In the wake of Jean-Luc Godard’s passing at 91, networks honored the French filmmaker by revisiting some of his most iconic scenes. Among them, Brigitte Bardot and Michel Piccoli feature in a moment from Le Mépris (Contempt, 1963) as Piccoli’s character descends the famous staircase at the Malaparte residence. The homage underscores not just the film, but the enduring image of a house that became a symbol of modern cinema.
The film captures the house as it has aged, its weathered presence telling a broader story. Today, the property remains in the hands of heirs, protected by the substantial attention of luxury brands and collectors who are willing to commission in-depth reports that preserve its legacy for future generations. The house’s status is a reflection of its cultural significance and its architectural rarity, rather than merely its market value.
Few understand the full history behind this Capri landmark. It is celebrated not only as a masterful example of Italian rationalist design but also as a project conceived with remarkably scant architectural intervention. It is not that the design lacked an architect; rather, the original concept is attributed to the renowned Italian architect Adalberto Libera, a figure aligned with certain fascist circles of the era, much like Giuseppe Terragni. Libera’s political associations were among the reasons Curzio Malaparte, the journalist and writer who commissioned the house, chose him. Capri’s landscape was legally protected at the time, and the plan suggested the home would blend with the beach while its prismatic form proclaimed a bold, unmistakable presence. The licensing for such a project—carried out under the Mussolini regime’s influence—reflected the era’s delicate balance between architectural ambition and political considerations.
Which hand really shaped the final result remains the subject of ongoing debate among scholars. Yet, correspondence between Malaparte and the builder makes one thing clear: the client’s vision decisively steered the creative outcome. Malaparte is seen as the ideologue behind the house’s most memorable features, from the staircase that invites questions about infinity to the deliberate placement of windows along the living room’s raw floor to capture specific sea views. He also positioned a window behind the chimney to frame the sea and personally contributed to the interior design, including furniture decisions. The staircase itself became a touchstone of architectural discourse, inviting critics to wonder about the movement from interior space to the outdoors and beyond.
Ultimately, Malaparte’s house endures as one of the era’s most striking examples of modern architecture, celebrated for diverging from the traditional Caprinese coastal vernacular and signaling a new language of form and sensation on the island. The building’s influence extends beyond its walls, shaping how architects and filmmakers alike imagine the synergy between setting and narrative. The work’s power persists not simply in its lines, but in how it has inspired viewers to consider space as an actor in its own right. Critics have noted that some films are surpassed by their locations, and the Malaparte house stands as testament to a structure that transcends the film with which it is most closely associated. Its legacy continues to be discussed in conversations about how architecture can outlive the cinema that inspired it, inviting new generations to reflect on the dialogue between design and storytelling. Rest in peace, Godard, whose work helped illuminate this dialogue for decades and who remains a touchstone for both film and architectural discourse. [citation: obituaries and historical analyses of Godard and Le Mépris, contemporary architectural scholarship on Libera and Malaparte, and studies of Caprese coastal architecture].