Clara (Penélope Cruz) is a loving mother to her three children: Adri (Luana Giuliani), Gino (Patrizio Francioni), and Diana (María Chiara Goretti).  She does her best to shelter her children from the abuse and infidelity of her husband, Felice (Vincenzo Amato), but as they grow older and he grows more brash, it becomes a harder secret to hide.  The children begin to act out in various ways, but none more than Adri, who grows bolder in presenting themselves as Andrew and continually defies their mother by playing in the reeds with Sara (Penélope Nieto Conti), a young Roma girl from a nearby homeless commune. 

Emanuele Crialese directs L’immensità, which translates from Italian to “The Immensity,” a coming-of-age drama that he co-wrote with Francesca Manieri and Vittorio Moroni.  Nominated for the Golden Lion after its premiere at Venice, the 99-minute, multi-national production was released in the United States through Music Box Films. Just as much of Andrew’s story as it is Clara’s, Giuliani is fearless in front of the camera opposite her veteran screen partner, and while Cruz’s star shines brightly in every frame which she inhabits, she is careful to not blind out the rest of the cast. 

In its opening minutes, especially as the family gets the dinner table set through an elaborate dance number, L’immensità feels like it is in direct conversation with some of the works of Pedro Almodóvar thanks to the campy colors and set design, as well as the clearly apparent themes of motherhood and queer identity, and of course, the involvement of Cruz. As the narrative begins to establish itself further, Crialese begins to take more control in creating it under his own style, and while it does not take on the framing device of a memory film, the way he directs Gergely Pohárnok on camera and Clelio Benevento in the editing room, it has all the trapping of one with its preference of fractal vignettes as opposed to more traditional scene structure coupled with wispy flourishes in the lighting. This fragmented approach to the story as well as the balancing act between Clara and Adri can be frustrating to some, but for what Crialese is trying to achieve, this stream-of-consciousness approach lends itself very well and even still has a very discernable structure to it that is sometimes lost in similar pieces that unfold in a more meandering way. 

Cruz is luminous in the film, never more so than in a scene during a vacation in which she wields a garden hose backdropped by the afternoon sun at a gorgeous Italian villa. There is such a comforting warmth to her performance, and while she may not fully understand what her oldest is going through – a product of the time without the proper vocabulary to vocalize – she never wavers in her love for them. The film takes a strange divergence late in the second act that finds Clara mostly absent from the frame, but her presence never wanes, though the dramatic shift in tone can be jarring. It is not that the film becomes something lesser when she is not on screen, but it proves that she fills the role of Clara perfectly because it undergoes such an emotional shift when she is no longer present similar to how the lives of this family are altered in her absence.  

While she is away, Andrew becomes more bold and confident in an act of defiance against their father. In some ways, this plot could be seen as underwritten, with the firmest affirmation of who they are given little more than a single line, albeit delivered powerfully by Guiliani, in an argument with Gino, but to view the script through a more generous lens, it is subtle. That same subtlety is what makes the film so powerful. It is the litany of minor transgressions that cause immeasurable pain, but it is also the slightest glimmers of acceptance that mean the most. L’immensità lays a hidden trail of clues about its views on the role of gender in the family and in society by creating a stark difference between Andrew and Felice. Whereas Felice is violent, dismissive, and unfaithful, Andrew picks up the mantle as the “protector” of the family; extinguishing Clara’s cigarettes, watching over the younger siblings, and devotion to Sara as they explore a deeper connection. Through a modern lens, this “man of the house” ideal may seem dated, but within the context of the film – Italy in the 1970s – it makes sense that these are the qualities which Andrew is trying to emulate, especially given that the actual patriarch of the household is an absolute louse. 

Throughout the film, Crialese employs a very specific type of fantasy through the use of music that culminates in a two-part gut-wrenching finale. It starts early while the family prepares the dinner table, and then largely places this more flamboyant and campy nature aside until Adri is daydreaming during mass where they are performing a flashy song and dance number – “Prisencolinensinainciusol” – alongside Clara. We know that Adri is one with a big imagination as the film opens with her forming a rooftop pentagram and summoning the spirits, looking for a sign, an answer, some form of direction. Crialese is careful, however, that while allowing Adri to embrace their imaginative side, that they are actually Andrew is felt with true conviction so that their identity can not be written off as make-believe. The use of music returns again in the final fifteen or so minutes as Adri watches a musical variety hour where they imagine Clara giving a soulful rendition of “Where Do I Begin” and later, in the final scene, it is Andrew crooning the melodramatic love song; his hair slicked back and his tux boyishly disheveled as if he put it on by himself. 

L’immensità is a powerful little film that wears its emotions on its sleeve and, through a radiant performance from Cruz and Giuliani’s magnetism, we are inescapably drawn into this torturous summer.  Ciralese is not interested in dissecting each and every moment through to its core, so the onus is on his fantastic cast to add that texture to their performances. While the film may feel underwritten at first glance, it is still a rich and emotional text that shows a family fracturing under the sweltering Italian sun. It is a beautiful, poignant, and painful account, but one with a glimmer of hope behind it as well. At first glance, it may seem as if Andrew is boxed away as merely a fantasy, but there are many moments rooted in reality where Andrew is present, too. These moments of fantasy, or to call them what they actually are: escapism, are expertly utilized by Ciralese not to highlight the roadblocks in the way of Andrew being able to express his true self, but rather, juxtaposed against scenes of a traumatic childhood, they become flashes of the dreams and desires of a boy who will grow up and protect the ones he loves with fierce devotion. It is the beginning of a lifelong journey of a boy seeking to right the wrongs of his father and to be a better man than he ever had to look up to; to become someone who would have show him how to tie his tie.