It is always tricky to have non-professional actors play a version of their lives. The project depends on an inherent trust, sincerity, and utter transparency between the director and the individual(s) who are transmitting their real-life episodes and journeys through the bind of cinema. Invariably, one assumes plentiful stuff has been excised to render a more dramatic, truthful mix.
Therefore, the film’s task becomes to persuade us of the sheer valence and emotional essence of this endeavor, especially when people interpret their own lives on screen. It has to convince the viewer why this specific alchemy is necessary and evoke a clear impression that not much has been lost in relaying the protagonists’ personal lives. Alessandro Casssigoli and Casey Kauffman’s “Vittoria” succeeds enormously in this regard, bolstered by a simple conviction in its telling.
The consistently brisk scenes indicate a curated bent. Yet, the profusion of emotional candor and direct pathos, bringing an undertow to the film, alleviates all worries that this has been too elaborately pruned out for maximum effect. Quickly, we are able to invest in the lives shown by the dint of empathy and clarity shining through every moment.
The generosity of truth and lived experience resplendent on the faces we encounter throughout keeps us firmly rooted. It’s impossible not to care for Jasmine and her ‘deep desire’ to have a daughter of her own. At forty, she already has a fulfilling life, or that’s how her husband, Rino, sees it. She has a fairly stable job at a salon and three sons. But she has always wanted a girl. What is it then that has ushered a new urgency into her wish?
She confesses her father, who died in an accident at the factory where he worked, had been eager for her to have a daughter. He has also been surfacing in her dreams with a little girl. This clinches her resolve. But she is well aware that the path to having a girl of her own isn’t the least bit smooth. She balks at sharing her wish with her sons, wary of their probable aversion to the idea. It is not that her equations with her sons are rocky.
They are most pleasant as is the dynamic between her and Rino. But that doesn’t impede them from getting prickly when she does open up to them. Rino is perplexed and argues against any such idea of adopting a daughter. Adoption is for rich people, he barks. How can they even afford it? Plus, with the savings he has accumulated, he wants to funnel it to a new place that would be closer and more conducive to his carpentry work opportunities.
The only alternative left to Jasmine is claiming the compensation the factory is offering to essentially shut her and her sister off airing public grievances about their father’s death. While her sister has long been resigned to the futility of raging against accepting the compensation, confident protesting it will be tantamount to nothing given they are pitted against big shots, Jasmine holds out against the offer. Increasingly, she is pushed to reconsider her stance on the offer since she needs the money to have a final shot at her happiness. Without it, there’s no way she can move through financially processing the adoption route. Her sister eases the tide of guilt as Jasmine feels she may be succumbing to what she has so long resisted and fought against.
“Vittoria” gains its full power, especially in the final section, as Jasmine walks tentatively towards a space of comfort, intimacy, and trust with Vittoria, the young girl she adopts. Cassigoli and Kauffman speed through most scenes in the film but critically and significantly let this section breathe. Patience and a deep, unfussy, quiet understanding are crucial to kindling a connection. Jasmine is initially too wired up; only gradually does she embrace, and she needs to slow down to meet Vittoria at the tangent she’s least flustered by. Expediting it would only overwhelm the child, leading to a rejection. “Vittoria” articulates this with terrific precision.