2025 Top Ten List #10 La Grazia (The Pardon)

 

Director Paolo Sorrentino

Sorrentino with actor Toni Servillo

Toni Servillo on the set with Anna Ferzetti

LA GRAZIA (The Pardon)    A-                                                                                                aka: Grace                                                                                                                                       Italy  (133 mi)  2025  d: Paolo Sorrentino

The opening film of the 2025 Venice Film Festival, told through a series of beautifully orchestrated expressionistic scenarios, where this is a different kind of Sorrentino film, though in the same vein as Il Divo (Il divo: La spettacolare vita di Giulio Andreotti) (2008), which offered an extraordinarily sinister portrait of Giulio Andreotti, an uncharismatic Italian political mastermind who served in the Italian General Assembly for over forty years, appointed Senator for life, becoming strangely mixed up with mafia murders as the film traces several decades of Italian history.  In addition, Sorrentino examined the marriage and corrupt political life of billionaire media mogul and former Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi in LORO (2018).  While those were based on actual history, this is a fictionalized portrayal of a more benevolent Italian President who is at the end of his term, where he’s coming to grips with his own political reality coming to a close, while also delving into his own existential realities of aging and fading out of public view.  In both films, the connecting tissue is the brilliance of actor Toni Servillo (their seventh collaboration), who has been with the director since ONE MAN UP (2001), though he broke onto the international stage in THE CONSEQUENCES OF LOVE (2004), still one of the director’s most riveting films.  There are subtle differences in this film from his others, as Sorrentino appears to be evolving, yet what distinguishes this film is the contemplative and ethical aspect of it, as it’s not some super-charged political drama, and instead refuses to follow a narrative storyline, per se, but instead consists of extremely personal moments, offering meditative reflections on mortality, aging, and the elusive nature of grace.  Deeply philosophical yet humane at the same time, shot by longtime cinematographer Daria D’Antonio, the film is full of humorous asides and contradictions, pitting the folly of youth against the maturity of experience, yet at heart this is one of Sorrentino’s more profoundly moving films, and may be the most elegantly restrained, yet emotionally compelling film of his career.  Literally making films like no one else, Sorrentino takes ponderous questions that could be cumbersome and heavy, yet he makes them matter, and turns them into moments that are lighter than air, accompanied by a carefully chosen musical soundtrack that pulses with electro-pop (La Grazia Soundtrack) in what amounts to inspiring, elegantly constructed cinematic poems that are the heartbeat of this film, where it’s always amusing to find someone older and reserved trying to connect with youthfully rebellious music, though it may be an attempt to get closer to the sensibilities of their children.  In Sorrentino cinema, truth exists underneath an ornate surface, exploring modern existence with a uniquely extravagant yet introspective aesthetic, using painterly compositions, flowing camerawork, and a deliberately baroque approach, routinely shifting his focus from the extraordinary realms of power to mundane memories of his long-deceased wife, who is a ghostly presence that continually hovers around him, haunting him with her unknowability, leaving him spiritually empty, yet he remains devoted to her.  While this may definitely appeal more to an older audience, as it depicts someone coming to terms with his own mortality, resembling at times the minimalist religious austerity of Bresson, yet Sorrentino has created something that is deeply affecting, perhaps more than any of his other films, which tend to rely upon a staggering grandiosity of opulent imagery, while this one seeks to read between the lines, creating a morality tale pondering unanswered ethical questions, connecting on a human level, offering wisdom beyond its years.  While the Prime Minister may hold most of the power, the constitutional duties of the President are the fixing of elections and referendums, while he is also commander-in-chief of the armed forces, issues ordinances, and can pardon.  Summing up his time in office, “We were not clever. We were elegant.” 

