Cinematical

What's truly surprising about The Italian, a Russian film that won two minor Best Feature awards at the 2005 Berlin Film Festival and received favorable stateside reviews after its North American debut at Telluride last month, is its tremendous warmth. Set in a rundown orphanage, the movie features none of the horrors -- neglect, abuse, hunger -- that western audiences associate with that world. Instead, though undeniably poor, the orphanage is a strangely comforting place. Run by a good-hearted man (Yuri Itskov) who struggles daily to balance his desperate need for money with his obvious affection for and desire to protect his charges, the place is home to a wide array of children, all of whom have well-established friendships and a tremendous ease in their environment.

The director notwithstanding, the real rulers of the orphanage are found in a group of old kids: Tough boys and girls who go outside the gates daily to make money, both legally and otherwise. Though we sometimes see younger children punched and intimidated by these older boys, it's very clear that nothing is done arbitrarily, or out of cruelty. Instead, the boys are enforcing a code of conduct that demands honesty and the sharing of assets, all for the good of the group -- it seems that, at least among the young, socialism is alive and well in Russia.

The film's title character is Vanya (Kolya Spiridonov), a six-year-old with the maturity of one who has been on his own for a long time. Like many kids who have to fend for themselves too early, his mind is a charming mix of tough self-awareness -- he is treated as an equal by the ruling older kids, and carries himself with tremendous, matter-of-fact confidence -- and the naiveté appropriate to those his age (he and his best friend seriously discuss foreigners' use of adopted Russian children for "spare parts"). As the film opens, Vanya is chosen over his quiet, jealous peers to meet an Italian couple who want to adopt. Dressed in his best clothes, eyes filled with anticipation and fear, Vanya introduces himself to the couple. Like all of us, the Italians are charmed and agree to return in a few weeks to make the adoption official, and take the boy home with them to start a new life together.

At first, Vanya -- now nicknamed "The Italian" -- is thrilled by the opportunity to have a family. But when the birth mother of a recently-adopted friend appears at the orphanage, desperate to reclaim the boy she abandoned, Vanya begins to worry: What if his mother comes to find him, and he's already left for Italy? What then? Despite the heartfelt, searingly honest attempted of the other kids to convince the boy that mothers don't usually try to find their kids (and, even if she did, he wouldn't want to be with someone who gave him up), Vanya decides that he has to find his mother, even if it means losing the Italian family. And so it begins: On his own, Vanya travels by train, bus, and on foot towards his mother. He's neither desperate or emotional, just focused and smart, utilizing the wiles he's learned in his six years of state care.

The Italian would be totally ineffective without an appealing central presence and, through some sort of miracle, director Andrei Kravchuk found the perfect star in young Kolya Spiridonov who makes his first screen appearance in the film. Though Spiridonov is not necessarily the most subtle of actors (he shows surprise like Brandon De Wilde did in Shane: Comically wide eyes, accompanied by a violent head-jerk), his pale blonde hair, scrawny frame and wide, cautious eyes more than make up for his practical weaknesses. Best when he's not speaking, Spiridonov has the ability to appear simultaneously adult and childlike, rubbing his tired eyes with clenched fists one minute and spinning seductive lies for strangers the next. Those eyes are wonderful, huge and expressive, always touched by fear but also capable of humor, confusion and surprising understanding.

Never pretending to be a great work of art, without Spiridonov, the film would be nothing more than a well-made, Russian after-school special. With him on board, it's transformed into a tight, temporarily convincing little trifle, memorable for its constant, unexpected air of affection, and for the determined little boy at its center.

For another take on The Italian, see Kim's Telluride review.