Vermiglio

As a fan of historical films, Vermiglio really stood out to me with its immersive take on the past. The movie does a remarkable job of transporting you to a different time, blending historical accuracy with an intriguing mystery. The setting and costumes feel authentic, adding a layer of depth that makes the world come alive in a way that's both captivating and thought-provoking.

The plot unfolds at a steady pace, revealing its secrets bit by bit, and while it may be a bit slow at times, the performances keep you invested. The lead actor does an excellent job portraying a character caught between the weight of history and personal turmoil, and I found myself connecting with them on a deeper level.

The film offers a unique lens on history, not just as a backdrop but as a force that shapes the characters' actions and decisions. It's this combination of historical context and personal drama that makes Vermiglio an engaging watch for anyone who enjoys films that offer both a captivating story and a rich historical setting. Although it's not flawless, it's definitely a worthwhile experience that lingers long after the credits roll.

Directed by Maura Delpero, "Vermiglio" made its debut at the Venice Film Festival in 2024, highlighting the director's unique storytelling approach and her skill in crafting intricate narratives. The film serves as a poignant examination of identity, belonging, and the complex relationships that shape our lives.

Set over a pivotal year and divided into four chapters, each representing a different season, this film is a visually stunning experience. In the waning days of World War II, a Sicilian deserter arrives in a secluded village in the Italian Alps, where he is taken in by a local schoolteacher who has three daughters. His presence will irrevocably change the dynamics of both the village and the family.

A notable aspect of the film is its cinematography, which beautifully captures the lush landscapes of the Italian countryside, adding emotional resonance to the story. Delpero's direction is both empathetic and perceptive, allowing the characters to develop naturally throughout the film. The performances, especially from the lead actress Martina Scrinzi, are powerful and layered, effectively portraying the protagonist's internal struggles. The film thoughtfully addresses themes of nostalgia and the quest for identity, encouraging viewers to contemplate their own notions of home and belonging.

Nevertheless, "Vermiglio" does have its shortcomings. At times, the pacing may feel inconsistent, with certain scenes extending longer than necessary, potentially challenging the audience's engagement. Furthermore, while the film's thematic exploration is praiseworthy, some viewers might perceive the narrative as somewhat predictable, missing the unexpected twists that could enhance its overall impact.

To say this was a beautiful film is an understatement. Maura Delpero does such an incredible job of taking us back to the 1940s when WW II was ending to a quiet, village nestled in the Italian Alps as we become a part of the Graziadei family. We watch as their joy, sadness, and secrets unfold. The Cinematography work by Mikhail Krichman was spectacular! The cast was quite strong especially that of Tommaso Ragno, Martina Scrinzi, and Carlotta Gamba. I do not speak Italian but following the story with subtitles was a breeze and didn't detract from this film. All you have to do is watch the actors eyes and mannerisms and you feel what they are going through. The sign of a great film.

Vermiglio (2024), directed by Maura Delpero, presents a quiet and reflective look at life in a remote mountain village in the Italian Alps during the final days of World War II. The story follows the arrival of Pietro, a deserter, into the family of the local teacher. As he becomes entangled in their lives, particularly falling in love with the teacher's eldest daughter, the village's delicate balance is disrupted, leading to a series of emotional upheavals.

The film's strength lies in its meticulous attention to historical detail and its authentic depiction of the time period. Delpero's anthropological approach to storytelling highlights the customs, traditions, and harsh realities of life in rural Italy during the war, with the seasons unfolding as a metaphor for the passing of time and the trials faced by the villagers. The cinematography, which captures the rugged beauty of the Trentino Alps, enhances the atmosphere, grounding the story in the physical and emotional isolation of the characters.

