Emanuele Crialese
Terraferma

Feeling it as it opens beneath our weight, as we slice through it with our large wooden knife. Hearing its muted gurgles and that fragrant background noise that never bothers us. Tasting its flavor on our white, wrinkled lips before we painlessly pierce it when you decide to be lulled by it. The sea.

In Sicily, the sea rules and provides bread, as if by providence in a land that trembled. And for this reason alone, it must be respected and feared. Prayed to for its fruits and thanked when you fill your rope bags with those fruits to take home. Never curse it if there's little or nothing on the stands. It might hold unpleasant surprises.

Ernesto lives by fishing with his nephew Filippo, who lost his father to the sea. His life is not yet completely disrupted and will be diverged into a tangent difficult to understand and even more tortuous to face. An initial clue will emerge precisely from the sea. That blue mantle they both love and equally lament. From the remnant of a hull to a boatload of desperate people. You don't abandon men at sea. Ever.

Some will "illegally enter the territory of the State" and will be caught by an operational patrol. A pregnant woman close to giving birth will be stealthily hidden at home. A black pearl will be born among tears and anger fueled by fear. Just for good measure, the Guardia di Finanza will also interfere, placing the family between a rock and a hard place with a preventive seizure. They'll be mocked with fish to the ground. For nothing.

You can't live by fishing, so you exploit tourism. Set up the house to welcome clients who can only dream of this sea. Northerners descending to Italy's Africa. A bit presumptuous and wary. Even a bit nasty. Air conditioning? Not at all. Filippo falls in love with a Milanese tourist staying in his apartment with two friends. Too far to love each other. At most, a quick fling outside the house with the down-to-earth southerner for the decidedly more alert and outgoing Milanese. But that single possibility, perhaps never imagined before by the young sea wolf, will become a nightmare poorly hidden by strokes on the wrist and hysterical screams.

A strong hug, one black tear, and one white. A suitable dress and a cloth to evade controls. You are my sister, and I will never forget it. The mainland awaits you, but it is only reached by sea. Under the shadow of violated seals, riding that intense sea, which from above looks like a sweet plum jam.

Emanuele Crialese returns to celebrate the sea with a cast ranging from the confirmed to the tested. Filippo Pucillo maneuvers well, with a fresh, spontaneous acting style, in a role slightly different from those previously portrayed. Always with Crialese. The fascinating and brilliant Donatella Finocchiaro, in the role of the widow. Her simple, still blossoming, earthy beauty is the film's strength. Well-handled emotional contrasts between the forced smile and melancholy, between the sincere love for the naive son and the paradoxically and fundamentally more maternal love for the woman of color. Between the despair of yet another low blow suffered and a superhuman strength to continue. It reminds me of Giulietta Masina's hopeful smile in "Nights of Cabiria." The tough and genuine Mimmo Cuticchio plays Ernesto, not to mention the ever-growing skill of Giuseppe Fiorello. The cinematography is not as polished and ingenious as in "Nuovomondo," but fortunately, it barely grazes the poetic metric of the piece.

Special Jury Prize in Venice and Oscar-nominated. Will we make it?