Paolo Sorrentino
Youth

[Contains spoilers]

Beyond the film itself, there would be many things to say in comparison with its multi-award-winning predecessor that clearly confirm Sorrentino's greatness. Youth works in clear contrast with The Great Beauty, in several respects. First and foremost, it recovers the authenticity of human figures, restores the sacredness of art as a profound expression of the soul, repudiates the theatrical cadence of the dialogues, quells the literary magnificence of the narrative in favor of a simple and truthful, almost brusque style, functional to the existential rendering of the sequences. It removes all architectural redundancy, every exterior embellishment, nullifies the urban cluster, and leaves the protagonists in a space of austere essentiality, an almost temple-like setting where the soul's movements live in pure form through actions and dialogues. This operation of recovering truth, after the festival of falsehood two years ago, is by itself a choice of great depth, a demonstration of strong character.

Then there is the film itself, its system of values, and the development of an articulated discourse around the theme of old age, its acceptance, and the problematic relationship with the past, with what has been done in life. The hotel among the Alps where the entire film takes place is, after all, a lookout from which to view life, a bubble in space-time that allows the protagonists to see themselves from the outside. In the end, almost nothing happens in Youth, the entire discourse centers on the different ways the protagonists relate to their past.

Never has it been more necessary to talk about how the film concludes to evaluate its message. The three main profiles are obviously the two protagonists, Fred and Mick, to whom the formidable Brenda Morel is added, who in a few minutes of her appearance shakes the scene with great force. At that point, the three paths taken become clear: Mick cannot close the accounts with youth, is morbidly attached to it, and thus continues his work as if he were still young. Conversely, Brenda Morel has entirely repudiated the past and throws dirt on everything, even on Mick, wounding him mortally. The trauma from the decline of her beauty turns into a poison that corrodes her mentor's feelings, in an exacerbated and self-destructive egotism.

Finally, Fred has closed his relationship with youth and with life as a whole. It is as if he has enacted a removal not to confront the still-pending issues of his existence. Slowly, however, he understands the essence of his journey, both negatively, recognizing his own limitations as a father, and positively, realizing his exceptional talents as a music teacher when he instructs the child or conducts the sounds of nature. His removal diminishes, and he can finally reopen himself to youth, which does not mean seeking vain joys in the hedonism the poster might suggest, but in constructively reworking the past, including traumas, as seen in the dialogue with his ill wife. His youth is, therefore, an old age settled with the ghosts of life.

In some way, the themes reconnect to the latest great film by Nanni Moretti.

Sorrentino shows great confidence in portraying a psychologically complex scenario: he does not need to emphasize concepts; they are naturally unraveled in an evidently relaxed, solid filmic weave that allows itself numerous moments of lightness. This is the dominant approach, treating things with levity, with a constant ironic undertone, as if everything, even the most wrenching traumas, reaches the sensory sphere of the protagonists and thus the viewers, cushioned.

The simplicity is however only apparent: to highlight, for example, the meta-cinematic reference between the film and the film within Mick's film. He and his collaborators cannot decide how to conclude the life of their protagonist; in the same way, he and his friends are in crisis in front of the final phase of their lives. The script indecision echoes the existential indecision, and the failure of the testament-film inevitably marks the failure of the director's own life, who then prefers to die. It is the exact opposite of the empty art of The Great Beauty. Similarly, Fred's reopening to his past life is realized in the reopening to his art; he can again direct simple songs, even without his wife, because he has resolved the issue of removing the past.

In their small way, even Fred's daughter and actor Jimmy Tree develop a conflict: she faces her fear of living through the metaphor of the alpine climb, the actor fights his job frustration by stopping complaining about roles not his own and starting to take charge of his career. They are two somewhat schematic strands but reproduce in miniature the clash between sterile closure, the horror towards life, and the painful but fertile reworking of traumas, above all, the relentless passage of time.