"It's like having a big white sheet of paper to draw on!" proclaims the wise tiger Hobbes at the sight of the world covered in snow in the final Calvin & Hobbes comic. His six-year-old pal Calvin agrees, remarking that the surrounding white landscape indicates "a day full of possibilities!" The innately blank nature of snowy landscapes means they’re utilized for all kinds of artistic and thematic purposes. It can reinforce the bittersweetness of a classic comic strip winding down. In other cases, like in The Gold Rush or Hundreds of Beavers, it's the optimal backdrop for comedic mischief. Anything can happen here…including hilarious antics!
Still, other domains utilize inescapable snow to accentuate a mournful atmosphere. Barren trees, air that you can see lingering on everyone’s lips, murky skies, they call coalesce to externally reflect internal woe. There’s a reason a default image in everyone’s minds of melancholy is staring out a window, watching snowflakes hit the ground. Writer/director Maura Delpero most certainly continues this particular use of snow in her new feature Vermiglio. The main individuals in this production inhabit an isolated mountain village covered in snow. There’s a chill in both the air and how these characters behave towards one another.
Cesare (Tommaso Ragno) has carved out a tiny, manageable life for his family. Teaching the local youth how to read while instilling strict values in his family members, the dark corners of the war-ridden world seem nonexistent here. That all gets shattered when newcomer Pietro (Giuseppe De Domenico) arrives in the village and not only becomes one of Cesare's pupils but catches the fancy of his daughter, Lucia (Martina Scrinzi). In this village, there are extremely rigid “proper” ways for women to have. Succumbing to physical impulses involving Pietro is not part of those societal expectations.
Even more than snow, withdrawnness defines Vermiglio's world. This is a saga about women who are forced to smoke in barns, explore their bodies behind dressers, and function only as domestic homemakers. All the while, Catholicism, the guiding light of their remote existences, and male authority figures implore them to shirk any concept of autonomy. To control one's body, to speak up against men, and to defy social conventions, are unthinkable concepts. Vermiglio reflects on the harsh realities facing those identifying as marginalized genders.
Thus, Delpero and cinematographer Mikhail Krichman set much of Vermiglio in closed-off corners only illuminated by the tiniest streaks of natural light. It is only in these claustrophobic confines that women can find the briefest flickers of independence through acts like inhaling nicotine. To underscore the nuances of this grim world, tight interior spaces are not just associated with personal freedom within Vermiglio. That fateful confession box, where women capitulate to religious standards (here their moments of freedom are identified as “sins”), is even more cramped than the bar where cigarettes are enjoyed. Meanwhile, the male character Cesare is clearly plagued by his own unique brand of torment within the deeply limited walls of his classroom.
Life’s finite nature is always reinforced in Vermiglio’s visuals. The similarly limited options for women in this society also manifest in the lived-in performances of Robert Rovelli (playing mom Adele) and Orietta Notari (playing older relative Zia). They've both been around the bend, they know how few jobs are open to women in this society. The latter performer’s character even openly engages in misogynistic thinking about how Lucia is solely responsible for any misery that befalls her. Women, after all, should know better than to challenge the status quo. Fascinatingly deep, caked-in experience radiates off both Rovelli and Notari’s turns in such unique ways.
They’re two of the more memorable performers in a film that sometimes gets a bit too mired in its grim atmosphere. Vermiglio's somberness manifests through imagery that’s perfectly solid. However, it lacks the incredibly distinctive blocking and camerawork found in Cristian Mungiu or Bella Tarr’s bleak works. Late in the feature, there’s a striking shot of Pietro sitting in a cart, ready to go on a trip. Once his mode of transportation moves, the camera unexpectedly moves with him, mimicking the point-of-view of the viewer being on the cart with Pietro. Delpero and Krichman unexpectedly established an immersive vantage point without me realizing it! What a wonderful thrill that, unfortunately, reinforces the cromulent but not especially distinctive visuals in the rest of Vermiglio.
Some shots, like Cesare smoking as he stares out a frosty window, even feel like unintentional parodies of typical forlorn European arthouse movie imagery. Vermiglio’s performances and atmosphere are evocatively aching. Unfortunately, its visual impulses resonate as more rudimentary. This ends up diluting some of the movie's impact as well as a few too many scenes lingering on Cesare’s hypocrisy. Sequences like one where he claims there isn’t any money to send multiple daughters to school while splurging on records for himself vividly reflect a very realistic duplicitous aura. Whether it’s the early 20th century in Italy or 2024, this is always how men behave.
Still, the more straightforward visual depictions of Cesare’s abrasiveness (like yelling at Adele shortly after she gives birth or reacting to his daughter getting her first period with disdain) keep evoking older movies of yore. Vermiglio could’ve benefited from slightly more distinctive visual depictions of turmoil seeping into suppressed lives, like the imagery dominating Ratcatcher. Even if it lacks an uber-idiosyncratic approach to bleak storytelling, there’s still much to admire here, particularly in the craftsmanship in the costumes and weary sets. Plus, shots relying heavily on snow do leave an impression. There’s a reason everything from new Italian features to Calvin & Hobbes keeps coming back to these wintery backdrops!