Schooling in Modernity: The Politics of Sponsored Films in Postwar Italy 9781442669475

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SCHOOLING IN MODERNITY The Politics of Sponsored Films in Postwar Italy

Between 1948 and the end of the 1950s, Italian and American government agencies and corporations commissioned hundreds of short films for domestic consumption and for export on topics such as the fight against unemployment, the reconstruction and transformation of rural and urban spaces, and the re-establishment of democratic regimes in Italy and the rest of western Europe. In Schooling in Modernity, Paola Bonifazio investigates the ways in which these sponsored films promoted a particular vision of modernization and industry, and functioned as tools to govern the Italian people. The author uses extensive archival research and various theoretical approaches to examine the politics of sponsored filmmaking in postwar Italy. Among the many topics explored are target audiences and audience response, sources of funding, censorship, debates on cinematic realism, and the connections and differences between American and Italian strategies and styles of documentary filmmaking. Insightful and richly detailed, Schooling in Modernity shows the importance of these under-appreciated films in the postwar modernization process, the transition from Fascism to democracy, and Italy’s involvement in the Cold War. (Toronto Italian Studies) paola bonifazio is an assistant professor in the Department of French and Italian at the University of Texas at Austin.

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Schooling in Modernity The Politics of Sponsored Films in Postwar Italy

PAOLA BONIFAZIO

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

© University of Toronto Press 2014 Toronto Buffalo London www.utppublishing.com Printed in the U.S.A. ISBN 978-1-4426-4789-3 (cloth) ISBN 978-1-4426-1598-4 (paper)

Printed on acid-free, 100% post-consumer recycled paper with vegetable-based inks. Toronto Italian Studies Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Bonifazio, Paola, 1976–, author Schooling in modernity : the politics of sponsored films in postwar Italy/ Paola Bonifazio. (Toronto Italian studies) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-4426-4789-3 (bound). – ISBN 978-1-4426-1598-4 (pbk.) 1. Documentary films – Italy – History and criticism.  2. Documentary films – Political aspects – Italy – History and criticism.  3. Documentary films – Italy – History – 20th century.  I. Title.  II. Series: Toronto Italian studies. PN1995.9.D6B65 2014   070.1'8094509045  C2014-900135-5

University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council.

University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for its publishing activities.

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Contents

List of Illustrations ix Acknowledgments xi Abbreviations xv Introduction 3 1  Work, Welfare, Neorealism  25 2  Sneaky Sponsors  51 3  Filming the Housing Revolution  87 4  South Like North  115 5  “United Europe Starts in School”  145 6  Histories through Tabloids  169 Filmography 199 Notes 237 Film Catalogues 275 Bibliography 277 Index 287

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Illustrations

1.1 1.2 2.1 2.2 2.3

Aquila (Jacopo Erbi, 1949) 36 Aquila (Jacopo Erbi, 1949)  37 La gamma delle vetture Fiat (Cinefiat, 1955/56)  57 La gamma delle vetture Fiat (Cinefiat, 1955/56)  58 Il paese dell’anima (Victor De Sanctis and Remigio Del Grosso, 1957)  62 2.4 Il paese dell’anima (Victor De Sanctis and Remigio Del Grosso, 1957) 63 2.5 La scuola allievi Fiat “Giovanni Agnelli” (Stefano Canzio, 1962)  64 2.6 La scuola allievi Fiat “Giovanni Agnelli” (Stefano Canzio, 1962)  65 2.7 Piccoli calabresi sul Lago Maggiore: Nuovi ospiti alla colonia di Suna (Ermanno Olmi, 1951)  70 2.8 Piccoli calabresi sul Lago Maggiore: Nuovi ospiti a / lla colonia di Suna (Ermanno Olmi, 1951)  71 2.9 La diga del ghiacciaio (Ermanno Olmi, 1955)  75 2.10 Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente (Michele Gandin, 1957)  80 2.11 Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente (Michele Gandin, 1957)  82 3.1 INA-Casa housing project in the Tiburtino neighbourhood, Rome, Italy (2013)  91 3.2 INA-Casa housing project in the Tuscolano neighbourhood, Rome, Italy (2013)  92 3.3 E. Spreckmeester, Marshall Plan Poster (1950)  98 3.4 Leonard Ray Horton and Ronald Sandefort, Marshall Plan Poster (1950)  99 3.5 Ernst Haas, “Matera, Italy” (1948–1953)  109 4.1 Paese senz’acqua (Giuliano Tomei, 1949)  127 4.2 Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli (Michele Gandin, 1952)  130

x Illustrations

4.3 4.4 4.5

Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli (Michele Gandin, 1952)  132 Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli (Michele Gandin, 1952)  133 Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli (Michele Gandin, 1952)  135

Acknowledgments

Before I begin with my cahiers of thank yous, I must mention a special event of the New York Film Festival entitled “Selling Democracy,” which took place in the now-distant October 2004, organized by Sandra Schulberg and Richard Peña. At this retrospective, I saw for the first time several Marshall Plan films, two of which were produced in Italy in 1949: Jacopo Erbi’s Aquila and Giuliano Tomei’s A Town without Water. I was struck by something both familiar (the little boy and his father starring in Aquila reminded me terribly of Bruno and Antonio Ricci in Vittorio De Sica’s The Bicycle Thief) and peculiar (these two documentaries actually amounted to fictional stories). An evening at the Lincoln Center in New York City: it was there that this project all began. Many years have passed and many individuals and institutions have been fundamental in supporting and shaping the final result of this book. My research was funded with the generous help of the University of Texas at Austin’s College of Liberal Arts and the French and Italian Department. Completion of this project was made possible thanks to the American Academy in Rome, where I resided during the 2011–12 academic year as recipient of the Rome Prize from the National Endowment for the Humanities. My time at the Academy has been a unique and unforgettable experience on many levels, allowing me to enjoy the optimal space and state of mind to complete the book manuscript. Finally, a University of Texas at Austin Subvention Grant awarded by the Office of the President subsidized the publication of this book. Based on extensive archival research, this book owes a great deal to the many archivists and librarians who helped me throughout the process, in Italy and in the United States: Elena Testa at the Archivio Nazionale del Cinema d’Impresa (Ivrea), Claudio Olivieri at the Archivio

xii Acknowledgments

Audiovisivo del Movimento Operaio e Democratico (Rome), Pier Luigi Raffaelli at the Cineteca Lucana, Francesca Crispolti at the Department of Publishing and Information of the Presidency of the Council of Ministers, and the staff at the Archivio Centrale dello Stato (Rome), at the Archivio Storico Olivetti (Ivrea), the Archivio Storico Istituto Luigi Sturzo, the Archivio Nazionale del Cinema Industriale e della Comunicazione d’Impresa (Castellanza), the United Nations Archives (New York, NY) and the National Archives and Records Administration (College Park, MD). In particular, Elena Testa has been very helpful in providing stills from industrial reels. In this respect, I must also acknowledge Cassie Blake at the Academy Film Archive in Los Angeles, CA, for helping me with frame scans from Marshall Plan films, Jeffrey Kozak at the George C. Marshall Foundation in Lexington, VA, for providing me with images of Marshall Plan Posters, the Cineteca Lucana, for giving me permission to publish stills from Michele Gandin’s film Christ Did Not Stop at Eboli (1952), and Ekaterina Nechaeva, who took for me some spectacular shots of Roman architecture. Special thanks to Mrs Linda Christenson, who generously allowed me to read unpublished material on the Marshall Plan Film Unit and view many of its films. Many thanks also to the librarians at the Biblioteca Luigi Chiarini of the Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia, the Biblioteca del Cinema Umberto Barbaro, and the Biblioteca del Ministero dell’Istruzione, dell’Università e della Ricerca, which I visited numerous times during my residence in Rome. I also want to thank Ron Schoeffel of the University of Toronto Press for being a wonderful editor: his kindness and expertise will be greatly missed. At University of Toronto Press, many thanks for their professional help to Kate Baltais, Anne Laughlin, and Siobhan McMenemy. Finally, I would like to acknowledge the editor of The Italianist (Film Issue), Alan O’Leary, for granting me permission to reprint some of my work here. This book would have not been written without the precious encouragement and support of the many friends, colleagues, and students, who accompanied me in the various phases of this project. I am deeply grateful to Marcia Landy, to whose teaching and powerful thinking I owe my belief in the worthiness of academic work, and to Ruth Ben-Ghiat, who first encouraged me to pursue this topic, made important contributions as reader, and taught me the art of rigorous and yet innovative scholarship. Virginia Cox, Chiara Ferrari, and Dana Polan contributed in different ways to the project’s early phases. Colleagues and friends at the University of Texas at Austin, Daniela Bini, Douglas Biow, David Birdsong, Antonella Del Fattore-Olson, Cinzia Russi, and Guy Raffa, helped me in



Acknowledgments xiii

its final stages, not only with their support, but also by allowing me to take time off from teaching. My colleagues in the Film Studies Faculty Group and my students at the University of Texas provided fresh critical perspectives on my writings. My colleagues and friends Valeria Castelli, Alessandra Montalbano, Valerie McGuire, Fabiana Cecchini, Silvia Carlorosi, and Silvia Fois, made this time of writing and researching more enjoyable. Martin Kley, Nicoletta Marini-Maio, Giovanna Faleschini Lerner, and Scott Lerner not only sustained me but also inspired me with their own research and teaching. Special thanks to my friend and colleague Marisa Giorgi, who read many drafts of this book, and to Sarah Luehrman Axelrod, who helped me in the final editing of the manuscript. I want to thank my family: my mother Antonia, my father Gaetano, and my sister Sara for their strong encouragement; my son Marco, for his irresistible smile and sweetest affection; and my dog Pinguino, for all the unexpected laughs in times of crisis. And last but not least, my loudest thanks to Petre Petrov, for his help in finalizing the manuscript, his boundless support, and unconventional love. To you, my friend, I dedicate this book.

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Abbreviations

AAMOD

Fondazione Archivio audiovisivo del movimento operaio e democratico (Audiovisual Archive of the Working Class and Democratic Movement) ACEC Associazione Cattolica Esercenti Cinema (Catholic Association of Movie Theatre Managers) ACICI Archivio del Cinema Industriale e della Comunicazione d’Impresa (Archive of Industrial Cinema and Business Communications) (Castellanza, Ivrea? – or Varesa?) ACS Archivio Centrale dello Stato in Rome (Central State Archive) AGIS Associazione Generale Italiana Spettacolo AILS Archivio Istituto Luigi Sturzo ANCI Archivio Nazionale del Cinema Industriale (National Archive of Industrial Cinema) ANCICSC Archivio Nazionale Cinema d’Impresa-Centro Sperimentale di cinematografia (Ivrea, Italy) ANICA Associazione Nazionale Industrie Cinematografiche Audiovisive ASIL Archivio Storico Istituto Luce (Luce Institute Historical Archive) CASAS Comitato Amministrativo Soccorso ai Senzatetto CB Cineteca di Bologna CCC Centro Cattolico Cinematografico (Catholic Centre for Cinematography) CdD Centro di Documentazione CISL Confederazione Italiana Sindacato Lavoratori CL Cineteca Lucana in Potenza

xvi Abbreviations

CNR CRALs CFS CSI DC DIE DIEPC ECA ENI ERP GIL IFE ILS INA INS INU IRI MPF MSA PSI NARA OSR RSI SNC SPES UNLA UNRRA USIA USIS

Centro Nazionale di Ricerca Circolo Ricreativo Assistenza Lavoratori Centro Storico Fiat Cineteca Scolastica Italiana (Italian Educational Film Library) Christian Democracy (Italian: Democrazia Cristiana, DC) Dipartimento per l’Informazione e l’Editoria (Department of Information and Publications) Dipartimento per l’Informazione e l’Editoria della Presidenza del Consiglio (Rome, Italy) Economic Cooperation Administration (US) Ente Nazionale Idrocarburi European Recovery Program Gioventù Italiana del Littorio Italian Films Export Istituto Luigi Sturzo Istituto Nazionale delle Assicurazioni Istituto Nazionale di Statistica Istituto Nazionale di Urbanistica Institute for Industrial Reconstruction Marshall Plan Filmography Mutual Security Agency (US) Italian Communist Party National Archives and Records Administration (US) Office of the Special Representative to Europe (US) Repubblica Sociale Italiana Scuola Nazionale di Cinema Servizio Propaganda e Stampa (Propaganda and Information Service) Unione Nazionale per la Lotta contro l’Analfabetismo (National Union for the Fight against Illiteracy) United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration United States Information Agency United States Information Service

SCHOOLING IN MODERNITY The Politics of Sponsored Films in Postwar Italy

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Introduction

On 8 August 1952, at the height of the Cold War, a parish priest from the “red” region of Emilia made a suggestion to the government of Italy. In a letter addressed to Prime Minister Alcide De Gasperi, Father Italo wrote: We the clergy live among the people and know their psychology, and thus the means to attract them. Every province or region should make a documentary film about all the works completed by the government […] Presented everywhere, in piazzas and in movie theatres, accompanied by a short commentary at the end, these films would obtain more results than speech after speech in which each person tries to shout louder. They would provide an effective buffer against the waves of lies and defamations spread by the social-communists.1

Father Italo’s was not a solitary plea to the head of Italy’s democratic government. From the time of the Marshall Plan (1948–53) until the end of the 1950s,2 Italian and American governmental and non-governmental agencies commissioned hundreds of short films from private and public producers, including the formerly Fascist Istituto Nazionale Luce (National Film Institute), which was closed in 1947 but reopened in 1948.3 Frequently dubbed in several languages and distributed in various countries, initially these sponsored reels showed post–Second World War programs of reconstruction to Italian and Western European viewers. throughout the 1950s, short films continued to inform and educate Italian citizens about various aspects of their country’s progress towards modernization including industrialization, the mechanization of agriculture, housing, urban planning, and the spread of mass production for

4

Schooling in Modernity

mass consumption. All of the postwar progress and achievements were attributed to democracy and capital investment, fostered and secured by the establishment of military and economic alliances with the United States and Western Europe. The producers, directors, and other artists involved with these shorts often worked for more than one sponsor, resulting in stylistic continuities and common patterns among the films. Although marketed as “documentaries,” the films often featured fictional stories that functioned as narrative devices to demonstrate subjec­ tiv involvement in the history of Italy, creating a parallel between private and public progress and betterment. Newsreel footage and enacted sequences were edited together seamlessly, and professional actors starred in the “real fictions” of the Italian nation, blending into the Italian citizens. Generic conventions, such as those of melodramas and comedies, entertained while informing viewers. Screenings took place in regular movie theatres, where these “documentaries” accompanied the newsreel preceding the feature, as well as in other venues, such as factories’ recreational centres, classrooms, and public squares, where films were projected by means of mobile trucks provided by Luce and underwritten by various sponsors. Among the sponsors, the film unit of the Economic Cooperation Administration (ECA), the American agency that implemented the Marshall Plan in Europe, commissioned more than three hundred films between 1948 and 1951 from private producers in the seventeen European countries participating in the program, including Italy, demanding that only national directors and artists would be involved locally. ECA films were screened across borders, occasionally by Hollywood distributors such as Paramount or in collaboration with national governments. The Mutual Security Agency (MSA) replaced the ECA for a few years after the end of the Marshall Plan, until 1953; subsequently, the United States Information Service (USIS) continued to distribute ECA and MSA films as well as other American short films dubbed in Italian until the mid-1960s.4 Almost simultaneously, the Italian government initiated a project similar to that of the ECA Film Unit through the Centro di Documentazione (CdD), the information agency established in 1951 at the behest of Prime Minister Alcide De Gasperi. The CdD sponsored about two hundred reels, some of which were dubbed in English and exported to the United States. Three catalogues by Italian Films Export (IFE), published between 1948 and 1950, listed hundreds of short films sponsored by the Italian government, including but not limited to CdD



Introduction 5

productions. According to the first catalogue, English- and Frenchdubbed versions “[facilitated] the sale of Italian shorts in the World Market.”5 Other Italian governmental agencies appear in these catalogues as producers themselves: for example, the Ferrovie dello Stato (State Railways), whose films celebrated the reconstruction of the railway system and promoted new, technologically advanced trains and recently opened lines of service, with particular emphases on those connecting Italy’s South to its North. Non-governmental commissioners were also involved: for example, philanthropic associations such as the Unione Nazionale per la Lotta contro l’Analfabetismo (National Union for the Fight against Illiteracy, UNLA), an organization funded by the “Friends of America,” an American association; the Centro Cattolico Cinemato­ grafico (Catholic Centre for Cinematography, CCC) supported by the Vatican and collaborating with Catholic producer Orbis; the Comitato Civico, sustained by Azione Cattolica (Catholic Action) and affiliated with Democrazia Cristiana (Christian Democracy, DC; de Gasperi’s party).6 Industrial enterprises like Fiat (automobiles), Edisonvolta (electricity), and Olivetti (typewriters) had their own film units, usually run by employees and sometimes involving leading figures in show business. Like the many governmental productions, industrial films focused on the welfare of workers and their families and aimed to demonstrate the company’s involvement in the economic recovery of the nation. Although great in number, all of these sponsored films sank into oblivion by the early 1960s.7 Not many more were produced, either, mainly because the sponsoring agencies had closed. Also, movie theatres discontinued the practice of showing shorts before feature films and, by that time, open-air screenings had become unusual, since even the smallest town in Italy had a movie theatre by then. As they continued to lose viewing locations and patrons, having served the immediate purposes of their private or public benefactors, the short films representing the postwar modernization of Italy were often simply discarded; at best, they were deposited in archives to rest in peace. ECA and MSA films can be found scattered in various locations across Italy and also throughout Western Europe and the United States. The Centro di Documentazione’s films are now archived at the Dipartimento per l’Informazione e l’Editoria (Department of Information and Publications, DIE), but they are not directly accessible to scholars. Others had literally been abandoned but then miraculously retrieved before they could be destroyed, such as the entire collection of the Cineteca Scolastica Italiana (Italian

6

Schooling in Modernity

Educational Film Library, CSI), supervised by the Ministry of Public Education.8 This collection is now located at the Cineteca Lucana (in Potenza) but likewise not available to scholars or the general public due to lack of funding. Many others have yet to be “found”: indeed, film catalogues of the period list more titles than there are existing copies.9 Con­ versely, some archives hold reels that are missing part of the footage, lack any information about the producers and directors involved, or cannot be identified in available catalogues. Usually, archives hold only positives, either in 35mm or 16mm; the negatives can rarely be found. In many cases, we are looking at “orphans,” a term used by archivists and preservation scholars to address the issue of neglected moving images, left behind in the depository / orphanage, and often missing their “mother” (the negative), or their “father” (someone holding and claiming the copyright).10 Schooling in Modernity begins as an endeavour to rescue the short films that portray the modernization of Italy in the aftermath of the Second War World and to place them in their proper context. I examine and compare productions sponsored by the numerous national and international organizations and units involved, exploring both analogies and incongruities between the various governmental strategies that fall under the common rubric of “democracy.” Throughout the chapters, I study the Italian portion of the more than three hundred ECA films produced between 1948 and 1953, all of which remained inaccessible until 1999, when the Archivio Centrale dello Stato (Central State Archive, ACS) in Rome released the USIS-Trieste collection.11 The collection is called such because it belonged to the USIS office in Trieste, before it was transferred to Rome. The USIS-Trieste collection also contains some of the films made by private producers for the Centro di Documentazione. While the complete collection at the Dipartimento per l’Informazione e l’Editoria is not open to the public, I was fortunate to obtain digital copies. Other archives hold some of the films discussed in this book, most importantly the Fondazione Archivio Audiovisivo del Movimento Operaio e Democratico (Audiovisual Archive of the Working Class and Democratic Movement, AAMOD) and the Archivio Storico Istituto Luce (Luce Institute Historical Archive, ASIL) in Rome, Cineteca di Bologna’s (CB), the Cineteca Lucana in Potenza (CL), and in the United States, the National Archives and Records Administration in College Park, Maryland (NARA). I examine corporate (industrial) productions as well, most of which are stored in two major locations in Italy, the Archivio Nazionale del Cinema Industriale (National Archive of Industrial Cinema, ANCI) in Ivrea (in Turin), and the Archivio del Cinema Industriale e



Introduction 7

della Comunicazione d’Impresa (Archive of Industrial Cinema and Business Communications, ACICI) in Castellanza (Varese). AAMOD, ASIL, ANCI, and Cineteca Bologna have restored and digitized several sponsored films and made them available on the Internet, although the video quality and size are marginal at best.12 Although these archives do not hold any documents related to sponsorship and reception, I have been able to collect some relevant information indirectly across a variety of sources: newspapers and magazines of the period, mostly located at the Biblioteca Luigi Chiarini of Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia (the Film Library of the National Film School) and the Biblioteca del Cinema Umberto Barbaro, both in Rome; records relevant to Italy from the Foreign Assistance Agencies (1948–61) and of the Office of Western European Affairs (1943–51), collected at NARA; materials from the Propaganda and Information Service (Servizio Propaganda e Stampa, SPES) of Christian Democracy stored at the Istituto Luigi Sturzo (ILS) in Rome; documents on housing and information propaganda of the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA) at the United Nations Archives in New York; unedited interviews with ECA officials and the producers and directors who worked for them, transcripts of which I was able to access thanks to archivist Linda Christenson, curator and editor of the online Marshall Plan Filmography. The narratives constructed in printed reviews, official memos, and oral memories will be deployed in the book as complementary and intertextual objects of inquiry, in addition to the cultural texts of the reels themselves and in relation to the political and social agendas of their sponsors. Even though many of the films I discuss are “orphans,” the significance of this project goes beyond the sole intention to bring back to light obscure films made in Italy.13 My goal is to demonstrate the relevance of sponsored films vis-à-vis the postwar process of modernization in Italy, the transition from Fascism to democracy, and the country’s involvement in the Cold War as an ally of the United States during those years. More specifically, I investigate the many ways in which these films functioned as tools to govern the Italian population: for example, publicizing modernization as a means to a life of happiness and prosperity, promoting conduct that conformed to a modern society, and narrating the history of Italy’s modernization as an upward trajectory of progress. In broader terms, I investigate “film’s ability to transform unlikely spaces, convey ideas, convince individuals, and produce subjects in the service of public and private aims.”14 With these words, Charles Acland and Haidee Wasson are addressing what they call a “useful cinema,” one that is more

8

Schooling in Modernity

about functionality than beauty.15 Similarly to the useful cinema that they describe, the stylistically heterogeneous body of films under study in this book exceeded the world of public commercial entertainment and sought audiences to educate and to inform in a variety of venues including, but not limited to, movie theatres. Productions by well-known directors, such as Ermanno Olmi for Edisonvolta, were no different from anonymous works, like those of Cinefiat, where names were purposefully hidden. I am more interested here in the purpose rather than in the aesthetic qualities of the films or the poetics of the filmmakers. My focus is on one of the possible functions of filmmaking, namely, governance: Schooling in Modernity can be framed in the field of inquiry that has been called “governmentality studies.”16 Film scholars such as Lee Grieveson and Robert Green have engaged with this framework, respectively, by investigating cinema as “technology of the self” and by analysing the sponsor-viewer relation in terms of “pastoral power.”17 Both of these scholars draw from Michel Foucault’s concept of “governmentality,” a concept that has been engaged with far more often in the field of cultural studies. In his essay entitled “Governmentality,” Foucault argued that to “govern” a state means “exercising towards its inhabitants, and the wealth and behavior of each and all, a form of surveillance and control as attentive as that of the head of a family over his household and his goods.”18 This parallel between the family and the state as the basis of political economy unveils a dynamic of power relations that Foucault defined as “pastoral power,” whose role was “to constantly ensure, sustain, and improve the lives of each and everyone.”19 In Foucault’s configuration of pastoral power, the state has a coordinating function, while government takes place in multiple sites through techniques and programs that are usually defined as cultural.20 In this configuration, the techniques of government do not repress or indoctrinate but rather permeate the everyday life of the population (particularly in the forms of technologies of the self). Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri’s description of the Foucauldian “society of control” can help clarify this point. Hardt and Negri explain that activities of governance are progressively interiorized in the “society of control,” whereas a “disciplinary society” is characterized by “obedience to its rule and its mechanism of inclusion and / or exclusion […] accomplished through disciplinary institutions (the prison, the factory, the asylum, the hospital, the university, the school and so forth).”21 In the “society of control,” they argue, the “mechanisms of command become ever more ‘democratic,’ ever more immanent to the social field, distributed throughout the brains and bodies of the citizens.”22 Among such



