As the movie began, I searched for the beginnings of a conceivable story line. Not so much a setting or a character, but of an introduction that would change the story. I searched for this, in vain, for the rest of the film. As the credits began to roll, what this movie was became clear to me. It was not the journey of a man changing because problem A appeared and he chose route X to fix it, like most movies. It was to be appreciated for the gradual change that took place throughout the course of the film. No one event or meeting changed the circumstances for our main character, but, as in life, a series of events that are seemingly unrelated, apart from who they involved.

Marcello Mastroianni was masterful in the role of the reporter, in search of scandals who gradually becomes apart of the crowd he once wrote about.

The movie didn't keep me entirely interested throughout, not only because of its large running time, but also because some points of the "slice of life" story were merely dry. Yet, there was an inexplicable feeling of depression when the movie ended...somehow, leaving this sex, suicide and alcohol-driven universe that had at so many points bored me, was like losing a friend. As with all good movies, the minute you are cut off from the world it took you into, a sense of loss is felt.

La Dolce Vita, while not always fast-moving, nor interesting nor funny, is a masterwork of its own sort. It drips of flavor, rhythm, sex and life, while Fellini's camera never once wanders into the dangerous realm of objectivity.