As one of the more fascinating cinematic movements of the 20th century, Italian neo-realism underwent quite a transformation over time, with some of the most effective works being produced in the years following the end of the Second World War, when the focus of many filmmakers shifted from passive views of the Italian way of life into more sobering, heartbreaking depictions of the postwar period, which had an indelible impact on the country and its people, which took several decades to fully abate. This movement gave rise to many of the nation’s greatest filmmakers, amongst them Giuseppe De Santis, who (despite not being as well known as some of his contemporaries) made several fascinating films, amongst them Bitter Rice (Italian: Riso Amaro), the story of a pair of petty thieves who find themselves escaping Rome to evade capture, only to discover that they have been set on their way to a large rice production farm, where they manage to hide from the authorities, only to become embroiled in the bizarre power dynamics that govern the large community of working-class individuals that are employed to farm rice. A peculiar but captivating realist drama, Bitter Rice has many fascinating ideas embedded deep within it, which De Santis explores with comprehensive dedication to telling the story of ordinary folk going about their daily routine, which is gradually disrupted by the presence of a pair of outsiders who arrive in the hopes of concealing themselves, but can’t help but stand out as a result of their inability to assimilate smoothly into a world that appears simple on the outside, but is far from it when we venture inwards.

As is often the case with realist texts, those who wish to venture into a film like this needs to be aware of the fact that these stories don’t necessarily tend to be propelled by much narrative, instead functioning as snapshots of a particular time and place, in this case the Italian countryside in the 1940s, which is still a very exciting social and cultural milieu, but not one that necessarily lends itself to much activity. However, Bitter Rice is not solely portrayed as a neo-realist film, since the director does exercise a bit of liberty, particularly in the introductory and climactic scenes, where there is quite a bit of interesting material – and while this doesn’t intend to malign the two hours between these scenes, it does make the film slightly imbalanced, especially in terms of how De Santis handles the material and keeps us engaged. He was still quite a newcomer in terms of directing, having only started making films a few years earlier – and yet, his vision is still so clear, so much that the inconsistent qualities of Bitter Rice are easily forgotten when we put them in context with something slightly deeper and more profound. It is always necessary to view a film like this through the lens of what its intentions were – and whether describing the simplest routines of everyday life, or hinting at something much deeper (which often requires us to pay attention to every intricate detail in order to glean the full spectrum of what was intended), there is always a certain validity to these stories that make them such incredibly poignant historical texts.

De Santis is aiming to conduct a thorough study of the rice farming community, which the opening scene indicates in explicitly clear language are the lifeblood of the socio-economic sector of Italy, essentially contributing to the prosperity of the country, which was vital during these years in which they were aiming to rebuild after the war. In theory, this should not be a particularly exciting prospect for a film, but somehow the director manages to make it incredibly potent and effective. Part of this is how De Santis blends genres, with the director constructing Bitter Rice as equal parts neo-realist drama and psychological thriller, with broad strokes of romance thrown in for good measure. This shift between genres makes for compulsively entertaining viewing – it keeps us engaged and interested, and allows us to view this story through multiple perspectives, rather than the static, immobile simplicity of some lesser realist works. The director may be deviating from the dogmatic structure of the movement, but for the sake of adding nuance to a story that actually required it – no one necessarily established that a realist film has to be bare-boned and dour, but it is an almost unspoken rule, one that De Santis relishes in challenging as he tells this thrilling crime story that is as insightful as it is outwardly entertaining from top to bottom, constantly leaving us to guess what the next few moments will hold, finding time to surprise us in between its very detailed analysis of the social and cultural structure of the era.

Bitter Rice boasts some exceptional performances, particularly in the form of two of Italy’s finest actors, Vittorio Gassman (who was steadily approaching his peak of popularity) and Silvana Mangano, who may be a slightly less important character in terms of the entire film, but steals every scene she is in, to the point where the second half of the film is constantly drawing our attention to her remarkable work. There’s something about the way Mangano expresses emotion that makes her one of the finest performers to ever work in the medium – she doesn’t merely act, she embodies her characters, and conveys every emotion through her movements and silent expressivity (which is important, considering how this film, like many Italian films produced around this time, had to be dubbed due to sound constraints), which leads to a multilayered interpretation of a truly complex, spirited character who is brought to life with such dedication by Mangano, who managed to command every moment of the film, so much that the de facto lead of the film, Doris Dowling, barely registers, despite being quite good in the part. Gassman weaves in and out of the film, and isn’t entirely essential to the narrative until the final act, and like Mangano, his importance waxes and wanes depending on the specific intentions of the scene – but when he is on screen, he makes sure to make his presence known, with his hulking frame and alluring charm making him quite an enigmatic but nonetheless incredibly gifted actor. Considering how much of Bitter Rice depends on the existence of believable characters, it’s only a natural fit that the actors cast in these roles would rise to the occasion and turn in solid work.

It may not be to everyone’s taste, but Bitter Rice is a fascinating film. It may be somewhat slow at times, which is a product of the shifting tone, with the film starting and ending like a complex psychological thriller, and dragging in the central portions, which are designed along the well-conceived standards of the neo-realism genre, so much that very little actually happens. We’d naturally assume this dissonance would result in the film’s themes being at odds with themselves, but it actually works remarkably well, each new scene being well-constructed and adding to an already existing layer of peculiar but captivating filmmaking. Undeniably, there are certain flaws with the film – amongst them being some awkward staging and some of the narrative beats don’t make much sense. This was clearly a work in progress, which is entirely understandable, especially since this is not a film that would traditionally lend itself to overly complex ideas, but rather a very simple but evocative sense of disquieting intensity that gradually increases as the film progresses. Beautifully made and filled with charm and exhilarating situations in abundance, Bitter Rice is a wonderful film, and an essential entry into the canon of postwar Italian cinema.