The Italian hills have never looked less bucolic than in this strange, melancholy film. The terrain is harsh and unyielding; the sun unrelenting; the bone-dry ground dissolves into clouds of dust. A wolf stalks the land as darkness falls, and the local farmers scramble for the few available comforts to get them through the night: a functioning lightbulb, some anchovies, the final sips of wine left in the house.
In among this inhospitable landscape is Lazzaro, curly-haired, mule-strong and happy to help with the endless laborious tasks the others throw at him from morning till night. “Lazzaro,” they cry, and he appears, a smile on his face. He is either unaware or preternaturally forgiving of their uncharitable comments, of the small cruelties they commit just because they can. “Yes,” he replies, “I’m here. How can I help?” And off he goes, carrying a bale of hay, or to make someone a complicated-looking cup of coffee.
In theory, a film about dour Italian farmers is perhaps not the most obvious thing to turn to at a time of unprecedented global crisis and widespread personal suffering. But – and it’s difficult to discuss without giving too much away – it’s not the film you might expect it to be. Little by little, the fabric of reality starts to give way: a phrase here, an object there, that makes you second-guess your own assumptions and expectations. Time shifts and expands in mysterious ways. Unexpected visitors arrive, upsetting the delicate balance of the community.
The film takes a more dynamic turn with the appearance of a villain of sorts. Gentle, naive Lazzaro (first-time actor Adriano Tardiolo) is befriended by new arrival Tancredi (Luca Chikovani), a spoilt princeling with a tiny dog and preposterous dress sense, as charismatic as he is obnoxious. Tancredi decides to fake his own kidnapping in order to extort money from his wealthy mother, the tobacco magnate Marchioness Alfonsina de Luna. Lazzaro is – of course – happy to help. Inevitably, things do not go as planned.
What ensues is a quietly profound tale about pain and redemption, taking in everything from the exploitation of workers to meditations on human dignity. There are fables about good men and royalty and supernatural touches. At one point, a scene revolving around pastries is so moving as to be almost unbearable. Moving through it all is Lazzaro, serenely looking on as injustices pile up around him, his eyes full of wonder and occasionally, heartbreakingly, the realisation that he has been wronged by someone he trusted.
This is the third film from the Italian director and screenwriter Alice Rohrwacher, who grew up in rural Umbria, where her family ran a beekeeping business (fictionalised in her previous film The Wonders). Inspired by a real-life story she read in a newspaper, Rohrwacher created the film’s imaginary village of Inviolata (“unspoiled”) near her home with the help of locals, who were also cast in the film. It premiered in Cannes in 2018, where it won best screenplay, and has since gained wide critical acclaim if not exactly mainstream success. There are echoes of Pasolini and Fellini in its subject matter – it has been described as “magic neorealism” – as well as in the stark, beautiful photography of French cinematographer Hélène Louvart (Beach Rats, Rocks).
It is not a film that provides easy answers, allowing viewers instead to draw their own conclusions. As the title suggests, it encompasses religious themes, something Rohrwacher has been exploring since her 2011 feature debut Heavenly Body. Different people will take different things from the film. Some will rave about its lyrical tone, the muted sepia tones of its palette; others may find its pace too leisurely. Non-believers might feel that some of the more overt religious imagery in the film’s second half is a little heavy-handed; to others the same scenes may have a more exalted significance.
But there is something about Lazzaro’s face, so open, so expressive, that keeps you entranced all the way through. The archetype of the holy fool is not a new one, but, as with Peter Sellers’ simple-minded gardener in Being There, it is a figure through which we can reassess our priorities, and what we value most as a society and as individuals. Considering the situation we find ourselves in, there is something especially meaningful in Lazzaro’s ability to transcend the suffering that surrounds him and remain untarnished – and, above all, kind.
Happy as Lazzaro is streaming on Netflix in the US and Amazon Prime in the UK
