Les années difficiles

The film is one of the most peculiar and quietly devastating entries in the canon of WWII-era cinema, not only for its subject matter but for the bitter irony with which it confronts the moral wreckage left in the wake of Fascism. Made in Italy during a year when the memory of war was still raw and the political landscape unstable, this movie occupies a unique space: it is not a mere chronicle of wartime suffering, nor is it propaganda or heroic commemoration-it is a sober, blackly comic examination of complicity, cowardice, survival, and the tragedy of belated clarity.

The film's cinematographic approach is deeply influenced by the Italian neorealist movement, but rather than adhering rigidly to the aesthetics of raw location shooting and non-professional acting, it weaves realism with a satirical register that never slips into parody. The cinematography avoids romanticization, using framing and mise-en-scène not to evoke grandeur or emotional catharsis, but to trap characters within bureaucratic spaces, municipal offices, modest homes, and drab landscapes. The camera work is notably static in many moments, almost resigned, reinforcing the atmosphere of moral paralysis. When movement is introduced, it is often to underscore humiliation or to emphasize the petty, absurd rituals of power.

The performances are a critical strength of the film. The lead portrayal stands out not for its intensity but for its measured restraint; the actor conveys the quiet tragedy of an ordinary man caught in a tide of history with a performance that sidesteps melodrama. His arc is not one of transformation, but of bitter awareness, and this is rendered through subtle gestures and silences rather than dramatic monologues. The supporting cast plays a significant role in constructing the social tapestry: family members, coworkers, fascist officials, and townspeople all embody variations of opportunism, delusion, or mute endurance. Together, they form a kind of choral presence that gives the film its tragicomic tone. Unlike many post-war films that glorify resistance or victimhood, this movie offers a less comforting tableau-one in which the line between guilt and innocence is porous and often irrelevant in the machinery of survival.

Technically, the film's editing deserves mention for its deliberate pacing. Scenes often linger slightly longer than expected, creating a discomforting temporal dissonance. This technique serves to heighten the sense of stagnation in the protagonist's life and in the society he inhabits. The sound design is relatively sparse, refusing the crutch of an emotionally manipulative score, which was still common in war films of that period, particularly in Anglo-American productions. When music appears, it often carries a dissonant or ironic undertone, reinforcing the satirical edge of the narrative.

When considering similar films of the same subgenre-those exploring the civilian experience during the war with a focus on moral ambiguity-Germany, Year Zero (Germania anno zero, 1948) by Roberto Rossellini naturally comes to mind. While the two films share a certain neorealist DNA and a post-war despondency, Rossellini's work is more starkly tragic and existential, stripped of the ironic commentary that defines this movie. Where Germany, Year Zero immerses itself in the psychological devastation of a child in bombed-out Berlin, this film aims its gaze at the bureaucratic and ideological rot that preceded the bombs-its interest lies in how ordinary people rationalize collaboration before they mourn its consequences.

Another relevant point of comparison, albeit more thematically than stylistically aligned, is The Great War (La grande guerra, 1959). Although produced more than a decade later and set during WWI, it shares with this film a tragicomic sensibility and a disdain for patriotic platitudes. Both films depict men caught in historical currents beyond their understanding or control, and both use humor to undermine the very myths of heroism that many war films of the time upheld.

The year 1948 was a significant one in Italy. The country was experiencing its first free elections after the fall of Fascism, and the Cold War was rapidly polarizing political discourse. The memory of the war was still immediate, and many individuals implicated in the Fascist regime had simply faded into postwar life without consequences. The film speaks directly to this atmosphere. It is not just a historical reflection but a pointed commentary on the present moment of its making. The message is not simply anti-Fascist, but anti-oblivion. The script is laced with critiques of political amnesia, and the choice to present the story from the perspective of a municipal employee-a cog in the state apparatus-magnifies the warning: the banality of evil is not an abstraction, but a chain of small, cowardly, self-justifying decisions made in the name of job security, familial duty, or fear.

