Nestled deep within the Italian Alps sits a small village – its occupants spend their days quietly going about their routine, focusing on their day-to-day schedule. At the same time, war rages around the world, a conflict that they are not directly involved in, at least not until the arrival of a soldier in their village, whose presence ignites both passion and criticism, particularly in how he represents the outside world and presents a new set of challenges for the humble residents of this quaint hamlet, who in turn find themselves fascinated and compelled by his tales of war and the brief taste of modernity he brings to the community. This is the most basic and straightforward description we can give to Vermiglio, the incredible fourth film written and directed by Maura Delpero, who is covertly building up quite an impressive body of work as one of Italy’s most intriguing filmmakers. In this film, we are taken back to 1944, just as the Second World War is reaching its most climactic and destructive moments, but rather than focusing on the war itself or the major arenas in which these conflicts took place (such as the urban centres that were most impacted by the violence and brutality), the director situates us as far from the epicentre of the war as possible, placing us right in the middle of a remote mountain village, while still attempting to show how a war can influence the lives of those who are both geographically and psychologically detached from the conflict imaginable. A subtle, nuanced and compelling blend of images and conversations that are far deeper than we would expect based on a cursory glance, Vermiglio is a staggering achievement for both its technical abilities and more esoteric qualities, all of which work together in tandem to create something detailed and nuanced in form and content, proving Delpero’s exquisite talents as well as her keen eye for detail in her efforts to weave this impressive tale of life during wartime, and how one didn’t need to be a firsthand witness to the brutality of conflict to have it influence every part of their lives since these events usually tend to have far-reaching impact, much more than any of us who have grown accustomed to peaceful conditions could fathom.

Delpero’s intentions with Vermiglio are made explicitly clear from the first moments – she is aiming to explore Italian society at a very particular time in the past, filtering it through quite a unique temporal and geographical lens. Italian neo-realism has held the monopoly on post-war depictions of the country for decades, and while those films are certainly remarkable, they only present one specific view of life during and after the Second World War, focusing on how the conflict wrought havoc on the urban centres around the country, and very rarely looking at how it impacted those in more remote locations. The belief in any war is that those who exist far from the main urban areas are somehow not only safe from danger but gleefully oblivious to the reality of the situation, since it’s mainly those in more populated areas that feel the brunt of war. However, this is far from the truth – if anything, being isolated can be even more challenging, since while there is a lesser chance of direct involvement in the conflict, there’s still a possibility of encountering some harrowing moments, whether it a loved one being plucked from their simple life and forced to join the war effort while those who remain at home desperately wait to hear any news about the war, or the feeling of being detached from the rest of the country, which can create a sense of social alienation. These elements are beautifully woven into Vermiglio, which acts as a portrait of Italy at a specific moment in the past, paying particular attention to the communities that exist on the outskirts of society. It’s a fascinating approach, and the director finds a lot of value in looking at a community that has enjoyed the feeling of independence and self-sustenance that defines their life in the countryside but looks at how they process the reality of war, which is entirely unseen throughout the film, and exists exclusively in the spoken testimonies of those who find their way to this village. A war film where we don’t witness a moment of violence is an audacious concept and one that Delpero seamlessly carves from this stunning and complex narrative.

The most intriguing aspect of Vermiglio is not only in what it says but also how it is said – this is a film formed around a very simple premise, particularly one in which the conventions of the traditional three-act structure are overlooked in favour of something more unique. Some may look at this film as being plotless, attributed to the fact that it moves at an intentionally slow, measured pace that evokes a more realistic depiction of the period, rather than scrambling to get to a particular point. The message this film is aiming to convey isn’t discursive, but rather descriptive – Delpero is dedicated to creating an image of the past, using her camera to tell the story and provide the context that could never be said through spoken words, and where the dialogue throughout this film, while very beautiful and intricate, is secondary to the more tangible qualities. The poetry of Vermiglio is mainly restricted to the images throughout, which the director composes through capturing the simple beauties of this region, attempting to transport us back to the past, which required a lot of attention to detail, as well as a very particular visual language, especially since there isn’t much structure to the story. The film is driven primarily by its atmosphere, whereby the story is defined by the mood (rather than the inverse), and therefore had to focus primarily on the pacing and structure, both of which are quite different from more traditional forays into this subject matter. Delpero manages to achieve such striking texture throughout the film, which is developed to be a quiet meditation on existence, as seen through the eyes of several different characters, whose lives intersect in profoundly compelling ways. The simplicity of the story coupled with the grandiosity of the images is one of the many reasons why Vermiglio is so thoroughly captivating, and why it manages to be such a polished, fascinating accomplishment, particularly in how it develops its underlying themes.

Vermiglio is the rare kind of film that doesn’t necessarily struggle with characterization but rather takes an approach that is much more focused on the ensemble and how they function in comparison to the narrative that surrounds them. The film has over two dozen unique characters, and while some are more prominent than others, none of them are developed in such a way that we can view this as an actor-based production. This isn’t a deficiency of the film, nor is it a flaw – instead, it’s an intentional aspect of the narrative that yields very intriguing results, even if they are slightly more unconventional based on what we have grown to expect. This is not an actorly film, but rather one that uses its cast in the same way that they would use the locations that serve as the backdrop of the film, insofar as they are narrative components that serve the story, rather than the more traditional inverse, each character forming part of the vibrant mosaic on which this film is constructed. As a result, there aren’t any clear standouts amongst the cast, particularly since the focus is never kept on a particular character for too long – but despite this, the actors are all uniformly excellent, bringing these complex characters to life with exceptional skill, and being more than willing to take their places as threads that make up this sprawling humanistic tapestry. The film is certainly very subtle in how it approaches a number of its themes, and the characters are merely there to push the story along, defined by performers who are wholeheartedly committed to evoking a very subtle, natural style of acting. As we’ve said previously, Vermiglio is a story about a place, and the titular village is essentially the protagonist, with everyone in the cast simply being a supporting presence in comparison. It’s a unique approach, and one that others have attempted in the past to varying degrees of success, but it proves that an ensemble can be extremely effective without needing to be the focal point of the story, and instead can seamlessly blend into the background to create this vibrant image of a particular place and time in the past.

While it may take its time, Vermiglio is ultimately quite a fruitful endeavour for the viewer, since we are plunged into the past in a manner that feels thoughtful and earnest, rather than being limited to the more common techniques usually utilized for these period dramas that are focused on examining the past, but rarely do more than the bare minimum, which was not something that the director intended with this masterful exploration of history. This is a rich, complex drama filled with nuances that seem so simple, but yet are extraordinarily layered, telling an evocative story of life during wartime and the people who observed the changes influencing their country from a distance, powerless to change the course of the inevitable, focused around their intersecting lives and how their daily routines slowly change as life becomes more unpredictable. It’s a daring, unconventional drama that firmly establishes Delpero as someone to watch, especially in how she navigates complex ideas to come across as entirely authentic, expressing her fascination with the past in vibrant, complex detail from the very start until the haunting final moments of this extraordinary snapshot into history. The craftsmanship alone is astonishing, with every frame looking as if it was plucked directly out of a painting, carrying a sense of genuine artistry that will likely allow this film to age extraordinarily well. Subtle and detailed, and brimming with genuine emotions that seem both impactful and earnest in what they represent, Vermiglio is an absolute masterpiece, and a film that will only grow in estimation as more viewers encounter this masterful journey into the past, defined by its breathtaking visuals and neverending humanity.