The story follows (Vanessa Redgrave) and Guglielmo (Jimmy Page), two restless, wealthy, and profoundly alienated lovers. They decide to escape the political chaos of urban Italy (the film was shot during actual student riots and factory strikes) by taking a trip into the countryside. They drive an open-top sports car, wear the height of 1970s fashion, and seem to embody the jet-set dream.
For now, your best bet is to seek out the 2002 Italian DVD (Region 2, no English subtitles) or the rare British VHS from 1989 titled The Vacation: A Film by Tinto Brass . Beware of YouTube uploads—they are invariably taken from a fifth-generation copy of the French broadcast, with the Jimmy Page guitar solo badly compressed. La Vacanza is not a film you watch for entertainment. It is a film you endure, then contemplate. It asks uncomfortable questions: What happens when you get everything you want? What happens when freedom of movement reveals the immobility of the soul? And why would one of the greatest guitarists of all time choose to spend nine weeks on an Italian soundstage, saying almost nothing, while the world demanded Stairway to Heaven ? The Vacation -La Vacanza- - Tinto Brass 1971 -S...
Brass uses architecture as a weapon. The hotel where the couple stays is a Fascist-era building: cold, symmetrical, inhuman. The couple walks through its corridors like prisoners. The famous “vacation” locales—the beach, the mountains, the piazza—are all framed as traps. In a bravura sequence, Brass films the couple from the bottom of a swimming pool. Their voices are muffled. They wave at each other but cannot hear. It is a perfect metaphor for the film’s theme: communication failed before it began. The story follows (Vanessa Redgrave) and Guglielmo (Jimmy
Below is a comprehensive, deep-dive article into the film La Vacanza (internationally known as The Vacation ), directed by Tinto Brass in 1971. Introduction: The Strangest Film of a Provocateur’s Career When cinephiles hear the name Tinto Brass , they immediately think of Caligula (1979) or his later “erotic-comic” masterpieces like The Key (1983) and Paprika (1991). They envision extreme close-ups of posterior anatomy, liberated women, and a baroque, almost carnivalesque celebration of hedonism. For now, your best bet is to seek
Immacolata is bored to the point of catatonia. Guglielmo is a silent, brooding presence who communicates more with his guitar (playing a haunting, unreleased solo composed specifically for the film) than with his lover. They stop at a gas station, a hotel, a deserted beach. Nothing happens in the traditional narrative sense. Instead, Brass turns the camera into a voyeuristic scalpel.
The “vacation” becomes a slow, methodical dissection of the couple’s failure to connect. They speak past each other. They have sex not out of passion, but out of habit. In one excruciating 12-minute long take (Brass’s homage to Antonioni), Immacolata watches Guglielmo sleep while a television in the room broadcasts news of a political assassination. The sound of the TV bleeds into her internal monologue. She smiles. Not with joy, but with the grim recognition that violence outside mirrors the emptiness inside.