Vermiglio might take place in a remote village in the snowy mountaintops of the Italian Alps during World War II, where isolation and emotional suffocation are inevitable, but the film beats like a steady fire. Tension — between life and death, dreams and duty, secrets and truths — burns throughout Maura Delpero's film, effectively spilling the sordid secrets and history of the Graziadei family. And while the film is far from a perfect — or even complete — family portrait, it succeeds as a deep contemplation of how seemingly powerless we are against the circumstances we're thrust into.
Italy's official submission to this year's Academy Awards, the film stars Giuseppe De Domenico as Pietro, a young Sicilian soldier who has just deserted the war in order to bring Attilio, a comrade in the army, back home to his village of Vermiglio. Immediately, Pietro's presence, both as a stranger and deserter, becomes all that the villagers can talk about. Though he, for the most part, keeps to himself, Pietro can't help but be drawn to Lucia (Martina Scrinzi), the eldest daughter of Vermiglio's only schoolteacher, Cesare (Tommaso Ragno). Naturally, the feeling is mutual, and they embark upon a secret romance.
Of course, Lucia is far from the only one in the Graziadei family who harbours a secret — in fact, they are all hiding certain truths, wrestling with particular desires and shutting each other out. It's Pietro and Lucia's romance that kicks off the family's undoing amidst larger social and cultural changes.
Cinephiles will instantly spot the DNA of post-WWII Italian neorealist cinema in Delpero's naturalistic approach to Vermiglio. Indeed, Delpero favours the use of real light, reserved acting choices, static cinematography and the glaring absence of a musical score, all of which magnify this bleak period in Italian history. Although this village hasn't been physically touched by the war, the ripple effects of it are nonetheless devastating: parents like Cesare can only afford to send one child to receive a formal education, and they must make an impossible gamble on their children's futures; young women like Lucia have little to no opportunities for social mobility beyond marrying men like Pietro and Attilio; meanwhile, these young men are returning from the war as ghosts of their former selves.
Appropriately, there's nothing flashy at all about Vermiglio, but Mikhail Krichman's cinematography is outstanding. Opting for a palette of cool greys and icy blues, Krichman's camera lends a tragic beauty to the film, framing the characters' inner turmoil against the arresting landscape. As a result, silence and loneliness become as imposing as the mountains themselves.
This elevates the performances of the entire cast, all of whom, even the youngest actors, deliver strong, affecting performances. In particular, Rachele Potrich stands out as Ada, the second eldest daughter of the Graziadei family, whose burgeoning sexual desires are at great odds with her religious beliefs. Potrich deftly navigates Ada's guilt, lust, ambition and grief in a quiet force of a performance that makes her one of the most interesting members of the Graziadei family.
Not all characters in the Graziadei family are afforded the same depth as Ada, Cesare or Lucia. There are some subplots — like the animosity between Cesare and his eldest son Dino — that feel more or less wedged into the film in order to fulfill the overall idea of it being a family portrait. What's more, certain secrets, such as Cesare's hidden stash of pornography, don't recieve a full follow-through. In these cases, it feels like there's more story to be told.
Perhaps, though, that is the point. Vermiglio finds its characters at the end of a world war, at a time when they must begin picking up the pieces of their former selves and figure out how to move on. As such, the question becomes: in thinking about the future, and who we ultimately want to be, must every family secret come to light?