Spectrum screening - review - PICCOLA PATRIA (Small Homeland) by Alessandro Rossetto

Authenticity is the word when it comes to the cinema of Rossetto. And coming from a documentary background, in his fiction feature debut, Rossetto aimed to capture the realism of life in a small village in the hinterland of Venice.

The central plot of Piccola Patria is that of two girls who get involved in a dangerous game of sexual blackmail with a relatively powerful man. But the narrative merges with a social portrait of a general frustration experienced by the inhabitants of a small village, that often turns to downright unhappiness and hatred – some of which turns into a vicious racial conflict particularly aimed at Eastern European immigrants, unaccepted by the vast majority of the Italian natives.

This racism, however, feels like an all too easy answer people’s everyday problems, that have to do with financial struggle and a soul hardened by the overall drag of everyday life. It is also examined through the niche rise in popularity of a political party that uses racism as a gimmick to win the consensus of a part of the Venetian population, and this can be read as a metaphorical representation of a part of Italian politics in these current times.

This we see that, as the film progresses, the heavy atmosphere in which the film is set almost reads like a ticking time bomb, waiting for disaster to happen. It is no wonder, hence, that the film opens and closes with an aerial view of the titular Small Homeland, and relatively speaking the cold nature of the characters always maintains a certain distance between the complex characters and the audience. This feels like a conscious choice, but eventually the insistent cold approach threatens to leave the audience feel rather cold in their perceptions of the character’s aims and goals. However, this is part of Rossetto’s fidelity to realism. The characters are not meant to be liked, they are simply represented because that is the way things are.

Much can be said about the pace of the film, which takes its time and really allows us to sink into the location. The cinematography makes sure to leave plenty of room for landscape, and even the editing allows us to catch glimpses of the characters acting naturally, with the camera acting like a fly on the wall. Furthermore, this idea of authenticity is heightened by the use of dialect rather than Italian. The use of dialect here recalls primordial feelings, but also a sinister and perhaps even dangerous hard headed patriotism and tie to, once again, the titular homeland.

Piccola Patria has its central love story, the story of a native with an immigrant, that would be frowned upon were the girl’s father to find out. But all in all, even this unlikely love story lacks tenderness and feels much more important as a compliant element to a compelling portrait than a genuine plea for softness. Perhaps it even represents a missed opportunity for genuine emotional investment on the character’s part, because alas, it appears that the hard truth of this film is that there is no space for softness and emotive connection in the small homeland.