THE STORY – Erika and Mauro live in the province, living a simple life made up of reassuring habits and small gestures. When their daughter Irene leaves to study abroad, the house empties, and the balance on which the couple has built their existence seems to be shaken.
THE CAST – Alba Rohrwacher, Guido Caprino, Caterina Casini, Duccio Camerini & Elio De Capitani
THE TEAM – Anna Foglietta (Director/Writer) & Tania Pedroni and Matteo Ferri (Writers)
THE RUNNING TIME – 107 Minutes
What remains of a marriage when the responsibilities that have defined it suddenly disappear? Anna Foglietta builds her feature directorial debut, “A Common Story” around an intentionally ordinary question and two equally ordinary people. Erika (Alba Rohrwacher) and Mauro (Guido Caprino) have spent years being parents, workers, and partners, settling into a routine that has become so comfortable that neither seems to have noticed how little of themselves remain outside it. Their daughter leaving home does not create the problems in their marriage. It simply makes them impossible to ignore.
Erika has devoted herself to being useful. She works as a supermarket cashier, cares for her family, and looks after her widowed mother, while Mauro divides his time between construction, coaching football, and an uneasy relationship with his authoritarian father. Irene’s departure suddenly leaves both with unfamiliar space, forcing them to confront how many years they have spent beside one another without fully understanding themselves or their marriage. Foglietta is particularly interested in a generation accustomed to burying dissatisfaction beneath work, family, and routine. Once those distractions disappear, long-suppressed feelings begin to surface. Rather than manufacturing a dramatic crisis, Foglietta builds the film around daily rituals, silences, and small gestures. That restraint suits Rohrwacher and Caprino, who make their characters feel thoroughly lived-in. Rohrwacher is especially effective at conveying how freedom can resemble purposelessness after years spent defining oneself through others. But the film’s simplicity is also its limitation. Its observations about marriage, gender roles, empty-nest syndrome, and rediscovering individuality are recognizable, but familiarity occasionally slips into predictability.
More frustrating are the moments when Foglietta seems reluctant to trust that simplicity. The film largely adopts a restrained visual language, only for occasional stylistic flourishes to draw unnecessary attention to themselves. There are interesting ideas behind the imperfect lenses, obstructed compositions, and characters pushed toward the edges of the frame, but some choices feel more conspicuous than illuminating. In particular, One of the film’s strongest conversations is paired with distracting framing that works against its emotional honesty. Pacing creates a similar tension. Foglietta allows conversations to unfold patiently, reflecting how difficult it is for Erika and Mauro to articulate feelings they have avoided for years. That approach can be rewarding, but at 107 minutes, several passages linger without revealing much more about either character, causing the restraint to occasionally flatten rather than deepen their emotional journey.
Whenever the film begins to drift, Rohrwacher and Caprino pull it back into focus. Neither overplays the marital unhappiness, allowing affection to remain visible beneath the frustration. This is not a story about love disappearing, but about what shape it can take once the life built around it begins to change. That tension culminates in the film’s most affecting sequence, as Erika and Mauro finally confront everything they have left unsaid. The staging pushes the emotion slightly too hard, but the performances keep it grounded, capturing how love can become quieter and harder to recognize without vanishing entirely. Unfortunately, the film does not quite know when to leave that emotional high point alone. The final split-screen feels unnecessary after a natural resolution, reflecting Foglietta’s tendency to embellish ideas that are often stronger when left untouched.
“A Common Story” is ultimately an appropriate title for both the film’s strengths and limitations. Foglietta finds dignity in people whose lives would ordinarily attract little attention, and Rohrwacher and Caprino make their gradual reckoning tender and believable. There is a better film hiding within this one, perhaps a shorter and more confident version willing to trust its own simplicity. As it stands, this is a sincere and promising debut that understands its characters more deeply than it understands how best to tell their story.
