In this one masterpiece, Federico Fellini achieved the ideal balance -- between social observation and unconscious imagery, between artistic discipline and freedom, and between the neo-realism of 1950s Italian cinema and the orgiastic flights of his later work.
The movie is made with boundless energy. Fellini stood here at the dividing point between the neorealism of his earlier films (like "La Strada") and the carnival visuals of his extravagant later ones ("Juliet of the Spirits," "Amarcord'').
In one movie, at least, the ethical baseline (heisted, you could argue, from "Sweet Smell of Success") gave Fellini's roaming, cluttered mise-en-scène a chilling gravity he could never genuinely locate again.
The film was hugely successful and widely praised in its time, though it's really nothing more than the old C.B. De Mille formula of titillation and moralizing--Roman orgies and Christian martyrs--with only a fraction of De Mille's showmanship.
This is a fairly laidback and stylish film. I can understand it's appeal, it does have a bit of a classy feel to it I suppose, although it was a bit slow and somewhat bland at times for my tastes, at about 2 hours and 40 minutes long. Some of the dialogue is good, with thoughtful observations made, although you could also argue its a bit cheesy. It's worth a watch but it isn't a film I'd choose to watch again. I liked seeing the scenes with the characters in the soft top car. I also thought it was amusing at times how Marcello dealt with the photographers who hounded Sylvia (one in particular being called Paparazzo - I wonder if the term paparazzi was named after him? having looked it up online, it seems so). This is very much a film about the lifestyle of the 'haves' in the time its set (i.e. the 1960s). Yes I'd recommend this film, although I wouldn't go too far out of your way to see it, it's worth a watch if you get the chance to see it.
Du cinéma fellinien, du cinéma décousu qui se regarde la virgule et qui ne rime à rien : du remplissage de jean-foutre pendant des plombes, de la parlotte pour ne rien dire, on dirait un film de déménageurs tellement ça meuble. L'élégant Mastroianni n'y peut rien et déblatère des conneries comme les autres tout en regardant la baleine se baigner dans la fontaine qui n'avait jamais connu un tel affront. Bref, un cloaque pour bobos Télérama et autres étudiants en histoire de l'art événementiel des compressions de César à droite en sortant de l'ascenseur. Ah j'allais oublier : la musique de Nino Rota est une torture pour les esgourdes.