Vermiglio

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.

"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.

"Vermiglio" portrays a year in the life of the Graziadei family in a small mountain village at the end of World War II. The film is shot in a strikingly realistic style, devoid of dramatization, embellishments, or background music. What makes it even more compelling is that the stories depicted are, in fact, drawn from the family memories of the director, Maura Delpero. We are transported into our past, which unfolds before our eyes with raw authenticity, beautifully captured through the film's stunning cinematography. Every frame feels like a timeless painting, rich in atmosphere and detail.

During the COVID period, I conducted some research on my family and came across stories that closely resemble those depicted in the film. It prompts deep reflection on the essence of our lives.

If we strip away the illusion of well-being we have built over the past hundred years-erasing the distractions and illusions we've created, dismantling the image we carefully craft on social media-we are left with the fundamental aspects of life: births, deaths, opportunities, regrets, and the few real choices we make in our fragile existence on this earth.

However, it must be noted that Vermiglio is not an easy film for everyone. Its necessarily slow pace and the near absence of dialogue demand patience and a willingness to fully immerse oneself in its quiet, contemplative storytelling.

"Vermiglio" powerfully reminds us of where we come from and, once we remove the layers of artifice, reveals who we truly are and where we are headed.

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 (2024) Mauro Delpero's beautifully crafted drama about an Italian family during the waning days of WWII. They are a large (and still growing) family headed by a proud and vain schoolteacher Cesare (Tommaso Ragno) in their small village in the Alps. Pietro (Giuseppe De Domenico) a soft-spoken Sicilian soldier who has escaped the Germans at the front is hiding out in the Vermiglio township. He falls for the eldest daughter Lucia (Martina Scrinzi) . The romance momentarily is a ray of hope for the family even if they have their doubts about the wayward young man.

Delpero's script captures the trials and tribulations of the entire clan, including the children. The story is never rushed, yet never feels slow. Each individual is given respect by her writing and tender direction. Mikhail Krichman's burnished cinematography handsomely depicts their existence. The mountains give the exteriors a grandeur, but it's never merely picturesque. It's all part of the landscape for the villagers hardscrabble life during wartime.

VERMIGLIO shows that no matter how far away from the battlefield one may be, there are always repercussions both immediate and long-term. There is pain, secrets, loss and memory. As the movie eloquently states: Tears can be both a sign of sadness and sorrow - as well as hope and happiness.