Without any hesitation or sense of hyperbole, I can boldly proclaim that Vittorio de Sica made what I consider to be the greatest film of all time, the absolutely stunning and deeply captivating Bicycle Thieves, a cinematic marvel that never fails to make an impact when I revisit it and see how the director managed to tell such a simple story in a way that resounds with as much intensity today as it did at its original release, over seventy years ago. However, he wasn’t a filmmaker known to rest on his laurels, and he made many masterpieces throughout his long career, which saw him working in every genre, from outrageous comedy to heartwrenching melodrama. However, de Sica’s best work will always be that under the sub-genre of Italian neo-realism, which he helped define and establish as one of the most important cinematic movements, one that inspired over half a century of filmmakers to tell beautiful and poetic stories through the most minimalistic, simple means. One of his towering masterpieces is Umberto D., a film that comes dangerously close to overtaking Bicycle Thieves as his finest work, with the story of an elderly pensioner doing whatever he can to survive in post-war Italy, despite being penniless and on the verge of homelessness, striking a chord with viewers throughout the decades, remaining just as insightful and powerful today as it did when de Sica wove together some stunning vignettes in the life of a man desperate to make it to the next day, regardless of the challenges that present themselves to him. Built on a firm foundation of resilience and genuine optimism, Umberto D. is an absolute masterpiece that stands as one of the greatest films of its era. 

Flawless films don’t really exist, but some do approach perfection, and while this one may stand in the shadow of its slightly more beloved forerunner, it would be foolish to look at Umberto D. as anything other than pure visual poetry, spun together by a filmmaker who could say more about life in a single film than most artists do in their entire career. His primary goal was to represent reality in a way that was as authentic and meaningful as possible, capturing the spirit of life through his distinctive minimalist style of storytelling. Like some of his peers in the neo-realist movement, de Sica employed a few notable aspects to the filmmaking process – a cast composed of mainly unprofessional actors, real locations (rather than sets) and a very straightforward story that doesn’t lend itself to anything other than the most genuine explorations of the human condition, which leaves very little room for heavy-handed commentary, which is something that the director actively avoided, instead choosing to allow the emotions at the heart of his stories to come about naturally. It’s an approach that has served as the inspiration for countless subsequent films (particularly in the realm of independent cinema, where such stories are often the impetus for equally interesting glimpses into a particular time and place), but no one could do it quite like de Sica, who had some a firm command of his craft, simply seeing him tell such a simple story seems like a major achievement, a passionate leap into the past, where we’re presented with a series of unforgettable moments in the life of a man fighting for his survival, and unfortunately constantly having the odds stacked against him.

The story of a lonely man and his dog traversing the hostile streets of his native Rome leads to one of the most poetic and heartbreaking assessments of the post-war experience, especially for those on the margins of society, whether economically or socially. Unfortunately, in the case of Umberto, he is a casualty of both, shunned from society for both his age and apparent inability to support himself. The director isn’t afraid of playing on our emotions in the creation of this character – and helped along massively by Carlo Battisti, a university professor and linguist that had never acted before this film, and never would again (and yet turned in one of the greatest performances of the decade, proving talent often arrives in the most unexpected forms), de Sica finds a way for us to move through the world alongside the main character as he experiences several obstacles that stand between him and his prospects of leading a happy life, or what remains of it in these challenging final years as he heads towards his inevitable demise. This is not an easy film to watch, and many moments are amongst the most heartbreaking ever committed to film (and for those who have formed a connection with a pet, there are a few sequences that might be even more upsetting), but it’s ultimately a beautiful one, with each and every detail at the heart of the film, and in the characterization of the titular protagonist, leading us to believe that De Sica was working within an entirely new school of filmmaking, one driven less by story and more by atmosphere – and while Umberto D. isn’t the most famous neo-realist film, it is the one that seems to resonate with viewers the most, likely due to the deeply captivating story that has a few moments of lighthearted humour that only makes it all the more enthralling, since it helps balance out the bleak realities on which the entire film is built.

