICULTEUR) has a straightforward plot involving the odyssey of a former schoolteacher Spyros (Marcello Mastrioanni), who embarks on a journey by lorry all over Greece and its islands to chase the honey. He ends up in his former home, now deserted, and frequents a now-deserted cinema. On the way he picks up a young girl (Nadia Mournuzi) with whom he has an on-off affair before she leaves him to embark on her travels once more.
Set during the early spring, Theo Angelopoulos's film evokes a world coming to life after its winter hibernation - of showers, watery sunshine and pinkish sunsets setting over mountainous rural landscapes. Such images of future promise contrast starkly with Spyros's mental state; his beekeeping business is in decline, his wife Anna (Jenny Roussea) no longer lives with him, while he has become estranged from his daughter. It seems that he embarks on an apparently never-ending road trip because he believes he has to rather than of his own own volition.
Unable to express himself except through physical acts, Spyros remains perpetually alienated from the landscape and the people inhabiting it. He visits several local communities, all of whom enjoy collective experiences of sitting outside, sipping their drinks and gossiping happily; but he can never involve himself in their lives. He remains an outsider, the object of cinematographer Giorgos Arvanitis's penetrating gaze.
Despite Mastrioanni's masterly performance notable mostly for its stillness rather than action, L'APICULTEUR proves an unpleasant cinematic experience. Spyros has done something in the past to alienate himself from his family; there is a suggestion that he is a actually a pedophile. On his daughter's wedding day he gathers her up in her arms in such a way as to denote excessive affection; later on he makes love to the girl on the cinema stage by smothering her, in spite of her repeated entreaties to let her go. It's as if he cannot endure the sight of young people as they remind him of his own mortality; hence he needs to deflower them of their innocence.
The cinema-image is also significant, suggesting the desire to exhibit all his seamier qualities in public. Angelopoulous intensifies that sense with a scopophilic obsession with photographing the girl in the nude, the camera lovingly tracking the contours of her body in a series of shots taken from Spyros's point of view. In the end we wonder whether she functions solely as an object of the director's and the leading character's misogyny.
The mood is one of unrelenting intensity that seems particularly redolent of the mid-Eighties, a time when anti-feminism was much more of an issue in Europe than it might be today. L'APICULTEUR 's certainly an art-house film, but one whose shortcomings need to be pointed out.
Set during the early spring, Theo Angelopoulos's film evokes a world coming to life after its winter hibernation - of showers, watery sunshine and pinkish sunsets setting over mountainous rural landscapes. Such images of future promise contrast starkly with Spyros's mental state; his beekeeping business is in decline, his wife Anna (Jenny Roussea) no longer lives with him, while he has become estranged from his daughter. It seems that he embarks on an apparently never-ending road trip because he believes he has to rather than of his own own volition.
Unable to express himself except through physical acts, Spyros remains perpetually alienated from the landscape and the people inhabiting it. He visits several local communities, all of whom enjoy collective experiences of sitting outside, sipping their drinks and gossiping happily; but he can never involve himself in their lives. He remains an outsider, the object of cinematographer Giorgos Arvanitis's penetrating gaze.
Despite Mastrioanni's masterly performance notable mostly for its stillness rather than action, L'APICULTEUR proves an unpleasant cinematic experience. Spyros has done something in the past to alienate himself from his family; there is a suggestion that he is a actually a pedophile. On his daughter's wedding day he gathers her up in her arms in such a way as to denote excessive affection; later on he makes love to the girl on the cinema stage by smothering her, in spite of her repeated entreaties to let her go. It's as if he cannot endure the sight of young people as they remind him of his own mortality; hence he needs to deflower them of their innocence.
The cinema-image is also significant, suggesting the desire to exhibit all his seamier qualities in public. Angelopoulous intensifies that sense with a scopophilic obsession with photographing the girl in the nude, the camera lovingly tracking the contours of her body in a series of shots taken from Spyros's point of view. In the end we wonder whether she functions solely as an object of the director's and the leading character's misogyny.
The mood is one of unrelenting intensity that seems particularly redolent of the mid-Eighties, a time when anti-feminism was much more of an issue in Europe than it might be today. L'APICULTEUR 's certainly an art-house film, but one whose shortcomings need to be pointed out.