Vermiglio

"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.

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.

The film is a visual feast. Cinematographically, it's very good. The art director did a great job. This made the director's job much easier. Both interior and exterior shots are very successful. But I can't say the same for the script and acting. The script contains very disjointed stories and this makes it difficult to concentrate. The acting was too heavy for a cinema film. In many places I felt like I was watching a theatre rather than a cinema film. Overall, I can say it was a good film. But you won't lose much if you don't watch it. But if you have plenty of time, it is a watchable film Good luck.

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.

"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.