Thomas (David Hemmings) is a hot fashion photographer who is bored with beauty. Successful enough to be constantly harassed by gorgeous women wanting him to photograph them, he instead strays away in bum’s clothes and photographs people at the local homeless shelter. One afternoon, wandering through a park and taking random photos, he sees a couple in the distance, and begins photographing them kissing and hugging. The woman (Vanessa Redgrave) sees Thomas photographing her and runs after him to get the photos. So desperate is she to get the film that she resorts to everything from wheedling to sex, all of which makes Thomas suspicious. As he looks at the detail in the photos, he finds a reason for her actions: it appears someone has been murdered.

Blow-Up was Michelangelo Antonioni’s first film made outside of Italy. Before that, he had made three films considered quirky classics: L’Avventura (1960), La Notte (1961), and L’Eclisse (1962). These films began Antonioni’s obsession with ephemeral plots and alienated characters that would alternately fascinate and infuriate the viewing public, particularly the critics. But his timing was right. The intelligentsia was clamoring for more French New Wave and Italian Neo-Realist films, and Antonioni’s unresolved plots convinced everyone that he belonged in the same company with Truffaut, Godard, Rossellini, and De Sica.

Antonioni was a darling of the film crowd that loved to look for barely hidden symbolism, and Blow-Up is alive with it. You can work as hard as you want here. Enjoy the film as a mystery with a strong dash of groovy London subculture, or ponder the deeper meanings. Music lovers can watch the club scene for the fun of seeing the Yardbirds (with Jeff Beck and Jimmy Page) rip the top off of "Stroll On," or you can brood over the meaning of the perfectly still audience and the discarded guitar neck. You can enjoy the students as they do their annual RAG, collecting money for charities while dressed and acting outlandishly, or you can spend time considering the meaning of uniforms and costumes (as does Peter Brunette in his commentary track). The director left it all vague, and I would guess he did it on purpose.

No one was startled that Antonioni chose swinging London for his first English-language film. What surprised many lovers of his work was his choice of a story with a misanthropic protagonist with an ugly streak of mean-spirited misogyny. David Hemmings was mostly unknown when he was cast for Blow-Up. Previously, his main claim to fame had been as a boy soprano singing operas by Benjamin Britten. In the opening credits, his name is listed after those of Vanessa Redgrave and Sarah Miles, even though both actresses combined don’t have half of his onscreen time. Hemmings skillfully takes on the thankless job of playing a mostly reprehensible character who treats women like animals and calls his models "bloody bitches." He makes a vague stab at searching for sentient beings in flophouses and prisons, but his "I’m OK -- you’re not OK" attitude precludes him from taking the world seriously. Like an anti-Dorian Gray, Thomas doesn’t even consider gazing in his mirror. Why bother? Who cares? Let’s smoke a little dope, shag some bloody bitches, and generally not give a shit about the world. Some hero.

Thomas’s one claim to something positive is the way he chases down the facts of the supposed murder. His determination to find the truth, combined with his skills as a professional photographer, makes him a bit of an antihero, a sort of skinny British metrosexual version of Steve McQueen. But before Thomas shows any laudable traits, we have to sit through an hour of him being an ass. That Hemmings is able to keep us caring is a pretty amazing feat.

One of his meanest moments is also the most memorable. Chapter 3 is an iconic image in the history of film. Camera in hand, Thomas writhes all over supermodel Verushka (who plays herself), encouraging her to act for the camera, nuzzling her neck, ordering her into this position and that in a nonpenetrating sexual ecstasy. When the foreplay is complete, Thomas ambles away from the still-heated Verushka and, like a male version of a sexual teaser, goes back to being bored. This scene was brilliantly skewered by the first two Austin Powers movies, almost to the point that, if you’ve seen those films, you might not be able to watch this scene with fresh eyes. But try to give it a chance -- it’s a prime example of Antonioni’s brilliance.

Also, pay attention to chapters 14-19, in which Thomas continually blows up his pictures, searching for signs of mayhem. This masterful piece of cinematography and directing is right up there with Hitchcock. There is essentially no music, yet the tension builds at a relentless level.

Warner Home Video’s DVD edition of Blow-Up offers what should be a definitive commentary track by Peter Brunette, the author of The Films of Michelangelo Antonioni (Cambridge University Press, 1998). Unfortunately, there are two problems. First, Brunette hems and haws so much that you wonder if he’d thought the commentary through before the tape started rolling. Second, perhaps taking a cue from Antonioni himself, Brunette’s comments don’t resolve many of our questions about the director’s intentions. It’s a shame Warner couldn’t have gotten Antonioni, or Hemmings (who didn’t die until after the DVD was released), or Redgrave to do some commentary.

Blow-Up was nominated for Academy Awards for directing and writing. It lost on both accounts, but it did win the prestigious Golden Palm at Cannes. Antonioni’s next film, Zabriskie Point (1970), received more critical impaling than any film of his career. At the time, its only audience was youth at war with the "establishment." In fact, with the possible exception of Professione: reporter (1975), Michelangelo Antonioni has never again made a truly great film. In 1995, he was given a special award by the Academy, in thanks for all his wonderful films of the past. He’s now 92 and, God bless him, he’s still directing. Let’s hope his next film, Eros, will be his best.