Written by Giorgia Cattaneo
"Vermiglio" – Italian word for “vermillion”, a red pigment that, according to a Provencal tradition, is the colour of feminine beauty and love. But Vermiglio (2024) by Maura Delpero is more than just a colour: it’s a place – a remote village hidden between the Alps in Northern Italy – and, before anything else, the story of a family who lives there in early 40s: it’s the spring of 1944 when everyone’s lives is shifted by the arrival of Pietro (Giuseppe De Domenico), a Sicilian war soldier who deserted the army to bring back home his friend and comrade Attilio (Santiago Fondevilla), saving his life.
While we’re still in the middle of a World War, Delpero chooses to show us an environment where, despite the many difficulties of everyday life, war is only evoked through the experience of the people we meet and the introduction of the theme of hospitality; an expedient that does not erase its inherent violence – on the contrary, it brings it more to a mental than a physical level –, and simultaneously leaves space for more and complex themes, especially regarding the female experience.
It’s important to highlight the fact that the movie holds a unique room for the women of the family (who represent, indeed, the majority of the characters), revealing their most intimate joys, pains and fears. As Lucia (Martina Scrinzi), the eldest daughter, falls in love with Pietro, we see them going through the ideal relationship, that only later, when the man leaves again for war, reveals its darkest secret: from the honeymoon phase, to Lucia’s pregnancy, and all the stages of grief that occurs between the birth of her daughter and her earliest moments. It’s also a story that manages to combine the two opposite life choices for a woman of that time: family and religion. As a matter of fact, Ada (Rachele Potrich), one of Lucia’s sisters, later becomes a nun and moves to a convent – where at some point, despite not choosing motherhood, she accepts to welcome Lucia’s daughter, as her mother is not in the position of taking care of her. Two women, two different worlds colliding to the point they start resembling one another, and somehow become each other’s mirror.
Feelings and emotions are mostly translated into images and sounds, rather than words, and a part of this is made possible, other than by the amazing photography, thanks to the natural beauty of the mountain landscape hosting the sequences. However, the director doesn’t leave out the spoken detail, introducing the use of a local dialect for most of the dialogues between the characters and also adding a little bit of humour: all elements that only amplify the already great realism of the overall picture.
Despite the colour “vermillion” not being particularly present in its colour palette (but rather present in characters), the movie, in all of its aspects, feels very much like a painting, reminiscing the works of Italian Divisionism – an artistic movement that found its beginning in Italy around the end of the 20th century, characterised by the use of pointillisme and a recurrence of subjects in rural, bucolic places.
Personally, I think Vermiglio was a needed movie, one of a kind we’re not used to see that often nowadays: with its quietness, it’s able to frame a small world that is, in fact, anything but quiet and small, instead loud and universal. Even the choice of a fresh, first-time-on-screen cast makes it very distant from popular movies. A very special debut in storytelling for documentary filmmaker Delpero, full deserving of its Silver Lion at the 81st Venice International Festival (where it premiered), and now of its Academy Awards nominee for Best International Movie. A deep voyage into realism through a sophisticated female eye: a genre of which we can only hope to see more in the future.
Photo credits to BFI, The New York Times, and Fandango
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