A man of power who is at the absolute summit of governmental authority, the film may as well be an ode to Italy, with a red, green, and white filter of the Italian flag used in one scene, also painted contrails left by a squadron of fighter jets in another, using a fictitious leader to examine the principles by which we live, as we look at the life and inner torments of Mariano De Santis (Toni Servillo), mirroring in some ways Sergio Mattarella, the longest-serving President of the Republic, who granted clemency to a man who killed his wife who was afflicted with Alzheimer’s disease.  A widower, Catholic, and legal jurist who embodies the law, he has a grown daughter, Dorotea (Anna Ferzetti), his chief advisor, a legal scholar like himself, and the one closest who understands him in ways no one else does, yet she has the impression of never being able to fully understand him, and while she passionately expresses her own opinions, her father has the final word on all matters of the state.  As his term draws to a close, two final duties arise, deciding the fate on two requests for a presidential pardon by individuals who murdered their partners under mitigating circumstances, a professor who strangled his Alzheimer-afflicted wife, and a woman who stabbed her husband after 15 years of abuse, and whether to sign a bill into law legalizing euthanasia, a bill his daughter supports on ethical grounds, but the Pope does not.  Either way, it’s political dynamite in such a Catholic country, as “If I don’t sign I’m a torturer and if I sign I’m a murderer.”  True moral dilemmas, they become tangled in ways that seem impossible to unravel from his private life, driven by doubt, contemplating his role with a deep sense of responsibility, LA GRAZIA | Official Clip | Only in Theaters December YouTube (1:34).  Perhaps defined by indecision and its paralyzing effects, as he tries to think through every possible consequence and legal implication, the question of whether or not to put a dying horse out of its misery helps him understand the legal meaning of the word “agony,” an integral component of unbearable or needless suffering when evaluating euthanasia.  In this film, the Pope is an African (Rufin Doh Zeyenouin) who wears dreadlocks and an earring while riding a scooter, a longtime friend of Mariano, offering advice and counsel on matters of the spirit, suggesting God gives us questions to grapple with, not answers, with Sorrentino humanizing them both, placing neither one on a pedestal, feeling recognizable and more down to earth than we might expect.  One of the many surprises is the absence of crowds, as he often appears alone, even on the busy streets, where few people are seen, seemingly taking place in a vacuum, or an idealized world, completely free from the divisive, self-aggrandizing rhetoric of today’s politics, filled with pathologically narcissistic attacks, instead zeroing in on a man who wanders through the halls of power, sealed off from the outside world, like a self-contained mausoleum, yet sound cues of EDM musical riffs mystifyingly echo through the palatial chambers, KI/KI - 5 Mins Of Acid (Official Music Video) YouTube (5:00), like inescapable thoughts racing through his mind and following him wherever he goes, which lightens the otherwise serious tone.  This elderly and austere President, disparagingly referred to as “reinforced concrete” for his intractable nature and stoic exercise in caution, is above all a man full of contradictions, repeatedly describing himself as “the most uninteresting subject I know,” often reduced to ceremonial responsibilities or puff piece interviews, yet it’s wild to think that Mariano loves to listen to rap music on his headphones, Le Bimbe Piangono YouTube (3:45) by Guè Pequeno (who plays himself in a cameo), seen reciting the lyrics in the lavish halls of the Palazzo del Quirinale while a palace guard curiously looks on, just one of the many idiosyncratic, humorous touches.  Essentially a love story between a man and his wife, but also his reverence for a life spent between laws and institutions, while still paying attention to small and trivial things, such as the frugal dinners imposed by Dorotea, a song listened to obsessively, or his friendly relationship with his trusted Corazziere Labaro (Orlando Cinque), who is part of the Presidential entourage.   

