Does a filmmaker have a responsibility towards marginalized communities? Itโs an irreconcilable debate given the unbridgeable chasm between the two sides: Is the onus on the artist, or the audience? Edoardo Gabbrielliniโs โThe City of the Livingโ is a beautiful, heartrending film that sensitively builds a multifaceted character as real as any youโll see, his flaws reinforcing rather than deflecting from the sympathy we feel for him, his girlfriend and his parents. Of course itโs impossible to imbue every role with the same three-dimensionality, yet thereโs a problem when the most vile people imaginable become reduced to just two things: psychopathic behavior, and queerness.
Most Italians already know whatโs coming. Luca Varani, 23, was a working-class regular Roman Joe forging his own way in life when he was sadistically murdered 10 years ago by a couple of drugged-up gay men whose brutality was so shocking that Gabbriellini thankfully condenses the horror, only hinting at the bloody carnage left behind. On the surface, the gay angle isnโt a problem โ only a fool would suggest thereโs any difference between a gay or straight psychopath, and this was a real event after all, loosely based on a true crime novel by Nicola Lagioia. But for those concerned about the paucity of positive gay representation in Italian media, and the vastly underreported levels of homophobic aggression throughout the country, itโs impossible not to feel frustrated that the only attribute accorded the murderers is their sexuality. For a film as perceptive as this one, so attuned to its protagonists, this blind spot feels disheartening precisely because we feel so emotionally invested in Lucaโs well-being.
Itโs likely the problem wonโt even register with most audiences, and there will always be those arguing that โbased on a real storyโ absolves everyone from any liability. But the controversy surrounding Buffalo Bill and โThe Silence of the Lambsโ hasnโt gone away, and itโs even more inescapable in โThe City of the Living.โ Had Lagioiaโs largely excellent script, adapted from his book, included even a minor positive gay character, there would be nothing to complain about. Instead, weโre presented with deviant men defined only by their fetishes, creating an uneasy imbalance thatโs impossible to ignore. Were this a bad or even mediocre film, it would be easy to dismiss, but the truth is Gabbriellini has made his best movie to date, one that wisely refuses to theorize, plunging us without judgment into the life of its deeply sympathetic protagonist.
Luca (a superb Emanuele Maria Di Stefano) is loved, joyously, by his adoptive parents Silvana (Simona Senzacqua) and Giuseppe (Valerio Mastandrea). The family lives in a nondescript neighborhood on the outskirts of Rome, forming part of what New Yorkers would call โthe bridge and tunnel crowdโ who occasionally come into the city center but donโt engage with its urban diversity. Luca works with his dad on the gewgaw truck they own, selling brightly colored knickknacks and candies along roadsides and itinerant amusement parks, and heโs also in night school to finish his high school degree, though heโs bored witless.
Among the filmโs many strengths is its focus on character rather than explanation; information isnโt spoon-fed, and background relationships and dreams are organically conveyed through interactions. A perfect case in point is an early argument between Luca and his girlfriend Marta (Gaia Merlonghi, excellent); the immediate reason for the fight is irrelevant โ itโs about the selection of a restaurant โ but the dynamic reveals much about their relationship and the roles Italian men and women tend to follow. They patch things up, he drops out of school and starts looking for a job so he and Marta can move in together.
Lucaโs willing to work, but accumulating savings isnโt his style, and he needs money if heโs going to rent an apartment. A chance meeting near Romeโs Termini station with Andreas (Andrea Isidori), a gay-for-pay escort, opens up a world of easy money without having to do much more than wank or watch, and while an earlier encounter hints at the possibility that Lucaโs sexuality isnโt completely fixed, any potential same-sex attraction is embryonic, at best. Andreas brings him to a rich guyโs place, where Luca catches the eye of a flamboyant coke-snorting crossdresser whose affect radiates malevolence.
Lagioiaโs book goes into disturbing detail about what came next; suffice it to say that Lucaโs murder tested the bounds of sadism. Gabbriellini prudently swerves away from all that, instead ensuring that Lucaโs life is the focus, and then the lives of his loved ones, destroyed by the tragedy. We donโt learn why the two murderers inflicted such evil, and frankly such darkness outside the bounds of humanity has no explanation. In the film theyโre creepy, kinky and gay, and while we donโt need any more from them, we do need some sign that being queer is not only associated with malignancy.
In the filmโs pressbook, the director states, โCinema, like literature, has the great power of empathy and thus the ability to lead us to see through a lens that, if properly focused, avoids any facile or preconceived judgment.โ For Luca and his loved ones, heโs followed that dictum to the letter, and the immigrant community briefly seen with Luca at night school is also included within that humanizing focus. But Gabbriellini forgot that the gay community, routinely demonized, also needed at least a scrap of empathy, not towards the sadists, who deserve no such lens, but the vast majority of queer people who also form the fabric of humanity. As painful as it is to write this, there is recompense in the filmโs strengths, and the heartbreak we feel as Lucaโs parents and Marta face the unspeakable nightmare of the murder, and the vacuum left by his absence.
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