The name Roberto Rossellini evokes many different images, very few of them having anything to do with comedy. He was not a director known for making lighthearted films, instead being one of the formative voices in the Italian neo-realist movement, which saw him addressing the postwar period through an array of gritty, direct dramas that were as disturbing as they were profound. However, like any good artist, he did step out of his comfort zone on occasion, directing The Machine That Kills Bad People (Italian: La Macchina ammazzacattivi) his first and what some may consider only, comedy (especially since he absconded from directing another comedy a few years later, with many of his contemporaries such as Federico Fellini and Mario Monicelli being hired to piece together the fragments of Dov’è la libertà?, a film that he apparently grew to resent very early in its process). The film is a fascinating experiment – the story of a photographer who comes to possess a supposedly magical camera that has the power to end the lives of evil individuals, with the luckless man now suddenly wielding an incredible power, albeit not realizing there is more to this instrument than he originally imagined, especially when the person that gave it to him is shrouded in mystery. For all of his powerful storytelling efforts in a range of other films, Rossellini made something still worth watching, even if it is a slightly lesser effort from a director that consistently (and without any hesitation) portrayed the reality of Italy in a way that was profound and moving. These qualities might not be particularly overt in The Machine That Kills Bad People, but it still stands as a fascinating novelty in one of the more captivating directorial careers to come out of Europe during this period.

The film is structured as a morality tale, a fable told by an omnipotent narrator who is heavily implied to be the Great Almighty, the all-seeing deity that sees the trials and tribulations of the human race as an elaborate puppet show, which he can structure and manipulate at ease. From the opening sequence to the conclusion, we’re immersed in a world that is off-kilter but still very recognizable, a common trope for this kind of moral tale that focuses on the difference between doing what is right, and what is easy. Using a storytelling technique that is incredibly absurd, in the form of the titular machine that functions as a tool for killing anyone who is deemed to have deviated from the path of self-righteousness, the film includes some very profound commentary that relates directly to the general tenets of faith, which is something that Rossellini constantly explored, despite his own agnostic beliefs. He was instead interested in how people react to religion, and how belief shapes their lives – and in forming this very eccentric but still exceptionally meaningful film that serves as a fascinating collision of fantasy, comedy and religious discourse, he is able to make some bold statements without necessarily challenging the status quo in the way he did with his more notable films. The structure of The Machine That Kills Bad People is incredibly simple, as we’d expect from the director – and through pushing forward in his own visionary efforts to tell this story in a way that feels both lighthearted and meaningful, the director creates something quite compelling, even at its most offbeat, which is not something that many would expect from someone quite as serious as Rossellini.

Yet, even putting aside the very overt and direct commentary that relates to faith in the form of a fable, The Machine That Kills Bad People is still a Rossellini film, so we should expect some degree of social commentary. Despite the very eccentric nuances, this film doesn’t stray too far from the director’s penchant for realism, functioning just as much as a film centred on the inhabitants of this small village as it does their varying degrees of faith. While the central premise is constant throughout, there are moments where we genuinely forget that there is a plot guiding this story, since so much of this film is driven by episodic moments in the lives of these characters, situations in which they find themselves that range from mildly amusing to absolutely outrageous, with most of Rossellini’s skillfulness going into capturing these segments and forming them into this wonderfully unique voyage into the life of a village and the people who occupy it. It’s not unprecedented for someone to have a preference for this side of the story, where these peripheral characters and their strange lives being much more interesting than the central plot, which can sometimes feel like it is disrupting the captivating flow that comes through the sub-plots and anecdotes that occur throughout the film. Even when working in a genre completely new to him, Rossellini still found a way to default back into his beloved method of focusing on the intricately human details of our existence, as found through this hilarious comedy-of-manners that is more about life than it is anything else.

Everything about The Machine That Kills Bad People seems counterproductive to what we’ve come to expect from Rossellini – the title, the premise and the tone all seem far too eccentric for a director known for his incredibly serious neo-realist works, rather than strange, quaint comedies. However, if we peel away the layers and look directly at the heart of the film, we see how this is still somewhat aligned with what we’d expect from the director, whether it be in the very simple filmmaking techniques that draw attention to the story rather than the spectacle, or the narrative focusing on a range of quintessentially human characters that may be idiosyncratic, but are never stereotypes, there is always some element of Rossellini’s most prominent qualities scattered throughout The Machine That Kills Bad People, a film that benefits from his humane and forthright manner of telling a story. There’s a moral grounding to this film that is extremely obvious, even without the narrator pointing it out in the conclusion – and throughout the film, we are given unique and unforgettable insights into the human condition, every scene a work of careful curation by a director who was trying something new, and while it didn’t launch a new chapter in his career as someone who could helm a comedy just as easily as one of his heartwrenching dramas, the film is still a wonderful entry into his fascinating body of work, which remains one of the most impactful of that particular generation of Italian filmmakers. Entertaining, funny and filled with heart, The Machine That Kills Bad People is an absolutely lovely journey into the past, and just an effervescent piece of storytelling that shows us a different, but still very captivating image of everyday life.