While Mariano remains deeply affected by the loss of his wife eight years ago, he is tormented by the idea that she was having an affair with someone else forty years ago, yet that doesn’t prevent him from carrying on conversations with her in the form of inner narrations, where she is still vibrantly alive to him, continually thinking of her, still the most important person in his life, though he finds a distraction in a flirtation with Lithuania’s female ambassador (Alexandra Gottschlich), taking great pleasure in watching the way she walks.  Another childhood friend, who just happened to be his wife’s best friend, is Coco Valori (Milvia Marigliano), a quick-witted, irrepressible, giant-spectacled art critic who speaks her mind while having the ear of Mariano, his complete opposite, as she’s much more boldly risqué, with her acid-tongued remarks, fashion extravagance, and wild hair, while he carefully ruminates over every decision he makes.  “Bureaucracy is meant to be slow.  That’s the point: to give people time to reflect,” he explains.  In what is easily the most energized and youth-oriented sequence of the film, an exhilarating dance troupe video is watched, created by American choreographer and dancer Martha Nichols, showing balletic grace and rhythmic fluidity, an example of the supreme power of the arts, "Surf Rider" | Martha Nichols | CY4 Black Box Films YouTube (3:27).  Both Dorotea in one instance and Mariano in another, visit prisons to question the validity of the pardon requests, asking sobering questions of the prisoners, moments when power has the flexibility to make exceptions, but only if deserved.  Outside the prison, Mariano chats with one of his generals (Giuseppe Gaiani), La Grazia | Exclusive Clip YouTube (1:43), which gives him an excuse to smoke his one allotted cigarette per day, a vow he constantly disregards, as he does the restricted diet Dorotea imposes on her father, which he gratefully appreciates, but he’s not easily persuaded.  There’s a chilling sequence when Mariano and the general attend a veterans’ dinner for Italy’s highly regarded band of mountain infantry, the Alpini, and spontaneously breaks out into a patriotic song with them, with the colors of the flag filtered over the screen image.  A central question posed to the President by his daughter becomes a driving theme of the film, as he is asked, “Who owns our days?”  While it may seem obvious, it’s part of the existential premise of seeking meaning in his final few months in office, while also searching for the elusive understanding of his own existence.  What is grace, by the way?  To that, the Pope inquires, “Have you ever been light?”  It may seem like a strange question, but the way Sorrentino addresses it is positively scintillating, as there is an Italian astronaut floating gravity-free on the International Space Station, with Mariano intently watching him at one point, finding himself utterly transfixed by the weightless man capturing his own teardrop as it floats away from him, a precious moment that may as well be a cinematic marvel.  But after pondering such grave questions while in office, the idea of being “light” is especially intriguing for him, unleashing a flood of memories.  With a performance that registers with emotional resonance, Mariano is linked to a Zoom call of Dorotea visiting her musician brother in Montreal, one of the things Mariano realizes is that children look up to their parents, but as one ages, the parents begin following their children.  This is a life cycle film, paying particular attention to the end stage, with a filmmaker who likes to present us with works of art that last forever, returning to Rome after making two films in Naples, where this is less about politics and more about the human condition, as these are deeper reflections, where there’s always an element of uncertainty, and may be Sorrentino’s answer to the ambiguous moral conundrums in Kieślowski’s The Decalogue (Dekalog) (1989).

Il Divo (Il divo: La spettacolare vita di Giulio Andreotti)

 

Director Paolo Sorrentino

IL DIVO (Il divo: La spettacolare vita di Giulio Andreotti)                B+                                  aka:  The Extraordinary Life of Giulio Andreotti                                                                          Italy  France  (117 mi)  2008  ‘Scope  d: Paolo Sorrentino                      

Winner of the Jury Prize (3rd place) at Cannes, this is a whirlwind of political intrigue, where nearly all of the specifics are lost to the viewer, yet it hardly matters at all, as this as one stylishly clever adaptation of the current Italian political scene where the center of attention is Toni Servillo’s weird but delightfully captivating screen portrayal of the uncharismatic Giulio Andreotti, a mousy postwar political mastermind who served in the Italian General Assembly for over forty years, appointed Senator for life, and on three different occasions in the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s, elected as the Italian Prime Minister, yet was charged and accused of the murder of a journalist and with having mafia connections, charges that were eventually dropped, then sustained in appeal, and then overturned on another appeal and dismissed, the results of which are shown only at the very end.  From the outset, there is a glossary of important terms and organizations which pass by so quickly that it’s impossible to keep straight, with murky Masonic lodges and devious Vatican bankers, years of Red Brigades and fascist bombings, and a mafia that actually converged into the state, where the violent conflicts seemed like they would never end.  Not knowing seems to be as good a way as any in approaching this film, as it still plays out with astonishing fluidity and directorial flourish, where Sorrentino’s taut musical choices by Fauré, Sibelius, and Saint-Saens alongside original music by Teho Teardo are nothing less than brilliant.  The ease with which this man makes movies feel interesting is stunning, as this has an almost Fellini-esque, carnival-like atmosphere yet the sour looks on people’s faces show the deadly serious nature of their business, shot in the darkened corners of immense corridors of power where humans are dwarfed by the grandiosity of the ancient architecture that all but engulfs them.  Andreotti’s repressive state of mind is so total and so complete that it resembles JULIET OF THE SPIRITS (1965), not in the phantasmagorical dream surrealism, but it mixes fabricated dreams of the protagonist with scenes of murder, orgy, and the mafiosi, entrenched in the impossibility of knowing the truth buried underneath his unchanging veneer of facial expression, veiled as it is in so many layers of denials and implausible explanations, each one of which might actually be partly true.  He reminds us of Everett Sloane as Arthur Bannister in Orson Welles’ LADY FROM SHANGHAI (1947), especially the scene as the defense attorney in court when he cross-examines himself on the witness stand.  What is anyone to make of this?  Not just a biography, but a study of power, as Il Divo was the nickname of Julius Caesar, featuring a climactic “confession” sequence where Andreotti, alone in his house, has a sudden outburst.  Shrouded in darkness, sitting in a chair facing the audience, it appears he is under interrogation, but never looks at the camera, instead seems to be talking to his wife, starting in a quiet whisper, but slowly raises his voice, speaking with personal conviction, expressed with strong religious overtones, ultimately calling upon God and his conscience in what resembles a Catholic confessional, claiming every evil act he committed was inspired by a greater good, a scene that very clearly connects religion to politics, calling into question the violence that maintains the state, Il Divo (2008) | The Confession Scene | Eng Subtitles YouTube (2:17).  Andreotti justifies homicides and other acts of violence not as a means to consolidate personal power, but to carry out a divine mandate, as if he were on a mission from God, much like the religious wars stirred up by the Crusades in medieval times, carrying out bloody, violent, and often ruthless conflicts at the behest of the Catholic Church. 

