When it comes to Italian comedy, the 1950s were a watershed moments, since this was the era in-between the height of the Italian neo-realist movement, and the peak of Commedia d’Italiana, both of which were pivotal moments in cinema history that left an indelible impression on global film in the decades that followed. There wasn’t much overlap between them, but there were some instances of a film presenting aspects of both, albeit very rarely. However, when this happened, the results were often quite incredible, as is the case with Ladro lui, ladra lei (roughly translated as “he thief, she thief”), the bold and outrageously funny comedy by Luigi Zampa, who takes on the story of a recently-released prisoner and the young woman who has always held his heart, going into business together as petty thieves, fleecing those who had both wronged them and been given far too much in life, which they genuinely believe they don’t deserve. Zampa goes to extraordinary lengths in telling this story, producing an effortlessly simple, but thoroughly convincing, little comedy that speeds past us, leaving a profound impression, before departing in a haze of entertaining dust, which is often exactly what a film like Ladro lui, ladra lei should strive to be. Never overstaying its welcome, but still finding a special place in the viewer’s mind, Zampa’s film is a wonderful achievement, a simple but effective comedy that proves that taking a more straightforward approach is often the best way to go about making a film such as this, since the heart and soul that comes along with it can often propel it to wonderful heights, and give us something endearing to hold onto beyond the endless laughter inspired by this strange but wonderfully unique film.

In keeping with a very simple premise, Zampa is able to find the nuance underlying the story of two people who are driven by desire, albeit in different forms. For Cencio, played by the wonderful Alberto Sordi, its the lust that comes from leading a life of crime, where the entire world is there for his bidding, and his continuous efforts to outsmart anyone he thinks is a worthy adversary (or more accurately, not intelligent enough to catch onto his act). For Cesira, the wonderful Sylva Koscina, it is more a case of her yearning for a life with a man who can provide for her, since she is tired of being caught in the ambigious space between domestic daughter and working-class woman, and the idea of settling down with someone who can give her a good life (while not forcing her to step down from her own ambitious plans to succeed and rise in her chosen vocation), is incredibly appealing to her. This is where the film is set alight, since there are many intimate moments between the two characters that imply something much deeper and more meaningful is underpinning their relationship. Naturally, like we have come to learn from many Italian comedies of this era, it’s foolish to take everything at face value, and even at its most poignant, the relationship between the two main characters is filled with surprises, with the viewer never really knowing the truth of where the director is going to take this story. It’s part of the joy of experiencing a film like Ladro lui, ladra lei, which feels like a more progressive version of the traditional romance, where everything has to converge to the two characters abandoning whatever factors stand in the way of their romance, and simply surrendering to their emotions.

While the film doesn’t necessarily feature the two protagonists confirming their life and settling down, it doesn’t mean that it’s void of a happy ending, with the resolution to the story being more aligned with a kind of cynical absurdity that was quite common for Italian comedies at the time. The post-war era was a challenging time for the country, and this is heavily represented in the art produced by the country in the following decades. Ladro lui, ladra lei may not be the scathing social indictment that some of its contemporaries were, but it had a jagged edge that is both entertaining and profoundly unsettling. Zampa knows how to hold our attention and subsequently deconstruct it entirely, taking us on a journey into post-war Italy in a way that is unexpectedly fun, but also brimming with a scathing energy that we’d perhaps not expect from something that purports to be as effervescent as this. The director is fully-intent on tearing away the facade of a culture that had grown complacent in their oppression, and while Ladro lui, ladra lei isn’t the definitive statement on any of its underlying questions (instead choosing to be more aligned with a kind of satire that works the best as a self-contained piece of commentary), there is a complexity to what Zampa is doing here that feels almost deranged. His ability to produce something that appears entertaining, but has a bitter after-taste, is incredible, since we are given a first-hand account to some of the nation’s biggest problems, funnelled through the lens of an exuberant romance, which feels far more compelling in how it handles the comedic aspects of the story.

Ladro lui, ladra lei is a fascinating film, and one that is beautifully simple, especially in how it traverses some tricky subject matter to deliver something quite special. Zampa is a director with a strong set of opinions, which he infuses into every frame of the film – the dialogue is incredibly witty (with many of the jokes coming at the viewer at break-neck speed, so we may not catch them immediately), but it is underpinned by a sinister sense of satire, which the director exploits perfectly, showing enough restraint to not venture too far out of the box, but still being experimental enough in how he portrays this era in Italian social and cultural history. It’s a strange but effective work, and one that never feels as if it is intent on layering too much commentary on the audience, giving us a chance to enjoy this version of the world Zampa immerses us into, but through the lens of the kind of socially-charged satire that feels like it has something to say, rather than just commenting passively on the experiences it set out to portray. Ladro lui, ladra lei is not a particularly well-known film, but there’s a charm to it that makes it so incredibly enticing, and through a duo of compelling performances, a witty script and strong, assured direction, it defeats the odds and becomes a very special little comedy that isn’t afraid to expose the more serious side of society, which it does through a peculiar, darkly comical tone that conceals some bitter truths that are gradually unravelled as this striking film moves forward, leaving a substantial impression.