Writer-director Alice Rohrwacher’s Corpo celeste is a welcome dosage of social realism from Italy. Taking her cue from the visual aesthetic perenially employed by the Dardennes brothers, Rohrwacher has crafted a poignant tale of religious awakening in a girl, Marta (Yle Vianello), who has returned to Calabria after ten years in Switzerland with her mother Rita (Anita Caprioli) and older sister. Neither are crutches on which she can lean once her Catholic catachism classes begin in preparation for her Confirmation. Her sister antagonises her relentlessly, whilst her mother seems to float in an ambivalent bubble.
Scenes which linger on Marta’s absorption in the distance from a rooftop are poignant metaphorical representations of an intrigue for external existence she would like to transport her away from her own life. Marta is quiet and introverted, with a need to rely on her own instincts to avoid confrontation or pain from interaction with others.
To her, religion is an alien concept; having been excluded from its tendrilous capacity to engage whilst growing up overseas she’s suddenly thrown in at the deep end and forced to acquiesce. She struggles with the regimented notations and liturgical certainty drilled into her. Will a spark of rebellion ignite change or further damn her to painful indoctrination into a world that confuses but not absolves?
Corpo celeste is a subtle, sensitive examination of an increasingly inquisitive young girl’s confrontation with rigorous religious devotion. The world as seen through Marta’s eyes offers contradictory messages; the hypocrisy of the religious instructor, Santa (Pasqualina Scuncia), whose vocal instruction is contravened by cruelty in disposing of harmless kittens and a strict, overbearing style that imbues her need for perfection with a vaguely sinister air. Marta is harshly treated by many. Perhaps a personal spite is provoked by the girl’s outsider status for though born in Italy, it’s clear she will struggle to fit in as her fairer complexion and light eyes attest.
Then there’s the fascinating secondary figure of local priest, Father Mario (Salvatore Cantalupo), whose over-seriousness is suggestive of either inner turmoil or floundering faith. A scene of his devout, pre-slumber recitation may be suggestive of conscientiousness masking just such a condition. Is his desperate desire for transferral to a bigger parish poisoning his liturgical convictions?
Rohrwacher has inspired a remarkable performance from young Vianello one equally impressive as that provided recently by Zoe Heran in the superb French drama Tomboy (2010). One particularly dramatic moment, in which Rohrwacher keeps the camera trained on the girl’s face for a compelling length of the time, exemplifies the maturity of her control. Deliberately paced and enriched by the truthfulness of even its smallest observations, Corpo celeste (2011) is a consistently interesting, at times remarkable film filled with indelible images and multi-layered characterisations.
I say:
A mature, at times stunning first feature from Rohrwacher. A sensitively observed and painfully understated drama that will no doubt reward repeat viewings.
See it for:
The performances, which are flawless, but young Vianello especially is a shining light.
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