While this is an extraordinarily sinister portrait of Andreotti, what this really resembles is an Italian version of THE GODFATHER (1972) shot by someone other than Francis Ford Coppola, as this is simply another brilliantly expressed version of the same thing, only set in Italy instead of the United States.  What immediately strikes viewers is how the leading character is so morbidly lifeless, lacking all the attributes of a leading man, older, less imposing, completely asexual, striking no fear in the hearts of anyone.  If anything, he fits the Max Schreck profile for Murnau’s NOSFERATU (1922), a shadowy vampire figure who is weakened by sunlight.  Toni Servillo, on the other hand, is running on all cylinders, exaggerated to the point of being grotesque, looking monstrous with his big glasses and impassive demeanor, almost robot-like in his rigidly, mechanical movement, as he’s a creepily queer, brainy, oddball character who is an insomniac, having never kissed his mother, has a personal acquaintance with half a dozen popes, attends mass every morning, rips out the page in murder mysteries that reveals whodunit, and surrounds himself with a fully armed militia, yet is also seen with younger, more energized people who are seen dancing crazily as if in the 60’s, a video camera veering through the crowd, yet he sits quietly with his loyal wife (Anna Bonaiuto).  When someone asks him if he’d like to dance, he responds that in politics, he’s been dancing all his life.  The film is full of cryptic answers and responses like that, some hilarious, almost all of them witty, as apparently this is the guy who knows where all the dead bodies in Italian politics are buried.  Like early Godard films, as each new character is introduced, colorful titles fill the screen identifying them by their name and nickname, organization, and other biographical information, usually to humorous ends, such as the violent manner of their death.  The men that surround Andreotti are enormous-sized behemoths exuding menace, secrecy, and brutality, all stereotyped heavies looking like a bunch of criminals.  The film actually traces several decades of Italian history, including the 1978 kidnapping and eventual murder of then Prime Minister Aldo Moro (the president of Andreotti’s own Christian Democracy Party), which could have been by either the communists or the mafia, where we see many men come to violent unpleasant ends, including a barrage of mysterious killings shown in a dizzying fashion, all somehow linked to Andreotti, directly or indirectly, from 1969 to 1984, aka the Years of Lead, when precisely 236 people were killed and 817 left injured in a series of notorious attacks from both left and right-wing terrorism, yet the film doesn’t dwell in details, instead it enlarges Andreotti’s cold demeanor and operatic world, much of it shown in brief flashbacks with the verve and panache of the director’s unbridled energy in satirizing much of this, almost in comic caricature fashion.  It’s clear he dealt with some bad men, where in trial sequences witness after witness point him out as their mafia connection, but he’s equally at home with the hierarchy of the Catholic Church, where on one occasion he had the nerve to tell a Pope, “Your Holiness, forgive me, but you don’t know the Vatican like I do.”  This is about more than a depiction of a political figure, as he is also a symbol of the Christian Democracy Party with strong ties to the Vatican and the Catholic Church that ruled Italy nonstop from the end of WWII to the early 1990’s, profiling a guy who loves spending time alone writing his memoirs in his own hand-written archives, personal records he’s kept about his meetings, appointments, and dirty dealings with everyone he’s ever done business with, all in a lifelong pursuit to remain in power.  In the past 70 years, from postwar Italy until the end of the Cold War, the Church has identified the advance of communism as the primary enemy, consistently viewed as the ultimate Evil.  With this film, Sorrentino is questioning whether doing Evil is necessary for the triumph of Good, particularly when that vehement hatred of Evil (communism) led to a political party, in association with the Catholic Church, aligning themselves with the mafia to eradicate that threat.           

