When I first heard about Scherzetto, Mario Martone’s latest film premiering at the Venice Film Festival, I couldn’t help but feel a tingle of anticipation. Not just because it stars the inimitable Toni Servillo—a man whose on-screen presence is as commanding as it is nuanced—but because the premise itself feels like a masterclass in understated drama. Here’s the setup: a renowned illustrator, Daniele, is forced to care for his five-year-old grandson, Mario, in the very apartment where his own childhood unfolded. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it flips the script on the typical intergenerational story. It’s not just about a grandfather bonding with his grandson; it’s a battle of wills, a reckoning with the past, and a confrontation with the ghosts that haunt us all.
Personally, I think this film has the potential to be more than just a character study—it’s a mirror to the complexities of family dynamics. Martone’s description of the project as a ‘single setting’ drama immediately brings to mind the claustrophobia of 12 Angry Men or the tension of Carnage. But what sets Scherzetto apart is its focus on the unspoken. Daniele’s elegant solitude is disrupted not just by the chaos of a five-year-old but by the memories that Naples, his childhood home, inevitably stirs. This isn’t just a story about two people at opposite ends of life; it’s a meditation on how our pasts shape our presents, often in ways we’re not fully aware of.
One thing that immediately stands out is the casting of Servillo. He’s a titan of Italian cinema, known for his ability to convey depth with the slightest flicker of emotion. But here, he’s not just playing a role—he’s stepping into a character who, like him, is a man of a certain age, grappling with the weight of his history. Martone’s comment that this wasn’t just acting but an ‘immersion into unknown territory’ is telling. It suggests that Servillo himself may have been forced to confront his own ghosts during the filming process. What this really suggests is that Scherzetto isn’t just a film about Daniele and Mario; it’s a film about the actors and the director, too, and the ways in which art and life blur.
What many people don’t realize is how rare it is for a film to center on a five-year-old without veering into saccharine territory. Lorenzo Perrotta, who plays Mario, is reportedly a force of nature on set, and Martone’s acknowledgment that the young actor could have easily declared, ‘Enough, I’m bored!’ is both humorous and revealing. It underscores the unpredictability of working with children, but also the authenticity it brings. If you take a step back and think about it, this dynamic between Servillo and Perrotta could be the film’s greatest strength—a raw, unscripted energy that contrasts with the polished, solitary life Daniele has built for himself.
From my perspective, the Naples setting is another layer of genius. The city itself is a character, a place where the past and present coexist in a way that feels almost tangible. Daniele’s return to his childhood home isn’t just a logistical necessity; it’s a symbolic journey. Naples, with its narrow streets and ancient architecture, becomes a backdrop for his internal struggle. This raises a deeper question: How much of who we are is tied to the places we come from? And can we ever truly escape them?
A detail that I find especially interesting is Martone’s collaboration with Ippolita di Majo, his longtime co-writer. Their partnership has produced some of the most compelling Italian cinema in recent years, and Scherzetto feels like a natural evolution of their work. It’s intimate, yet universal; specific to Italian culture, yet resonant across borders. What this really suggests is that the best films are those that manage to balance the personal and the profound, the local and the global.
As Scherzetto prepares to premiere out of competition at Venice, I can’t help but wonder how audiences will respond. Will they see it as a quiet, introspective drama, or as a bold exploration of the human condition? Personally, I think it’s both. In a world where blockbuster spectacles often dominate the conversation, a film like this feels like a breath of fresh air—a reminder that sometimes the most powerful stories are the ones that force us to look inward.
In the end, Scherzetto isn’t just about a grandfather and his grandson; it’s about the battles we all fight, the ghosts we all carry, and the moments that force us to confront them. And if Martone and Servillo have done their jobs right, it’ll leave audiences with a question that lingers long after the credits roll: What ghosts are we chasing, and can we ever truly outrun them?
