La Grazia Paolo Sorrentino

In something of a groove with his recent trifecta of film releases, starting with 2021’s The Hand of God, continuing with 2024’s Parthenope and, now, La Grazia, Paolo Sorrentino has revealed himself to be a writer-director at the peak of his powers. Of course, not everyone “gets” what he’s doing all the time, but those are the people that oughtn’t be paid attention to. For, in the end, Sorrentino always knows best.

With La Grazia, he takes his time in proving that, with this particular film being one of his slower-paced—and least magical realist—ones (though perhaps nothing can feel as slow-paced as 2011’s This Must Be the Place). A tempo that mimics the approach its protagonist, Mariano De Santis (Toni Servillo, reteaming with Sorrentino after their success together with 2013’s The Great Beauty) takes to decision-making. So “immovable” at times that his nickname over the years has become what translates to “Reinforced Concrete.” He is impenetrable and not easily swayed by anything, least of all political pressure from his own daughter, Dorotea (Anna Ferzetti), who serves as his most trusted political advisor. What’s more, her legal background also mirrors her father’s, himself a former judge specializing in the Italian Constitution.

Indeed, Sorrentino chooses to kick off La Grazia with a few summarizing articles from the Constitution about what the Italian president can and can’t do. Something that not only emphasizes the simultaneous scope and limitations of his power, but also illuminates them to American audiences not familiar with how a president functions in most European countries. In other words, European presidents are both a matter of “ceremony” and, as Sorrentino put it to Slant, “the last bastion of democracy.” Further adding, “If things turn sour, the president is the last figure of authority that one can turn to. Going beyond those powers, which can be limited, what they do have is a strong power of moral persuasion over the government. And this has traditionally always been quite solid and strong.”

Especially coming from someone as stoic and respected as De Santis seems to be. Even going into what is called the semestre bianco, marking the last six months of his term, it’s apparent that his even-keeled and “calm within the storm” nature will be missed. And perhaps that’s why everyone is so eager to get him to be the one to weigh in on the decision of loosening restrictions on euthanasia. For if a staunch Catholic and “Reinforced Concrete” person like him would sign it into law, it must really mean something. Alas, De Santis can’t bring himself to come to a decision for the majority of the film, painstakingly weighing both options when it comes to the euthanasia bill. As he says of the moral dilemma, “If I don’t sign, I’m a torturer; if I do sign, I’m a murderer.”

To visually drive home the point of how torn he is, there comes a scene when a favorite horse of his named Elvis, who lives on the palace grounds, falls ill. The obvious solution, to Elvis’ handlers, is to “put him down.” But De Santis refuses, even when the horse flashes him a pleading look that seems to demand, “Just put me out of my misery.” But, of course, unless there’s a miracle, and Elvis tells him directly, De Santis can’t bring himself to do it. It’s a scene that also reminds one of Maurizio Cattelan’s 2009 “Untitled (INRI),” which showcased a taxidermied horse lying in the same position as Elvis with a sign sticking out of his side that reads “INRI,” the famed Latin acronym for Jesus the Nazarene, King of the Jews.

To be sure, the Christlike symbolism of this horse, which also harkens back to the one in Au Hasard Balthasar, only seems to underscore just how Catholic-based Italian thinking and politics really are. How much of the political process and overall decision-making are fundamentally rooted in this religion. Which is also part of why De Santis even consults the Pope (Rufin Doh Zeyenouin) about his euthanasia bill (unsurprisingly, the Pope advises him not to sign it).

For De Santis, the political quandary doesn’t stop at euthanasia either, with the subject of two political pardons also coming up at the same time. And the president’s ability to dole out la grazia to these prisoners (both of whom murdered their respective significant others for very different reasons) is among the powers listed at the beginning of the film. With these issues mingling together to create some undeniable loose ends for him to tie up, De Santis isn’t able to round out his term on autopilot, as most other real-life presidents have a tendency and preference to do. But then, this goes back to something else that Sorrentino told Slate with regard to La Grazia’s often idealistic lens: “I wanted to tell the tale of a politician who’s exactly the way I would like to see a politician to be.” That is to say, measured, careful, considerate. Someone who doesn’t make decisions on a whim or based on their emotions (or lack thereof) du jour…which, yes, sounds a lot like how a certain president across the Atlantic runs his administration.

Often times, this ideal version of a politician would potentially make him come across as “boring,” the way that De Santis more than occasionally does. However, to mitigate the feeling of a potential “lull” caused by a drab protagonist, the viewer is exposed to Sorrentino’s Neapolitan flair for not only showcasing a “colorful cast of characters” (e.g., Coco Valori [Milvia Marigliano]), but also infusing drama into even the most quotidian of scenarios. Most notably during a scene when the Portuguese president comes to visit the palace as a windy rainstorm ramps up. As this happens, the tune in the background mimics Darude’s “Sandstorm” (this being the similar musical refrain that repeats throughout the movie, in addition to another instrumental that strongly resembles the notes to Alice Deejay’s “Better Off Alone”), amplifying the drama while this elderly Portuguese man tries to make his way toward De Santis and shelter, with no one looking all that keen to swoop in and help him.

In this sense, the man is a metaphor for how elders in general and elder politicians in particular are viewed. Not worth trying to save as they’re already “halfway out the door.” That, before this moment, De Santis comments to one of his advisors upon seeing the Portuguese man something to the effect of, “I hope I don’t look as old as that” only heightens this phobia of becoming irrelevant. Especially for men when their career effectively ends.  

And maybe this, as much as “measured consideration” is what ultimately compels De Santis to make big moves with his final days in terms of the decisions he does at last arrive at. As for the primary question of the film, “Who owns our days?,” Sorrentino presents a world in which politicians, even at the highest level, understand that it is not they who own the days of the people. That, in theory, they’re supposed to be the ones whose days are owned by the public, and being in service of them. In this way, La Grazia sets forth a wish that one can only hope the universe will hear, if not the politicians themselves.