It could’ve been any ordinary day in 1938, but for the occupants of Rome, the 6th of May is one that they’re going to remember for their entire lives, and boast about to everyone they encounter, because it is on this day that Adolf Hitler was making his journey through Italy to pay a visit to his friend and ally Benito Mussolini, who was ruling Italy with an iron fist. The entirety of the capital city heads out to view the extravagant parade that is awaiting the führer – except for two people who could not be bothered to make the journey into the adoring crowds. Antonietta (Sophia Loren) is a mild-mannered housewife who resents her position as a committed mother to six children and docile wife to a fervent proponent of fascism (John Vernon), who makes sure to instil his particular worldview on even the youngest members of his family, and expects everyone under his roof to adhere strictly to the principles of the dominant political system. Across the road lives Gabriele (Marcello Mastroianni), a quiet and meditative middle-aged man whose reasons for not attending the parade are a bit more complex than Antonietta’s fatigue, since he has effectively been expelled from his career (working as a well-regarded radio announcer), and is patiently waiting to be arrested and exiled out of society, for the sole reason that he is a homosexual. It isn’t long before these two strangers cross paths – in fact, all it takes is the escape of the family’s beloved myna bird for them to become acquainted. What starts as a brief interaction turns into a day spent together, picking each other’s brains and coming to terms with their various reasons for the position they’re in. They get to know each other, and in the process reveal a lot about themselves, speaking on matters that they have hidden for years, and realizing desires and resolving quandaries that had sat dormant as a result of their position in a restrictive system that confined them in ways they may not have been fully aware of in the first place.

Any viewer interested in watching A Special Day (Italian: Una giornata particolare) is right to have enormously high expectations, since there are numerous different factors surrounding this film that make it quite a notable work. It’s a film by Ettore Scola, one of the most enduring Italian filmmakers of his generation, and yet another pairing between Sophia Loren and Marcello Mastroianni, two actors who could legitimately lay claim to not only being amongst the finest to ever work in the medium, but two halves of one of the greatest on-screen duos in film history, with their frequent collaborations over the years always being fresh, exciting and absolutely thrilling. Added to this is a story that sees the actors departing from their more prototypical roles, and finding their way through a heartbreaking historical drama that explores a particular day in the lives of two very complex characters, set to the backdrop of a fascinating moment in the nation’s history, and one that is quite significant when looking at formative moments that went into arguably the most vicious conflict in recent history, the Second World War, the roots of which can be found scattered throughout the film, without being addressed directly. A Special Day is an astonishing film – beautifully-made, well-acted and sincere in a way that we don’t normally see when it comes to these kinds of stories, which has now been repurposed as a slow-burning, humanistic drama about individuality in the midst of restrictive socio-political systems, and finding your identity in a time when conforming to the status quo isn’t only encouraged, it’s entirely necessary for survival, since any deviation from what is considered normal will undoubtedly result in rejection from society at best, outright exile and perhaps even harsh punishment from it at worst. All of this is packaged into this stunning social drama but a director who clearly understands the value of a story well told, and a message conveyed with precision and honesty.

A Special Day operates as a two-hander between its enigmatic stars, which is almost entirely the reason most seek it out in the first place. In careers that saw them touch on many incredible roles in a variety of strong films, it is often this one that is considered to be amongst the finest performances given by both Loren and Mastroianni, which is a bold claim that can easily be supported by any exemplification of the work they’re doing throughout this film. Coming over a decade since their first collaborations, and finding them slightly older, but no less enduring as performers, they both light up the screen, each one providing nuance and grace to characters who would otherwise be thinly-veiled archetypes without the actors’ dedication to their parts, with each moment they’re on screen, whether on their own or together, coming across as entirely authentic and honest, based solely on their dedication to finding something new in the roles. They may be incredible individually (and there are an abundance of moments where Scola’s camera focuses on just one of them – consider the heartbreaking phone calls Mastroianni’s character makes to his unseen lover, or the final few moments of the film, where Loren wanders aimlessly around her home, wondering when she first decided to abandon all individuality, and yearning for the companionship of a man she knows can’t love her back, despite being the exact person she needed in her life), but it’s when they’re together that they’re truly impressive, each moment they’re across from each other being yet another revelation. What keeps great cinematic pairings so enthralling is how each new collaboration comes across as fresh and exciting when it’s done well – and very few were able to capitalize not only on their remarkable chemistry, but willingness to reinvent themselves in front of a camera, than Loren and Mastroianni, who are truly exceptional, even when all they’re tasked with doing is playing ordinary people in situations rendered powerful by sheer virtue of their collaboration.

Beyond the performances of the two leads, one aspect of A Special Day that makes it such an exquisite human drama is how, despite being an effortlessly simple film, it manages to find so much meaning in the most unexpected places, provoking a number of disquieting ideas while standing steadfast in its commitment to exploring themes related to the roles gender played in Italian society at the time. We’ve seen many accounts of this period that focus on the political machinations, as well as those that break boundaries by showing life as it is (which essentially launched the Italian Neo-realism movement, of which A Special Day is certainly a direct descendent). However, it’s more rare to find works that focus more on the cultural impression fascism makes on the lives of its citizens – and centring the story on two people who are on opposite ends of the heteronormative spectrum (one is a placid housewife who has settled into life that may be unexciting but is certainly very comfortable, while the other is a man whose sexual proclivity has reduced him to the status of a filthy criminal in the eyes of the state), the film leaps into some powerful conversations on gender roles, and in particular the oscillation between fragile masculinity and the part women play in the household. The film questions nearly every sacrosanct structure, both at the time in which the film is set and when it was made, providing a haunting account of how social roles functioned, and how even the slightest deviation could result in an imbalance, which naturally would frighten any adherent to a socio-political system so volatile, anything against the status quo is immediately considered dangerous and frightening, which speaks to some dominant mentalities at the time, and certainly goes towards explaining why such a system would never function in a society that bred free-thinking individuals, even if inadvertently doing so through restricting those who simply don’t work well in confined conditions.

A Special Day condenses some hard-hitting conversations into a relatively small, intimate work, with the slow-burning nature of the narrative working well in contrast with the overarching discourse on the living conditions of Italy in the years immediately preceding the outset of the Second World War, which would almost entirely dismantle what it meant to exist in that particular place at such a specific time. Ettore Scola was a masterful filmmaker who spun gold out of a very straightforward narrative that may not be considered necessarily groundbreaking in the traditional sense, but rather acquires a distinct charm through its dedication to a very simple premise that is executed with precision. Visually, the film is a marvel (the sepia-toned imagery is absolutely stunning, and evokes the concept of looking back into memory, with the combination of slight discomfort and insatiable nostalgia being quite distinct and an enormous reason behind the film’s very peculiar tone, which oscillates between light-hearted and harrowing), and narratively it matches this beat-for-beat, being a stunning glimpse into the lives of two very different characters who find common ground through the fundamental process of simply talking about their experiences, sharing their world view and reminiscing about the Italy they remember, while concurrently expressing fear at where the country is heading. It’s an stunning work, and truly one of the strongest efforts from a filmmaker who may not be as well-known as some of his contemporaries, but frequently managed to match them on all levels, as evident in this stunning, beautifully poetic story about the pursuit of happiness, and the ultimate desire to simply survive, in the hopes that a challenging system will fall long before its citizens.