Replenishing Sophia

Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow. There is more to Sophia Loren than meets the eye, and Director Vittorio De Sica is the man who sees it. In Gold of Naples he showed the world that Sophia is socko as a liedown comic. In Two Women he gave the girl an accelerated course of Duse and don'ts that revealed enough talent for tragedy to win her a 1961 Oscar. And in this picture, a hairily hilarious but fundamentally innocent little comedy, De Sica displays Sophia as a warm and earthy and even rather subtle comedienne.

In Adelina, longest of the three short films assembled in Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow, Sophia plays a local girl who makes good by selling butts on the black market. Grimly the carabinieri come to arrest her. Proudly Sophia points to her tummy. She is pregnant, and Italian law provides that a pregnant woman may not be imprisoned--and neither may a nursing mother.

Boing! A big idea explodes in Sophia's pretty little skull: if she wants to stay in business, she had better stay with child. Next time the carabinieri come, Sophia once more proudly points--and the next time and the next. In approximately seven years she has seven babies, but before she can make it eight her husband (Marcello Mastroianni) collapses in sexhaustion. "Goodbye," she bellows scornfully at poor Marcello as she is led away to prison. "Goodbye, you fairy!"

In Anna, a brief intermezzo, Sophia plays a rich bitch who tries to persuade her bohemian lover that she doesn't care a fig for her husband's filthy lucre and all the disgusting bourgeois things it can buy. Like, say, the Rolls-Royce they are riding in. "Here, take the wheel," she announces grandly. "I don't care. I love you." Maybe so. But by a strange coincidence the affair ends up on the rocks when the car ends up in a ditch.

In Mara, most amusing of the three episodes, Sophia plays a prostitute with principles. One fine day the boy next door, who is studying for the priesthood, starts to wonder what he really wants: salvation or Sophia? Sophia is amused, but she puts business (Marcello) before pleasure. A man of imagination, Marcello jumps into bed and beseeches her: "P-p-pretend you're a v-v-virgin!" Sophia prepares to comply, but just then the grandmother of the boy next door arrives. "Help!" the old lady hollers. "My grandson wants to leave holy orders and marry you!" Marcello bites his nails until Sophia returns. "Let's make love in the kitchen!" he suggests with an eager leer. "Help!" the old lady hollers again at the back door. "He's going to join the Foreign Legion!" And so on, till at last Sophia starts to strip, then suddenly stops.

"I just remembered," she informs her stupefied customer. "I promised Our Lady that if that boy went back to the seminary I'd give up sex for a week!"

For a week. In those three little words De Sica reveals what a sly old dog he is--while the audience is howling at Marcello, the director is secretly smiling at Sophia. Beneath a rather juicy sense of fun he conceals a very dry sense of humor. Dry is the word for Marcello's humor too--time and again he gives up a laugh to get a grin. Smart feller. In this picture the laughs belong to Sophia.

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