THE STORY – Set in the breathtaking landscapes of Piemonte in Northern Italy, Low Lies the Land immerses us in the lives of three winemaking families facing an uncertain future.
THE TEAM – Emanuele Gerosa (Director)
THE RUNNING TIME – 92 Minutes
When Emanuele Gerosa’s latest feature “Low Lies the Land” begins, audiences see two men, a father and son, working together on the grounds of a long-existing vineyard. While pruning branches, the son, a middle-aged man, curiously asks if his father’s hands are okay. His father, the older gentleman, instantly shuts down the notion, reinforcing his fifty years on the job as a dismissal of such a slight concern. In a few short minutes, Gerosa captures how these mindsets vary with each passing generation. Time is the eventual element that comes for everyone, especially the livelihoods of those tied to the wineries of Piemonte.
For the three families who are the subjects of “Low Lies the Land,” winemaking is more than just their work; it’s their livelihood. This small town in Northern Italy, where these individuals live, is a gorgeous locale captured beautifully by Alvise Tedesco’s sumptuous cinematography. Gerosa’s slice-of-life approach gives audiences an almost intimate look inside the extensive processes that bring these bottles of wine to life. The wiring, harvesting, and pruning are just a few moments that throw us into a never-ending process that shifts with the seasons.
The introduction of the families creates a delightful ensemble of personalities that represent Italian culture, as one would expect. This lovable, spirited bunch breathes as much life into the film as the wine they create. A comedic energy comes through in some of the most minute actions of the subjects, mainly the older Italian nonnas, whether they’re taking an absurdly long time to scoot across the tables or berating their young workers about their dating lives. It’s sweet, but also tells you about a certain class that no longer exists on these properties. Gerosa stealthily injects a sense of dread that breaks through even the most heartwarming moments.
Audiences’ sense of allure from an almost picturesque tour of Piemonte is halted by the families’ growing frustration over the future of their wineries. The land itself is suffering as the ever-growing effects of climate change take their toll on the soil. What was once fertile ground has become dry turf due to prolonged drought. Each year, harvests yield less and less, reducing their profits. It’s getting harder to keep the lights on, especially with the lack of support. It doesn’t help that younger generations in this passed-down trade have moved to more populous cities. In a way, these older caretakers of the land look toward a future they won’t know if they’ll ever see.
Then there’s the presence of a local real estate broker constantly swimming through these unstable waters, hoping one of these long-standing estates will cave into selling their property, more often to private equity folks with terrible intentions for the land. It’s sad to imagine the possibility of these families that have spent generations on these properties selling out to entities that don’t have the same passion for the trade or love for the land that they do. “Low Lies the Land” tends to usurp the comfort-food-esque storytelling it uses to reinforce this sentiment, but occasionally it undercuts the understated melancholy that makes Gerosa’s work impactful.
The very low-energy storytelling can feel a bit too leisurely because of Giorgia Villa’s editing style, which moves as slowly as the days pass, which works for Gerosa’s attempt to create an inviting atmosphere. Whether you want to stay depends on whether you’re in the same company as the younger folks ready to leave the small-town vibes of Piemonte. Much of “Low Lies the Land” relies on breathtaking cinematography, reinforcing the film’s goal of serving as escapism that evokes a multitude of emotions. Some viewers may want this documentary to be more informative about the wine-making process itself, in the vein of a Fredick Wiseman feature. That’s not at all what Gerosa is aiming for with “Low Lies the Land”; she’s far more interested in the sentiment that lingers within the community, as the water does to these pruned branches.
It’s far from hopeful, maybe evoking the crash that comes when a wonderful vacation ends and one has to return home. The beautiful illusion that something as perfect as these lands will outlast the test of time itself. Gerosa is a bit more skeptical about that notion, but like the families that refuse to buckle under the weight of the world, it’s more than worth preserving.
