Review of 'The Italian'

There is probably no more emotional subject than lost family, the search for a mother, and the hope of re-unification of parent and child. This Russian film, set in the grime and grit of a bleak wintry Russian landscape, is – with the exception of the last few moments – a gripping and superbly accomplished story about a young boy’s search for a mother he has never known, but only seen in his dreams. Director Andrei Kravchuk creates an astonishingly real yet tender world, at the centre of which is a small boy Vanya, brilliantly brought to life by Kolya Spiridonov.

Vanya is only six years old and one of many orphans living in a harsh schizophrenic world of bedtime stories and teenage prostitution. He and the other castaways in his seedy rural orphanage idle away their time waiting for an inevitable future of petty crime and vagrancy. They are carelessly presided over by drunken officials who leave the orphanage to be managed by the older boys who run rackets and hand out beatings for non-compliance with their adolescent rules. The only way out of this harsh reality is the unlikely prospect of adoption by a wealthy overseas family. When an Italian couple chooses Vanya, he has two months to get used to the idea of leaving everything he has ever known before his new parents return to collect him.

But when another mother comes to the orphanage too late to reclaim her son who has already been adopted out, Vanya comes to imagine that he too may have a real mother somewhere – the one he dreams of - and he sets out to find her, with children traffickers and corrupt police on his trail.

What is astonishing about the film is how all the characters in the story come fully drawn. In an instant we feel that the people of this world – however small their part in Vanya’s journey - are laden with life, its small joys and its burdens. There is a similar solemn depth to the cinematography, often shot for poignancy through glass windows or framed by doors, the way a child might view the harsh adult world outside. The performances, big and small alike, are exceptional, real and knowing, and help Kravchuk and his writer Andrei Romanov create a Dickensian modern Russia with great care and an eye for detail. I have to admit though to being surprised that this level of care didn’t extend to the very ending of the film which – without giving anything away – closed the story in a manner very different to the way the rest of it was played out on screen. Despite this, it remains a beautiful and touching film.