Introduction 9

possible mechanisms, they claim, are information technologies and the welfare system. The parallel between the father to family relationship and that of governor to governed is prominent in the hundreds of films sponsored by private and public agencies in postwar Italy. The aim was not only to publicize modernization per se, but also to fashion a role in the process for their sponsors. In the films’ narratives, factory managers, government officials, teachers, even the Americans, take on the tasks of care, management, and control of the population. Housing and health care are the responsibilities not only of the Italian government, but also of the ECA or of Olivetti, among others. The use that the same agencies made of cinematography was in keeping with the pastoral role they took on. Edu­cation through films was proactive rather than coercive. Democratic powers sought to foster individual desires (for a job, a family, a car, or peace), rather than repress them, and hoped to lead all citizens and their families to happiness and prosperity.23 Various communication technologies, films among them, promoted social and sexual behaviours, moral values, and gender roles, or in other words, “the proper disposition of humans and things” on which the strength of the governing power depends.24 On these premises, I am arguing that to study the political value of sponsored films from a critical standpoint, the analytics of government is more appropriate than the sort of approach most frequently deployed in Italian studies, namely, that of theory focused on the role played by ideology in the legitimization of power. The dynamics of pastoral power are relevant in examining how private and public sponsors used cinematography for political purposes in Italy, even though their films did not indoctrinate viewers or eulogize the sponsors. No comparable study has ever been conducted in the Italian context, and very few studies have focused on noncommercial Italian cinema of this kind (e.g., the aforementioned Useful Cinema does not include any discussion of Italy). Government-sponsored shorts have been analysed exclusively as political propaganda for the Marshall Plan or for Italy’s Christian Democracy government, mostly ignoring the striking similarities in contemporary industrial films as well as controversial analogies with neorealist feature films.25 On the contrary, these similarities are relevant vis-à-vis the manufacturing of a postwar national identity and the construction of gendered subjectivities, as I demonstrate in chapter 1. Through the films they commissioned, private and public sponsors harnessed images of femininity and masculinity to promote the ideas of the Italian republic, frequently in opposition to the characters and narratives of neorealism. Modernization meant the

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Schooling in Modernity

resolution of the social and gender crisis brought on by the Second World War. The conversion from warfare to workfare signalled the return to order in the family, in which male citizens were the breadwinners and female citizens, despite having the right to vote and to work, were expected to provide free labour as mothers and spouses. The focus on the interrelation between the production of political, economic, and gendered subjectivities distinguishes this study from others on useful cinema or on film in relation to governmentality; however, the interdependence of modernization and gender is not specific to the Italian context but common to Western European societies, particularly in the postwar period.26 A line of inquiry in this book that is, instead, uniquely relevant to Italy concerns the “Southern Question,” broadly defined as the economic, social, and cultural divide between Italy’s modernized North and its the pre-modern South.27 Discourse on the Southern Question dates back to the time of unification, essentialized and racialized by both northern and southern Italian intellectuals in their writings.28 In the 1950s, the stereotypes of southern Italians as “naturally” apathetic and unwilling to work were not only alive in Italian popular culture but also supported by American texts such as Barbara Allason’s 1950 report, sponsored by UNRRA, on housing and social welfare. In recounting her experiences at the Italian housing projects she visited, Allason asserted that social assistance promoted love for work and contempt for begging everywhere in Italy, “[yet] these points are not really substantial in Northern Italy, where people have a proud understanding of their dignity and the habit of working is already in their blood, these are crucial in the education or rehabilitation of Southern populations.”29 In addition, the well-known study by American anthropologist Edward Banfield, The Moral Basis of a Backward Society (1958), sustained the idea that that southern Italians were “morally” unfit for modern society.30 Southern Italians were considered resistant to modernization in both of the above-mentioned accounts; moreover, the “backward region within the nation,” in the words of deputy mission director of ECA Italy Leland Barrows, put the entire nation at risk with regard to American intervention in the reconstruction.31 According to some, Italy should have been considered a “Point Four-type situation” by the United States, that is, an underdeveloped country; had that been the case, to put it simply, the Italian government would not have had the same independence as other European countries when it came to administrating the Marshall Plan “counterpart funds” (the proceeds from the sale of Marshall Plan goods) for public works.32 In addition, in the discourse on the Southern Question,



Introduction 11

the North and the South historically indicated a divide within the country as well as within Europe. In The View from Vesuvius, Nelson Moe writes, “Italy’s Southern Question needs to be construed not only in terms of the country’s internal division but also in terms of its identity as a southern country within Europe.”33 Many of the postwar short films aimed to dispel the notions of backwardness attributed to southern Italy and to Italy as a southern European nation. The narratives of modernization publicized the assimilation of the rural and underdeveloped South into the industrial and progressive North. However, while national governmental agencies were interested in showing complete homogenization within the country and with regard to Western Europe, American-sponsored films focused more on how the Marshall Plan brought civilization to the entire nation, including the rural South. The Centro di Documentazione strove to demonstrate to foreign audiences that Italy was finally “unified” in the name of economic recovery, social welfare, and political change, as well as on “the moral basis of a modern society” (to paraphrase Banfield’s title). At the same time, the Economic Cooperation Administration and, later, the Mutual Security Agency treated modernization and the spread of democracy as a form of enlightenment that made technical knowledge accessible to viewers, educating them on rational and scientific thought and helping them to exit a pre-modern, uncivilized state. All sponsors agreed, though, that by means of education, even southern Italians would eventually learn the rules of modern living. Michele Gandin’s Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli / Christ Did Not Stop at Eboli (1952) is a very good example in this sense.34 Directed for the Italian non-governmental organization (NGO) promoting literacy (the UNLA) and translated into English for American viewers as well, Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli is a “docu-fiction” about the successful story of a school opened in the southern region of Lucania: in other words, it is a documentary about the work of the National Union for the Fight against Illiteracy, told by means of a fictional narrative, in which a singular experience represents a common situation. The title of the film refers to Italian writer Carlo Levi’s recently published memoirs of his confino in Lucania in the 1930s, titled Cristo si è fermato a Eboli (Christ Stopped at Eboli, 1947). In his introduction, Levi described the region in these words: “Christ never came this far, nor did time, nor the individual soul, nor hope, nor the relation of cause to effect, nor reason nor history.”35 Epitomizing the postwar response to Levi’s argument, Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli explained how the democratic regime and the association “Friends of America” brought hope and progress beyond Eboli,

12

Schooling in Modernity

to Lucania. Gandin’s film also showed that, judging by their moral and social conduct, southern Italians were eager to fit into the modern world. Eventually, in the last sequence, the Lucanian peasants who attended the school showcased what they had learned to the viewers of the film. Looking straight up at the camera, these men and women, young and elderly, took turns reciting the values of social solidarity, the importance of religion, and the advantages of education. The educational function of cinematography is not only relevant to the films about southern Italy, but also key to understanding the relationship established between film and viewers, in all productions. Walt Disney explained with great poignancy in his article “Disegni animati educativi,” translated and published in the Italian film magazine Sequenze in 1949: “The nation [US] that used cinema to intensify and facilitate the training of its soldiers and workers in the war industry should recognize today that cinema is the best educational tool to civilize others and bring them peace.”36 In other words, while cinema could represent how the enlightenment of Italian people was taking place thanks to American help, cinema could also function as a tool to implement this mission. The short films examined in this book reveal themselves to be similar to the educational reels that were screened in American classrooms in the same period. According to Ken Smith, the goal of “mental hygiene” films, as he called them, was to inculcate “attitudes and ideals that [would] enable boys and girls to make their places as efficient and effective members of a democratic society.”37 Smith argued that mental hygiene films were “a uniquely American experiment in social engineering, [...] created to shape the behavior of their audiences.”38 The ultimate goal of such behavioural education was the happiness that individuals would derive from “fitting in.” Film sponsors (both American and Italian) regarded Italian citizens as similar to American teenagers: they, too, had to “meet the complex problems of modern life” to live happily; they, too, had to “fit in” to maintain political and social stability; and they, too, could be helped by cinematography in achieving these goals. Such comparison is helpful in tackling what I call the issue of pro­ paganda. According to their sponsors, informational, motivational and, above all, educational were attributes better suited to media products – meaning films as well as posters, radio programs, and others – intended to reach out to the population of a democratic state. Given the period of transition from Fascism to democracy, on one the hand, and the Cold War, on the other, the common denominator was the rejection of both “propaganda” and “ideology.” British filmmaker John Grierson wrote in



Introduction 13

1942 that to a democracy, which “lies wide open to division and uncertainty,” propaganda is even more vital than it is to an authoritarian state. However, from the ’ perspective of the films’ sponsors, and especially from the perspective of American and Italian governmental agencies, the term “propaganda” was associated with dominant and oppressive powers who imposed a set of ideas (“ideology”) through top-down instruction.39 Rejecting propaganda, therefore, was a key rhetorical device for Italian officials to exclude any Fascist legacy from state-sponsored films, even those produced by the ex-Fascist Istituto Luce. For the Americans, it was crucial to make Italian audiences believe that they did not intend to colonize Italy. As stated in a letter from the US Consulate in Genoa to the US Embassy in Rome: “Almost all [workers] were surprised to find that these ‘free movies’ were American documentaries. Then it became a question of convincing the local [factory] club officers that these films were not really imperialistic American propaganda.”40 The ECA’s solution was, for example, to use only local directors and troupes for Marshall Plan films and to avoid mentioning the European Recovery Program (ERP) more than once in a single film.41 At the same time, the choice to call the films commissioned by governmental and non-governmental agencies “educational” worked to depoliticize the attempts to make citizens fit into a modern society, to reshape families according to traditional values, and to turn as many of them as possible into happy shoppers. Indeed, as I will show in the upcoming chapters, cinematography participated in the fight against the Communist bloc, by attempting to normalize Italian society and successfully establish a capitalist system. In addition, sponsored filmmaking maintained an ambiguous relationship to the Fascist past, even though the sponsoring agencies professed a radical break with the Fascist regime. In both cases, the analytics of government is appropriate to understand sponsored films from a political standpoint. Educational practices aimed at managing and controlling the behaviours and lifestyles of viewers are appropriate to the dynamics of pastoral power, where the governor does not aim at repressing but rather at productively regulating people’s conduct. Nevertheless, I do not agree with Hardt and Negri when they talk about “a historical, epochal passage in social form from disciplinary society to the society of control.”42 In Foucault’s words, “We need to see things not in terms of the replacement of a society of sovereignty by a disciplinary society and the subsequent replacement of a disci­ plinary society by a society of government; in reality one has a triangle, sovereignty-discipline-government.”43 This particular concept is relevant

14

Schooling in Modernity

to postwar Italy, where disciplinary institutions such as the factory and the school were still active and continuities with Fascism were ever-­ present, as I frequently stress in this book. The discursive practices that will serve as texts of analysis are created both by the behavioural schemes illustrated in the films and by the institutions of culture, their regulating policies and governing programs.44 Fascist remnants were visible mostly in these institutions, the laws that regulated their function, and the people who implemented them. Furthermore, Fascist discursive practices carried over into the republic through rules of conduct promoted to ensure the welfare of society and through the intervention of governing agencies in the private lives of citizens and their families, scrutinizing and controlling health, hygiene, sexual promiscuity, and so forth. These rules of conduct, especially those that encouraged the spread of consumerism, were fundamental in ensuring that the Italian population would prefer parliamentary democracy and capitalism to communism and socialism. By way of introduction, I will now explain a few general issues concerning the legacy of Fascism and the dynamics of the Cold War, to be further developed in the chapters. First of all, many people involved in filmmaking for democratic agencies had previously been involved with the Fascist regime. For example, director Vittorio Gallo was a Luce employee not only during the ventennio nero (1922–43) but also at the time of the Social Republic of Salò (Repubblica Sociale Italiana, RSI; 1943–45), when filmmaking was transferred from Rome to Venice during the Allied occupation of central and southern Italy. After the war, Gallo continued working for Luce, as well as for the Economic Cooperation Administration. The director Romolo Marcellini made a film about the Spanish Civil War and several colonial films in the 1930s, while in the 1940s he directed Catholic feature films such as Pastor Angelicus (1942), a film about Pius XII and his anti-war engagement, for the Vatican producer Orbis. After 1945, Marcellini worked both for the Italian government and for the ECA / MSA, as well as for the Catholic Centre of Cinematography. Right after the Liberation (1945), Marcellini filmed Guerra alla guerra (War to the War, 1946), a pacifist documentary for Orbis that came out in the midst of debates about “purging.” Giorgio Ferroni, whose 1930s and 1940s films were openly supportive of the Fascist regime, “purged” his own past by directing a film about the Resistance, Pian delle stelle (Plain of the Stars, 1946). Later, Ferroni made films for Luce, the ECA, and the typewriter manufacturer Olivetti, which counted the leftist intellectual Franco Fortini among its employees. In addition to Istituto Luce, other institutions such as the Cineteca Scolastica Italiana were built on the



Introduction 15

remnants of Fascist ones, and the highest positions were given to individuals who had been actively involved in Fascist education and cultural institutions. For example, Remo Branca, director of the CSI and responsible for most publications on the pedagogical use of films in the classrooms, was a high school principal under Fascism, responsible for the creation of a film unit for the Avanguardisti, a Fascist youth organization of children between the ages of fourteen and nineteen.45 The director of the governmental Centro di Documentazione was Gastone Silvano Spinetti, also a former official at the Fascist Ministry of Popular Culture (Ministero della Cultura Popolare). Spinetti is the author of the apologetic pamphlet Difesa di una generazione (In Defence of a Generation) in which he claimed the innocence of his generation of soldiers and Avanguardisti, victims of the corrupted older generation of Fascist Gerarca.46 This information does not come as a surprise. Historian Christopher Duggan pointed out, “When combined with the uncertainties over who or what exactly a ‘fascist’ was, this idea of the essential neutrality of the administration was a major reason why attempts to conduct a political purge after the war ran aground, and why there was such a marked level of continuity with the fascist state in the new Republic.”47 Salvatore Ambrosino has shown that after 1945 all actors and directors who had taken part in film productions that were clearly pro-Fascist were not really forgiven, in fact, but rather considered blameless: “screen bodies that could not be tried or condemned.”48 Ambrosino mentions in this way one of the possible rhetorical strategies to justify the absence of any real purges. “The trauma of national division and defeat, coupled with the exigencies of national reconstruction,” wrote Ruth Ben-Ghiat, “ultimately tempered impulses to carry out a collective recrimination of Italians for their actions during two decades of fascist rule.”49 A collective pardon, instead, took place across the political spectrum and extended into the world of cinematography, from the amnesty of Fascist criminals promulgated by Palmiro Togliatti, minister of justice in 1946 and secretary of the Communist Party, to the narratives of neorealist films, which also contributed to the “collective tendency to externalize responsibility for fascism.”50 “We have no right to make them pay,” says Massimo Girotti in Caccia tragica (Tragic Hunt, 1947), directed by communist Giuseppe De Santis, speaking of thieves who had tried to steal trucks from a farmers’ co-­ operative. These thieves, being Fascist veterans, are all victims of the war, Girotti claims, and then he cries: “We cannot continue to act as perpetrators!” In other words, pardon was a necessary gesture to make a break with the past and understand the war as a collective traumatic experience

16

Schooling in Modernity

that needed to be overcome. Anti-Fascist intellectual Benedetto Croce went so far as to say that Fascism itself was an aberrant and foreign experience, a “parenthesis” in national history and its path to progress. In this light, the fact that many directors and leading figures of short film productions had previously been involved with fascism makes it not as important to prove that they were “fascists” as it is to show the extent to which their involvement in the Republic of Italy was tainted by the desire for redemption and by the claim of victimization, for themselves and for any other Italian citizen who lived under Fascist rule. In 1948, when the constitution had already been signed and the first national elections were taking place, sponsored films began to appear in Italian piazzas and in movie theatres. At the time, as I will explain in more detail in chapter 6, Fascism was meant to be a “thing of the past,” never to be mentioned in the narratives of modernization. The war, purged of the uncomfortable political question of the Resistance, represented the traumatic experience that turned Italians from a country of perpetrators into one of victims and supporters of the Allies. Italy’s history was a progressive movement towards a future of prosperity and happiness, in which each event demonstrated the country’s bright future. Such a teleological interpretation of history was common to all sponsored films, and possibly connected to Benedetto Croce’s idealist / liberal philosophy, still the most influential in Italy.51 At the same time, the very fact that they were able to reach a wide audience of commercial theatres and, most likely, the reason for their agreement on a common recollection of the past, derived from a system of censorship, clientelism, and corruption, a system that was put in place by a law of the new republic and yet seemed to perpetuate the customs of the old regime. Article 7 of the 1947 and 1949 laws, respectively, assigned 3 per cent to 5 per cent of the tassa erariale (tax on revenues) to each “documentary” approved by a governmental commission,52 that is, any film shorter than thirty minutes and containing some realistic content as well as some treatment of cultural or social values. In conjunction with governmental funding, the laws provided for the obligatory release of the films in movie theatres before the feature presentation. The intention was to promote the Italian film industry relative to its American (Hollywood) competitors. In practice, the laws favoured private profits, with dramatic consequences for the state finances as well as for quality standards and freedom of expression. “The mechanism of film matching is linked to the most extended speculation ever to take place at the expense of the State Treasury,” writes Leonardo Quaglietti in his economic history of



Introduction 17

Italian film.53 Producers took advantage of the law by financing films at a low cost on particular subjects, such as programs of reconstruction. The choice of topics was most likely connected to political reasons, since documentaries that provided a favourable image of the country and positive inspiration for the citizenry would most certainly have met the com­ mission’s selection standards for funding. Distributors also profited immensely by establishing pre-emptive agreements with big producers who would buy documentaries directly from filmmakers or small producers at the lowest rate. In this way, cheap films could earn both distributors and big producers a very large sum of money (between 20 and 40 million lire for a film that cost them 100 to 200 thousand lire to produce). This instance was only one of many provoked by those who abused the laws. In 1951, another episode involving theatre owners as well appeared in the pages of the widely read Roman newspaper Il Messaggero: a number of documentaries, although they were part of regular programming, were never actually screened in cinemas.54 In 1952, the Araldo dello spettacolo published some far more alarming news: a producer in Rome had bought for a few lire several “documentaries” excluded from governmental grants. “Re-edited and resynchronized, [the documentaries] are submitted again to the selection committee and then sold or screened for considerable amounts of money.”55 Most likely because of these scandals, the number of films listed as receiving state funding peaked in 1955 (1,149) and decreased drastically in 1956 (only 157). In fact, producers knew that in 1956 there would be new legislation (following national elections), which would try to put a stop to financial gambling (eventually, the new law also lowered the premium from up to 5% to 1.75%). Therefore, as many films as possible had to be completed before 15 December 1955. As Quaglietti explains, “Documentaries grew like mushrooms [...] Each single available filmmaker was hired and many of them were new, inexperienced, unprepared.”56 Both the law and the bureaucrats who presided over the governmental commission were highly criticized in the press. Cinema Nuovo, in particular, was filled with accusations of censorship and corruption. In “Lo scandalo dei documentari” (The Documentary Scandal, 1950), director Roberto Guerrasio complained that he could not find anyone who would consent to produce his work, because they all assumed that his films would never successfully pass the commission. He wrote, “In the past four years, state funding has gone into the hands of speculators, while the best film production is stifled and filmmakers suffer the consequences.”57 In the article “L’arte dei funzionari” (The Art of Bureaucrats,

18

Schooling in Modernity

1953), another filmmaker, Renzo Renzi, proclaimed that the law had been suspiciously useful around the time of the electoral campaign, when the ruling party could exploit the benefits to pay for its own propaganda. According to Renzi, “The law revealed itself as no more than a political instrument, to be used in case of emergency.”58 In the same journal, director of the Scuola Nazionale di Cinema (National School of Cinema) and ex-Fascist Luigi Chiarini declared that “the short films that abound on our screens are straightforward propaganda that the audience equates to commercials: a form of torture that they paid admission to undergo.”59 As Ubaldo Bosello ironically commented in his article “Lo scandalo del documentario” (The Documentary Scandal, 1953), “Too bad viewers do not enjoy the show [...] they should not grow impatient or deathly bored, and yet they do.”60 These accounts are useful not only to demonstrate how the governmental commission functioned as an organ of censorship but also to examine the role of sponsored films in the Cold War context. Indeed, the regulating role played by the commission, on the one hand, and the rhetoric of democracy, on the other, speaks of the contradictions inherent in postwar sponsored cinema, between Fascist legacy and democratic change, which I will discuss at length in chapter 6. Governmental in­formation agencies, in particular, both Italian and American, programmatically set out to differentiate themselves from Fascist predecessors.61 Directors who criticized sponsored film productions as political propaganda for the ruling party (or the Marshall Plan, for that matter) could be refuted, for example, by pointing out that the Economic Cooperation Administration and Christian Democracy were rarely mentioned. None of them openly attacked their political opponent, even in the case of Marshall Plan films. Julien Spiro, British filmmaker for the ECA, declared that the “whole Marshall Plan ethic” was straightforward and honest and the idea was simply “to make these films because there would be communist propaganda against what the Marshall Plan was doing.”62 Not even the films of the Comitato Civico (Civic Committee), an openly anti-communist organization funded by the Associazione Cattolica (Catholic Association), defied communism outright. Rather, they attacked the Party “metaphorically,” by means of conditional fictions that mocked the documentary style and narrated how life in Italy would have been, if it had been ruled by communists. The Cold War of sponsored films did not play out in open political confrontation. In many cases, the democracy-communism dichotomy articulated the opposition between rationality and irrationality and linked



Introduction 19

democracy to anything that was “human,” particularly freedom and knowledge. In his 1949 inaugural address, US President Harry Truman spoke in similar terms about communism in opposition to democracy. He argued that democracy was “based on the conviction that man has the moral and intellectual capacity, as well as the inalienable right, to govern himself with reason and justice.”63 Communism, on the contrary, was “based on the belief that man is so weak and inadequate that he is unable to govern himself.” Communism attacked man’s reason and declared “what thoughts he shall think.” According to Truman, these differences did not concern the United States alone but all of humanity, because what was involved was “material well-being, human dignity, and the right to believe in and worship God.” Eventually, the American president associated democracy with man’s capacity for reason and the government of the self, with the ability to think and the right to believe. In other words, he maintained that democracy and communism were not merely political institutions; rather, they concerned people’s thoughts and beliefs as much as their behaviours. Democracy gave humanity the “freedom” to think independently, but it also provided people with the ability to self-govern. Therefore, the Cold War of sponsored films was as much a “struggle for men’s minds,” to quote the title of one ECA film, as a project to govern people’s conduct.64 Sponsored films, then, participated in Truman’s mission by not only freeing humanity from indoctrination but also providing individuals with models of conduct that epitomized human dignity and facilitated the government of the self based on shared values of religious belief, savings, and love for the family and the homeland. Furthermore, sympathizing with Truman’s convictions, people joined the fight against communism by displaying the economic prosperity brought by democracy. According to ECA official Vincent Barnett, “economic improvement and rising living standards [...] can halt the rise of communism.”65 The fight against communism, therefore, identified itself with the battle of the welfare system against “Want, Idleness, Squalor, Disease, and Ignorance […] the five giants on the road to reconstruction,” as explained by Sir William Beveridge in his 1942 report to the British Parliament, the foundational text of the theory and practice of postwar welfare systems.66 Cinematography worked to strike down the giant of ignorance by informing citizens on programs and practices of welfare by the state, the ECA, and various industries. The technological and scientific innovations brought on by the latter in the reconstruction of the country were explained, sometimes in great detail. By providing viewers with models

20

Schooling in Modernity

to emulate, workers and the general audience alike were educated on hygienic practices and other social and moral behaviours that would defeat idleness, squalour, and disease. Furthermore, films could show how sponsors acted to bring economic prosperity and thus to satisfy the viewers’ want. In this sense, one might say that the use of films as tools of social engineering in the postwar period is rooted in the logic of the welfare system, and that their rhetoric and strategies of persuasion were dependent on the logic of welfare practices. Schooling in Modernity does not prove that short films were, in fact, effective against the allure of communism, and it does not quantify the impact of cinematography on the Italian population (while it discusses at length the literature published in those years on this topic). Through the analysis of this massive number of film productions, this book explores the ways in which democratic powers attempted to involve viewers in the government of themselves and others. Schooling in Modernity demonstrates that the social, cultural, gender, and historical discourses articulated in the films under discussion evened out the differences between the North and the South (of Italy and of Europe), in the name of modernity, but they also deepened those between productive and nonproductive individuals. The dynamics of assimilation of the democraticcapitalist project to eradicate the poor displaced rather than eliminated “otherness.” To borrow an expression from Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben, the process of economic homogenization exposed the “biopolitical fracture” within the concept of people – the fundamental split in modern sovereignty. The term “popolo” (people), he argues, “designates in common parlance and in the political lexicon alike the whole of citizenry as a unitary body politic […] as well as those who belong to inferior classes.”67 At one pole, “the total state of the sovereign and integrated citizens” and, at the other pole, “the wretched, the oppressed, and the vanquished.”68 Thus, unemployment not only signified indigence but also affected a man’s capacity to be the family breadwinner, thus undermining his masculinity. Poverty meant constant danger of becoming “miserable,” that is, in so much economic need as to become a criminal or to trespass more generally the limits of accepted behaviour (alas, to be unable to govern oneself). In the following chapters, I will examine sponsored films as discursive practices aiming at the government of the population, in other words, the management and control of its conduct as well as the care of its welfare. The discourse on the poor and the divide between the industrial and already modernized North and the rural and “backward” South are only some of the topics under study.



