We are witnessing a significant transition from a welfare economy to a warfare economy. Supranational economic structures designed to promote people’s well-being are now being repurposed to support conflicts and enhance border security. Meanwhile, political and cultural elites appear disconnected from the escalating crises. Federico Fellini’s E la nave va (And the Ship Sails On, 1983) is one of the best films that depicted significant transitions of this kind in history. This is not just a film about a fading world on the eve of World War I, it can be watched as an allegory for our present moment. Today, the symbols and metaphors used by Fellini illustrate the decay of a Euro-Atlantic liberal elite detached from the realities of a shifting world order.
This film serves as both a historical reflection and a present-day warning. The crisis of European aristocracy at the dawn of the 20th century mirrors the decline of Western liberalism today. The same patterns repeat: humanitarian crisis, imperialist drives, and the increasing irrelevance of cultural and political elites who fail to grasp the urgency of the moment. The Serbian and Romani refugees filmed by Fellini—cast adrift and unwanted—find their echoes in contemporary migration crises, from Europe’s restrictive asylum policies to the stateless people of Gaza, reduced to mere survival while major powers debate their fate as an abstract “problem.” These days watching E la nave va is not an act of nostalgia, but a critical exercise in recognizing how history unfolds as cycles of privilege blindness and collapse.
Set in July 1914, on the eve of World War I, the film follows a group of aristocrats, artists, and opera singers on a luxurious cruise aboard the ship Gloria N. Their mission is to scatter the ashes of the late opera diva Edmea Tetua on the island of Erimo. What begins as a grand voyage celebrating art and culture soon reveals itself as an allegory for the decline of European aristocracy and the forces that will soon render them obsolete.
The ship is a floating microcosm of pre-war European high society—indulgent, ritualistic, and blind to its own precarity. Its passengers obsess over beauty and art, believing themselves custodians of high culture, yet they remain oblivious to the political and social turmoil unfolding beyond their insulated world. The opera diva Edmea Tetua symbolizes the passing of an era. Her funeral procession, rather than a solemn ritual, is a theatrical performance, reinforcing the film’s central irony: even the end of their world is treated as a spectacle.
The illusion of safety is shattered when a group of Serbian refugees is rescued at sea. Labeled by the ship’s captain as pastors, peasants, students, and zingari (“gypsies”), they represent those already suffering displacement before the war has even begun. To the aristocrats, the refugees are an intrusion—an unwanted reminder of the world outside their floating palace. This moment of disruption highlights the contrast: for the privileged, art is a status symbol; for the displaced, it is a lifeline. While the elite revel in operatic performances, the refugees sing and dance with raw, unfiltered energy. In this moment, Fellini exposes the limitations of high culture when it is detached from lived reality.
As the film progresses, the appearance of sophistication starts to crumble. A scene in the ship’s engine room depicts this deterioration—working-class labourers request the opera singers to perform, resulting in a mixture of competing voices. This moment illustrates the challenge of maintaining the old order. Without the presence of the passed opera diva Edmea Tetua, who once united them, their world falls into chaos. Similarly, as the Gloria N. moves toward destruction, Europe moves toward war.
Fellini underscores this theme of decline with potent symbolism. The blind princess, played by legendary choreographer Pina Bausch, serves as an emblem of the aristocracy’s willful ignorance. She exists in an enclosed world, refusing to acknowledge the shifting tides of history. Yet the film’s most grotesque symbol is the sick, dying rhinoceros being transported aboard the ship. This decaying creature symbolizes a civilization in denial of its mortality. Initially seen as a relic of a fading empire, it surprisingly becomes the last form of life when the ship is destroyed. As the Gloria N. meets its fate, the film ends with a haunting image: the dying rhinoceros, floating alone in a lifeboat, drifting toward an uncertain future. In this, Fellini warns that what survives may not be what is noble or beauty, but what is brutal, unrelenting, and grotesque.
When the ship is attacked by an Austro-Hungarian warship, the passengers finally confront the reality they have ignored. Among them is Duke von Holstein, a German aristocrat whose presence foreshadows the militarism that will soon dominate Europe. The message is clear: the world is no longer ruled by opera singers, but by generals and soldiers.
The echoes of this moment reverberate today. As in 1914, we are witnessing the decline of an established order. Economic turmoil, political instability, and cultural disillusionment have widened the gulf between elites and the broader population.
The aristocrats aboard the Gloria N. resemble today’s political, business, and cultural elites—disconnected from the struggles of ordinary people. In Europe, migration policies increasingly reflect this detachment, framing asylum seekers as burdens rather than recognizing their plight as a humanitarian crisis. In the United States, immigration remains a polarizing issue, reduced to debates over border security rather than addressing the root causes of displacement. In the United States, immigration remains a polarizing issue, reduced to debates over border security rather than addressing the root causes of displacement. Meanwhile, in Gaza, countless people endure a state of statelessness, stripped of their inherent rights and forcibly displaced from their homeland.
E la nave va is a warning flare. Civilizations that turn a blind eye to reality are destined to sink. When privilege cocoons itself from history’s tides, collapse isn’t just possible—it’s inevitable. Fellini’s message is piercing: what lingers in the wreckage of a dying world isn’t art, culture, or ideals, but the raw forces of survival—ruthless, brutal, and unyielding. The ship may sink, but history moves forward—merciless.
Ismael Cortés is both a scholar and a hands-on policy analyst with direct experience on the front lines of politics. His work bridges the gap between academic research and policymaking, tackling historical and structural discrimination through rigorous analysis and tangible legislative and policy action. Currently, Dr. Cortés continues to shape the discourse on equity and inclusion as a Postdoctoral Fellow at the Research Centre on Antigypsyism at Heidelberg University and as an Associate Professor in the International Master’s Program in Peace, Conflicts, and Development Studies at Universitat Jaume I—where he mentors the next generation of global scholars and professionals dedicated to human rights.