The performances are solid, with Tommaso Ragno and Roberta Rovelli providing strong portrayals of characters who, while deeply affected by the events around them, must endure their personal dramas in silence, shaped by the social and cultural constraints of the era. The theme of resignation permeates the narrative, as characters quietly endure their fates - from the young, pregnant widow to the daughter who feels "forced" into religious life. This pervasive sense of acceptance, however, diminishes the emotional connection one might feel with the characters. The lack of agency among the individuals, who silently bear their burdens without protest, creates an emotional distance that, at times, undercuts the film's impact.

While Vermiglio succeeds in painting a vivid picture of life in the post-war years, its slower pace and emotionally restrained characters may leave some viewers feeling disconnected. The weight of historical accuracy and social constraints, while authentic, can sometimes stifle the emotional depth that might have made the story more compelling.

Rating: 7/10. A reflective and historically rich film that captures the struggles of post-war life but is ultimately hindered by its emotional detachment.

"Vermiglio," directed by Maura Alpero, feels like a heartbeat of real life-a window into the everyday rhythms of a mountain community in Italy during the waning days of World War II. It's a film that moves forward almost imperceptibly, like the wind brushing against the towering peaks in the background. There's no rush to its narrative, and its beauty lies in this deliberate pace, forcing us to watch, listen, and feel with a patience we rarely muster.

The story of Lucia (Martina Scrinzi) and her family is presented like a fragment of collective memory, an echo of ordinary lives in extraordinary times. Alpero's script, inspired by family stories, captures the simplicity of daily life with an almost ethereal grace. There are no dramatic flourishes or artificial twists; instead, the film leans on meaningful silences, ambient sounds, and subtle interactions to shape its conflicts and affections. The world it builds is tactile and rich with detail, from the chill emanating off the stone walls of the local school to the murmurs of conversations inside the church.

The characters are drawn with delicate precision. Cesare (Tommaso Ragno), the intellectual and idealistic patriarch, is both the family's anchor and a symbol of the patriarchal structure that stifles his daughters' dreams. Adele (Roberta Rovelli), his wife, embodies quiet self-sacrifice, defined almost entirely by the children she has brought into the world. But it's the daughters who carry the film's emotional weight. Flavia (Anna Thaler), with her intelligence and ambition, represents a sliver of hope in a place that suffocates possibility. Ada (Rachele Potrich), introspective and melancholic, reflects someone who feels the weight of her reality without being able to name it. And Lucia, the protagonist, serves as the bridge between conformity and the yearning for something more, her bond with the soldier Pietro (Giuseppe De Domenico) acting as both an emotional awakening and a reminder of the external forces shaping their fates.

Pietro, the deserter whose presence stirs whispers and judgment in the village, is more than just a romantic catalyst. He embodies the contradictions of the historical moment: the urge to flee the horrors of war clashing with the moral condemnation of desertion. His relationship with Lucia, though inevitable, unfolds in a refreshingly unconventional way. The film sidesteps romantic clichés, presenting love not as a grand event but as a collection of moments, glances, and choices-often out of the viewer's sight.

Visually, "Vermiglio" is a moving painting. Mikhail Krichman's cinematography is stunningly elegant, with compositions that invite the eye to linger over every detail. The mountains in the background aren't just scenery-they're a silent character, witnesses to generations who lived, loved, and suffered in their shadow. The near-total absence of a musical score enhances the immersion, replacing it with environmental sounds: wind, footsteps crunching on snow, the creak of wood. This choice underscores the film's authenticity, pulling the audience into a time and place that feels tangible.

There's a profound melancholy in how the film approaches the choices and fates of its characters. The most significant decisions happen off-screen or are conveyed through glances and gestures, mirroring the fragmented nature of memory. These people's lives aren't presented as a complete narrative but as fragments of stories that fade with time, echoing the reality that we can never fully know the pasts of our ancestors.

"Vermiglio" isn't a film for those seeking clear answers or cathartic resolutions. It's an invitation to contemplate, a celebration of the beauty in the simplest details and the complexity of ordinary lives. It demands patience, but for those willing to embrace its rhythm, it offers rare emotional depth and a sense of humanity that transcends time.