Introduction 21

Schooling in Modernity: An Overview Each chapter focuses on a different aspect of modernization, understood as a complex historical process that took place in postwar Italy, roughly between the end of the Second World War and the “economic miracle” of the early 1960s: the fight against unemployment and industrialization; the role of the industries in the society of welfare; the housing question and the transformation of rural and urban spaces; economic development and cultural changes in southern Italy; cooperation between Western European countries and the creation of a “European Union”; and the establishment of a democratic regime. Also, each chapter discusses a variety of questions that contextualize sponsored filmmaking in postwar Italy within theories of documentary film and the history of Italian cinema: the relationship with neorealism and the use of fiction in documentary films; intertextuality between film and other discursive practices; stylistic differences within the mode of documentary, from newsreels to “mockumentaries”; functionality as a method of film criticism; the use of films in the classroom and the film library as an educational institution; and compilation films and the making of historical narratives. The first chapter looks at films sponsored by the Economic Cooperation Administration and the Centro di Documentazione that deal with the question of unemployment and the right or desire to work of both male and female citizens. These films publicized programs of economic recovery, but they also showed that the Christian Democracy government and Marshall Plan administration officials cared, above all, for the welfare of individuals and their families. Productions included the story of an Italian family against the backdrop of national reconstruction, promoting traditional gender models as representative of social identities. These stories recycled the images of neorealist fictions, featuring physically similar characters in new narratives in which social problems always find positive resolutions under the aegis of Christian Democracy or the Marshall Plan. The imperative “You will modernize!” did not manifest itself as a command but permeated the social space, where to be a citizen and a man or woman meant to work (produce) and to have a family (reproduce). Interestingly, as I show in chapter 2, the same logic of welfare dictated the narratives of films sponsored by corporations such as Fiat or Olivetti. In these cases, the industrialists replaced the state or the ECA as agencies of power governing the welfare of workers and their families and providing health care and child care, for example. In other words, while public and private agencies cooperated in the economic

22

Schooling in Modernity

resurrection of the Italian nation, they also demonstrated a common politics of management of the working class through film. Neither quite commercials nor strictly techno-films, the industry-sponsored documentaries of this period performed a function similar to that of many governmental films: they informed and educated the Italian population on the practices and benefits of a system of mass production. Indeed, education through film was a matter not only of knowledge but also of moral values and conduct. In chapter 3, I look at films about housing projects, a very pertinent example of how Italian legislation in the reconstruction period combined the purpose of economic development with the logic of social welfare. Housing projects were built to satisfy citizens’ basic needs as well as to boost the housing industry. The documentaries that publicized the projects were not only informative but also performative, in the sense that they provided viewers with behavioural models to imitate and moral values to embrace, such as hygienic rules inside the house, the value of savings, and the respect for privacy (against promiscuity). Compared with ECA films, those commissioned by the Christian Democracy government placed a stronger emphasis on the religious connotation of these values. In Italy, the principle of solidarity that characterized welfare systems in postwar Western Europe was largely shaped by Catholicism. Minister of Public Works (Lavori Pubblici) Amintore Fanfani conceived his major housing plan (the “Fanfani Plan”) as an act of Christian charity, and the films that publicized the implementation of this plan stressed how the construction of housing pro­jects was the solution to both economic and moral misery for many sub-­proletarian families. The latter would find in the films a glimpse of their prosperous future, while bourgeois viewers could indulge their benevolence towards the poor. By entering the projects, sub-proletarian families not only modernized their way of living but also redeemed themselves from a life of moral corruption and misdemeanour. The films sponsored by the Economic Cooperation Administration, in turn, expressed the significance of modern housing for the Italian people as a further step towards civilization. A particular case that I consider in chapter 3 is that of the city of Matera, in southern Italy, inhabited by modern “cavemen” (rural populations living in Paleolithic caves) whose lives had drastically changed since the arrival of the Marshall Plan, according to the documentaries. The topic of the civilizing aspect of modernization is also widely discussed in the chapter 4, in which I investigate the way in which films sponsored by the ECA, the Centro di Documentazione, the National Union for the Fight against Illiteracy,



Introduction 23

Olivetti, and Christian Democracy’s Servizio Propaganda e Stampa (Propaganda and Information Service, SPES), rethink the Southern Question, the cultural, economic, political, and social divide between Italy’s North and South. Films about the modernization of southern Italy both educated southern viewers on the values of hard work and national solidarity and rearticulated a discourse on the Southern Question, which since Italy’s unification had depicted the South as irremediably backward and southern Italians as a lazy lot. The postwar discourse of modernization in the documentaries under study, on the other hand, claimed that southern Italians were productively involved in the recovery of their country as much as their northern countrymen were. Thus, the binary between the North and the South of Italy was displaced into an opposition between productive and non-productive individuals. Beyond Italy’s borders, modernization also meant homogenization of the European South with North in the name of productivity. Chap­ ter 5 focuses on this aspect through an analysis of the Changing Face of Europe / Progressi e problemi della nuova Europa series, sponsored by the US Mutual Security Agency. Co-directed by different European filmmakers, the series dealt with the same issues as the films produced natio­ nally (e.g., industrialization, housing, agriculture) but included multiple episodes set in different European countries. Italy was featured as the “South” of Europe: pre-modern and backward, although on its way to “modern civilization,” that is, suburban living, mass production, healthy bodies, and mechanized agriculture. Productivity, again, was associated with the traditional family, the value of motherhood, and the constitutive quality of work for manhood, thus manufacturing and distributing an idea of Europe and simultaneously promoting an appropriate code of conduct that would ensure its viability. Furthermore, chapter 5 examines the Changing Face of Europe series from the point of view of the target audience. The United States Information Service distributed MSA films in Italy for free to any organization that owned a 16mm projector. Among them, the Cineteca Scolastica Italiana included the MSA series in its collection, in addition to many other USIS films about the works of the Marshall Plan in Europe. Therefore, the chapter explores the use of films about modernization in the classroom, in the context of the widespread public debate about the moral and social effects of cinematography on youth. Since the CSI was built on the remnants of its Fascist predecessor – the Cineteca Autonoma per la Cinematografia Scolastica – this chapter also further examines continuities with the past in matters of education through film.

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Chapter 6 concludes the book by looking at compilation films: historical narratives that reconstructed the past by combining recycled footage to create dramatizations. I study how these films were able to condition the way in which Italian viewers made sense of the past, and how that perception might influence their conduct in the present. In particular, none of the compilation films made any reference to Fascism in narrating Italy’s history from the Second War World to the reconstruction, thus participating in what historians have referred to as the process of “collective amnesia” about the dictatorship. In addition, all of them represented the Resistance vaguely, avoiding naming fighters as “partisans” and stressing, instead, their enthusiasm vis-à-vis the Allies. Finally, the year 1945 constituted a watershed for these films between the democratic present and the Fascist past, the beginning of a new era marked by the arrival of the Marshall Plan, the state-implemented programs of reconstruction and recovery, and various other productive activities funded by the films’ sponsors. I argue that cinematography made a “public use of history” that, perhaps deliberately, obfuscated what Claudio Pavone defined as “the two levels of usage” – the “higher scientific” level as opposed to the “lower level that propagates the common understanding of history.”69 On the one hand, the “scientific” aspect of filmmaking sustained a “higher” level of usage: the bond between newsreel footage and the events they depicted allowed filmmakers to convey their recollection of the past as “objective,” including their account of the Cold War as entirely the fault of the Soviet Union. In some ways, these recollections were similar to those of certain historians who consider 1945 to be the beginning of a new era.70 At the same time, compilation films popularized the past both by stylistic means, such as editing and soundtrack, and by juxtaposing events of political history with crime news and gossip columns. History in the form of tabloid delivered the past through entertainment, softening the sharp edges of the Second War World, the memory of which was still vivid in viewers’ minds, and creating that politically useful distance between the present of viewing and the past of representation.

Chapter One

Work, Welfare, Neorealism

During the first decade of the Republic of Italy (1948–58), the two primary governmental agencies involved in film production were Italy’s Centro di Documentazione (CdD), part of the Presidency of the Council of Ministers, and the film unit of the US Economic Cooperation Administration (ECA).1 The Centro di Documentazione was opened at the behest of Alcide De Gasperi, and between 1951 and 1960 it commissioned about two hundred film shorts from private producers, such as Astra Cinematografica and Documento Film, and from the ex-Fascist Istituto Luce (National Film Institute), which had been closed in 1947 but reopened in 1948.2 The magazine Cinema Nuovo in 1949 defined the Istituto Luce as “a powerful educational means in the hands of the state.”3 In some cases, films were translated for foreign audiences, and the CdD held copyright over international distribution. The same private Italian producers that worked for the CdD (Astra Cinematografica, Documento Film) and others (Phoenix Films, Wessex Film Productions, Telefilm) collaborated from 1948 to 1951 with ECA Italy.4 Film production actually continued for a few years after the end of the Marshall Plan, from 1951 to 1953, and was administered by the US Mutual Security Agency (MSA). The ECA had its headquarters in Paris, where it received film commissions from all seventeen Marshall Plan countries; films were then translated into different languages and distributed throughout Western Europe by the United States Information Service (USIS) or privately (e.g., by Paramount). In Italy, ECA shorts, like those of the CdD, were shown in movie theatres or in public squares as well as in recreational centres in factories (the so-called CRALs – Circolo Ricreativo Assistenza Lavoratori – which replaced the Fascist dopolavoro).

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Many filmmakers worked for both the ECA and the CdD, and several such as Vittorio Gallo, Romolo Marcellini, and Giorgio Ferroni had directed Luce documentaries during the Fascist period. Stylistically, their works show the influence of “Griersonian” social documentary, named for British director John Grierson, who coordinated the Empire Marketing Board Film Unit and the General Post Office Film Unit in 1930s Great Britain. Translated and published in Italian film journals, Grierson’s writings on documentary film and the necessity of film propaganda in a democracy were widely known in postwar Italy.5 Many ECA and CdD shorts have a Griersonian narrative pattern, which Brian Winston defines as a “problem moment.” According to this pattern, the solution to a social problem appears as a natural outcome on condition that the management of power stays in the hands of responsible experts (i.e., government or ECA officials).6 The works of American documentary filmmakers such as Robert Flaherty and Pare Lorentz were also influential. Lorentz was one of the few American directors who worked for a government agency, directing The Plough That Broke the Plains (1936) for the US Resettlement Administration and then The River (1938) for the US Department of Agriculture, in both cases sponsored by the Roosevelt administration (The River won the award for best documentary at the Venice Film Festival).7 Even though Lorentz was actually critical of modern techniques of land exploitation, his films seem to have inspired, especially in the use of soundtrack, Vittorio Gallo’s Bonifiche (Land Redeemed, 1950), about the mechanization of agriculture and land reclamation throughout the peninsula. ECA films about southern Italy, on the other hand, recall Flaherty’s Nanook of the North (1922), about an Eskimo family in the subarctic eastern coast of Hudson Bay, and Man of Aran (1934), set in the Irish Aran Islands, by representing pre-modern social groups as people struggling heroically against the hardships of life. Both the Italian and the US governments worked to ensure people’s participation in Italy’s modernization, achieving high standards of productivity, political stability, and social welfare. Cinematography was the means to educate the Italian citizenry about the social behaviours and moral values necessary, first, to promote these goals and then to maintain the status quo. The kind of rhetoric and strategies of persuasion employed to publicize modernization and democracy clearly differed (as they had to) from the country’s prior experience with Fascism. As one official memorandum reads, American propaganda had to be “unobtrusive and even unrecognized as to origin when it applied directly to Italian interests, and clear when it speaks for the US” and “utilized by



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Italians as trusted by us as they are respected by other Italians.”8 ECA propaganda exploited the same language of solidarity and friendship as in the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA) campaign.9 In the same way in which UNRRA was advertised as “an international, non-political, non-commercial, organization,” the Marshall Plan was proclaimed to be a disinterested gesture of friendship from the United States to the European countries.10 In particular, the keywords that ECA and UNRRA propaganda shared were “self-help” and “autonomy.” The programs funded by the Marshall Plan were based on the Italian nation’s capacity to administer the funds and to stabilize the initial path to recovery. Similarly, the citizen of the new Italian republic also had to rely on his or her own ability to produce and reproduce in order to achieve prosperity and peace, after international aid had saved his or her life in the state of emergency caused by the Second War World.11 Lothar Wolff, chief of the ECA Film Unit, insisted upon the autonomy of national and European troupes. In the words of English writer and producer Henry Sandoz: “If the subject was good and if it was likely to interest Europeans to discover what was being done to their own economies and what they were learning and what they were achieving, that was generally felt to fill the bill [...] Wolff felt that if you were helping a continent and bands of Americans were rushing around like firemen filming everything in all directions that it created a false situation.”12 Furthermore, Albert E. Hemsing, deputy chief of the ECA Motion Picture Branch, declared in an interview that the style of directors working for the ECA was comparable to that of advertisers.13 Arguably, the same observation could be made about both the Centro di Documentazione and the ECA Film Unit. In the aftermath of twenty years of dictatorship, filmmakers had to avoid the rhetoric of repression and indoctrination attributed to Fascism. Freed from top-down instructions, Italian directors who worked for the CdD or ECA knew that the only restriction on their work was to present the Marshall Plan and the Italian state in a positive light, stressing the successful outcomes of funded programs. Govern­ mental films exploited popular forms to educate while entertaining the masses, and included animated cartoons and melodramas, or slapsticks. For example, one ECA short that promoted freedom of trade and movement between European countries, Partire è un po’ morire (Leaving Is a Bit Like Dying, Romolo Marcellini, 1950 / 55) casts famous comedian Peppino De Filippo, who embarks on a series of comic misadventures before he can finally cross the Italian border.14 Of the animations frequently included in shorts, some colour cartoons were produced in Italy,

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for example, Uomini e polli (Men and Chickens) produced by Lavoro Film for the CdD, on trade unions. Many foreign shorts sponsored by the ECA were dubbed in Italian, such as the British The Shoemaker and the Hatter / Il calzolaio e il cappellaio (John Halas, 1950), on free trade; or the French Trois hommes au travail / Tre uomini al lavoro (Bernard De Bre, 1951, a colour animated puppet cartoon on the positive effects of better working conditions on high standards of productivity.15 Photographs that portray Italians while watching ECA films in public squares show them as astonished spectators, thrilled or made ecstatic by cinematography. By providing public screenings in piazzas, the ECA and the CdD employed cinematography as a spectacle for the masses, reaching even remote villages that lacked a movie theatre with Luce’s mobile projection trucks.16 At the same time, the term “documentary” was consciously used to market the films, even when reconstructions and fictional plots were involved, so as to validate the claim that the film would show the “truth.” In Italy Today (1955), a volume published in English for distribution abroad about the economic, social, political, and cultural situation of the country, Gastone Silvano Spinetti explained the goals of the Centro di Documentazione.17 According to Spinetti, also a former official at the Fascist Ministry of Popular Culture (Ministero della Cultura Popolare), the CdD aimed to dispel “false notions” about Italy and show the visible results of the reconstruction process.18 Who was responsible for distributing the “false notions” that Spinetti lamented? A close reading of CdD and ECA films reveals a conspicuous recycling of images and narratives that resemble certain feature films of the time, including but not limited toLa terra trema (The Earth Trembles, Luchino Visconti, 1948), Ladri di biciclette (The Bicycle Thief, Vittorio De Sica, 1947), and Umberto D. (Vittorio De Sica, 1952). Analogous situations are transformed into new narratives, even featuring physically similar characters, where social problems always find positive outcomes and resolutions, under the aegis of the state or the Marshall Plan. In this way, Italian and US information agencies appear to critically respond to historical, political, and gender discourses conveyed by socalled neorealist production. I use the term “neorealism” without the intention to homogenize the diversified film production of postwar Italy; rather, I want to focus on a discourse produced and disseminated by official members of the government and the popular press, who spoke about “neorealism” as a defamatory, disruptive, and demotivating practice of filmmaking. Italian writer and journalist Guido Piovene expressed this perspective as early as 1949, in the daily newspaper Corriere della Sera.



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He wrote, “These postwar movies are an exhausting confession of all our sores, so that we [Italians] shall not forget, thus creating an image of Italy as a huge slum, which might confuse foreign viewers. What kind of neorealism is this? A troubled confession.”19 The most famous instance of the discourse on neorealism to which I am referring is Giulio Andreotti’s article in Libertas.20 In this article, undersecretary of the Presidency of the Council of Ministers Andreotti decried Umberto D. for slandering Italy abroad. The dispute about De Sica’s film involved many artists, critics, and journalists, including Cesare Zavattini and De Sica himself, as well as Vittorio Sala, director of many CdD films.21 Besides the discussion on the repercussions of Italian films abroad, several film journals, including the Catholic Rivista del Cinematografo and the leftist Cinema Nuovo, engaged critics, directors, and politicians in a debate on the effects of cinema on the Italian audience, in particular, of neorealist films. In a letter that appeared in the Rivista del Cinematografo in 1950, Andreotti clearly voiced his position on this matter. Written on the occasion of the Congresso Internazionale di Cinematografia, his letter reads: Unfortunately, we learn from daily experience that cinematography, maybe the greatest artistic and social phenomenon of the past fifty years, can have really positive effects and holds productive powers; however, it also has done great harm, and still does, because of its dangerous destructive potential. As Catholics and responsible citizens, we cannot be satisfied by a purely negative use of cinematography.22

The goal of this chapter is to study how film helped governmental agencies not only to “dispel false notions,” but also (and above all) to motivate and inspire the “responsible” Italian citizenry in order to ensure its participation in the country’s reconstruction, and achieve high standards of productivity and political stability. Frequent comparisons to neorealist feature films such as La terra trema, Ladri di biciclette, Umberto D., and Riso amaro (Bitter Rice, Guiseppe De Santis, 1949) will help to highlight the specific themes and strategies of persuasion of the CdD and the film unit of the ECA. CdD and ECA shorts shown in Italy conveyed the message that the interests of both national and international governing agencies were directed towards the health and security of the Italian population. Viewers could nurture their hopes for a peaceful future and a prosperous present. At the same time, gender models and moral values were either naturalized or presented as necessary to fulfil one’s personal aspirations. I will demonstrate that inasmuch as the Italian democratic

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state fostered (rather than repressed) individual desires, it also surveilled the outcomes of such desires by controlling people’s social and sexual behaviours. The Logic of the Italian Society of Welfare: Tiriamo le somme No film more than Tiriamo le somme (Let’s Add It Up, Giovanni Paolucci, 1953) conveys in a clear and systematic way the power dynamic at the core of the educational and advertising practices of Italy’s Centro di Documentazione and the US Economic Cooperation Administration, positing an equivalency between the economy of a family and that of the country. Produced by Luce for the CdD, Tiriamo le somme opens on an open-air market as the voice-over directly addresses viewers, inviting them to come and enter the apartment and the life of an Italian middleclass family. After a sharp cut, cheerful music leads to a scene where we find a well-dressed and attractive housewife entering a kitchen. As we see onscreen and hear from the commentary, this wife and mother has much to worry about, for she is the administrator of the household: after she checks on a boiling pot on the stove and fixes her hair, she sits diligently at the table and enters her daily expenses in a notebook. At this point, the commentator announces the argument (and topic) of the film, which is to demonstrate that “the budget of a state and that of a family man are not very different.”23 After a series of sequences narrating the everyday lives of the family and the state by alternate editing, the commentator concludes, over the final images, that his thesis must be undoubtedly recognized as true. He says: One must agree that the budget is a result of a daily battle, one that demands the care and attention of every single person. So that, at the end of the day, our family as the greater family of the state can flourish in the continuity of its history.24

In this scene, an old man in a black coat and a hat reads the newspaper, sitting on a bench at the public gardens. Both the character and the setting remind the Italian viewer of Vittorio De Sica’s Umberto D. This is the only reference to De Sica’s film in this short, but poignantly placed at the end of its narrative. From that the voice-over commentary has ascribed meaning to the images and constructed a narrative quite divergent from the De Sica model, in which Umberto (one of the members of Italian



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society most in need of the help of the state) lives in solitude and indigence. Tiriamo le somme shows, instead, how the state takes constant care of the welfare of each citizen. This parallel between the family and the state on the basis of political economy unveils a dynamic of power relations that Michel Foucault defined as “pastoral power,” whose role was “to constantly ensure, sustain, and improve the lives of each and everyone.”25 Foucault’s position is relevant to my analysis because it helps to explain the intertwining of welfare practices with the governing of conduct. In the essay “Governmentality,” Foucault argued that to “govern” a state means “exercising towards its inhabitants, and the wealth and behavior of each and all, a form of surveillance and control as attentive as that of the head of a family over his household and his goods.”26 Tiriamo le somme intends to teach viewers that in postwar Italy, both family and state must be administered with the same care for savings, an accurate knowledge of what is best for the common good, and a strong commitment to the welfare of others, especially those who are most in need, that is, children and the elderly. At the same time, Tiriamo le somme also demonstrates that to govern a state implied, in Foucault’s words, a form of “surveillance and control.” The mother / citizen, who administers the expenses and makes requests to the father / state, must practice self-­ control (through savings) as much as obey the father / state’s decisions, all for the sake of the well-being of the family / society. In one scene, the mother gently refuses her daughter’s request for a comic book. Taking charge of the situation, the father buys her a more necessary pair of shoes. Similarly, the film shows, public administrators must refuse a request for a stadium, in order to provide for more urgent needs, such as a hospital, as the commentator explains over images of a meeting at the city hall. Eventually, viewers learn that self-disciplining practices and a hierarchy of power are necessary to ensure present and future prosperity. Tiriamo le somme exemplifies a power structure that is consistent in both ECA and CdD short films, revolving around multiple aspects of the reconstruction and its related issues, such as industrialization and the fight against unemployment, agriculture and the Southern Question, international relations, and the struggle against communism. In the following sections, I will examine four films about industrialization and discuss in greater detail the role of work in relation to the social dynamics of welfare and the construction of gender identities. As I explained in my analysis of Tiriamo le somme, political agencies of power in the context of a welfare society exercise protection (as well as control) over the life of citizens and their families, providing for their health, well-being, and

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security. When life becomes the object of governing, Foucault maintained, politics turns into “bio-politics.” According to Italian thinker Paolo Virno, however, the origins of this form of politics that Foucault calls “bio-politics” lie in the potential for work contained in each living existence.27 The body becomes the object of governing because the labour power it contains has taken on the consistency of a commodity. The ephemeral films enlightened the reconstruction-educated viewers on the imperative of work, as both a right and a duty for each citizen, and the transition from Fascism to democracy was represented as a conversion from warfare to workfare. Work empowered and regenerated the male citizen. Moreover, the potential for work was advertised as constituent of gender identities, thus enforcing self-disciplining practices that, in return, ensured productivity. If this potential was sold in the market as a commodity, as Virno points out, it was also “sold” to the citizens as an “identity-maker.” In particular, the films that publicized industrial work promoted a complete project of bonifica (reclamation), as in the words of the commentator in the film Nell’interesse di tutti (In Everyone’s Interest, Marcello Giannini, 1953), identifying men as fathers-citizensproducers. Women were also workers and citizens, but above all, wives and mothers. In other words, the birth of bio-politics in postwar Italy corresponded to the re-establishment of traditional gender roles in the family, as part of a return-to-order process felt necessary to solve the economic and social crises caused by the Second World War. Dobbiamo vivere ancora and the Story of a Life at Risk A film that more than others illustrates how life (both of the human body and of the body politic) becomes what Virno calls the “tabernacle” of the potential for production is Dobbiamo vivere ancora (We Shall Live Again, 1948 / 50), directed by Vittorio Gallo for ECA Italy. As opposed to other films analysed in this chapter, Dobbiamo vivere ancora does not make any direct reference to neorealist films; however, it articulates a discourse of work and masculinity that is at the core of both ECA and CdD productions, as well as of concurrent feature films. Finally, this film most clearly exemplifies how fiction and non-fiction intertwined in the Italian sponsored films of the 1950s. As in Tiriamo le somme, this is the private story of a man set in parallel with national history: the role of the Marshall Plan in Italy is narrated through the story of a worker, who has an accident at a factory and is at mortal risk. The man eventually survives thanks to a blood transfusion. Didactically, the voice-over explains to viewers that



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Italy’s “life” was also at stake in the aftermath of the Second World War. Monies from the sale of Marshall Plan goods that came into Italy (the Marshall Plan counterpart funds) are thus compared by the voice-over to the blood that flows through the man’s veins, giving him life. As the doctor states in the film, a complete recovery will be in the man’s hands, in his own capacity to rehabilitate. Similarly, the voice-over announces, Italy is on the way to recovery, but rehabilitation is in the hands of its population: the nation is a body at risk, and the citizens are its members who must cooperate for survival. The goal of the Marshall Plan is to ensure the productivity of bodies, of both the worker and the nation. In the film’s narrative, the rhetoric of fear mobilizes viewers’ affect towards the imperative of self-help, which is said to be necessary for a complete recovery. Montage and framing concur to create tension in the scenes portraying the worker’s accident. Audacious framing of the workplace before the accident occurs creates suspense. The sound of a siren and the intense musical score produce a mounting fear of something the audience has not seen but knows has happened, having seen the crane shot of an ambulance arriving. While it is en route, the camera follows its path at the same speed, crossing the surprised bystanders. A bottom-up medium shot of two men, a close-up of legs approaching and stepping back at the curb of the street, and a headshot of a woman with a fearfully interrogative expression crosscut the shot of the asphalt on which the ambulance is speeding. Meanwhile, the fast pace of the music that accompanies the montage orchestrates the urgency of the rush to the hospital. A sharp cut takes us from the outside to the inside of the hospital: a shot from under the stretcher leads us to the operating room. Here, the music slows down and lowers its chords as we wade through the corridor. In the room, doctors prepare for surgery, religiously and relentlessly wearing protective and odd-looking clothes. Finally, viewers see on the board a revelatory message about the surgery the doctors are preparing for: “Corsini-infortunio” (Corsini casualty). The dramatic music, the slow preparation for the surgery, and the tense faces of the doctors convey that the operation will not be easy. Then, suddenly, a monotonous and standardized voice-over is heard, and the pathos ceases. At this point, the film shifts from a verisimilar fiction to the reality of the Marshall Plan. The light of knowledge seems to dissolve all the fears: not only metaphorically, but practically since the darkness that has characterized the photography until now disappears, showing a bright image of driving water. This is the metaphorical image for the goods brought by the Marshall Plan, which flow as blood in the veins of the Italian economy.