The film did not go unnoticed. Upon release, it provoked heated reactions from both sides of the political spectrum in Italy. Left-leaning newspapers praised its honesty and moral clarity, while conservative outlets criticized what they perceived as a dangerous self-exposure-arguing that the neorealist tendency to foreground the failures and hypocrisies of ordinary Italians offered a damaging portrait of the nation to foreign eyes. This tension escalated into the political realm: the film became a touchstone in a broader cultural debate that reached the Italian Parliament, where concerns were raised about whether cinema should be permitted to broadcast such unflattering national narratives. Proposals emerged to limit or censor films that, in the view of some legislators, tarnished Italy's international image or failed to promote a more "constructive" national identity.

These reactions reflect not only the power of the film's unvarnished portrayal of the Italian wartime experience but also the cultural fragility of a country still negotiating the meaning of its recent past. That a single film could spark such controversy suggests how close to the surface the wounds still were, and how threatening it was to confront them with candor, irony, and without rhetorical consolation.

Unlike American or British WWII films of the same era, which often focused on battles, resistance, or redemption, this film provides no such closure. There are no victories here, only survivals-qualified, compromised, and often morally ambiguous. The restrained visual style, the tight control of performance, the acid undercurrent of the writing-all serve to produce a work that resists catharsis. It is not a plea for forgiveness, nor an indictment delivered with self-righteous fury. It is a lament, composed with surgical precision, for a society that let history happen to it and then claimed surprise at the outcome.

If one were to assign a rating to this film, it would be a ten-star work-not because it is "perfect" in the classical or technical sense (and it isn't), but because it is one of those rare works that accomplish exactly what no other film does with the same honesty, tone, and risk. What it may lack in formal polish, it more than compensates for in moral clarity, satirical precision, and the courage to provoke without bitterness. Few WWII films-especially those focused on civilian life under fascism-dare to be this direct and yet this deeply human. It neither glorifies nor victimizes; it does not preach or absolve. It simply reveals, and does so with devastating restraint.

And when one considers that this was achieved in 1948, in a country still in the throes of political and cultural redefinition, and that the film's reception ignited such controversy it reached the floor of Parliament, then it becomes clear: this is not merely a great film-it is a cultural act of resistance.

I saw "Anni Difficili" in 1954. It cast an indelible impression on me, and I thank my friend, who chose the movie. Manuc was an interesting guy - born in Bucharest of Armenian parents, he was undoubtedly different. He chose the movies that we as teenagers saw on monthly leave from boarding school. Where he got the knowledge about what to see was never clarified. When I asked him how he did it in 2001, he smiled enigmatically and offered no answer at all. I can no longer get a response from him now. Regardless there we were watching a movie, which we wondered why it was allowed to be shown. This was Buenos Aires during the Perons - not the latter day peronist, but the real Perons - Juan Domingo and Evita (although she was dead by then, yet she lived on to the glory of her supporters and to haunt us in opposition.). As an Argentine, I am half Italian - if not by blood at least by culture. An Argentine by all assessment is an Italian, who speaks Spanish (actually Castilian, but that is another story; ask the Catalans, Basques and Galician about that), who thinks s/he is French, but would love to be English. (Now try that in Italian. My Italian is good enough to pull it off). Being by culture an Italian, the film seared images which reflected not only the pain of Italy (actually Modica in Sicily) as it coped with being dominated by Mussolini, but also for us movie goer who we still subject to the fascism of Peron. The audience watched very silently, accepting the story in the same way that we had to accept every day life. Any reaction was unacceptable to the authorities; although at another movie ("I confess") we witnessed essentially a political response which thankfully went no further (Remember Manuc's choices.). The simple idea that the Italian Fascists could censor and prohibit the showing of Bellini's classic opera "Norma" indicates the twisted logic of fascist ideal. Today Fascism has been rebranded patriotism which could become the new world order, which sadly will smother out the desire of a world which in the last fifty years has become so small. The detail of "Anni difficili" now escapes me, yet the images engendered still haunt me sixty-five years. I would give it top billing chiefly because of the circumstance that I saw it in.

I have been told that my review is too short. Do I need to add the blood TOO