“La grazia is one of Sorrentino’s strongest efforts in recent years, a subdued and melancholic examination of a man who believes that it is his responsibility to make a difference.”

If you put aside the wealth, influence and likelihood of leaving a legacy that will probably never be forgotten (regardless of whether the perception of your time in office is positive), being a politician is not all that easy. Paolo Sorrentino knows this all too well, having explored the subject in films like Il divo and Loro, both masterful examinations of notable Italian leaders (in those instances, Prime Ministers Giulio Andreotti and Silvio Berlusconi, respectively), making it quite evident that he is profoundly fascinated by the subject. His latest effort continues this trend, albeit with a few distinct changes. His focus shifts away from one notable office to the other, with La grazia being set in the final weeks of an Italian presidency. Additionally, rather than explicitly being based on a real leader, the film follows a fictional president as he is confronted with a few major challenges, knowing that he intends to resign from office very soon, with only weeks left until his term ends. What ensues is a deep, fascinating character study in which Sorrentino once again sets out to satiate his curiosity for the inner workings of the political system and the people who define it, filling the story with some memorable moments that are both quintessentially his style, as well as pushing his own approach slightly further than before. He creates a film that tends to linger with the viewer long after it has ended, particularly in how it offers a very different perspective on a subject that has become far too common in recent years.

Sorrentino has not made it a secret that he is profoundly fascinated by politics – but his curiosity extends less towards the system and more towards the people who constitute it. He adores the personalities that have defined his nation’s political landscape, and while his own personal political views are mercifully left more vague in terms of his work, he does gravitate towards looking at how an entire system can be challenged or ratified by a single individual. This is where La grazia develops most of its ideas – this is not a film about simply the act of being president, but rather an in-depth examination of the inner workings of the government, told through the perspective of someone who feels both blessed and burdened to be in a position of power, but who is placed in a situation where his own complex relationship with his country and its people causes some inner turmoil. Sorrentino has a gift for taking ideas that could be viewed as unnecessarily didactic and quite dense, and reducing them to their bare minimum, focusing on the human side of stories that would otherwise be considered larger-than-life and unwieldy in the hands of someone who chooses the grandiose rather than the more subtle approach. The director is playing in an intentionally minor key throughout the film – there are very few melodramatic moments, and considerable restraint is shown, giving La grazia a more sincere register than we may expect at a cursory glance.

The efforts to humanise a world leader may seem clichéd in some contexts (especially when he is shown to be a bit of a tragic hero), but Sorrentino puts in a lot of work to ensure that this is not a glorification of the bureaucracy or the elite, but rather a more complex, nuanced character study about power and how it can be a challenge to handle.  Sorrentino finds much of this in the more abstract moments – and there comes a point where we realise that La grazia is oddly loose with its political perspective, being more appropriately described as the story of a man approaching what he hopes will be the transition to the next stage of his career, but which he secretly acknowledges is the end, his gradual receding into the background of a system he realises he did not define in the way he hoped. This is where the concept of “la grazia” emerges – what does he view as the final act of grace he will provide to his country? Giving those suffering with terminal illness or unbearable pain the option to legally end their lives on their own terms, or providing some lenience to a pair of individuals viewed as criminals under the eyes of the law, but whose actions are far more layered? Perhaps it is his own internal struggle that needs the grace and compassion he is asked to give to others. It’s a complex investigation into the mind of someone saddled with far too much responsibility, and Sorrentino weaves in fascinating observations of additional subjects like ageing, friendship and loneliness, developing a film that has numerous layers, each one delicate but forceful in its own way.

While he has gradually started to expand his ensembles, working with a range of fantastic actors from across the generations, it only makes sense that Sorrentino would look towards his muse Toni Servillo to play the protagonist of La grazia – not only did he lead the previous two political dramas (which in itself highlights his extraordinary skill as an actor – his versatility and ability to make each one distinct is a testament to his gifts), but he has a complexity as an actor that is very well-utilised in his collaborations with the director. Without proclaiming that this is a career-best performance (an impossible statement to make with as rich and diverse a career as he has), it’s evident that he’s doing impeccable work, anchoring this film and being the focus from the first scene to the last. It’s fantastic, subtle work that allows Servillo to run the gamut of emotions, leaping from quietly melancholic to effortlessly charismatic at a moment’s notice. He’s also surrounded by some exceptional supporting players – Anna Ferzetti has to balance being both the closest confidante of one of the country’s most powerful men, and the daughter of someone who is advancing in age and is clearly in the final chapter of a long life. Meanwhile, Milvia Marigliano steals every scene she is in as the president’s oldest friend who still views him as the reserved young boy she befriended in school. However, what makes these performances so compelling is not only that they’re well-written or performed brilliantly, but rather that there is a genuine connection formed between the actors, transcending the one-dimensional descriptions and instead finding nuances beneath the surface.

Whether or not it was intended to act as the third part in a trilogy with the previous two explicitly political films, or instead serving as an evolution of those ideas, La grazia is one of Sorrentino’s strongest efforts in recent years, a subdued and melancholic examination of a man who believes that it is his responsibility to make a difference. Whether this comes from his fervent belief in his duties as president, or because he has been entrusted with the task of provoking some degree of change, is left entirely ambiguous. We don’t demand answers so much as we crave seeing the extent to which this film will place its protagonist in more challenging scenarios. It is much more than a treatise on the political system (although there are some wonderful observations of the inner workings of the office of the president, especially in the opening scenes, where the duties are made quite clear). The film gradually develops into a quietly moving deconstruction of someone who uses his remaining days of power to inspire change, an ambitious endeavour (and one that may not work out in the way he would hope), which is a stark contrast to the more morally ambiguous approach we often find in these tense political stories. A less indulgent and much more subdued work from a director whose own existential quandaries are unmistakably woven into the fabric of the story in certain parts, La grazia is a strong effort from a director whose perspective is always worth seeing, allowing his more divisive qualities to be overcome with this gently captivating, contemplative character study.