There is a complete lack of sensationalism or overwrought emotion in this film, with the only boundary between the audience and the heartbreaking plight of the protagonist in Umberto D. being time – we’re separated by nearly seventy years, but yet still feel as if we are being immersed in this world, becoming a part of the society that Umberto is trying to understand. Simplicity is the key to the success of this film, with De Sica continuously refusing to heighten the tensions – every bit of suspense comes about organically, and while it may be oscillating between heart-warming and absolutely shattering, there is always a lot of value in what the director is doing at a particular moment, his control of tone making for a film that, despite its incredible simplicity, never fails to keep us captivated, constantly proving itself to be embedded with an authentic form of suspense. We can never predict where the film is going – the vaguely stream-of-consciousness approach, where De Sica is following a few days in the life of the main character as he attempts to find ways to make money to pay his rent, is an effective way of giving us insights into the everyday struggles of ordinary people without seeming as if it is preaching to the audience. The intentions of his films were often nothing more than his attempts to show the lives of the people who often don’t have their stories told on film – and we are always captivated by the trials and tribulations of Umberto and the various people he encounters, who appear so deeply earnest, none of them being particularly heinous, nor free of imperfections. We are all human, and face our own challenges – and despite only focusing on one character, Umberto D. conveys a deep understanding of society in general, and the various struggles that emerge in the lives of even the most common people.

Compassion has always been a component I have associated with De Sica, whose work may have traversed many different genres, but always retained a sense of unimpeachable humanity. As much as we’d like to deconstruct a film like Umberto D. into a series of statements regarding the post-war experience, the most effective way to view this film is how the director intended it – the sad but hopeful tale of an old man facing an uncertain future, where his life is composed of an equal amount of triumphs and tragedies, all the latter eroding his faith in the world he has grown old in, the former rekindling whatever fragments of hope reside deep in his soul. There isn’t anything particularly complex about what De Sica is doing with this film, and whatever commentary filters through the realist veneer is intentional but can easily be put aside in favour of just marvelling at the beautiful version of the world constructed by a director who always seemed to be intent on showing a version of reality that means something to him. Umberto D. may be amongst the most heartbreaking films ever made, precisely because every emotion is raw, plucked directly from reality, so much that many of the situations the character finds himself in will resonate with many of us. Whether it be bidding farewell to a beloved companion (human or animal), or struggling with thoughts of inadequacy, there is something so brutally honest about this film, and it makes it all the more harrowing, since the director ventures into the deepest recesses of humanity, and extracts poignant moments that are absolutely heartbreaking, but never deviate too far from being genuinely moving, keeping a sense of optimism, even when it is at its most bleak.

Umberto D. is a true masterpiece – a tender, deeply human drama about finding one’s way through a hostile world, and realizing that there is always the possibility of seeing a better day on the horizon. De Sica is unflinching in showing the realities faced by the main character and the people he represents, but instead of throwing us into a well of over-wrought commentary, the director instead chooses a more simple approach, looking into the life of a man who serves as a representative for an entire generation of people who find themselves falling victim to a world that doesn’t seem willing to wait for those who are lagging behind, regardless of the reason for their inability to keep up. It’s a heartwrenching portrait of ageing, layered with commentary centred around the role the elderly play in society, and how one is only worth something when they are useful. More than anything else, Umberto D. thrives on its enormous sense of heartfulness – the specific details of the titular character’s plight are not important when taken alongside his gradual realization that survival is becoming very difficult for his generation, even for someone as thrifty and tenacious as him. Driven by nothing but the most sincere compassion, and motivated by the director’s undying devotion to intricate, meaningful portrayals of existence, this film is one of the most genuinely resonant examples of humanist filmmaking, and a work of art that frequently comes very close to absolute perfection, especially when it looks at certain ideas that will likely resonate with every one of us, making this an absolutely staggering work of visual, humanizing poetry that dares to reflect reality in as authentic a way as possible.