
A film that portrays both the fragility and the strength of women—the kind of strength that always recognizes and loves life in every condition. This is Mercy Misericordia [Mercy] by Emma Dante, an Italian director, theater actress, and playwright. Inspired by her eponymous theatrical work, Dante brings to the screen the story of a family bound not by blood but by heart and hardship, set in an archaic and at times mythical Sicily. Although the film premiered in Italy a year ago, its theme is universal and timeless.
Three prostitutes raise Arturo (played by the extraordinary actor-dancer Simone Zambelli) with maternal care. Arturo is the son of another prostitute who was a victim of femicide. He remains a child in need of care, even as he grows into adulthood. He does not speak; his babbling is incomprehensible. He plays like a child and struggles to manage his physically impaired body.
Arturo’s story is presented at the very beginning of the film. A woman is killed by her pimp, Polyphemus (a deliberately evocative name), while attempting to escape. Moments later, near the crime scene, we see a crevice where a crying infant appears, guarded by a sheep. From here unfolds the story of Arturo and his three adoptive mothers—a tale that is also about marginalization, highlighted by the setting: a village littered with filth, shacks, and open dumps, starkly contrasted against the beauty of the horizon.
Although Arturo is the most desperate figure in the narrative—an “outcast”—the film is still a kind of fable, seen through his pure eyes. A subtle lightness infuses the story as the camera gently settles on this world of suffering and hardship. It moves tentatively among the miseries of these women and of Arturo, a kind of whirling dervish circling his three mothers and the men who mistake love for a bar of chocolate.
Mercy, as explained by the director, is not a religious title. Instead, it draws from the two words it combines: misery and heart (miseria and cuore). It is a film that prompts reflection, inviting viewers to step into the grimy walls of these homes, where the innocence of Arturo and the prostitutes who care for him form scenes of pure poetry. Perhaps it also reminds us that this mercy is something we all need.
By Patrizia Rossi
Patrizia Rossi is the National Delegate of the Salesian Youth Sociocultural Film Circles