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For a few seconds, the image of water is superimposed on the images of cranes, trucks, and grain. The narrator says, “This is our plasma, its name is Marshall Plan.”28 After a few shots, the story at the hospital continues. The doctors talk after the surgery and reveal that they did as much as they could for the man, whose recovery is not certain, implying that a successful recovery depends on the worker’s own will to rehabilitate. The surgeon’s muscular appearance and seemingly accidental gesture suggest to a knowledgeable viewer that help has come from overseas: dressed in an undershirt and caught as he lights up a cigarette, the man looks like Humprey Bogart in Casablanca. In conclusion, the clear message is that the man’s and the nation’s life are still at risk, while work is the only way to maintain these lives (and thus, the potential for more work) in good health. According to Dobbiamo vivere ancora, the Marshall Plan has not only saved the lives of the people and of the nation but also educated the male citizen on both consumption and savings, allowing him to play the role of the family man. In the very first scene of Dobbiamo vivere ancora, another worker exits the factory (where the accident will eventually take place) and stops at a toy stand. He looks at the different objects, but after questioning the vendor, everything seems to be too expensive for him. At the end of the storyline about the injured worker, this initial plot line is resumed. The camera catches the father-worker as he finds something he can afford to buy. The film ends with a shot of him from below, with a self-confident attitude, holding his jacket over his shoulder and smiling. Using this story to frame the other two (the story of the injured worker and that of the national body at risk), Dobbiamo vivere ancora suggests that the ultimate goal of the Marshall Plan is to produce a male model whose independence and empowerment correspond to his capacity to earn as much as he needs to buy what he desires. Moreover, the fact that the man must downsize the object of his desire promotes the values of self-discipline and painstaking consumption, necessary to govern and discipline the workforce. Work and Masculinity: Aquila Another film produced for ECA Italy, Aquila (Jacopo Erbi, 1949), more explicitly conveys that work for wages is not only necessary for life but also constitutive of manhood. Aquila narrates the story of an unemployed man striving to find a job – a husband who has lost his function as the head of the household and his role of breadwinner who earns the wages necessary for the family’s welfare. When the Aquila oil refinery (in Trieste,



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Italy) is reopened thanks to the Marshall Plan counterpart funds, the man finds a position there, thus regaining his identity as both worker and husband / father. Furthermore, Aquila conveys the idea that this twofold economic and gender crisis fostered the rise of communism. As there is no dialogue or commentary, but only a musical soundtrack, Aquila’s argument is completely embedded in the audiovisual, non-linguistic narrative. The opening titles run over what seems to be real footage of a communist parade, including ranks of male standard-bearers and women dressed in sports uniforms. The images of the parade fade out and a frontal shot of a massive building fades in. The camera pans downward and stops at the street level, where a male crowd appears to be waiting. A man with his wife and son walk into the frame and the man leaves his family to join the crowd. A subjective medium-shot shows, from the man’s point of view, the woman and the child as they wave. The building is the unemployment agency, where the man’s search for a job will be unsuccessful.29 This father, thus, appears to disappoint his family and as he begins to wander throughout the city, after he has left the agency, the lack of direction and another rejection at the wharf increase both his and the viewer’s frustration. At this point in the film, the man’s story of unemployment is connected to the opening sequence of the communist rally. With a sharp cut, we are back to the latter, where an enraged speaker is fomenting the wrath of the masses. In a medium shot, we see that the man and his family are also there, the man clapping his hands as a sign of approval. His emotions, already fuelled by the rally, turn to anger. His wife, as if to protect the child from his own father, holds their son close to her body. In a few minutes, Aquila has explained how unemployment can lead a father in crisis to join the Communist Party. Visually and narratively, Aquila reminds the audience of Ladri di biciclette. The initial setting at the employment agency, for example, generally makes reference to the opening scene of the latter. Both father and son, in fact, look physically very similar to Antonio Ricci (the father) and Bruno (his son) in De Sica’s film (Figure 1.1). This recollection, however, contrasts immediately with the De Sica model (in De Sica’s film, Ricci is alone and in Aquila, the family is present) and does so increasingly as the story unfolds. The boy in Aquila only looks like Bruno, but in fact he goes to school and plays rather than working at the gas station (Figure 1.2). Also, while Ricci is to the end a less-than-desirable model of father and husband, the man in Aquila is converted into a fulfilled individual once his search for a job eventually proves fruitful.

Figure 1.1. Aquila (Jacopo Erbi, 1949). Courtesy of the Academy Film Archive, Academy of Motion Pictures Art and Sciences, Los Angeles, California.

Figure 1.2. Aquila (Jacopo Erbi, 1949). Courtesy of the Academy Film Archive, Academy of Motion Pictures Art and Sciences, Los Angeles, California.

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There are two sequences, in particular, where we can compare Aquila with Ladri di biciclette. The first one is when the man goes back home after a day of searching for work. He arrives at a field, a space filled with ruins of the Second War World, where his son is playing with an abandoned mine. The man picks up the child and walks towards the background, holding his hand. At home, he finds his wife struggling to prepare dinner with the little food she has, and a baby crying for hunger. The shot of the man holding the hand of his son recalls the final scene of Ladri di biciclette. However, in De Sica’s film, the image of the child taking his father’s hand destabilizes the power relation in which they engage throughout the film (the father being, traditionally and in the narrative, in a dominant position relative to the child). In the context of Aquila, the father continues to keep his dominant role even as he struggles. We can say that our everyman lacks the masculine protective capacities that constitute men as breadwinners and heads of the family, since he is unemployed and cannot provide for the welfare and safety of his family. At the same time, the film’s focus on the lack of these capacities serves to remind viewers of their existence, in absentia. In other words, the power structure that articulates the father-son relationship, even if in crisis, is still in place. Another sequence of Aquila that can be compared with Ladri di biciclette highlights further important differences with regard to the similar social dynamics at stake. Ricci eventually tries to steal a bike once he realizes that the search for his own is utterly in vain. Frustration leads him to a desperate gesture. In Aquila, the man also tries to commit a theft: after he sees a woman buy candy for her son, he attempts to steal a box of chocolates. His action contrasts with Ricci’s, and not only because the object of theft is a luxury item, rather than a means of subsistence: the fact that the man steals an insignificant object emphasizes the irrationality of his action. This scene sheds light on the general argument of the film, that is, economic crisis leads to the rise of communism and social upheaval. From the perspective of the Economic Cooperation Administration, in fact, it is “economic improvement and rising living standards,” made possible through capital investments that “can halt the rise of communism.”30 In light of the 1949 inaugural speech of US President Harry Truman, who equated communism with irrationality, the man’s engagement in the Communist rally is equal to his theft: they are both irrational actions. Moreover, Aquila shows how the society in which the man lives activates its “mechanisms of security” (Foucault) in order to be defended.31 In this conclusive phase, this film differs once again from Ladri di biciclette,



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in a politically meaningful way. In the former, there are two mechanisms of security: one is the police, who efficiently pursue criminals but also show benevolence, as a fatherly figure towards his children; the other is the Marshall Plan, whose economic aid creates the conditions for prosperity, which is considered the most effective tool to ensure the security of the population: in prosperity, citizens are far from committing crimes or subscribing to the Communist Party. Chased and captured by the police, the man in Aquila confronts the police commander, who releases him after seeing a picture of the man’s son in his wallet. The scene emphasizes the empathy among human beings that is absent in much of Ladri di biciclette. At this moment, the man’s actions depend on his sense of duty towards his son, not on the man’s failure and humiliation, as is the case for Ricci. When the latter is captured by the police, he must shamefully confront the public and the private gaze, the people of Rome and his son. On the contrary, the police in Aquila show compassion towards a man who simply demands what he should possess rightfully, the masculine capacity of providing for his family. Even though both men are released, the protagonist in Aquila eventually obtains what he deserves (a job) and re-establishes his leading position within his family; Ricci, on the other hand, wanders through the city, while his son grabs his hand in tears and an indifferent crowd rapidly envelops them. At the end of Ladri di biciclette, viewers wonder what will happen to Ricci, unsure about his future, and perhaps their own. On the contrary, Aquila reassures viewers that no one will be left behind, thanks to the Marshall Plan. The final moments of Aquila triumphantly celebrate the rebuttal of communism and the rebirth of the “citizen-producer,” who finds satisfaction as a husband and father.32 Once the man finds a job at the oil refinery, Aquila, the now-worker is no longer susceptible to the allure of communism. A quick gesture enacts his changed opinion in a subtle way: exiting the plant, the worker lights a cigarette by scratching a match over a wall-poster of the communist hammer and sickle. In the previous scene, it must be pointed out, we see him checking on machinery and demonstrating expertise. Seen in succession, the scenes inside and outside the factory make sense of the transformation from unemployment to consumption as a political victory for capitalism / democracy against communism. Arriving home, the worker embraces his wife, takes his younger boy from the woman’s arms and holds him, leading them into the house where we might imagine more individuals / consumers will be born and fed. The following and final scene visually conveys the bond between the household and the public world of productivity. In a parallel montage

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that connects the family’s story to the history of the reconstruction of Italy’s economy, we see trucks leaving Aquila and taking the road to other parts of the country or abroad, where its products will be bought and sold. Interviewing Workers: Puglia il lavoro Aquila demonstrates that work is a form of male empowerment by means of a fictional narrative in which the life of the individual becomes meaningful in relation to the family and the nation because of its productivity (as Tiriamo le somme promoted the care for others, especially the elderly, by means of a fictional narrative in which the prosperity of the family and the nation depended on the hierarchy of power, dominated by a benevolent father / state). Puglia il lavoro (Puglia: Work, Fausto Saraceni, 1953) praises work and productivity because these brings happiness and prosperity to the individual, and also because they allow a structural transformation, from a pre-modern to a modernized society. (The title of the film also seems to suggest that “Puglia” and “work” are one and the same thing.) I will now show how this film exploits documentary techniques, rather than those of fiction, in order to make this discourse of work and progress effective for viewers. Produced by Documento Film for the Centro di Documentazione, Puglia focuses on the modernization of work, and shows how the transformations brought by the new democratic regime ameliorated the economic situation, while respecting regional cultures. Saraceni’s short film is one of the many produced by Documento Film in 1953 on the changes at work in a particular Italian region – for example, Sardegna il lavoro (Sardinia: Work, Ugo Fasano), La regione umbra (Umbria, Mino Loy), and Veneto il lavoro (Veneto: Work, Emilio Marsili). In the opening long shot, we see a group of fishermen engaged in their daily activity of repairing the nets. The narrator describes the scene as an idyllic moment in the life of these men, devoted to a traditional activity in spite of the modernizing process that runs at full speed a few miles away. The film then continues speaking about the region of Puglia in terms of this contrast between the immobility of its nature and traditions, on the one hand, and the many changes that are taking place in the economic and social spheres, on the other. Where the sky “seems devoted to immobility, even here, in these forsaken lands of the South, the impulse of a new life has arrived,” says the voice-over. In this context, the video camera is the technological device that allows viewers to see with their own eyes. Actually, the commentator attributes



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to the cinematic apparatus a will to know of its own. He says, “The camera wanted to get an impression of [these changes].”33 In other words, Puglia opens with a statement on the purpose of the documentary, that is, to provide viewers with knowledge. That it will only deliver a true knowledge is, on the other hand, a presupposition based on a certain understanding of what the word “documentary” would mean to spectators. According to Jean-Louis Comolli, documentary viewers expect that what they see is the truth and position themselves as subjects of knowledge.34 Contrarily to Comolli, I do not think that such a position is unique to the documentary genre per se, but rather of a certain tradition of filmmaking and criticism that may have been embedded in 1950s Italian audiences as well. As I mentioned in the introduction to this chapter, this tradition was mostly based on the work of John Grierson and his entourage. Clearly, as Brian Winston demonstrated, Grierson’s claim to reality was inherently doomed to failure, both because of the political implications relating to the sponsors (the British Empire Marketing Board or the General Post Office) and because of aesthetic choices implemented in film production (especially, dramatization). Several other film scholars such as Bill Nichols and Stella Bruzzi have extensively argued for a more nuanced and historically accurate understanding of the documentary mode.35 However, I believe that it is fair to say that Puglia was based on the arguable belief that, to paraphrase Nichols, the word “documentary” referred to “knowledge and fact”: viewers could believe (a priori) that the filmmaker would satisfy their desire to know by showing them a “real” (true) story. The true story of Puglia consists of the different programs of economic recovery and of reconstruction realized in the region, which the camera is able to capture on screen. All of these scenes highlight not only the magnificence of the programs, but also their novelty. The voice-over explains that, as opposed to the centuries of stagnant economy that affected this region and southern Italy in general, Puglia today shows a vibrant reality of innovation and productivity. After showing men at work building new docks, viewers witness the construction of the aqueduct in progress, they travel across the new housing projects for working-class families, they visit a rehabilitation centre for minors (where boys learn a profession so that they may one day enter the system of production), and some of the local industries, which have recently reopened, such as a chocolate factory and an oil refinery. Also, viewers learn about the development and expansion of communications (railways, roads) and of tourism. A short sequence takes place on the famous site of Alberobello, a village

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with characteristic and ancient cone-shaped houses. From the beginning to the end of the film, from the scene of the fishermen on the shore to the sequence inside one of Alberobello’s houses, the commentator insists on the perfect combination of tradition and modernity that characterizes the way in which changes are taking place in Puglia. Romantic music emphasizes the picturesque in the landscapes and injects the images representing the old way of living in the South with a pathetic tone. At the same time, the commentator’s voice and his rhetoric of excitement overlap both soundtrack and images, in the attempt to reshape these old representations according to the fast-growing pace of modernization. In the last scene, the images of an ancient castle in Casteldelmonte and those of the aqueduct recently built in its vicinity symbolize this agreement of past and present. The emphatic music and the voice of the commentator seal the same agreement by announcing another harmonious relationship, the one between the agencies of political power and the citizens: “Tourists who climb the fortress of Federico II overlook from its towers a fast-growing region, where individuals find the basis for renewal in the help of the state and agencies.” Indeed, a fundamental element of the reconstruction process highlighted in Puglia is the people’s participation in the rebirth of their region. This is the second “truth” of the film, which intended not only to show the progress achieved in the territory but also to dispel “false notions” about the South (see quote from Spinetti above): in particular, the idea of the innate laziness of its population.36 Furthermore, people’s involvement in political and social matters was a great innovation of the democratic state, as opposed to the power structures of past regimes that had brutally dominated the South, from feudalism to Fascism. Because of these unchanging conditions of exploitation, the lower classes often conceived of the state (like the king or the baron) as a negative force or, to say the least, as indifferent to their needs. Therefore, Puglia attempted not only to remake the discourse of the South, demonstrating the predisposition of southern individuals towards work, but also to instil in southern viewers a new way of thinking about the state (and the other agencies of political power, the “enti”). Stylistically, this attempt to establish a positive relationship between viewers and political power commissioning the film is actualized in the use of interviews, which also function as testimony to prove that the story told in the documentary is true (i.e., the assumption that southern people are eager participants in the modernization process). On several occasions, the voice-over addresses one of the people on the screen. Viewers do not hear what the interviewee says, but



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they see him or her speaking towards the camera, while the commentator repeats what they she or he has to say. The reason for this ploy may have been strictly technical, because it was very difficult to record sound on location shootings and dubbing in a studio would probably have taken too long for a hasty film production, as those for the CdD normally were. What is more important, in my view, is that the use of interviews in Puglia coincides with the employment of the same practice in the social field. Especially regarding reconstruction in the South, for example, in planning housing projects, the practice of interviews was common among sociologists hired by the government, the ECA, or United Nations commissions whose objective was to study the needs of the population in a specific territory.37 The use of interviews was a tool implemented to find out what people had to say about the changes that were going to affect their lives, in agreement with the ideals of the democratic regime. In other words, even though we do not hear the voice of the interviewee, the point is that the investigation that the documentary delivers to viewers is based not only on what they see but also on what people have to say.38 According to the voice-over, a fisherman speaks about the work being done at the docks, a railway man explains the improvements in communications, and an old lady at Alberobello recounts how the number of tourists has grown in recent weeks. In one case, the commentator reports a statement verbatim, when a worker at the dam says, “I was unemployed. Now, I am happy.” Interviews are also means to affect viewers. After the cine-eye screens the beach with a pan in the opening scene of Puglia, a close-up shows a fisherman who speaks right to the camera about his situation. Bridging his reality (elsewhere) to the reality of the audience, the fisherman asks the viewer to engage with his problems. In the moment when the fisherman breaks through the fourth wall of the screen, his gesture triggers what Vivian Sobchack calls the “charge of the real” or “realm of the real and its moral charge.”39 According to Sobchack, we perceive as more “real” those scenes that bring us back to the world we live in both physically and ethically. The “reality” of a scene depends on a “documentary consciousness,” that is, a subjective relationship taking place in the actual viewing experience.40 In the case of Puglia, we can say that Italian viewers had an ethical involvement with the living material in the film, an involvement that the act of speaking “to them” (in the interview) made present in the hic et nunc of film-viewing. Furthermore, Sobchack maintains that the “charge of the real” is both existential and historical, in the case of a film, for example, whose fictional story relates to a story

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that the spectator might have experienced directly. This is the effect of Puglia, for Italian viewers who were experiencing (or had experienced) similar situations to those of the people in the documentary. While these situations could be perceived at first as fictional, drawing viewers into the world of characters with whom they may identify, the act of speaking to the camera breaks through this process of identification and triggers the “documentary consciousness,” detaching the viewing subject from the object represented, and transforming, in Sobchack’s terms, her physical response to “respons(e)ability”: a physical reaction turned into a mode of conduct. The mode of conduct at stake here is the will to work and to change. In this regard, it is quite telling that the opening scene, where the fishermen are fixing their nets, recalls a similar one in Luchino Visconti’s La terra trema. Indeed, another aspect of neorealist films criticized in public debates was the fact that characters demonstrated an inability to effectively act upon critical situations and change them. Initially sponsored by the Italian Communist Party, Visconti originally conceived the film as a documentary about southern workers (fishermen, peasants, and miners) coping with economic needs and eventually uniting in the struggle against the ruling class. As is well known, and as Visconti himself acknowledged, ­in its final version, La terra trema is a rewriting of a nineteenth-century novel about a family of Sicilian fishermen, Giovanni Verga’s I Malavoglia (1881), in light of the writings of Antonio Gramsci.41 Visconti’s film ends with the complete defeat of ’Ntoni, the young protagonist, and his family, who become even poorer than they were at the beginning. In the conclusive sequence, ’Ntoni and his brother are forced to beg for a job from the very wholesalers and middlemen they initially strove to defeat. Journalist Arturo Lanocita described La terra trema’s fishermen as fatalist and indecisive, in his review of the film’s opening at the Venice Film Festival in 1948, published in Corriere della Sera.42 Lanocita also spoke of their behaviour as “oriental,” a definition that modern readers might interpret through the lens of Edward Said’s seminal work on orientalism, a term marking southern men in opposition to the modern and advanced Western world. The “oriental” feature that characterizes the fishermen as “passive” and “feminine,” in Lanocita’s words, is a detriment to their agency as well as to the integrity of their masculinity (which reiterates the idea that productivity and gender are two sides of the same coin). Also, Lanocita laments that the fishermen’s laziness is ultimately the cause of political instability, since their incapacity to positively solve their economic problems determines social upheaval. In sum, according



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to Lanocita, “the earth trembles” (rebellions are taking place) because men did not roll up their sleeves and work. Seen in this light, Puglia is a response to La terra trema, showing that southern workers are capable, willing to work, and appreciative of change; moreover, they are already happily engaging in the reconstruction and modernization of their country. The men interviewed in the film, in particular, communicate their hope for the future and their commitment to productivity, speaking directly to the camera or showing themselves at work. Perseverance, independence, and self-realization characterize these Italian male citizens, who have found work (i.e., happiness), thanks to the new regime. Certainly, the Centro di Documentazione hoped that these men would soon be emulated by other southern citizens and appreciated by northern viewers. Women and Work: Oggi la donna In the male universe of work created by ECA and CdD films, women rarely make an appearance. Rather, as in Tiriamo le somme, women are mostly represented as mothers and wives, and the domestic sphere constitutes their own realm of empowerment. When they do enter the space of productivity, women are confined within a feminized sector, such as the chocolate factory in Puglia, which exclusively employs female workers for the type of work required female skills: “light and delicate fingers, and a taste for finishing and decoration.” In the postwar Italian context, the distinction drawn between the natural domestic world of women and the public sphere was a rational political strategy. Postwar democratic Italy depended on women’s wageless labour in the domestic sphere; the state tolerated the fact that women worked more outside the home so long as they performed their domestic duties as always, unpaid.43 In a 1946 session of parliament, Christian Democracy Minister Amintore Fanfani stated that woman’s role as mother and wife was both “essential” and “natural.”44 Article 37 of the 1948 Constitution established the equality of working rights for men and women on the condition that work did not prevent women from fulfilling their role within the family. Meanwhile, as 1970s Italian feminists first denounced, the angelo del focolare of the 1950s was the intermediary between male wage workers and capital: women had to nurture and sustain the workers at home, because workers could sell their labour only if women provided for their physical and psychological welfare.45 Domestic labour, including reproduction, was fundamental to the welfare of society, as well as constitutive of

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national identity. I disagree with Adam Arvidsson, who has argued that the postwar Italian housewife lost the public function she had during Fascism, for her work in the home was not put in the service of the nation as a whole, but rather “strictly confined to the domestic sphere.”46 On the contrary, motherhood and the capacity to reproduce remained women’s major contribution to the building of the new collectivity.47 Furthermore, film scholar Leslie Caldwell points out that, while “a general project aimed at harnessing particular images of femininity to ideas of the republic,” the neorealist production cast female characters that could be hardly reconciled to it.48 In contrast to this, CdD and ECA films featured female models that not only fit the ideas of the republic but also embodied its core moral values. The common / real women of CdD and ECA “documentaries” also competed with the female characters of popular genre films and the narratives of prosperity and consumption that the latter distributed. As Mary Wood highlights, through commercial cinema, especially melodramas, female viewers could “explore how to combine work and family, and enjoy and engage with narratives of rebellion, riches, social mobility, and the conquest of status men.”49 The conflicts between traditional social arrangements and a modernizing world, as well as male anxieties about the increased confidence and demands of women, created unresolved tensions within the narratives of commercial melodramas. In this respect, ECA and CdD films functioned as tools to control and contain the subversive potential of modernization, by naturalizing women’s subaltern role in society and advertising a sexual division of labour.50 The case of mondine (rice workers) exemplifies well the dynamic at work between neorealist features, commercial melodramas, and the documentaries under study. Comparing the role played by the rice workers in a CdD film, Oggi la donna (Women of Today, Francesco De Feo, 1954) with that of Giuseppe De Santis’ Riso amaro (Bitter Rice, 1949) and Raffaello Matarazzo’s La risaia (The Rice Field, 1956) gives us an idea of how narratives differently rearticulate the social significance of female work. Released in 1949, De Santis’ Riso amaro tells a story of rice workers, initially at least in a seemingly documentary fashion. It opens with a voice-over commentator interviewing mondine as they leave to begin their seasonal job in the fields. Riso amaro blends both the typical documentary aspects of neorealism (e.g., non-professional actors, actual location shooting, social content) and the generic conventions of gangster movies and film noir. Furthermore, the female protagonist Silvana Mangano was a winner of beauty pageants and one of the rising stars of Italian cinema popularly known for their abundant physical attributes.



