In the final months of the Second World War, Pietro, a Sicilian deserter, finds refuge with a large family from Vermiglio, a town in Trentino nestled in the heart of the Alps. Cesare, the village patriarch and teacher, first agrees to shelter the stranger who saved his nephew’s life. However, the arrival of Pietro disrupts the family dynamic when he falls in love with Lucia, the eldest daughter.
Vermiglio or the mountain bridethe second feature film by Italian filmmaker Maura Delpero and winner of the Grand Jury Prize at the last Venice Film Festival, is a contemplative and gentle work, subtly exposing the taboos of peasant life at the time. All the elements of the film — from its sound design, where ambient noises predominate over dialogue and music, to the careful composition of its static shots — celebrate the peaceful rhythm and bucolic beauty of the locations.
The action takes place practically in two parts. First there is the arrival of Pietro in the community, in the middle of winter. The deserter gradually integrates into the daily life of the inhabitants: he attends mass, participates in a party and even takes Italian lessons. In this hamlet which seems cut off from the rest of the world, Cesare teaches both children and adults. It is also in his class that Pietro finds the courage to ask for his daughter’s hand, who has been madly in love with him from the start.
The wedding, which takes place as soon as spring arrives, marks a turning point. From this joyful event, which in some way confirms the integration of the Sicilian into the village, family tensions exacerbate. For example, Cesare, who educates his children with an iron fist, divides his siblings, having the resources to send only one of his daughters to college. And, towards the end of the school year, when the war ends in Italy, Pietro returns to Sicily, plunging his pregnant wife into endless waiting.
Distancing
The film’s intertwining plots take a long time to settle down. The pace is not only slow, but also monotonous, which can make the early scenes more demanding. Especially since the actors create a certain distancing, moving away from a realistic performance to embody an almost theatrical solemnity. However, it is this particular style that gives the cast its cohesion, impeccably mixing actors and non-professional performers.
Thus emerge from the captivating performances of the actors, among the spare but magnificent scenes of the staging, the elusive magic of Vermilion. The interest of Delpero’s approach, which addresses themes already explored in Italian cinema, notably in The hoof tree by Ermanno Olmi (Palme d’Or in 1978), lies not so much in his generally conventional treatment of historical events as in his deeply romantic look at the society of his ancestors.
Faced with the harshness of their way of life and the aftershocks of war, the characters transform their love, their faith or their interest in the arts into micro-acts of resistance. The charismatic Tommaso Ragno, in the role of Cesare, embodies all this feverish passion when he plays a vinyl of the Four seasons by Vivaldi, which he brought back from Milan for the occasion. Likewise, the languorous look of Martina Scrinzi, in the guise of Lucia, first testifies to her budding flame for Pietro, then translates her heartbreaking pain while waiting for her husband.
Now on the “short list” for the race for the Oscar for best international film, Vermilion has something to proudly represent Italy. Its auteurist sobriety could not be more contrasted with the brilliance of recent releases such as The Substance or Emilia Perezmay even be exactly what we need to start the year off right.