Born out of the distinctive political styles of prominent Italian film directors like Francesco Rosi and Luchinio Visconti, whose films are characterized by a very realistic, almost documentary-like stylistic approach, while Elio Petri, on the other hand, veered in an opposite direction, known for a grotesque, often hallucinatory style.  Two films raised public awareness on the kidnapping of Aldo Moro, Marco Bellocchio’s GOOD MORNING, NIGHT (2003) and Renzo Martinelli’s FIVE MOONS PLAZA (2003), both playing an important part of Italian culture, offering reconstructions of political killings and terrorist acts that may challenge the official police versions.  Matteo Garrone’s ultra-realistic crime drama GOMORRAH (2008) and Sorrentino’s film were both released the same year, mixing historical documentation with a flamboyant visual style, including a hyperactive presence of the camera, showing a preference for the long shot and plenty of fluid camera movement.  While this film is an exposé on Andreotti’s controversial political career, it is also a reflection on power, told in Sorrentino’s distinctive style, dazzling edits with a free-wheeling camera by Luca Bigazzi using a variety of shots from all angles, yet this is clearly a darker subject matter, as he’s capturing an impressionistic, behind the scenes glimpse of a shady, unprincipled man who may be the most influential Italian in the last 50 years co-existing right alongside a violent underground mafia movement that interacts freely within the normal political framework of government.  Add to this anti-communist radicals inside and outside Italy, alliances that taint nearly every aspect of social progress, as political assassinations are commonplace, from bankers to judges to elected officials, where arrested witnesses are notorious for remaining silent on his behalf.  How does one ascertain the truth in this kind of disfigured mythological landscape, where what we see onscreen only supposes what might have really happened?  Embodied by the Red Brigades, one of several left-wing terrorist organizations, they were ultra-Marxist, the most radical of the radical, viewing communists as their declared enemy.  Aldo Moro’s kidnapping occurred when he was on his way to broker an unprecedented alliance between the Christian Democrats and the Communist Party, yet his assassination by the Red Brigades closed off that possibility.  The fact remains the Christian Democrats did nothing to help free Moro, with Sorrentino’s film dramatizing Andreotti’s moral responsibility for a multitude of crimes while avoiding any direct accusation.  Speculation has swirled around Andreotti as to his degree of involvement in Moro’s death, with the film certainly accentuating a perception that he felt tragically guilty over the affair long afterwards, with blood on his hands, as he consistently refused to negotiate with terrorists, effectively sealing Moro’s fate.  The impression left was that Moro was sacrificed to preserve political stability.  What we do know is where this all leads to, as the failed practices of this corrupt government led us to the oily practices of yet another perhaps even more corrupt government led by Italian television billionaire Silvio Berlusconi (the longest serving leader of a G-8 country), whose three national television channels comprise half the nation’s viewing audience.  But the film barely casts a nod in his direction, instead relishing the time spent with a deftly underplayed Andreotti and his band of merry men, all of whom eventually desert him or are killed, a man, surprisingly enough, who will have the thrill of watching this movie portrayal of his life while he’s still alive to see it.  One would think he would be amused, though his actual response, “I don’t agree with Sorrentino’s portrayal of me, but I understand he had to make certain dramatic choices to make it interesting; my real life is actually quite boring.”  A meticulously researched work that can be exhilarating and oddly captivating, as it seems to elevate Italian politics to an unending series of Mephistopheles deals with the devil.  Viewed as some sinister, Machiavellian embodiment of power, all that’s missing in this illustrious Andreotti portrait is a three-pronged trident in his hand.