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In spite of the leftist ideology articulating the film’s narrative, which denounces female labour exploitation and promotes class consciousness among rural workers, Mangano’s striking physical presence is the real catalyst of the film. Her character does not fit the ideals of the Christian Democracy republic as much as those of the Communist Party: Silvana embodies all the negative aspects of Americanization (she dances the boogie-woogie, reads gossip magazines, and chews gum); she is lured into a relationship with a burglar (Walter); and she does not demonstrate solidarity towards her female comrades. Rather, she is ready to help her man to steal all the harvested rice, which would have also been used to pay workers. The contradictions created by the female protagonist in relation to the ideological imperatives of the film are resolved in the narrative, wherein Silvana is first raped by Walter (whom she thought she had under her control). At the end of the film, guilt-ridden, she commits suicide. In other words, Silvana is punished in terms of both the traditional gender roles and the crisis in social solidarity caused by her presence. The ending, however, does not effectively erase Mangano’s powerful impression on the viewers, as critics have observed, letting the contradictions linger thereafter. A similar ambiguity can be found in La risaia, even if in different terms. Set in the same historical and social context as Riso amaro and directed by Raffaello Matarazzo, one of the most famous directors of melodramas in Italy, La risaia features analogous scenes, such as a fight between legal and clandestine rice workers. Most importantly, Elena, the protagonist played by Elsa Martinelli, is a single beautiful woman like Silvana, and she too attracts the attentions of male characters in the film. However, she resists the courtship of the shady Mario, choosing rather the mechanic Gianni, who is genuinely in love with her. She also stubbornly refuses the attention of Piero, an older man and owner of the rice farm where she works. As the story unfolds, viewers discover that Piero is actually Elena’s father, whom she had never met before. At the end of the film, Elena will marry Gianni. In contrast to Riso amaro, the final revelation about Piero’s identity resolves the tensions created by the father / daughter dynamic, while the marriage normalizes Elena’s gender role following her creation of a rivalry among the three male characters (Piero, Mario, and Gianni). In sum, rather than a fallen woman like Silvana, Elena both embodies aspirations of prosperity and independence (shown in her decision to leave her mother and work as a mondina) and shows a sense of decency and respect towards traditional values. The other major plot point at the film’s end is revealed when Piero takes the blame for Mario’s homicide, for which Gianni was actually responsible. As a matter of fact, the cause of Mario’s death was Elena, since Gianni had

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accidentally killed him in an attempt to defend her from sexual assault. In other words, if the conventional ending makes things right, La risaia nonetheless leaves open the wounds that the female protagonist inflicted upon the male characters: death and unjust imprisonment. In conclusion, in both Riso amaro and La risaia, the female workers who are also protagonists of the narratives destabilize male characters, and thus, they are ultimately chastised or normalized by male-centric narratives. Oggi la donna, produced by Luce for the CdD, neutralizes any of the negative charges of modernization by demonstrating that the ultimate goal of women’s fight for equality is the freedom to be mother and wife and by promoting a sexual division of labour (based on biological sexual difference) which confines women to a female public sphere. In the documentary style, and in agreement with the ideals of the republic, Oggi la donna does not feature a protagonist: the mondine are among the many female workers, essential to the life of the nation but also unselfishly devoted to their job for the sake of their families. Oggi la donna narrates how women were integrated in the modernization process as both workers and citizens. Through the presentation of photographs, drawings, real footage, and re-enactments, viewers learned about the history of women’s fight for civil and political rights, as well as the progress achieved by the advent of democracy. This is the only film in the Centro di Documentazione’s production to use a female voice-over commentary, suggesting that women were narrators of their own history. In the documentary tradition, the voice-over has been male for the most part: the “disembodied” voice of knowledge, radically other, and thus endowed with a certain authority.51 By employing a female commentator, Oggi la donna demonstrated that women were the authoritative voice on women’s issues. Sexual difference was exploited in order to relegate women to a limited feminine space within the public sphere, and to justify what feminist-Marxist sociologist Helene Le Doaré calls a “social relationship of sex.”52 Women’s entry into the public / productive sphere was only functional to the restoration of the traditional family. As the commentator declares in the final scene: After one week of work, women also rest. Their rest consists of feeling uniquely and completely like a woman. Because if one really thinks about it, at the end, she has long fought to claim her rights, to protect her human dignity, only in order to fully ennoble her natural mission as wife and mother.53

According to the film, women had access to the political and economic realm exclusively in a feminized space. A sexualization of the public sphere



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(a division based on biological sexual difference) was concurrent with women’s acquisition of the right to vote and work. Women involved in politics were limited to the discussion of questions that concerned a “feminine world”; women performed jobs that were better suited to “female nature,” like that of social worker and tour operator (“new professions, particularly appropriate to female qualities”). Indeed, in the welfare system, socialization of reproductive work created professions that partially substituted for the domestic occupation of women, such as social workers and nurses; on the other hand, these professions were considered more appropriate for women. A beautiful smile and an “innate female kindness” were the necessary qualities that made operating tours a “woman’s job.” Sexual division of labour applied to industry as well: female workers were concentrated in the tobacco, textile, and food industries or in the rice harvest. Other CdD films present a similar scenario, for example, La regione umbra (Umbria, Mino Loy, 1953), showing only male workers in the factory that produced synthetic fabrics, and only female workers at textile factories. In Oggi la donna, as workers enter a plant, the commentator proclaims that these women are the “backbone” of the Italian economy. Only a few exceptional women have transgressed the feminized space of work and entered the (implicitly) male universe of specialized professions: a doctor, an engineer, or a businesswoman. The gaps between the norm and the exceptions are also represented in sexual terms. The women who exercise male professions are either overtly sexual or stereotypically frigid: the surgeon shows her bare legs and high heels under the white coat; the railroad engineer is a middle-aged mother in a grey suit who plays with her son and his electric railways; the businesswoman who deals with exotic animals acts like a character in a film noir, driving a convertible to meet a client in a remote location. By contrast, those women adapting to the sexual division of labour are represented as sexually “normal” that is, conforming to the moral standards of a welfare society. These standards identify femininity with beauty and obliging attitudes, the values of sacrifice, chastity, and altruism. Women are docile bodies whose inner qualities are exploited for the benefit of others, whether families or customers. Cinematic Realism and Its Dilemmas According to film scholar Jane Gaines, “to return to documentary is to return again to cinematic realism and its dilemmas.”54 This chapter has shown that the Economic Cooperation Administration and the Centro

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di Documentazione strategically exploited the mode of “documentary” for political purposes. As I have discussed, scholarly oversight with regard to the films included in this study is especially remarkable given the allusions they contain to neorealist feature films. Critics of neorealism blamed filmmakers for the lack of truthfulness in the image of Italy and of Italians conveyed by their stories. ECA and CdD films, by contrast, promised to show the “true” Italy, whose characteristics differ greatly from the neorealist models, even when presenting fictional stories. How­ever, as Foucault argued, the mechanisms and instances that enable one to distinguish true and false statements depend on a social regime that is both created by and imposed upon the subjects. Knowledge is power, for what one knows imbricates the structure of the power relations in which that knowledge is produced and disciplined. The fact that a “documentary” must be “realistic” depends on the structure of knowledge according to which the discipline of film studies has been historically divided. Therefore, to return to “cinematic realism and its dilemmas” ultimately entails, in my opinion, an inquiry into the power effects of film in the social realm. In the next chapter, I will demonstrate that the same logic of welfare articulated the narratives of films sponsored by corporations such as Fiat (automobiles) or Olivetti (typewriters). In these cases, the industrialists replaced the government or the ECA as agencies of power governing the welfare of workers and their families, for example, providing health care and child care. In other words, while public and private agencies cooperated in the economic recovery of the Italian nation, they also demonstrated a common politics of management of the working class through film. Not yet properly commercials nor strictly techno-films, the films sponsored by industries in this period had a similar function to that of many governmental ones: informing and educating the Italian population on the practices and benefits of a system of mass production.

Chapter Two

Sneaky Sponsors

In depicting industrial labour, the short films sponsored by the Economic Cooperation Administration and by the Centro di Documentazione constituted an exception in the context of Italian cinema of the 1950s, perhaps because it was practically impossible to get permission to shoot inside a factory, or because large-scale manual labour arguably held little entertainment value. In a publication edited by the Archivio Audiovisivo del Movimento Operaio e Democratico (Audiovisual Archive of the Working Class and Democratic Movement, AAMOD) marking the centenary of cinema in 1995, Ansano Giannarelli wrote that cinema’s relation to labour, industrial labour in particular, is quantitatively not relevant.1 Governmental reels actually have more in common with films produced by Italian industries during this period than with Italian cinema more generally. While private companies received state contributions and participated in the country’s reconstruction, they also managed to include their film productions in the catalogues of public agencies. For example, Olivetti typewriters produced Un millesimo di millimetro (A Thousandth of a Millimeter, Virgilio Sabel, 1949), which is listed under a slightly different title in the collection of the Cineteca Scolastica Italiana (Italian Educational Film Library, CSI), supervised by the Ministry of Public Education.2 In many cases, Italian companies were “sneaky sponsors,” to repeat Ken Smith’s characterization of American businesses that made educational films for the classroom.3 Appropriate adjustments were made in order to avoid accusations of commercial purposes, however, and it was considered likely that the general public would not distinguish governmental from industrial reels, especially when shown in regular movie theatres. As Mario Minardi argued in the late 1960s about Olivetti, all that remains of the films’ “industrial” character is the sponsors’ signatures

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that they display.4 Sergio Toffetti, the director of the Archivio Nazionale del Cinema d’Impresa (National Archives of Industrial Cinema, ANCI) lamented quite colourfully that even critics did not realize any difference, perhaps because they “were too busy munching on candy and popcorn whenever this material was presented as an alternative to travel and tourism documentaries.”5 Rather, audiences’ awareness of corporate sponsorship had more to do with the screening venues. In addition to movie theatres, industrial films were shown at employees’ recreational centres, in showrooms (both in Italy and abroad), and at national and international specialized fairs and festivals. In this chapter, I argue that congruities with governmental films derived from the fact that Italian industries used cinematography in the 1950s with goals similar to those of state agencies: that is, as tools of social engineering rather than advertisements for their products. I agree with Vinzenz Hediger and Patrick Vonderau’s interpretation and maintain that “industrial” is not a genre but “a strategically weak and parasitic form,” whose conventions are “pliable to whatever organizational purpose the filmmaker has to meet.”6 Heidi Frances Solbrig argued that American motivational films were “artifacts in industry’s historical discussions with the state over constructions of economic, political, and social citizens within industry.”7 In the case of postwar Italy, I submit that the filmmakers who worked for companies such as Fiat (automobiles), Olivetti (typewriters), and Edisonvolta (electricity) maintained as their organizational purpose constructing economic, political, and social citizens within as well as beyond industry.8 Studies on what are also called “corporate” or “business” films in Italy are very limited, and the lack of documentation is striking, particularly with regard to the political functions of these reels. Even today, the literature originating outside of Italy on this topic is to my knowledge basically non-existent, while in Italy it consists of a few volumes from the late 1960s and early 1970s and only one in the past twenty years.9 A couple of essays were written specifically on the Fiat Film Unit and included in the program of the Cineambiente Environmental Film Festival in Turin in 2003, where some Cinefiat films were also shown, and two celebratory monographs on Ermanno Olmi’s works for Edisonvolta have been published by Montedison (one in 1984 and one in 2005).10 The ANCI has recently organized meetings and screenings, many of these in collaboration with the Biblioteca Nazionale (National Library) in Rome. These events have garnered some attention; however, the screenings have mostly emphasized the involvement of well-known directors such as Alessandro



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Blasetti, Ermanno Olmi, Pier Paolo Pasolini, Bernardo Bertolucci, and Michelangelo Antonioni.11 This disproportionate attention paid to famous contributors, along with the generally sparse interest in films made by industries to begin with, is symptomatic of habitual practices in Italian historiography, which has generally ignored productions outside of commercial cinema and fictional genres. Although the ANCI’s director Toffetti appreciated how film archives could expand horizons in film history by uncovering new non-commercial materials, he also based his assumptions on aesthetic principles. He wrote that their “surprising high quality” demonstrated how “the history of cinema is an invention of the histories of cinema.”12 In other words, Toffetti operated from a Crocian perspective, also popular in Italian film criticism, maintaining that any interest in industrial films was a function of their aesthetic value. Perhaps the issue at stake is not the assimilation of industrial films into commercial cinema and the assessment of both within the same theoretical frameworks, as the old-fashioned auteur theory suggests. Rather, I agree with Hediger and Vonderau, who argued that “assuming that films, like other media at work in social and industrial organization, from writing and graphics to the telephone and the computer, provide the conditions sine qua non for the emergence of certain types of social practice such as large-scale industrial production and globalized financial markets, industrial films are perhaps best understood as interfaces between discourses and forms of social and industrial organization.”13 In this chapter, I will discuss industrial films (the shorts produced by corporate film units) as a lens through which to study how private sponsorships competed with governmental information agencies in instructing Italian citizens on appropriate conduct in a capitalist economy and a welfare society. According to Thomas Ellsaesser, “governance” is one of three areas of purpose that film can serve in industrial organizations, in addition to “record” and “rationalization.”14 Immediate analogies between governmental and industrial reels can be drawn on the basis of these three areas, which have already been explored in chapter 1, when I discussed how the US and Italian governments exploited cinematography in relation to governing people’s conduct (governance), writing the history of the nation (record), and motivating and inspiring the citizenry to thus optimize their productivity (rationalization). In this chapter, I show in more detail how the analytics of government, which I employed in chapter 1 to examine ECA and CdD shorts, also can be applied to industrial films. The uniqueness of the Italian case makes the lack of any examination of the Italian context a significant lacuna in the most recent study on

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industrial films in Europe, edited by Hediger and Vonderau, and entitled Films That Work: Industrial Film and the Productivity of Media (2009). Italian industry was fully present, especially in the postwar period, and not only on the European scene: Fiat participated regularly in international film fairs, Olivetti’s films were dubbed into many languages, and the Edisonvolta Film Unit (Sezione Cinema) even had its own maker’s mark (two shining stars on a black screen, becoming two electric bolts stamped on a shield).15 Most importantly, Italian factory workers were privileged subjects of national and international educational programs, for two main reasons: the nationwide strength of the Communist Party and its union and the unevenness between the rural South and the industrial North. In chapter 4, I will explain in detail how postwar democratic powers handled the “Southern Question” through international study commissions. In chapter 5, I will discuss Italy’s position as the “South” of Europe, in opposition to the “North” (the other Western European countries). In this chapter, it is sufficient to underline that the divide between an already modernized North and a pre-modern South created the economic and social state of incomplete modernization, which made Italy a peculiar case vis-à-vis other countries such as Great Britain, France, and especially the United States. In these modern nations, the goal of industry was to strengthen a powerful force already in place: business.16 In Italy, the conditions under which both government and industry sought to justify the power structures of a capitalist system involved Italians themselves, a population that for the most part still had to be persuaded of the benefits of capitalism. To achieve this goal, industries used films to show their respective involvement in welfare programs, featuring both employees and the Italian citizenry. David Ellwood has explained that, at the time of the Marshall Plan, Italian industrialists from the major steel and engineering companies who were invited to select a program of business films sent from the United States rejected those that exalted “the American worker as the best paid and best treated in the world.”17 The problem was not only that American films employed a nationalist rhetoric but also that they took capitalism for granted, rather than treating it as a point of contention. A clearer understanding of the target audience is evident in ECA / MSA films such as Men and Machines / Uomini e macchine (Diana Pine, 1951), which discussed how the American model might fit into a European context, transforming local handicrafts into serial production rather than eliminating them altogether. The three companies I discuss in this chapter (Fiat, Olivetti, Edisonvolta) exploited cinematography to feature the positive aspects of modern industry not



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only with regard to productivity, but above all, in relation to the benefits that business brought to the family and to civil society. Through the theatrical performance of industry on camera, the private sector engaged in national issues such as the transformation of a mostly rural country into a modern industrial society and the homogenization of blue- and whitecollar workers into a modern middle class of consumers. Cinefiat: From the Stars to the Madonna Fiat S.p.A. (originally Fabbrica Italiana Automobili Torino) began making films a few years after the company was founded in 1908. At the beginning of the 1950s, the company created a specific sector called Cinefiat, which remained active until the end of the 1970s. According to Maurizio Torchio, Cinefiat’s defining characteristics were its lack of celebrities (even though anyone involved in production and post-production was professionally trained), its use of advanced technology and high-quality materials (e.g., all films were shot in 35mm), and finally, its approach to filmmaking as if it were any other branch of activity in the factory. Torchio explains that “in a company centred on the value of production, Cinefiat couldn’t but present itself as a place where thousands of metres of film enter and, after a great deal of continuous work supported by adequate technological investments, a certain number of pieces exit, ready to be distributed all over the world.”18 Cinefiat films were translated into nineteen languages, allowing them to participate in international festivals and be shown at the company’s locations abroad. Nationally, Cinefiat films were screened in the company’s movie theatres (Reposi and Teatro Agnelli in Turin) and other theatrical venues (most often, the cinemas of local parishes), in addition to showrooms and vocational schools. The entire collection consists of 1,600 reels, which can be divided into three groups: the first and most abundant contains documentari di prodotto in which a particular Fiat product (e.g., a car, tractor, airplane, or even a household appliance) is the main subject, even though the product is often used simply as inspiration for a story; the second group consists of institutional documentaries in which the company is the main topic, often publicizing its opere sociali (social services such as health care, child care, housing, or summer camps); a third group includes instructional films intended specifically for the education of workers. Cinefiat promoted cars by means of well-crafted short narratives, satirical voice-over commentary, and Technicolor technology. These features make Cinefiat films similar to La Settimana Incom, the most popular and

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basically only newsreel shown in Italian movie theatres at this time. In particular, the narrator resembled Guido Notari of the Incom newsreel in his tone of voice, satirical comments, and many jokes about women. In I vent’anni di Rossana Podestà (Rossana Podestà’s Twenty Years, 1953), Estate 1100 (Summer 1100, 1954), Fiat 600 (Alessandro Blasetti, 1955), La gamma delle vetture Fiat (The Range of Fiat Vehicles, 1955 / 56), and Fiat 500 (1957), the equivalence between female and mechanical bodies is pervasive, linguistically facilitated by the fact that “car” is, in Italian, a feminine noun. “Belle” (beautiful), “eleganti” (elegant) and “signorili” (high-class), “le macchine” (cars) are meant to be as attractive as the ladies who ride in the passenger’s seat beside the man, the girls packed tightly in the small Fiat 500 so as to show how spacious it is, or the woman driver who sits behind the wheel “despite” her sex. In fact, these “modern” women in fancy clothes driving their new Fiats had no subversive power, thanks to the commentator who turned them into sexual objects or made fun of their driving skills. Women were accessories to cars as they were to film narratives: they served as either ornaments or comic devices. In La gamma delle vetture Fiat, for example, a woman in a sleeveless, tight, white evening dress just happens to sit on the curb of the curvy road on which they are testing Fiat cars (Figure 2.1). Strikingly similar to Marilyn Monroe, the woman and her curves attract drivers and viewers as much the curves of the road on which the cars are showing off their potential. Among the many instances in which a male voice-over ironically comments on female limitations in driving, a few in La gamma delle vetture Fiat also provide an opportunity to judge women’s capacities to fulfil their roles as mothers and wives. “The signorina will become a weight-lifter,” says the narrator in commenting on a lady in a fancy dress lifting several children, one after the other, out of a Fiat Spider.19 She is a “signorina,” indeed, since only an unmarried woman could drive a luxury coupe in a Cinefiat film. Once married, women would only ride in the passenger’s seat. On a few occasions, movie stars appeared to add new glamour to the cars. “A diva of cinema can only prefer a diva of the road,” says the voiceover about Rossana Podestà, who drives a Fiat 1100 Turismo and winks at the camera in La gamma delle vetture Fiat (Figure 2.2).20 This choice does not seem to be random, considering Podestà’s resume. The actress was a cover girl, starring in a few “pink neorealism” films and in many Hollywood historical pictures shot in the Roman studios of Cinecittà that gave her the nickname of “the queen of Peplum.” Other actresses in Cinefiat films had similar backgrounds, such as Lucia Bosè and Gina Lollobrigida, participants in the national Miss Italia beauty contest. All of



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Figure 2.1. La gamma delle vetture Fiat (Cinefiat, 1955 / 56). Courtesy of the Archivio Nazionale Cinema d’Impresa–Centro Sperimentale di cinematografia, Ivrea, Italy.

these women were physically attractive, but even though the commentator called them “divas,” they were also represented as within reach for the male audience. For example, Bosè and Lollobrigida in Estate 1100 are regular customers at a car dealership, looking at the new Fiat 1100. I vent’anni di Rossana Podestà further demonstrated this point. The opening sequence shows Podestà as a young girl enjoying a picnic with her parents, who own a Fiat Balilla, the first utilitaria (economy car). Later, the film moves forward in time to Rossana’s twentieth birthday, when the father gives her the new utilitaria Fiat 1100 as a present. While the commentator describes the amazing qualities of the new car, Rossana drives it happily. A personified Balilla follows her, creating a comic effect that adds to the representation of the diva, like any other woman, and of the Fiat 1100, unlike any other car.

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Figure 2.2. La gamma delle vetture Fiat (Cinefiat, 1955/56). Courtesy of the Archivio Nazionale Cinema d’Impresa–Centro Sperimentale di cinematografia, Ivrea, Italy.

Both in their style and in the way in which women are exploited as rhetorical devices to promote cars, Cinefiat films resembled the newsreel La Settimana Incom (Incom’s Weekly) as well as the many short films that the same producer made for the Italian governmental information agency. Cinefiat employed several external crews from Incom itself. Incom’s collaboration with both Fiat and the Italian government sustains the idea that industrial films can function as a lens through which to study the convergent economic and political interests of public and private agencies. Also, even though many accused the producer of making political propaganda for Christian Democracy, La Settimana Incom showed as much appreciation towards state programs as it did towards mass production and consumerism. According to historian Pierre Sorlin, the newsreel was more “a means of communication of capitalism than a representative of



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the government.”21 Rather than excluding the political implications of Incom films, then, I argue that their focus on economic issues and the cultural changes connected to them are relevant to the framework of “governmentality.” Like the ECA and CdD films examined in the previous chapter (Aquila, Puglia il lavoro), Cinefiat shorts sought to demonstrate how male viewers and workers were empowered as citizens by the new economy of capital investments. Like many other Incom films, which I will discuss in depth in chapters 4 and 6, Cinefiat shorts used the female body not only to titillate male desires for consumption, but also to construct their masculine agency as both workers and citizens, expressed in the form of sexual or economic transactions. As the commentator in Fiat 1100 explained, marriage was a good business deal (“affare”), just like buying a Fiat. In addition, both Incom and Cinefiat represented mass production as a symbol of national pride, and the films about the Salone internazionale della tecnica (International Technical Fair in Turin) are particularly significant in this context. Invito a Torino (Invitation to Turin, 1953) and Appuntamento a Torino (A Date in Turin, 1954) begin their praising of Fiat’s new products with the images of women; both of these (products and women) proudly represented Italy at the Salone. In Invito a Torino, “a woman of 2000,” dressed in a curious sci-fi suit and acting like a silent movie star, invites viewers to visit the fair. The voice-over ironically comments that this new “Eve” is not a sentimental type, as she looks with dismay at the wonders of the 1950s: “With our hands, with our brains, we changed the world, we populated the sky with winged breeds.”22 Whereas Invito a Torino exploits a fictional character, La gamma employs a more traditional style of reportage to describe Fiat’s role at the Salone, which the commentator defines as “a spectacle of progress.” I have already mentioned how women’s bodies are exploited in the film. In addition, Fiat is defined as one among the Italian companies that “honoured” Italy in the international market. At the beginning and at the end of La gamma, the voice-over stresses how proud every citizen should be thanks to Fiat vehicles, because they create positive opinions about Italy as they travel around the world. In addition, the commentator praises Italian workers, whose efforts were ultimately responsible for Fiat’s international success. Stylistic devices are used to enlarge the perspective of viewers, many of whom were probably Fiat employees. For example, the commentator didactically explains the effects of a crane shot and says: “To see things from above is a sign of strength.” However, he also adds, “We take advantage of this strength only to enjoy the view.”23

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Cinefiat was an instrument of self-realization for workers and the company, not only because its films showed national and international audiences the magnitude of its productivity and productions, but also because the film unit competitively functioned as an efficient sector of the factory. Returning from International Meetings on Industrial and Social Cinema in Brussels, in December1956, the head of Fiat’s Press and Propaganda Department Gino Pestelli noted that “nowadays all the largest industries’ trend is to produce self-made films by setting up ‘film production centres’ working with their own men and equipment and with the support of external consultants. This is what Fiat does, as well as Renault, whose Cinema Department head was present in Brussels.”24 Between 1955 and 1962, film production was especially important because the company had the upper hand in the power relations with the Communist union and union organizers.25 As Maurizio Torchio explains, these are the years of “possible hegemony”: “After routing the communists, the managing direction of the late ’50s had a monopoly on power and discipline in the company and a quasi-monopoly on propaganda. It hadn’t happened since the First World War and it wouldn’t happen again until the 1980s. Wasted or not, this opportunity for hegemony has left us with extraordinary records.”26 Among these records, a few films represented the company’s engagement in social services, such as Opere Sociali Fiat (Fiat Social Services, 1957) and Accanto al lavoro Fiat (Beside the Work at Fiat, 1962). However, the quality and extension of the company’s power over its workers are best represented in Cinefiat’s Il paese dell’anima (The Soul’s Country, Victor De Sanctis and Remigio Del Grosso, 1957) and Scuola Allievi Fiat “Giovanni Agnelli” (Fiat Vocational School, Stefano Canzio, 1962), which showed the first Fiat pilgrimage to Lourdes in 1956 and the education of future employees, respectively. Numerically, the scale of the pilgrimage that took workers and their families from Turin to Lourdes is striking: four trains with more than 2,500 workers, and one treno bianco (white train), carrying 460 sick people, including fifteen children with polio. Symbolically, the massive participation in this religious event epitomizes the company’s ties to religious institutions and the moral basis of its “possible hegemony.” The voiceover narrates in detail the workers’ blind devotion, both to the Madonna and to the factory. The images of religious processions show the workers’ disciplined behaviour, while those of Fiat managers and the Cardinal shaking the hands of the sick demonstrate the company’s alliance with the Vatican, as well as the benevolent character of the men. Finally, the images of mass-produced religious objects and lodgings for the pilgrims reveal the consumerist aspect of this religious journey. Progress, faith,



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and consumption travel together on the modern trains that take the Cardinal, the managers, and the workers with their families to Lourdes. “Each train has a full bar, a doctor, and several damine, who lovingly assist those who are in need,” says the voice-over as viewers see a compartment where a family is having tea.27 Once the travellers arrive at their destination, the same combination of material and spiritual consumption takes place in the ambivalent Lourdes, called both “faccendiera” (wheelerdealer) and “mistica” (mystic) in the film. Hotels, restaurants, and bars, as well as stores selling “chincaglierie di oggetti” (knick-knacks): hundreds of little statues of the Madonna and miniature basilicas are visible on the screen, followed by the images of people, including nuns, looking at and buying these objects. By these images, however, Il paese dell’anima does not mean to criticize the business of and at Lourdes, but rather to make it viable in the system of moral values of Italian viewers. To explain the coexistence of the two Lourdes, the commentator argues that a gift is a necessary purchase for family and friends who could not be there with their loved ones. The housing industry also made sense as a project of both charity and development: the modern buildings raised in the vicinity were meant to host the poor. Worshippers and consumers both found their home at Lourdes. At the same time, in this atmosphere of peace and good intentions where the holy and the profane harmonize, managers and workers unite. Il paese dell’anima represents Fiat as if it were a big family, a body whose members are morally obliged to each other beyond their ranks, and yet disciplined, so as to maintain the hierarchy between them. Managers compassionately pay their visits to sick workers, while the latter express their devotion towards both the Madonna and “their” factory (the voiceover emphatically uses the possessive adjective when talking about Fiat from the workers’ point of view). A few moments stand out as especially poignant in this regard. The first one is the procession of Fiat workers to salute the Madonna in front of the Cave of Massabielle on the day of their arrival. The forefront of the procession is occupied by men dressed in white overalls and carrying a flag bearing the company’s emblem, which features the symbols of earth, sea, and sky (“terra, mare, cielo”; see Figure 2.3). Each flag has a different colour that corresponds to a different division. “Each one has taken his place,” states the voice-over, as workers move around and toe the line in coordination with one another.28 In the evening, during the torchlight procession, a neon light that reads “FIAT ITALIA” in block letters shines from above, in front of the church, while the voice-over declares that the square is like a “single heart” (Figure 2.4). Both processions enact in the physical space of

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Figure 2.3. Il paese dell’anima (Victor De Sanctis and Remigio Del Grosso, 1957). Courtesy of the Archivio Nazionale Cinema d’Impresa–Centro Sperimentale di cinematografia, Ivrea, Italy.

