The president figure is a desolate and lonely one in non-monarchical parliamentary countries. Such is the case in Portugal, Germany, Finland, Switzerland and, of course, Italy. Despite the weight that the political title carries, few people can name such office holders. They have neither the executive power of the prime minister, nor the glitz and the historical significance of a monarch. They are moribund heads of state: typically older man with a more passive and magnanimous personality. Sixty-something-year-old Mariano di Santis (Toni Servillo) is no exception. His eyes are sad, and his expression dispassionate. He has overseen six constitutional crises without moving a finder, and he can barely sign a bill legalising euthanasia into law.
Nicknamed “Reinforced Concrete” (a construction material designed to resist just about anything), Mariano is the picture of inaction. His role is to keep the establishment exactly as it is, and to resist change. He indeed sees himself as an agent of bureaucracy, the anti-catalyst of innovation. The figurehead of the past, reeking of old books and mould. Sorrentino emphasises this sense of decadence and futility by surrounding a timid character by majestic palaces and oppressively large furniture. Mariano looks tiny, both in the literal and a metaphorical sense. The tragic realisation of age comes at time his Portuguese peer – a genuinely decrepit old man – visits him. A literal storm blow the red carpet into the air, dropping the frail head of state into the ground. The bizarre developments take place to the sound of loud electronic music. That, combined with Daria D’Antonio’s superb cinematography, gives the proceedings the feel of a sombre music video. The sound of the new clashes with the image of the old. We witness the collapse of physicality. The outcome is deeply symbolic, and very powerful.
Much of this 133-minute drama surrounds Mariano’s hesitation to sign the euthanasia bill into law. Three very different stories shed a different light on the topic. The president’s favourite horse Elvis has to be put down as he’s in profound agony, but the president refuses to give his permit. A woman is seeking presidential pardon for killing her husband because she claims that she was a victim of domestic abuse, and that he was “rotten” inside. She compares the murder to euthanasia. And a man who took the life of his severely ill wife (a clear case of compassionate killing) might deserve another pardon. Because Mariano is approaching the end of his term and he’s not seeking reelection, this might be just the right time to grand these pardons. Mariano weighs the moral and also the political repercussions of these actions. They could potentially taint his conscience and his legacy.
The Italian film title has a double meaning. It signifies “pardon” in the legal sense, while also referring to the divine grace (a topic that arises in one of the various conversations that Mariano has with his confidente, the Pope). La Grazia repeatedly draws comparisons between the heavenly and the manly. For example: Mariano explains that the Pope only has to respond to God, while he has to respond to his two children (he believes that it gets to a point in life where parental roles become inverted, with the young taking the advisory functions). His daughter Dorotea (Anna Ferzetti) is a headstrong lawyer trying to influence her dad, while his son Roberto is a successful musician abroad (his compositions are not too different from the energetic music that helps to lift the film’s most poetic sequences).
Mariano’s late wife Aurora is also a central character, despite the fact that she’s never to be seen. Her memories continue to haunt Mariano, and does his conviction that she had an affair with Ugo Romani (Massimo Venturiello) for 40 years. Ugo is the Italian Justice Minister, Mariano’s childhood friend, and his likely successor. But fate has a surprise in store for Mariano, with a shocking revelation and a unexpected gesture of forgiveness.
Despite the political topic. La Grazia is hardly a political film. Instead, politics are used as a mere plot device, and the politician is just a powerless agent. Sorrentino seems to believe that film has neither the power not the duty to promote political change. Just a few days ago, he said that there is nothing films can do in order to affect The Gaza Genocide.
Sorrentino’s 12th feature film returns to the familiar topics of Italian politics, religion and fading physicality. Overall, this is an ambitious drama, with a multithreaded script and multiple subplots. It boasts very strong performances and remarkable moments, particularly the musical ones. It seeks to achieve the humanistic buy delving into the complex topics of grief, adultery, euthanasias, and others. These efforts are partially diluted by the grandiose aesthetics. Ultimately, Sorrentino favours spectacle ahead of authenticity. Symbolism ahead of overt statements. Political platitudes ahead of activism.
La Grazia premiered in the Official Competition of the 82nd Venice International Film Festival, when this piece was originally written. Also showing in San Sebastian, at REC Tarragona and at the BFI London Film Festival. In cinemas on Friday, March 20th (2026).
