International cinema seems to be witnessing a rebirth of Italian film, showcasing a powerfully aesthetic grasp of humanity in an authentic, “painterly” manner. A prime example in this direction is Vermiglio, a period drama film written and directed by Maura Delpero. The film made its debut at the Venice Film Festival, where it won the Silver Lion and was selected as Italy’s international Oscar entry in 2025. Delpero establishes her role as a visionary that aims, as she stated, “to present the universal through the particular”, to offer the viewers an intimate encounter with the realities of the past and the present, while deepening our collective awareness.
The story unfolds over the course of a year in 1944, towards the end of the Second World War, in Vermiglio, a remote village in the Italian Alps. Pietro (Giuseppe De Domenico), a Sicilian soldier escaping the war, seeks refuge and is helped by the local schoolmaster, Cesare Graziadei (Tomasso Ragno). Pietro’s presence triggers many discussions in the community regarding the military duty to fight for one’s country or the integration of the “other”. More significantly, he disrupts the dynamics in Graziadei’s family as the story unfolds. Delpero herself stated, however, that she did not intend to capture the “muscular aspect of war” but rather the stories of those left behind, of the emotions that transcend the collective consciousness to this day.
The schoolmaster is the perfect depiction of the patriarch, stern and educated, who has a large family of ten children, imposing his standards on them. He is a character of paradoxical nature, as he combines authority with openness regarding the realities of war, ideology, and the potential of young women having a chance at exceeding the status quo through excellence. Graziadei’s eldest daughter, Lucia (Martina Scrinzi), quickly falls in love with Pietro, and they decide to get married, never anticipating the troubling destiny that awaits them. The story divided equal attention upon all the characters, especially on the family’s children. Dino (Patrick Gardner), the eldest boy, reeks of fatherly resentment and tries to assert his masculinity, Flavia (Anna Thaler), the only daughter that will get the chance to continue her education, and one of the most complex characters of the movie, Ada (Rachele Portrich), the embodiment of interior conflict, between her faith and her exploration of sexuality, queerness, and jealousy.
Delpero’s focus on womanhood in a highly patriarchal society is the pillar that brings the story together into a cohesive product. The women portrayed are all in different stages, living their domestic roles. The transgenerational perspective is clear and presents the matriarch, Adele (Roberta Rovelli), living in the kitchen and giving birth to children as long as she can, and Lucia following her heart in a naive but human way. However, when it comes to Ada and Flavia, there is a shift. They want to acquire self-determination, to be valuable members of public life, and to seek roles beyond those of mothers and wives. This is encapsulated in Ada’s statement that stuck with me even days after watching the movie: “I want to be a priest… that way, people would listen to me.” The transition from girlhood to womanhood, the questions and experiences that mark this change, resonate universally with mothers, daughters, and sisters from the past and with those that will come after us.
The narrative is greatly shaped through language, presenting Northern Italian dialects, which contrast with Pietro’s exotic Sicilian dialect, highlighting defining group characteristics, social dynamics, and diversity. The dialogue, though succinct, is quite powerful, reflecting the reserved nature of those who live in secluded areas in the mountains. Delpero masterfully alternates between silence and sound, finding the rhythm among nature’s quietness, the actors’ wordless exchanges, and Matteo Franceschini’s evocative music choices. The nuances of the conversations have a fine and authentic humour, reinforcing social relationships and unspoken tensions. The performances are also deeply emotional, avoiding excessive sentimentalism and leaving no space for clichés. Vermiglio is not driven by dramatic climaxes, yet it remains engaging, with a natural progression of events that trigger a chain reaction. The story is set against the backdrop of the four seasons, reflecting an archaic reference of time that existed in close connection with nature. In this regard, Vivaldi’s music holds great metaphorical value in building the structure of the film, mirroring a cyclical temporal flow.
Cinematography plays a crucial role in depicting a striking contrast between the vastness of nature and the fragility of human existence. The imagery recalls Caspar David Friederich’s paintings and the Romantic sublime, nature as a force of transcendence and destruction, influence confirmed by the photographer Mikhail Krichman, who helped create these breathtaking frames. The overwhelming presence of the mountains and the sky permeate the landscape with an almost divine quality, enhanced by a carefully curated blue-toned colour palette, present in the costume design as well. Moreover, the thematic cohesion is reinforced by integrating the characters within nature, not letting them be separated from it.
Every frame is composed with painterly precision. The interior shots evoke the works of Vermeer and Rembrandt, with controlled lighting that doesn’t expand to the limits of the frame while creating a focal point where surrounding forces interact dynamically. As I have already mentioned, the interactions between the characters are of few words, and they focus more on the power of their glances. Thus, the facial expressions are subtle, but the eyes become true windows to the soul, rich in empathy and human connection, similar to Modigliani’s paintings. Martina Scrinzi’s expressive performance mirrors this aesthetic, adding depth to the film’s visual language.
Vermiglio is a war film without any battle scenes, a film about life, weddings, births, and deaths. It immerses the viewer in nature’s vastness and harshness, with the help of Delpero’s close attention to details. The physicality of touch, the materiality of objects, and the interplay of sound and silence contribute to an authenticity that is hard to replicate. Now showing in theatres, this is a film that you will reflect on long after the credits roll.
Written by Chis Iulia-Maria — 7/3/2025