Lourdes the routines of a disciplined body of workers, emotionally and morally attached to Fiat in the same way in which they might be devoted to the Madonna. The final ceremony before their departure reiterates this unity as well as the moral basis of work, by “consecrating” all Fiat employees through those present at Lourdes. A priest reads an invocation to the Madonna before the crowd, asking her to accept “as pilgrims from Italy, the members of one big family of the auto industry.”29 His final comment explains the extent of workers’ attachment to this family: “I learned yesterday that three Fiat workers who are ill offered up their lives so that Jesus and his peace might reign in the company.”30 Whereas La gamma delle vetture Fiat portrayed workers religiously devoted to Fiat, to the point of sacrificing their lives for the company’s well being, La scuola allievi Fiat “Giovanni Agnelli” examined the education of young men at the company’s vocational school and thus revealed the



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Figure 2.4. Il paese dell’anima (Victor De Sanctis and Remigio Del Grosso, 1957). Courtesy of the Archivio Nazionale Cinema d’Impresa–Centro Sperimentale di cinematografia, Ivrea, Italy.

roots of this relationship. In light of this film, I submit that students at the school learned to see themselves vis-à-vis the factory as soldiers donating their existence to the homeland. The subtitle of the film reads: “A model school to prepare our youth for modern work.”31 Clearly, as in American educational films for the classroom, La scuola allievi intended to offer young men and their families a model to imitate in order to fit into the modern world of industrial work. The opening scene demonstrates to them how this model is grounded in moral values. The film starts with an aerial vision of a line of people exiting a building (Figure 2.5). As the camera pans towards the ground, this geometric vision turns into a tracking shot of an army of young men running in athletic attire towards the square where they will hoist the flag. This is “a significant ceremony,” according to the voice-over, which takes place first thing each morning. The scene is set in Salice d’Ulzio, a mountain resort where Fiat

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Figure 2.5. La scuola allievi Fiat “Giovanni Agnelli” (Stefano Canzio, 1962). Courtesy of the Archivio Nazionale Cinema d’Impresa–Centro Sperimentale di cinematografia, Ivrea, Italy.

held a summer camp for its employees’ children. The prayer that one boy reads at the ceremony explicitly connects the factory to the homeland, describing clearly the moral imperatives instilled in the youth present and exemplifying the rhetoric used for this purpose (Figure 2.6). The boy says: While the symbol of the homeland rises towards the sky, we offer to you, dear Lord, the joy to which our youth and nature invite us. As we think about our parents far away, and as we daily offer up our lives for our homeland and our work, we are more prepared with every passing day for the future and its duties that await us.32

According to the commentator, each student held this prayer dearly in his heart. Both La scuola allievi and Il paese dell’anima stressed how



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Figure 2.6. La scuola allievi Fiat “Giovanni Agnelli” (Stefano Canzio, 1962). Courtesy of the Archivio Nazionale Cinema d’Impresa–Centro Sperimentale di cinematografia, Ivrea, Italy.

religious the company was as an institution. In addition, the former showed how moral education built employees’ attachment to work, and thus to the factory, starting at a young age. Thus, Cinefiat created the impression that being a disciplined worker, a good citizen, and an earnest worshipper were one and the same thing. Furthermore, the appraisals of youth and of physical and martial education appear to be carried over from Fascist culture. La scuola allievi was produced in 1962 but, as the voice-over declares in the opening scene, the film is meant to represent “any” year in the lives of future Fiat employees, and thus to remain “as young as its subjects.” Rhetorically, the prayer evokes nationalist, Fascist language, and yet boys give their lives not only for the homeland (patria), but also for work (lavoro). In this sense, Fiat envisioned the transition from warfare to workfare, which I discussed in the previous chapter, in continuity with the past, rather than

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as a conversion from it. Both work and the homeland deserved the complete devotion of the individual. Later in the film, the commentator further emphasizes how students identified with soldiers with regard to the spirit in which they engaged with production (as soldiers did with combat) and the discipline they had learned in preparation for labour duties. Speaking about the first time students wore their uniforms, he says, “For all of their lives, this will be their uniform. It’s like an initiation. Perhaps, at the beginning, they will feel awkward, like draftees [coscritti]. Then, little by little, their movements will loosen up.”33 As the opening scene suggests through the prayer and the ceremony of the flag, students at the Fiat vocational school were taught physical discipline and trained in physical strength. In addition, they were also intellectually tested and morally educated to work. When admitted to the school, each one had to go through “psycho-technical” tests, in addition to physical exams (“prove fisiche”) and quizzes on general culture and technical knowledge. Medical exams tested the individual’s potential to work based on health. The invasive and humiliating nature of these tests comes across in a scene during which boys in underwear stand under the spotlights while doctors “[measure] the subjects from the point of view of bio-typology.” On the other hand, a later sequence shows the “psycho-technical” tests, which consisted of counting, in the shortest time possible, the number of dots in a series of squares. Finally, the moral education of “cadets” is exemplified in the scene that portrays them donning uniforms and leaving their personal belongings in lockers that remain open for the entire day. “In this instance, the school becomes a school of life, which founds itself on the honesty and moral rectitude of individuals,” claims the commentator.34 A close reading of 1950s Fiat films highlights a relationship of selfless devotion between factory and workers, parallel to that of citizens towards the homeland. While shorts about social services represent the company’s involvement in taking care of the welfare of its workers, films such as Il paese dell’anima and La scuola allievi show the depth from which the education and discipline of employees came. The company moulded workers from youth onward, trained human bodies for the hardships of manual labour, and conditioned their psychology. Discursively, religion was the tool used to build attachment to the factory managers, who would take care of workers and their families in the name of Christian solidarity. Institutionally, the alliance between Fiat S.p.A. and the Church was a strong asset in the battle against the Communist union, especially in the years of “the possible hegemony.”



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“Edison Was My Whole World”: Ermanno Olmi and the Sezione Cinema Edisonvolta Fiat’s case was not unique: other companies such as Edisonvolta and Olivetti had their own film units, which also dealt with the company’s and the managers’ paternalism with regard to its employees and their families. Both Olivetti and Edisonvolta conveyed their involvement in Italian society beyond the space of the firm through their respective film productions. Sezione Cinema Edisonvolta (SCE) produced a consistent number of films in the 1950s, all directed by Ermanno Olmi. Several of these productions, like Cinefiat’s, described social services, including summer camps and a professional school. However, whereas Cinefiat narratives focused mostly on Fiat and its workers, for whom paternalism meant an authoritative relationship with the factory’s managers, the SCE spoke of the company itself only marginally, and the paternalism of its managers went beyond the cohort of employees. Films such as Piccoli calabresi sul Lago Maggiore: Nuovi ospiti alla colonia di Suna (Little Calabrians on Lake Maggiore: New Guests at Suna’s Summer Camp, 1951) described Edisonvolta’s involvement in national social problems, while others such as La diga del ghiacciaio (The Dam of the Glacier, 1955) or Manon Finestra 2 (Manon Window number 2, 1956) conveyed some attention and concerns about how rural environments and their social groups were transformed by the arrival of the electric company. Ermanno Olmi’s personal views and style affected the way in which the Sezione Cinema Edisonvolta represented the company and its business in the 1950s. Whereas Cinefiat was an efficient division employing professionals (both internal and external) in order to achieve high standards of productivity, the SCE was conceived as a recreational club by an employee whom the bosses seemed to like. In 1953, Olmi received a 16mm camera from his bosses: a present and a reward for a series of successful performances he had had with a theatre group that he had organized with other employees. Slowly, in this way, he was able to accumulate a professional ensemble of cameras (35mm) and a sound system, and thus to direct quality reels that sometimes exceeded the documentary format, such as Il tempo si è fermato (Time Has Stopped, 1960), winner of a prize at the Venice Film Festival and considered Olmi’s first featurelength work. Between 1953 and 1961, several other employees who subsequently left the company to pursue artistic careers, as Olmi did, were involved in production and post-production, for example, painter Guido Chiti, photographer Lamberto Caimi, and television directors Oliviero

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Sandrini and Gian Piero Viola. It was a sort of “school,” Enrico Cotroneo explained in a short memoir. The SCE “was a small but important vital space, born and grown thanks to the sensibility of the managerial group, who knew how to patronize and give birth to one of the most sensational cases in the history of Italian industries.”35 In other words, the paternalism of the “enlightened” Edisonvolta managers towards workers was evident in the creation of the film unit itself. Olmi’s personal experiences influenced the way in which Edisonvolta and its managers were represented. The company gave the director’s father a job after he was fired from the state railway because he declined to become a member of the Fascist Party. His mother also worked there after his father died during the Second World War. Ermanno took his place when he was old enough to work, at fifteen years of age. He claimed in an interview in 2006: Edison was my whole world. First, [it was my world] because of my dad’s story and then, because of the summer camp. During the war, Edison evacuated all the children of employees who lived in the largest northern cities of Milan, Turin, and Genoa, to protect them from the bombings, and sent them to Suna, the summer camp, where I lived for two years. I felt like I was more Edison’s son than of my own family.36

Piccoli calabresi is the first short directed by Olmi for Edisonvolta and tells a story very similar to his experience. In 1951, the company hosted at its summer camp two hundred children who had been evacuated from their homes because of the flood that hit the southern region of Calabria. Narrating the story of these children, whom Edisonvolta helped in lieu of the state, Piccoli calabresi evokes Olmi’s own past. Most importantly, the film articulates two important aspects of industry’s discussions with the state over the governing of the population: the father-role played by the authority (or authorities) and the project of national unity, implemented through the politics of welfare and social assistance in the South. Viewers could see how Edison’s interests were directed not only towards its employees but also towards the well-being of the Italian people, whenever and wherever they were in need. Differently from any Cinefiat film, the story of the piccoli calabresi is narrated subjectively and with pathos. One of the children at the camp, Vincenzino, reads as he writes a letter to his parents, and his voice functions as a commentary on the images representing everyday life at Suna. The subjective look at social reality is evident from the opening sequence,



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even though it is more stylistically similar to reportage. In addition to the shots of newspapers announcing the flood and the newsreel footage of the train that would take the southern refugees to the northern village of Suna, a few close-ups and medium shots of children sleeping or smiling open up non-narrative instances within the prosaic recollection of the media event (Figures 2.7 and 2.8) In these instances, the camera pauses and observes the subjects, lingering a moment too long to be seen simply as snapshots of the situation. Rather, both the device of Vincenzino’s letter and the camera work to establish a pathetic tone with which the filmmaker “expresses” the social event rather than simply recording it. Furthermore, while the stylistic devices demonstrate a subjective gaze upon the children’s story, the sentimental tone of this gaze corresponds to the affectionate relationship that the children had with the educators and with Edisonvolta’s managers, or so we’re told. “There’s a man who has been like a father to us all, and his name is Doctor Bobbio,” Vincenzino says of Edison’s chief executive officer Carlo Bobbio.37 All the children loved the teachers very much, because “they cared about us as if we were their own children.”38 A further example of the company’s disinterested gesture towards the children is the story-within-the-story of Carmelo, another one of the piccoli calabresi, whom Olmi interviews in one scene. Carmelo did not go to Suna but stayed in Milan at the Regina Jolanda Hospital, where he underwent surgery that healed his legs and allowed him to walk again. The pathetic story of Carmelo further extends the film’s subjective gaze on reality, while Olmi’s choice to be personally involved and visible to the audience sustains the personal attachment between the “authority” (the director of the film and the CEO of the company) and the subjects. Both Vincenzino’s and Carmelo’s stories also maintained that Edisonvolta and its managers wished to help the Italian population as a whole, not only its employees. As opposed to the social services offered to workers, which were indeed a benefit given in exchange for labour, Edisonvolta’s seemed a disinterested act of charity. However, a very brief instance in the film referred significantly to the realm of labour by showing how children’s aspirations were, indeed, like those of their fathers, that is, to be able to work. At the hospital, after the operation has cured his legs, Olmi asks Carmelo what he would most like to do, and the boy answers immediately and instinctively, “Do you mean as a job?” Curiously, Carmelo wishes to be a “capotreno,” just like Olmi’s father. Besides this perhaps fortuitous coincidence, it is meaningful to this analysis that the boy’s most urgent desire is related to work, and that the occupation he

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Figure 2.7. Piccoli calabresi sul Lago Maggiore: Nuovi ospiti alla colonia di Suna (Ermanno Olmi, 1951). Courtesy of the Archivio Nazionale Cinema d’Impresa–Centro Sperimentale di cinematografia, Ivrea, Italy.

desires is that of a worker. His aspirations speak to the pervasiveness of the discourse of work and subjectivity, which I discussed at length in the chapter 1. This dynamic of work and desire informed the narratives of other shorts of Olmi’s, such as Il Pensionato (The Retiree, 1958) and Michelino 1b (1956).39 Differently from Piccoli calabresi, Michelino 1b is a “docufiction”: it has a well-structured plot and characters, narrates verisimilar and yet fictional stories, employs non-professional actors, and includes dialogues as well as the voice-over commentary. The general topic of the film is Edisonvolta’s vocational school. Olmi and writer Goffredo Parise decided to speak about the school through the story of a child, Michelino, who lives in a village on the sea and dreams of becoming a fisherman like his grandfather. Instead, his father registers him for the admissions test



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Figure 2.8. Piccoli calabresi sul Lago Maggiore: Nuovi ospiti alla colonia di Suna (Ermanno Olmi, 1951). Courtesy of the Archivio Nazionale Cinema d’Impresa–Centro Sperimentale di cinematografia, Ivrea, Italy.

to Edisonvolta’s school, so that he might become “a good worker.” During this test, the usual medical and “psychotechnical” examinations take place, the same ones as represented in Fiat’s Scuola allievi and that would also be featured in Olmi’s first fiction feature film Il posto (1960). Michelino is deemed physically and psychologically able to enter the school where, in time, he will change his aspirations and attitudes towards industrial work. In one emblematic scene, the boy shows the teacher that he has mastered the lathe turner by making a metal figurine of a boat, and he receives a special reward. At this point, the film shifts from the narration of Michelino’s story to a detailed description of how children matured into efficient professional workers who would be dealing with electricity “tutta la vita.” While narrating the different phases of the professional school, Michelino 1b instructed viewers on the functioning of

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a power plant, reassured workers on the safety measures in place to protect their health, and persuaded parents that a future at Edison would mean for their (male) children a full life of intellectual growth and personal reward. In sum, the film conveyed the idea that the factory was or would be “the entire world” for the fortunate human beings who decided to work there. In telling the story of a boy, Michelino 1b also makes an argument about the binary opposition between modern and rural worlds, typical of many more shorts by Olmi for Edisonvolta as well as his later films. By means of “digressions” that are similar in their function to the close-ups I mentioned regarding Piccoli calabresi, this film conveys that, even though dreaming to live in a pre-modern society can only be the naive wish of a child, it is still a beautiful thought to engage with. This idea comes across through the landscape scenes that illustrate, from the point of view of a boat, the attractiveness of the sea and of the little village on the coast of Liguria. Accompanied by an intense strain of music, these beautiful images might trigger a sense of nostalgia for the lost world of pre-modern societies, in sharp contrast with the rational message conveyed by the story of the boy, whose decision to move to the city and become an electrician is overall positively depicted. Right after the scene on the boat, the voice-over explains that no one can really work anymore in this little village on the coast of Liguria, given that everyone must commute each day. In other words, the rural environment is a beautiful vision to enjoy but an impossible world to live in. Eventually, the sequence that introduces viewers and Michelino to the city also employs visual effects to mobilize affect. The engaging music, curious camera angles, and vertical pans recreate the hustle and bustle of Milan. Fast editing connects the skyscrapers to the Scala opera theatre and the many other attractions in Milan (the cathedral, the castle, or the trams). By making both worlds attractive, Michelino 1b tried to resolve the conflict between rural and industrial societies. By associating the rural world with childish dreams, the film rooted the opposition in the contrast between a remote space where past or infantile experiences are contained and a modern one where adulthood and “real” life take place. The most controversial representation of the relationship between pre-modern and modern societies is in Olmi’s docu-fiction, Dialogo di un venditore di almanacchi e di un passeggiere (Dialogue of a Seller of Almanacs and a Traveller, 1954), based on Giacomo Leopardi’s Operette morali (Essays and Dialogues, 1824).40 The Dialogo does not mention Edisonvolta, nor does it speak about industrial work. Leopardi’s moral piece is staged



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in the modern city of Milan during the Christmas holidays and conveys an interpretation of postwar modernization as critical as Leopardi’s view on the “magnifiche sorti e progressive” (splendid and better future) of the nineteenth century. In the film, a traveller talks to a man who sells almanacs and argues that the next year will not be “better” than the previous one, but simply more likable (in the present) because of the fact that the future is unknown. In opposition to a discourse on modernization speaking enthusiastically about the prosperous year ahead, Dialogo underlines that any hope of betterment is based on the fact that we cannot determine what comes next. The film also points out by means of a symbolic non-fictional frame that the “new” always comes as a loss. This part is an addition to Leopardi’s text and contextualizes the entire film from the point of view of the relationship between the city and the countryside. The Dialogo starts with images of a rural, snow-covered landscape, where a couple of bagpipers are walking towards the city to play traditional songs. When they arrive, folk music is playing in the background. But the city is not the place for them: as the soundtrack stops and they get ready to play their instruments, the two men in peasant clothes see a mechanical organ. In a shot-countershot sequence, the peasants look for a few seconds, in silence, at the man who winds the handle. Then, as the mechanical instrument begins to play, the bagpipers decide to leave. At this point, the lights, the shops, and the crowd of the city burst in, orchestrated by a lively tune, and Leopardi’s operetta begins. In Olmi’s films for SCE, the appraisal of modernity is always accompanied by a pathetic commemoration of the human expenditure that the process of modernization costs both in terms of human beings and nature. As much as Fiat cars, electricity signified the modern world into which Italy was transformed in the 1950s. Because electricity was a service provided nationally by Edisonvolta exclusively, however, its films were never meant to sell a product. Rather, Edisonvolta needed to sell the benefits of hydroelectric plants, which affected the rural landscapes and communities, to the Italian population. Whereas Piccoli calabresi showed how the company was involved in social welfare, and Michelino 1b demonstrated its engagement in education, other shorts of Olmi’s such as La pattuglia di Passo S. Giacomo (The Patrol of St James’s Pass, 1954) and Manon Finestra 2 concerned the relationship between modern technology and nature. In these films, manpower and mechanical engineering engage with nature and transform it, building dams across rivers or raising pylons over mountains. From the encounters between natural landscapes, mountaineers, hydroelectric plants, and workers, there emerges a

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discourse of modernization in which the elements of the binary are not always placed in opposition. For example, workers look like mountaineers, and they enjoy walking up in the mountains, even though their goal is to repair a broken line rather than to climb to the top. Visually, Olmi’s signature consisted of prolonged close-ups of male workers – pausing during the job, wiping their foreheads, staring at the sky – or the pauses of the camera on the spectacle of nature – a bright sun in the sky seen through the branch of a tree, a mountainside covered in snow, a stream of water falling over the rocks of a mountain river. Aurally, the main feature of these films is silence, accompanied by the sound of water, birds, and church bells. These sounds are also “silence,” compared with the noise of the city, industry, and machinery. Narratively, the gap that is internal to and constitutive of the development of modern society is reenacted in the interruption of the storyline by unnecessary pauses in the voice-over’s commentary – what could be called, to put it in another way, a poetic flight in the prosaic form of the documentary. To give a few examples, La diga del ghiacciaio talks about an Edison power plant on Lake Morasco, in Val Formazza, and shows the amazing functioning of turbines that transformed water flow into electricity. The plant is located on a marvellous site, of which the film catches both the colossal dam and the peaceful Sabbioni glacier. In addition, the documentary represents the daily efforts of men at work, including the moments when they pause to think about their families or wait anxiously for a mine to explode (Figure 2.9). In this way, the contemplative gaze upon nature intertwines with a compassionate look at the human subjects. Whereas La diga del ghiacciaio seems to balance the space given to observe men and nature, on the one hand, and to advance the plot, on the other, La pattuglia seems to reduce the latter – the event of a breakdown on the electric line – to a mere device. The real focus of La pattuglia is on the natural landscapes and the mountain dwellers, shown in long, slow sequences. Manon Finestra 2 takes this dynamic of poetic / prosaic moments to the extreme, using long takes on the bodies and faces of miners and, moreover, showing the work they do underground in real time sequences.41 Visual and sound effects also create a contrast between the inside and the outside of the mountain: dark images and loud noises of machineguns and dynamite inside, bright sunlight and the sounds of birds and church bells outside. La diga, La pattuglia, and Manon provide the best examples of the subjective look at reality that characterized Olmi’s contributions to the SCE



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Figure 2.9. La diga del ghiacciaio (Ermanno Olmi, 1955). Courtesy of the Archivio Nazionale Cinema d’Impresa–Centro Sperimentale di cinematografia, Ivrea, Italy.

in the 1950s, which he realized by means of framing, editing, and sound­ track. One could say that in these films it is possible to observe both a consistent departure from the documentary style that associated ECA or CdD shorts with neorealist films, and the introduction of the subjective gaze that would be typical of Olmi’s feature films, as well as those of Pier Paolo Pasolini, who actually wrote the script for Manon. In the films that I have mentioned, subjectivity enters the realm of the documentary by technical means; in others, it is through a fictional plot that the story of modernization can be told subjectively, from a particular character’s viewpoint. In addition to Piccoli calabresi and Michelino 1b, and also on the topic of nature, La mia valle (My Valley, 1955) stars the guard of a dam who tells the story of the valley where he was born, while in Buongiorno

