THE STORY – Follows the final days of a fictional Italian Presidency.
THE CAST – Toni Servillo, Anna Ferzetti, Orlando Cinque, Massimo Venturiello, Milvia Marigliano, Giuseppe Gaiani, Linda Messerklinger & Vasco Mirandola
THE TEAM – Paolo Sorrentino (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 133 Minutes
In these modern times, it’s easy to look at our political leaders with a generous dose of skepticism. Politics has become such a tumultuous sea of aggravation and despair that you want to assign any participant in this game to be filled with malice and contempt. However, this arena is far more complicated than we, the public, may sometimes want to admit. These leaders harbor many of the same flaws and insecurities as the rest of us, despite some projecting themselves as infallible gods who are above reproach. It is within this landscape that Paolo Sorrentino seeks to operate. “La Grazia” is a meditation on a man in a grand position of power, looking back as his tenure comes to an end, and recounting the triumphs and regrets that consume him. It is often a moving exercise, even if its uneven execution leaves an imperfect portrait.
It is the final stretch in the presidency of Mariano De Santis (Toni Servillo), who will soon reach the end of his term and faces numerous complicated decisions. There’s a series of pardons in front of him, all attached with moral complexities to examine with dubious advocates. There is also a bill to establish a broader law on legal euthanasia within the country, which strikes at the heart of another dilemma between pragmatism and personal values. De Santis also lingers on the thought of his recently deceased wife and is consumed by the affair she had four decades ago. With his daughter Dorotea (Anna Ferzetti) as his most trusted advisor, the president wanders through the process of making these decisions. Each one will inform not just a vital aspect of his administration but also reveal the deeper meanings of what he has harbored regarding his own life’s philosophy.
Sorrentino is a filmmaker renowned for his extravagant style. “The Great Beauty,” “The Hand of God,” and especially “Parthenope” are works that revel in grandiose aesthetics, highlighting breathtaking visual feasts that often come at the expense of engaging characters and narratives. He seems determined to try a different approach, as very few of his trademarks are found. The story he presents here is far more grounded in comparison to the more well-known entries in his filmography. That isn’t to say his tendencies are completely erased. He can’t help but indulge in stylish slow-motion sequences, a roaming camera that bathes in harsh shadows, and a propulsive score that sounds more akin to an EDM dance floor. There’s even an instance of a young woman being infatuated by the sight of an older man. However, these indulgences often clash with the more naturalistic tone the rest of the film possesses, which is far quieter and intimate in its scope. This dichotomy amplifies the severe shifts in pacing, and momentum continually stalls. One appreciates the more stripped-down approach, but consistency is necessary to create a piece that is more wholly captivating. Whenever Sorrentino slips back into his habit of recalling a euphoric perfume ad, those choices just don’t interweave with the more realistic character study.
However, what Sorrentino does craft is a thematically compelling tapestry that is intriguing to explore. We are witnessing a leader in the twilight of his years, reaching the finality of his legacy, and determining which actions are important to observe. It’s a somber meditation on the remorse that consumes one as the sun quickly sets on the horizon. Euthanasia looms as a dark cloud over the story. It quickly becomes a commentary about having the determination to let go, to make the active decision to overcome the sins of the past, however painful they may be, and forge a new path going forward. These decisions wrestle with personal intentions as well. Characters often describe each other as “clever,” and this sentiment is not meant to be entirely complimentary. It is instead designed to emphasize the actions taken to hide insecurities and motivations, which is ideal in the world of politics, but a personal failing when it comes to developing meaningful relationships. And what are these true motivations? Do the murderers asking for pardons have pure intentions that drove them to violent acts? Are they genuine in their reasoning? Are those in De Santis’s circle acting for his interest or their own? It’s a richer environment that Sorrentino explores, and those questions are what give the film its most engrossing aspects to investigate. In turn, it becomes one of his more fulfilling ventures, with an enthralling scope to the storytelling.
As the central figure, Servillo captures an alluring screen presence. His stoic nature hardly wavers, with only the occasional emotional outbursts that are mostly designated to recollections of his deceased spouse. Usually, he is quiet and reserved, but you can always tell there is a whirlwind of emotion that lies underneath, a simmering rage that begs to lash out, and a striking melancholy that yearns to breathe. He may not always make bold statements with every arrival on screen, but he effectively communicates a man in turmoil and must confront those demons internally. Ferzetti matches this intensity, and she also delivers a portrayal of similar despair. Sorrow is permanently etched in her expressions, and every attempt to be a commanding figure only highlights these feelings even more. She’s a great counter to Servillo, not only a wonderful scene partner but also one who emphasizes their nuanced dynamic, which is important to understanding their relationship. Though try as both might, it’s hard not to think the show is slightly stolen by Milvia Marigliano, who plays an art collector and one of De Santis’s closest friends. With her plume of white hair, thick-rimmed glasses, and fiery personality, she attacks every moment with a ferocious abundance of quips and retorts. But she can even manage to find a heartwrenching sadness deep within, and it is sincerely felt when expressed. It’s just one example of a capable ensemble the film employs.
At one point, De Santis goes to see the Pope for a bit of spiritual counseling, or perhaps more accurately, some moral guidance. This Pope, seen as a Black man with long white dreads as if to intentionally invert the traditional perspectives of old religious institutions, talks with frankness to the president in a way others may not. “Lies are for country priests,” this Pope exclaims. For “La Grazia,” lies are not just for those who are in possession of little authority, but they are still meant to be fragile concepts that erode with age and experience. The half-truths and mistrustful deeds may initially guide one’s ambition, but they can soon evolve into a more refined state. The film’s namesake, also from one of this Pope’s soliloquies, comes from a description about acting with courage in the face of doubt. It’s an enticing message that Sorrentino aims to uncover, and the results can be somewhat mixed. His execution switches between realism and extravagance, which often impedes one’s investment in the piece overall. Still, the story he is telling has fascinating layers, and he conjures absorbing performances from the cast. It’s a change of pace for Sorrentino, in some regards, to bring humanity to figures who want to rule over large parts of society. It’s a tender examination, sometimes not fully formed but always with provocative ideas to unearth.