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natura (Good Morning Nature, 1955), Gabriele describes a few days of vacation from Edisonvolta’s plant in Milan, which he spends in the mountains with his brothers. In this last case, the electric lines and dams disappear from the screen altogether: the relationship between men and natural places takes over completely. Of the industrial, to paraphrase Minardi, only the signature of the sponsor remains. The Third Way: Olivetti Films and Movimento Comunità Respect for and attachment to the rural environment are also features of the films depicting labour at Olivetti, the first Italian company to produce typewriters. Founded by Camillo Olivetti as a family business, the company was located in the northern region of Canavese, at the foot of Piedmont’s Alps, in the small, old, and quiet town of Ivrea, known for its surrounding pastures. In 1950, Camillo’s son, engineer Adriano Olivetti, became president of the company, and his interest in architecture, politics, and humanist culture influenced its future development.42 Not only was the young Olivetti involved in an international study commission on postwar urban development in rural areas, but he also served as a member and subsequently as president of the Istituto Nazionale di Urbanistica (National Urban Institute).43 Olivetti’s goal was to design a plant that could adapt perfectly to the rural environment of the Canavese. Factory buildings had to bridge the gap between the industrial work taking place on the inside and the landscape on the outside. Glass windows helped to maximize the amount of light in the workplace so that the natural background would be constantly visible during working hours, while large terraces and open spaces permitted workers to take their breaks in a natural space. Incontro con la Olivetti (Welcome to Olivetti, Giorgio Ferroni, 1950), Infermeria di fabbrica (The Factory Infirmary, Aristide Bosio, 1951), and Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente (A Factory and Its Environment, Michele Gandin, 1957) all represented the factory in this harmonious relationship with nature, showing how it had improved the quality of life of individuals and also how it coexisted respectfully with agricultural activities, social practices, and cultural habits. None of the films failed to show the modern glass windows and luminous buildings that hosted workers during the day, nor the equally modern and “people-friendly” housing projects built by Olivetti for its employees and their families. In Incontro con la Olivetti, alternate editing created a parallel between modern and rural spaces, following a single workday from beginning to end. As the film opens, the commentator speaks over the images of the “Centro Agricolo



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Olivetti,” musing that workers on their way to the factory might be meeting the cows out to pasture. It closes with the same voice praising the fact that, at the end of the day, workers will always go back to their families and enjoy a quiet evening closer to nature. The last images show a family reunited around the dinner table, while from the window it is possible to glimpse a view of the countryside. The benefits that derived from preserving and living in a rural environment were only some of the aspects that concerned Olivetti and how its factory improved the lives of individuals. Social and cultural services were available to workers at the company, such as an infirmary, a dining hall, a library, and a day-care centre, so that women would have the unique opportunity to fulfil their right to work, even if they had small children. These services constituted a system of welfare that was superior to those of other companies, such as Fiat and Edisonvolta. Furthermore, these services contributed to create in Ivrea a living example of the political vision of Adriano Olivetti – an “enlightened” capitalist. In response to an American magazine asking his opinion about the situation in Italy after the national election in 1953, Olivetti blamed Italian capitalism for missing the opportunity to realize what he called an “authentic social revolution,” like that of the second industrial revolution in the United States in the 1930s. According to Olivetti, progressive American industrial managers had helped the country overcome the Great Depression. On the contrary, Italians found a solution to the crisis in corporatism and state capitalism, which Olivetti considered “hardly edifying.” Regard­ ing the aftermath of the Second World War, Olivetti maintained that the same powers that had created and accepted Fascism (monopoly and bureaucracy) were now leading the reconstruction of Italy. At the same time, rather than copy the American example, Italians (and Europeans) needed to find their own way to recovery. The Marshall Plan had failed to recognize the difference, he added. Olivetti’s goal was to reinvent the second industrial revolution, European style: “the free and dynamic society of which America is proud will be in Europe the result of a process of change that is completely different.”44 In Olivetti’s mind, Ivrea represented the successful experience in Italy of a new kind of capitalism, whose political engagement consisted of progressively improving the living standards of a community, rather than profiting in collusion with the ruling party. In fact, the involvement of the industrialist in society extended beyond economic development and into the political realm. In 1947, Olivetti founded Movimento Comunità (Community Movement), a political movement that promoted the autonomy of small communities:

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“new democratic authorities” that would replace “an omnipotent state, either influenced by communism or controlled by the forms and forces of a new fascism.”45 With this political agenda, Olivetti was elected mayor of Ivrea in 1956. In 1958, he ran for national office and was elected, for Movimento Comunità. Michele Gandin’s Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente (1957) represented the theory and practice of Movimento Comunità at the height of its political success. Like Incontro con la Olivetti, Una fabbrica showcased the company to both national and international audiences, as dubbed English, French, German, and Spanish versions were made. Similarly to Incontro con la Olivetti, Gandin’s film explained the cultural and social services available at Olivetti in great detail. Una fabbrica narrates the story of Olivetti from its birth (1908), defined as “a memorable day in the history of Ivrea” by the voice-over commentator. Because of the factory, Ivrea lived through two industrial revolutions. As photographs and drawings showed, the first Olivetti plant was built and functioned according to criteria of the first industrial revolution, while in the modern glass building from the postwar period, assembly-line production and other advanced technologies had taken over. Throughout Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente, viewers learn how Olivetti’s presence over the years has changed the “face” (volto) of the city: from an anonymous small town to a “community,” a city that felt self-sufficient and yet “on a human scale.” The commentator describes the Ivrea of his day (1957) as a “modern, lively, and prosperous” place that follows the “rhythm of the factory.” As former Fiat employee and union manager (Confederazione Italiana Sindacato Lavoratori, Italian Confederation Unionized Workers, CISL) Luigi della Croce once explained, “the city was comprised inside the factory more than the factory was included within the city.”46 As Olivetti’s story progresses, stylistic choices change accordingly in the film. By means of crosscut editing, the moving images in Technicolour representing life at the new factory literally wipe out the past of the stills that describe the early twentieth century. A particular sequence in Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente exemplifies how work done at the factory changed Ivrea’s history by showing the “Centro studi,” where architects designed new housing projects. “Industrial development is at one with urban development,” the commentator explains.47 While modifications in the productive system affected the living standards of the population, the factory’s involvement in urban planning modified the appearance and social dynamics of the city. Incontro con la Olivetti described how architecture improved the plant, creating better working conditions, and how workers enjoyed their free time with their



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families in the apartments that Olivetti built for them. Una fabbrica went further, adding that the company solved social problems concerning employees as well as the city itself, problems normally addressed by the state. The sign displayed in front of a construction site in Ivrea says both “Olivetti” and “INA-Casa,” showing how public projects were already being contracted privately to the company. As I will explain in more detail in the next chapter, “INA-Casa” was the agency in charge of governmental housing projects. In the hands of Olivetti, and in the case of a small “community” like Ivrea, INA-Casa acted differently from how it did when undertaking nationwide projects. As the commentator explains, Olivetti architects worked against the grain: in particular, they avoided beehive designs (“alveari”) and the look of high-rises and military barracks, in an effort to create living spaces in harmony with the landscape (“armonizzanti con il paesaggio”). Ivrea’s inhabitants lived in modern but small apartment buildings, no higher than four or five storeys, constructed with various forms and colours and filled with courtyards and community gardens. The political relevance of this sequence is clear. Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente suggested that Olivetti had a vision of a resolution to the social problem of housing, one that understood people’s needs better than the state’s plans did, a vision capable of satisfying the human desire to live closer to nature. Another significant moment in the sequence is when a sign that says “Movimento Comunità” can be seen at the ground level of a building. Although it seems to be a storefront sign, this name clearly does not appear merely by chance (Figure 2.10). Over this image, which concludes the film, the commentator summarizes what “the factory is”: This is what the factory also is: a school of courageous initiative, or at least an example. Its influence […] extends through an intensive project of cultural propaganda and social education. Each of the 7,000 workers does not merely obtain a salary and social services from the factory, but also absorbs and spreads taste, a way of life, and a living demand.48

This citation from the film’s commentary condenses Olivetti’s case into a few words and highlights how economic powers were able to subsume political agencies in the governing of the population (taking care of its needs, but also shaping its “taste, habits, and demands”). In watching Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente, workers / viewers perceive(d) that the company’s objective was to improve the lives of individuals in society, and that production and profit were only secondary to this goal.

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Figure 2.10. Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente (Michele Gandin, 1957). Courtesy of the Archivio Nazionale Cinema d’Impresa–Centro Sperimentale di cinematografia, Ivrea, Italy.

Presented to workers or to any Italian citizen, Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente not only publicized Olivetti but also promoted the politics of Movimento Comunità. Olivetti’s movement represented a “third way” in the sense that it offered a political alternative to both the Communist Party and Christian Democracy. It also represented a “third way” relative to the other two companies I discussed in this chapter, particularly concerning the issues of paternalism and bio-politics. Olivetti S.p.A. was considered in the 1950s to be a place where individuals with different political views could work together. Most of the films were produced internally by company employees, including leftist intellectual and poet Franco Fortini, working for the Direzione Pubblicità e Stampa, the company’s unit devoted to advertisement and publishing, where the Sezione Cinematografica (the Film Unit) opened in 1952.



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Adriano Olivetti was convinced of the necessity for the company to employ people with a humanities education, which it did not only in the cultural divisions (library, publicity, and the press), but also in social services (e.g., psychologists), and even at the managerial level (one-third of the managers had a humanities background). Screenwriters included Franco Fortini (Incontro con la Olivetti), novelist Libero Bigiaretti (Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente), and doctor Giulio Boario (Infermeria di fabbrica). Olivetti also had his own publisher, Edizioni Comunità; a magazine, Comunità; and a factory paper, Notiziario di fabbrica.49 Both blue- and white-collar employees received continuing education in the humanities thanks to the factory’s library, which they could access during extended lunch breaks. Leisure activities available to employees included sports, a movie theatre, and art history classes, as Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente showed. Furthermore, the film’s commentator explains that Olivetti allows “human relations and discipline that exclude obsessive control and allow workers the freedom of a gesture,” such as that of talking to a coworker, smoking a pipe, or drinking a cup of coffee (Figure 2.11). While clearly these qualities had a positive impact on Olivetti’s reputation and minimized conflict with labour unions, they also helped to neutralize class struggle, since services were provided to workers pre-emptively, that is, before conflicts could take place. Also, as explained in Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente, cultural services and activities served to expand and satisfy workers’ own desires to know or to be entertained, to the extent that they participated in the company’s project of propaganda that moulded the taste, habits, and needs of Ivrea’s citizens. The commentator in the film says that the factory library has magazines, newspapers, three thousand volumes, and study groups, able to satisfy any inclinations or preferences. Many of these volumes were translations of American books, directly recommended by the United States Information Service to Olivetti’s representatives and published by Edizioni Comunità with the purpose of discouraging workers from adhering to communist unions. Similarly, the factory’s theatre would screen Chaplin’s slapstick comedies, as in the film, but it also showed Marshall Plan films and other shorts recommended by USIS.50 Admiration for and approval from the United States in matters of factory organization and politics remained ambiguous, as revealed in private letters, public declarations, and the records of the US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA). In addition to the aforementioned article by Olivetti, other opinions on the United States and its economic system, society, and politics were published in the company’s newspaper.51 A letter

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Figure 2.11. Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente (Michele Gandin, 1957). Courtesy of the Archivio Nazionale Cinema d’Impresa–Centro Sperimentale di cinematografia, Ivrea, Italy.

from Franco Ferrarotti testifies that Edizioni Comunità was not keen to follow suggestions mae by USIS that clearly constituted an attempt to create pro-American propaganda, but it nevertheless consented to publish works that might raise discussions about labour unions.52 Olivetti’s political movement also had the support of the US government, precisely as an alternative to the more prominent mass-based parties, as stated in an information report of the CIA dated 1 April 1958: It is suggested that Olivetti’s Comunità movement be supported at this time, not because it is likely to play an important role in the next parliament, but because it represents an intellectual, moral and ideological nucleus which would be of great value in the coalescence of the disparate elements of Italian socialism. Furthermore, in our judgment, Comunità and Olivetti



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represent a constructive force transcending the boundaries of Italian politics and offering a promise for the entire West European integration program. By concentrating on the creative development of the local community, Olivetti has pointed the way to a process of softening the tensions of politics which might prove in time the most effective answer to the divisive machinations of the communists. In a sense, support of the Comunità movement might be said to be truly in the spirit of the original concept of the Marshall Plan: to help the peoples of Europe to help themselves. We would not only be furthering a worthy political and social cause, but would, at least implicitly, be encouraging a reform effort of the enlightened private enterprise, seeking harmony with the Democratic and Christian Socialism – an effort all too rare in contemporary Europe.53

The concept of “the enlightened private enterprise, seeking harmony with the Democratic and Christian Socialism” is at the core of the films narrating Olivetti and is equally central to the politics of Comunità. A particular issue reflects this concept and reveals the peculiarity of Olivetti’s case in comparison with the other firms discussed in this chapter: the critique of industrial labour as harmful. Cinefiat avoided speaking of the negative effects and dangers of steelwork or the conveyor belt, and it rather glorified the hardships that autoworkers undertook on a daily basis. Some training films such as La velocità di lavoro (The Speed of Labour, 1953) actually showed how Fiat trained the employee’s body like a machine, so as to achieve optimal levels of speed and efficiency at work. SCE films also exalted the physical strength and rational skill with which men were able to transform water flow into electric energy and control this power through hydroelectric plants. Ermanno Olmi intervened by adding a sympathetic look and a subjective perspective on social realities; however, danger and risk are not considered in his films, even though Edisonvolta’s employees had to climb extremely high electric pylons or work in isolated control cabins on mountain peaks. The negative effects of industrial labour on workers’ health are mentioned, on the other hand, in Incontro con la Olivetti and in Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente, and more extensively discussed in Infermeria di fabbrica. Incontro con la Olivetti talks about the issue almost involuntarily in one particular sequence, where the orchestrated visions of women and machines operating at the same pace represent the kind of alienation that derived from working with new technologies. The sequence starts with a shot of a few women sitting in line and frantically typing at an impossible speed in order to test typewriters. This shot is juxtaposed with a few

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framings of typewriters lined up and typing automatically, at the same pace as the women. Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente more explicitly addresses the strain caused by the seemingly lighter work at a typewriter factory, when it shows how workers are allowed to take as many breaks as they need during the day. Finally, Infermeria di fabbrica explicitly focuses on the damage involved in industrial work in general, the specific problems of employees at Olivetti, and the kinds of services for prevention and healing that the company offered. Presented at the International Exhibition of Health Practices in Turin, Bosio’s film explained that at Olivetti, automation made work much easier on the body than at other companies. However, work remained both physically and mentally demanding because of its monotony and the constant attention and precision necessary to perform the tasks. For these reasons, the factory provided employees with different services, including prevention of injuries and “professional illnesses” as well as periodic check-ups. The opening sequence of Infermeria di fabbrica appears to be the strongest attack on industrial work. The images and sounds of machinery are similar to those in Rossellini’s Europa ’51 (1952), when Ingrid Bergman has a traumatic first encounter with industrial work. Bergman, playing a bourgeois lady with charitable intentions, enters a factory for the first time in her life to substitute for a female worker she has just met during a stroll through a Roman slum. The shock caused by the loud noises, the darkness and dirt, and the repetitive movements of mechanical arms, however, cause her to change her mind and leave in dismay. A very similar scene is presented at the beginning of Infermeria di fabbrica, accompanied by a voice-over describing the images with similar words to those I used above to talk about Europa ’51. In addition, the commentator highlights that in these conditions workers exercised “exceptional muscular efforts” and “unnatural movements, always the same, repeated thousands of times for eight or nine hours.” However, this critical stand was not meant to trigger a radical response, such as “the refusal of work,” which would be at the core of workers’ struggles in the early 1960s. Bosio’s film explained to viewers that the factory’s infirmary was meant to cure the symptoms, not to eliminate the cause. In the words of the commentator, industrial work was harmful, even pathogenic (“patogeno”), but work itself was as necessary to men as air, water, and heat. Rather, “a kind of solidarity that is both social and human” was behind the health services that Olivetti offered its employees. The company’s efforts were in this sense aimed at reducing the aspects of labour that felt like a “moral condemnation” and at transforming work



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into a “form of well-being and serenity.” The religious attitude towards work and the Christian imperative behind social assistance revealed that the principles of Movimento Comunità were rooted in the experience of the factory. Not only was the movement predicated on the symbiosis between the factory and civil society, but also it animated both society and the workplace with a religious spirit. It is well known that Adriano Olivetti was a follower of the Waldensian (now Methodist) Church and that his religious beliefs influenced the political project of Movimento Comunità. Infermeria di fabbrica demonstrates how these beliefs affected the politics of the factory. An article in Comunità maintained that the “community,” although born as an administrative device, was meant to become a centre of spiritual life, “a Christian community.” Similarly, according to Infermeria di fabbrica, the factory was born as a business but it was also meant to be a place where the moral condition of workers was taken into greater consideration. In such a place, work was a rewarding activity for the individual as a whole, for both the physical and spiritual being. In conclusion, Olivetti films created an image of Ivrea as a “community” where the factory socialized reproduction (by providing, e.g., child care, health services), organized time outside of working hours (with, e.g., cultural activities, sports), shaped intellectual growth (by provding, e.g., libraries, movie theatres), and ensured physical health. This image can be interpreted as a representation of the complete incorporation of civil society. By subsuming the social into the economic realm, Olivetti films represented a society of government, in which politics becomes bio-politics. A religious imperative eventually justified this system. In this sense, the case of Olivetti quite literally enacted, in the performance of workers and the factory, a structure of pastoral power in which business took an invisible role while the company’s main concerns were devoted to the care of its flock, just as a father would take care of his children.54 (Dis)continuities Un villaggio modello (A Model Town, Michele Gandin, 1941) is a docufiction about Dalmine, a small town not far from Milan, whose productive (and reproductive) life revolves around a steel factory.55 Also named Dalmine, the factory was engaged in the production of military hardware at the time in which the film was shot and it had been a state holding since 1939 under the Istituto per la Ricostruzione Industriale (Institute for Industrial Reconstruction, IRI). However, none of the above is mentioned in this film directed by Gandin, who continued to work as writer

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and director for several sponsored films in the postwar period, including Olivetti’s Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente. Set in the summertime, Un villaggio modello narrates a young couple whose dreams and plans are about having a family: the man is a student at Dalmine’s vocational school and rides in the factory’s cycling club, and his fiancée works as a farmer in the “Azienda Agricola.” At the same time, an older couple spends the summer at home – a factory employee and his perfect housewife – while their two children are at summer camps and write letters to their parents. These two couples and their stories represented “model individuals” in a “model town”: two families created and nurtured in a community, where the industry is integrated with the rural environment and socioeconomic system. Even though directed during Fascism, Gandin’s film has a lot in common with the industrial films I’ve analysed in this chapter: the rural landscape of SCE’s and Olivetti’s productions, SCE’s summer camp, Fiat’s vocational school, and Olivetti’s leisure activities in the factory, among others. Above all, Un villaggio modello provided viewers with an ideal of living that combined family and work, one that did not really differ from the example offered in the 1950s by Fiat, Edisonvolta, or Olivetti. As opposed to the model described in Gandin’s film, however, these firms competed with the state, rather than being subsumed by the state, in the governing of the population. In other words, Un villaggio modello showed how the state infiltrated Italian families by blurring the lines between the public realm and the private. On the other hand, postwar industrial films showed how private enterprises could substitute for the state, both in providing social services and in managing the private lives of individuals. Just as CdD films explained the benefits (and downsides) of the “welfare state,” industrial films did the same for the “welfare society.” In the next chapter, I will further examine analogous (dis)continuities with the past, as well as other aspects of a welfare state / society, through the lens of sponsored films that represented what sociologist Celso De Stefani defined as the “housing revolution.” In light of Pier Paolo Pasolini’s writings, I will discuss how great changes in the urban and rural landscape effected consistent transformations in the lifestyle and habits of Italian society, while housing projects were built according to architectural and moral imperatives that were not far removed, in some ways, from those of Fascism.

Chapter Three

Filming the Housing Revolution

At the inauguration of a housing project in the Roman district of Acilia, in 1950, Professor Gustavo Colonetti declared: We gave them more than just a roof, a material shelter against the elements. We wanted to rebuild for them the centre of family life, so that they might rightfully call it their home, the foothold from whence they might gradually reassimilate into society and regain their dignity as men and citizens.1

Colonetti’s statements exemplify a discourse on housing that was dominant in postwar Italy, where programs of reconstruction and urbanization contributed simultaneously to the physical and spiritual renewal of individuals, their families, and the nation. Recent historical studies emphasize the role of the housing industry in the process of modernization.2 However, these studies overlook the moral emphasis that is evident in the flourishing publications and films about housing plans in the postwar period. It is precisely the moral emphasis that systematically unveils the dynamics of “pastoral power” that, as I explained in chapter 1, made Italian society a “society of government.” By analysing this dynamics through the lens of films about the housing industry, this chapter seeks to understand what kinds of influence and dependency can be established between economic intervention, social legislation, and culture. I use the word “culture” to mean both “a way of life,” as in one of Raymond Williams’ definitions of the term, and a “distinctive set of knowledges, expertise, techniques and apparatuses,” as defined by Tony Bennett in his theory on the relationship between culture and the Foucauldian concept of governmentality.3 “Cultural technologies” helped the sponsoring agencies to govern the moral and social conduct

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of the Italian population.4 Visual and written texts about housing plans and projects allowed them to study, know, and talk about social problems, and thus transformed the social realm into a “discourse”: “a knowable, calculable and administrable object.”5 As Peter Miller and Nikolas Rose explain in the essay “Governing Economic Life,” “Knowing” an object in such a way that it can be governed is more than a purely speculative activity: it requires the invention of procedures of notation, ways of collecting and presenting statistics, the transportation of these to centers where calculations and judgments can be made and so forth. It is through such procedures of inscription that the diverse domains of “governmentality” are made up, that “objects” such as the economy, the enterprise, the social field and the family are rendered in a particular conceptual form and made amenable to intervention and regulation.6

In this framework, I argue that the various texts concerning housing problems made of the family and social realm objects amenable to intervention and regulation. According to sociologist Celso De Stefani, the housing plans implemented throughout the 1950s gave way to a “rivoluzione abitativa” (housing revolution) that transformed the lifestyle, habits, and mentality of the Italian people.7 In filming the “housing revolution,” sponsored reels participated in their sponsors’ efforts to make this “revolution” in the housing industry a matter of social and psychological change. The Notion of Solidarity In the immediate postwar period, unemployment and poverty – inherited from the Fascist regime and worsened by the Second World War – affected the housing industry, in particular, even more so because of postwar migration from rural to urban areas.8 The “housing question” was characterized by a lack of dwelling space, brought on by bombings suffered during the war and by a growth in population, and there was no increase in new buildings to compensate for the shortage. In 1949, the Italian government promulgated the “Fanfani Plan,” named for its creator, Minister of Public Works Amintore Fanfani.9 Also called INA-Casa, after the agency managing the building of housing projects, the plan was meant not only to give homes to those who were victims of the war or simply too poor to afford a place to live, but also to gradually increase working-class employment within the housing industry.10 Furthermore, taxes were withheld from monthly paycheques so as to require every



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working citizen to contribute to the building of housing projects. In addition, the plan facilitated private investments in the housing industry on the condition that capitalists would pour their own contributions into the construction of new homes for the lower classes. Put simply, the Fanfani Plan was implemented in the name of solidarity. Since post-1848 France of the Third Republic, according to Jacques Donzelot, “solidarity” had constituted the welfare state’s core principle, necessary for the resolution of the contradiction between the government’s responsibility to protect the rights of citizens and the expected reduction of its intervention in society.11 Donzelot explained: How can the state exert a corrective influence on society to counter the revolutionary threat, fuelled by the perceived contrast between the sovereignty of citizens and the subjugation in the factories, [without] exposing the state to denunciation of this intervention as leading to the negation of civil liberties and the indefinite expansion of the state?12

The problem was insoluble within the classical terms of rights, and thus a new basis for authority was needed; it was found in the notion of solidarity. It seems to me that a similar dynamic was at work in postwar Italy. Democratic powers recognized a revolutionary threat in the appeal of the Italian Communist Party among the working classes. To counter this threat, they imposed state interventions not only in economic recovery efforts but also in social assistance, risking a critical response from citizens who felt that their private lives were under surveillance. Social solidarity was the key to the justification of these policies of regulation in the name of the common good. During the parliamentary debate that preceded the approval of the plan, architect Giò Ponti symbolically called the Fanfani Plan a “coercive plan” (piano coercitivo) that would “oblige” builders to follow certain standards established by architects and engineers. “Does democracy fear the word ‘force’?” Ponti wrote in the widely distributed newspaper Corriere della Sera. “Everyone will be happy to be forced to spend less to build the Fanfani homes.”13 In fact, explained Ponti, the real “obligation” vis-à-vis the plan entailed the responsibility that everyone had when the public good was at stake.14 In another article, Ponti stressed that the problem of housing consisted in “work by men, for men.”15 Several other architects, like Ponti, viewed their involvement with INACasa as a service offered to the collectivity. Those of a certain renown such as Ludovico Quaroni chose to focus on popular housing over other

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projects.16 These professionals aimed to create new urban spaces that both had the comfort of modern architecture and were modelled on the examples of rural villages. In this way, they attempted to respond to dwellers’ desires for a home and to avoid imposing traumatic changes on their habits. The most famous example of this “neorealist” architecture is the INA-Casa housing project in the Tiburtino neighbourhood in Rome (1950–54) (Figure 3.1). These two- or three-storey buildings, diverse in shape and colour, were united by courtyards and small piazzas and laid out according to the natural shape of the territory; they embodied the spirit of collective rebirth typical of the immediate postwar period, when all citizens finally enjoyed the right to express their particular desires but also felt a sense of community and aspired to national unity. None of the sponsored films publicizing INA-Casa, however, portrayed the Tiburtino. Rather, films such as Zeroquarantacinque: Ricostruzione Ediliza (Zerofortyfive: Housing Reconstruction or 045, Vittorio Sala, 1952), produced by Istituto Luce for the Centro di Documentazione, and La casa(The House, Giuliano Tomei, 1950), produced by Phoenix Films for ECA Italy, showed high-rise buildings as visible evidence of the rebirth of the housing industry, using crane shots to emphasize the vastness and number of housing projects already finished. These buildings corresponded to a second phase in postwar reconstruction, when the imperatives of speed and savings of policy makers replaced “neorealist” architects’ ideas about collective engagement (Figure 3.2). Nonetheless, modern and efficient, this kind of building could only isolate families from one another, rather than create any sense of community among residents. An example of this social pattern is provided in De Sica’s Ladri di biciclette. The lack of solidarity, pervasive in the film’s narrative, is physically represented in the images of the peripheral neighbourhood of Via Val Melaina, where the Ricci family lives. These anonymous buildings are spread along wide and dusty roads, with no green areas or spaces for children to play. The neighbourhood is clearly detached from the city centre, where people could only travel by bike or on impossibly crowded buses, which they could catch only if strong enough to push their way in. In fact, the urban space where the Ricci family lives only looks like an INA-Casa housing project. On the contrary, as John David Rhodes explained, Val Melaina is a borgata (a housing project) built in the 1930s by the Fascist regime.17 The visible resemblance between the architecture of the Fascist borgata in Ladri di biciclette and the INA-Casa projects shown in sponsored films, along with the fact that most of the neighbourhoods praised in the latter are anonymous clusters of cement, gives rise to two



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Figure 3.1. INA-Casa housing project in the Tiburtino neighbourhood, Rome, Italy (2013). Courtesy of Ekaterina Nechaeva.

related and crucial issues regarding the discourse on housing spread by democratic powers: the continuities with Fascism and the dynamic of normalization of Italian families. The public debate pertinent to these issues, ongoing throughout the 1950s, constitutes a crucial background to the case studies discussed later in this chapter. I will now give a critical introduction to this debate through the reading of two works by leftist intellectual Pier Paolo Pasolini. For Pasolini, postwar modernization had brought on the “genocide” of entire pre-modern social formations, such as Rome’s sottoproletariato. Comparing his novel Una vita violenta (1959; translated as A Violent Life, 1978) with his feature film Mamma Roma (1962), it is possible to provide some insight into the political and social implications of the two models of 1950s-era public housing, with particular attention to the relationship between democratic powers and the poor.18 The Concentration Camps In his novel Una vita violenta, Pasolini creates a positive representation of the Tiburtino through the eyes of its protagonist, Tommasino. When the young boy is released from prison, he goes to the new home that his

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Figure 3.2. INA-Casa housing project in the Tuscolano neighbourhood, Rome, Italy (2013). Courtesy of Ekaterina Nenchaeva.

family has in the meantime received from INA-Casa. As Tommasino explains in the novel, people who lived in the nearby slums called the Tiburtino “Alice in Wonderland, Enchanted Village, or Jerusalem.”19 Through indirect speech, the narrator describes the Tiburtino as Tommasino sees it for the first time, emphasizing how the roads have curves and buildings have colours and are filled with balconies and terraces. At the end of the chapter, in a free-form indirect speech, the author attempts to convey to the reader the sub-proletarian perspective: “What a night Tommaso spent! The most beautiful, you might say, of his whole life: because, even if he slept, he wasn’t really sleeping, but always a little bit awake, so he could always remember he was there in his house, a nice house, big and well-made, like rich people have.”20 A sense of nostalgia emerges from the point of view of the author, if we compare Tommasino’s earnest reactions to the Tiburtino to Ettore’s experience of Tuscolano II in Mamma Roma. Pasolini’s second film came out only a few years after Una vita violenta, in 1962. Tuscolano II is one of those urban developments comprising high-rise buildings praised in sponsored films. Ai margini della città (At the Margins of the City, Giorgio



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Ferroni, 1954), for example, showed the Tuscolano as well as its “margins” – wastelands between the housing projects and the countryside, marked by the remnants of Policarpo’s Aqueduct in Rome. In these wastelands, some important sequences of both Ai margini della città and Mamma Roma take place. In contrast to Ferroni’s film, however, Mamma Roma conveyed a critical interpretation of the social milieu in this neighbourhood. The protagonist Mamma Roma wishes to climb the social ladder and dreams of a life for herself and her son in a neighbourhood of “gente per bene” (middle-class families). To her, moving from the old place in the popular neighbourhood of Casal Bertone to an INA-Casa apartment in Tuscolano means leaving behind her past of prostitution and fully entering the future of the petty bourgeoisie to which she is already entitled because of the fruit stand she runs at the open air market. As Mamma Roma embraces class mobility, her character embodies the national ambition to make all Italian citizens property owners: in Fanfani’s words, everyone should become “proprietario” (owner), rather than “proletario” (worker).21 Also in agreement with this project, which included the modernization of rural populations, Mamma Roma decides to bring her son Ettore, a teenager who has so far lived in the countryside, to live in the Tuscolano. As the story goes, Mamma Roma’s life changes are only apparent, her new life is, in fact, detrimental to both herself and Ettore. She is eventually forced to return to prostitution and her child is killed in prison, where he was incarcerated because of a misdemeanour he’d committed with his new friends, middle-class teenagers who live in the same apartment complex. In sum, the film conveys Pasolini’s opinions on the effects of modernization on Rome’s sottoproletariato: “the genocide of an entire population.” In addition, the story of Mamma Roma reveals Tommasino’s naiveté (and that of the Italian people) regarding the excitement about the future that the Tiburtino represented. Ettore’s death brutally shatters Mamma Roma’s expectations and, in the last shot, forces her to see the city with new eyes. Besides the critique of modernization, Mamma Roma also interprets Pasolini’s perspective on postwar capitalism and its relationship with Fascism through the lens of the housing projects. The leftist journal Vie Nuove published a few articles by Pasolini in the late 1950s in which he expressed his opinions on INA-Casa. In “The Concentration Camps,” Pasolini explained that in the 1930s Rome’s borgate (such as Val Melaina) were built quickly (“rapidissime”) and cheaply outside the Aurelian Wall. At the same time, entire neighbourhoods in the centre of Rome were razed to the ground to make space for wide roads and new

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buildings that might better represent the power of Fascism to its spec­ tators. Low-income dwellers were evacuated and relocated to the outskirts, “concentrated,” in Pasolini’s words, in an area where crime rates increased disproportionately. This process was called “sventramento” (disemboweling) and had the effect of “eliminating” the poor from the sight of those who happened to stroll the magnificent roads of Fascist Rome. In time, the borgate rapi­ dissime were slowly swallowed up by the growing city. After the Second World War, they became a privileged destination for refugees and immigrants from the rural South. In these places of dust and desolation, families built their homes, little more than shacks or other sorts of temporary dwellings. Pasolini’s first feature film Accattone (The Scrounger, 1960) was set in the remnants of a Fascist borgata, the Pigneto neighbourhood. Several ECA and CdD films also depicted life in these slums, explaining its hardships with full compassion and praising the democratic regime for its efforts to find a solution to these housing problems. ECA’s La casa (1950) or CdD’s Zeroquarantacinque (Vittorio Sala, 1952), spoke about the disappearance of the Roman lumpen proletariat ambiguously, shifiting from an appraisal of the new (the rebirth of the city reflected in the destruction of shacks and the construction of INA-Casa projects) to eulogizing the past (the old pre-modern societies slowly disappearing together with these neighbourhoods). Pasolini’s point was, however, that in the late 1950s the issue had yet to be solved, and that the way in which the government was dealing with the miserable living conditions in the exFascist borgate consisted of a renewed process of brutal elimination and dislocation. During the 1950s, excavators had torn down all the shacks little by little, forcing the poor to relocate gradually further out into the outskirts of Rome. Some of them, like Tommasino’s family, received a home from the state. Many others, however, like the protagonists of Accattone (1960) and also of Vittorio De Sica’s Il tetto (The Roof, 1955), still lived in self-made shacks clustered in the abandoned lands at the interstices of peripheral neighbourhoods. In Giorgio Agamben’s words, the capitalist-democratic plan to eliminate the poor reproduced within itself “the people of the excluded.”22 According to Pasolini, Christian Democracy borgate were similar to the Fascist ones both visually and politically. “What are the stylistic, sociological, human criteria of these new buildings? They are the same as before. This is still a concentration camp,” he wrote.23 And then, he concluded, “The borgate of Christian Democracy are identical to those built by the Fascists, because the relationship between the poor and the state



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remains unchanged. It is still an authoritarian, paternalistic, and profoundly inhuman relationship based on ‘religious mystification.’”24 This opinion contrasts radically with the passages I quoted from Una vita violenta, in which the text seemed to agree with the early 1950s perspective shared by both “neorealist” architects and film directors who worked for the government. From the point of view of Christian Democracy, the government had always acted according to a genuine spirit of charity, never stopping to ask civil society to do the same, in the spirit of Christianity. Christian Democracy officials proclaimed and publicized what Pasolini called “religious mystification” as the earnest Catholic imperative to help the poor.25 Pasolini’s accusations of “paternalism” can be better explained when considering the state’s relationship to its citizens in terms of “pastoral power.” The subjects of pastoral power are not the legal subjects of sovereignty, but rather the living individuals whose health, wealth, and security had to be defended.26 Housing plans intended to ensure the continued existence of precisely this power dynamic. In Il problema sociale della casa (1957), Christian Democracy Senator Giovanni Spagnolli explained his party’s position on the housing questions in a way that sustains my hypothesis: he argued that by providing each citizen and their families with a decent dwelling, the state logically protected the welfare of the Italian population, that is, “the patrimony of the nation.”27 For it was in the home that each citizen (and the governing agency) could take care of the education of children and the “cultura pre-lavorativa” (culture prior to the workplace). Housing projects articulated long-term strategies of governance among the Italian lower and middle classes, satisfying the primary need for a dwelling and the individual’s aspiration to a higher social status. Moreover, these projects were responsible for both controlling where the population was located, especially concerning the rural areas and the major urban centres, and also supervising individuals and their families, in particular, on the outskirts of major urban centres where crime rates were very high and the spread of disease might affect other more central neighbourhoods and the middle class. As I stated at the beginning of this chapter, this kind of power dynamics took shape in the structuring of housing plans according to a twofold goal of both economic and moral recovery of the Italian citizens. Spagnolli extensively addressed the moral and religious aspects of the housing question, basing his assumptions on the teachings of the Catholic Church. Citing Pope Pius XII and his speech from 1942, which praised the institution of the family, Spagnolli maintained that a house is “the prerequisite for a

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morally healthy family,” as well as “the basis of an appropriate society, from an ethical and economic point of view.”28 References to the Vatican’s influence on Christian Democracy’s social legislation are present throughout the volume, where Spagnolli claimed that private ownership of a home was a right of every citizen, just as much as the right to live in prosperity and the right to raise a family. The Imperative of Self-Help ECA films publicizing the housing projects of this era also emphasized the role of the governing democratic power in restoring the traditional family by providing it with a modern dwelling. This agreement between Christian Democracy and the American agency in matters of sexual relationships contrasts with the more popular assumption about the negative effects of American culture, whose consumerism and sexual behaviours represented an attack against the traditional values of Italian / Catholic culture.29 In fact, both American and Italian officials had an interest in containing the effects of modernization, which would have negatively impacted the practice of saving and the traditional gender hierarchy, the core values of a welfare society. In addition to INA-Casa, ECA films focus on the housing plan initiated in the immediate postwar period by the United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA), which was intended to serve the same purpose: the economic and moral rehabilitation of the Italian people. The Comitato Amministrativo Soccorso ai Senzatetto (CASAS) was originally conceived to give temporary relief to lower- and middle-class citizens who had lost their homes during the war and who were at that point living in improvised dwellings. Although independent from the state, UNRRACASAS employed researchers and architects from the Centro Nazionale di Ricerca (CNR) and the Istituto Nazionale di Urbanistica (INU), people who also contributed to INA-Casa projects. UNRRA-CASAS worked independently from state policies but shared with governmental plans the moral and social discourses on housing. Both the Italian government and the ECA supported the work of “social assistants,” who entered the homes of Italian families to educate them on moral and social conduct.30 Similarly to the Fanfani Plan, UNRRA-CASAS strove to create “vital centers of work and familial life together.”31 At the same time, whereas the Christian Democracy perspective conveyed in films and writings consisted of expressions of compassion and pity for the poor, who would soon be eliminated from the geography of



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the Italian nation, ECA films appeared to praise those living in poverty for their good will, which pushed them to find a solution to their problems, albeit temporary. This difference in perspective is epitomized in the principle of “self-help,” or, in its Italian version, “aiutare ad aiutarsi.” This slogan pervaded the Marshall Plan’s informational campaign as well as UNRRA’s and intersected with that of solidarity. It related directly to UNRRA housing plans, which asked those individuals who had had their house damaged but not destroyed to work autonomously in fixing their property rather than ask for a new home in the housing projects. Fur­ thermore, films and posters by the ECA featured a model of the selfmade man, empowered by work and the entrepreneurial spirit. With the state out of the picture, individuals were invited both to work in solidarity with their fellow Italians and with other European citizens, taking advantage of help received by international organizations, and to find in themselves the strength to succeed, finally. By collaborating with others, it was possible to achieve national economic recovery. “Whatever the weather, we only reach welfare together,” stated an ECA poster (Figure 3.3). “You hold the key,” claimed another one: each nation was responsible for making sure that the funds provided by the ECA would bear fruit in the future (Figure 3.4).32 These ideals of freedom and autonomy of the liberal subject, which informed the discourse of “self-help,” contrasted with the presence of social workers in the lives of individuals and their participation in the management of their families. I interpret this contradiction by claiming that, from the point of view of Americans, Italians still had to be taught the rules of conduct of modern life before they could really take care of themselves autonomously. Barbara Allason’s memoirs, which I mentioned in the first chapter, expressed this position by making a distinction between the attitudes of northern and southern Italians concerning the responsibilities of social assistants. Allason explained that social workers attempted to spread love for work and contempt for begging, to educate Italian men and women on the rules of hygiene, to eradicate the “habit of promiscuity,” and to fight against superstitions.33 In other words, the work of social assistants was not to provide immediate relief but to ingrain certain habits into a social group. According to Allason, northern people had no need for this sort of assistance because they had these habits already “in their blood.” To put it in another way, only those Italians who lived in a modern society and worked in a capitalist economy of mass production could have the expected moral values and social conduct. Southern Italians still had to be “educated or reeducated.”

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Figure 3.3. E. Spreckmeester, Marshall Plan Poster (1950). Courtesy of the George C. Marshall Foundation, Lexington, Virginia.



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Figure 3.4. Leonard Ray Horton and Ronald Sandefort, Marshall Plan Poster (1950). Courtesy of the George C. Marshall Foundation, Lexington, Virginia.

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In fact, even though INA-Casa complexes and UNRRA-CASAS villages were spread throughout the Italian peninsula, films portraying life in the housing projects and, consequently, demonstrating how to fit into modern society were mostly set in southern Italy. For example, Puglia il lavoro, which I discussed in chapter 1, shows the new neighbourhoods of Corvisea and Tamburi in Taranto in which, in the commentator’s words, “families left the infected alleys of the old city for the new, clean little houses built by the minister of public works.” According to the commentator, these families “truly feel that something has changed in the air down south.”34 INA-Casa affected the way in which southern people felt about reality, while the new buildings completely modified their lifestyle. In the following sections of this chapter, I analyse several short films dealing with housing projects and discuss the ways in which visible modifications in urban spaces and architecture like the one described and shown in Puglia il lavoro connected to changes in the mentality and lifestyle of the Italian population. The principles of solidarity and of selfhelp that characterized the housing plans permeated the narratives of the films that were meant to publicize them, both visually and in the commentary. Documentaries and docu-fictions presented models of dwellers to imitate and advertised the appealing features of housing projects, instilling faith in the future and in the democratic regime. I will start by comparing three films featuring the city of Rome: Vittorio Sala’s Zeroquarantacinque (1952) and Giuliano Tomei’s La casa (1950), as well as Giorgio Ferroni’s Ai margini della città (At the Outskirts of the City, 1954), produced by Istituto Luce for the Centro di Documentazione. The first two films demonstrate the extent to which the notion of solidarity and the imperative of self-help, respectively, applied to narratives centred on the decisiveness of the housing question in the postwar social and economic crisis. Ferroni’s film, on the other hand, shows how the exception became the rule in the transition from the state of emergency caused by the Second World War to the economic boom of the late 1950s. The Cavemen of Rome: 045, La casa, and Ai margini della città The short film 045 begins with a shot of two workers walling up the entrance to a cave at the site of the Baths of Caracalla in Rome.35 While a strain of pathetic music plays in the background, the camera pans over the arches and stops in front of a different cave, inhabited by a family, the Torrianis. The voice-over narrates that the “tuguri” (shacks) at the baths have been inhabited by “cavernicoli” (cavemen) for seven years, but



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that slowly the city has closed them and provided families with new homes. The Torrianis were among the last to be living there, in cave number “045.” As the commentator explains, a “zero” marked all the “abitazioni abusive” (unauthorized dwellings) in the city’s registry. At the end of the film, after an overview of the history of the housing industry in Italy since 1945, the camera returns to this location to discover how things have developed for the family. At this point, the commentator reveals that when viewers first met the Torrianis, they were waiting for workers to close their cave, ready to move to a new home in the housing projects. In a series of medium shots and close-ups, viewers can see in this last sequence how the Torrianis have radically changed in the passage from the cave to the new building. A close-up shows the father holding a half-naked baby as he stands in front of the cave with his wife, who is holding another older child. In the next medium shot, which follows almost abruptly, the older child is caught standing beside his dad wearing a different outfit, which clearly stands out as more elegant. Then, in a pan from above, the camera follows the entire family as they enter the new house. A final close-up concludes the sequence with a frame of the street number “12.” Quite emphatically, the normalization of the Italian family corresponds to the “normalization” of street numbers. Over these series of images, the commentator declares: They are not cavemen anymore; they move towards an upstanding house. Another zero has been erased, others will disappear in a short time; they will give up their space to make way for normal street addresses, they will end up in the field of memory.36

The story of the Torrianis constitutes the narrative framework within which the film develops the history of the housing industry from 1945 to the present. This framework is meaningful in two ways: first, the fictional story enacts a trajectory of progress that parallels that of the history of the Italian nation. Second, the family’s characteristics of social behaviours and gender roles function to create a structure of moral and social values by which the progress of the housing industry can be articulated and interpreted as a mission to save the poor (and society) from corruption. The “documentary” about the housing industry, which follows the fictional introduction, portrays the evidence of progress. Initially, viewers learn about other cases of Roman families forced to live in temporary and illegal dwellings, in marginal spaces such as the Baths of Caracalla. Afterwards, in a newsreel fashion, 045 shows men at work in the housing

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projects built thanks to the Fanfani Plan, as well as images of the many buildings already completed. The rhetoric of the postwar government is made of camera movements and images that correspond to this idea of progress and radical change. Crane shots that look at the sprawling extremities of a metropolis take viewers directly to the place where changes are at work; camera movements from the inside to the outside of a building through an open window make them feel the joy of those who have just taken possession of their new apartments; the frontal shot of the framed landscape outside the window makes the future visible on the horizon, identifying the point of view of the INA-Casa dweller with that of the viewers. The origins of the housing question lie in the Second World War: newsreel footage shows the destruction caused by bombings, and accompanying statements and images of reconstruction harmonize the unevenness of the present. In this way, 045 denies that elements of incomplete modernization, such as the family of “cavemen,” could be integral to the process of modernization itself. Rather, urbanization is the cure for the housing shortage as much as it is the way to successfully integrate sub-proletarians into the new economy. This integration is shown, as I explained, by making the sub-proletarians look different as they move from the cave to a modern dwelling. However, it is important to notice that, even in poverty, the Torrianis seem to act like a traditional family: the mother takes care of the children while the father is employed in some sort of productive activity. Although temporary, their dwelling has the appearance of a home, and thus, it has a number. The paradox of an unauthorized dwelling receiving an official number from the public register is, again, a metaphor for the family’s status, representing the family’s belonging and abiding to society and its rules. Christian Democracy Senator Spagnolli explained in the previously mentioned booklet on the social problem of housing how social order was deeply connected to having a place to live. He wrote, “The individual without a house or with a house that cannot be considered as such, is so far from the minimum criteria of civilization: [this person] is an individual who gets placed outside of the human assembly and often compulsorily outside the law and, therefore, against the law.”37 The ECA docu-fiction La casa conveys a similar message, but seen from the point of view of a middle-class man. Also, rather than focusing on the benefits of a welfare system, La casa highlights the importance of selfentrepreneurship in the resolution of the housing question. The male protagonist lives in an overcrowded apartment in an overcrowded building in the city of Rome. He is engaged to be married, but it is impossible



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for him to settle down because he cannot offer his girlfriend a place to build a “nest,” which “she rightfully desires,” as the commentator explains. At the beginning of the film, the man leaves the apartment where he lives with his large family and walks the road, a place where he can finally find some peace. He goes “beyond the last peripheral buildings,” says the voice-over, “to the margins of the city.” Here, the man discovers different living conditions, all unauthorized: shacks, barracks, caves, and other self-made dwellings. At the end of his journey, he reaches a highrise building under construction. As the man stands in front of the construction site, a series of fragments of newsreel footage begins to describe with great enthusiasm the progress thus far achieved in the housing industry. Through a long sequence showing several housing projects, the film closes on the notes of a triumphal soundtrack. Even though it is archived at the Cineteca di Bologna as propaganda for Christian Democracy, La casa is actually a Marshall Plan film. Several key elements of the ECA’s discourse of housing distinguish this film from 045. First, there is the message that the Italian people are grateful to Americans for their help in the reconstruction, and also that they are confident in their ability to make a full economic recovery on their own. This is the principle of self-help on a national scale. On a private level, expressed through the fiction of the film, the male protagonist of La casa also believes in his own capacity to find a home and build a family. In addition, La casa represents the encounter between the American culture of suburban living in the 1950s and the local Italian culture of urban living. The protagonist of La casa embodies a middle-class perspective on the housing problem, not only by showing some sympathy towards the poor, but also by expressing his aspiration to own a house in the suburbs. The man desires a modern nuclear family enjoying the privacy of a modern and “respectable” middle-class home. His current living situation – in a noisy building lacking any kind of privacy – is stereotypically Italian. Once the man starts walking “ai margini della città,” however, he does not find the suburbs of the American dream. On the contrary, he falls into a pre-modern society, that of the cavemen of Rome: “a village of caves,” says the voice over, where people have been evacuated from their homes during the war or immigrants from the poorest regions in the South, “dug into the rock.” As I will show in the subsequent sections, the language used here is similar to that of the voice-over commentaries in films about the southern city of Matera, where peasants still lived in paleolithic caves in the 1950s. Similarly to 045 in this particular, La casa attempts to show that poverty is a pre-modern condition, out of synchrony with a modern

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and capitalist society. The latter is better identified with the high-rise buildings under construction, defined as modern, rational, and “decent.” Finally, another point of comparison with 045 can be found in the way in which the voice-over praises the poor for those elements of their life that bear some of the respectability of the middle class. Showing people living under the bleachers of the abandoned Roman race track, the commentator states: “It is in any case a home; it must likewise be kept tidy and, if possible, even beautiful.” La casa also emphasizes the proximity of the poor to “the elegant neighbourhoods of the city.” In this sense, showing how decent a life in a cave can be helps to reassure the middle classes as well as to cultivate their benevolence towards the poor. While 045 provided sub-proletarian viewers with a model to follow and a drive for betterment, La casa offered some comfort to the middle-class audience, embodied in its male protagonist. A few years later, Giorgio Ferroni’s Ai margini della città combines these two perspectives of empowerment and containment of the lower classes with a far more pathetic tone. In 1954, people are still living in barracks, only now the slums are growing where the borgate rapidissime once stood, in the wastelands between the INA-Casa projects and the city centre rather than at the Baths of Caracalla. Similarly to the recent past, the slums are shown to be as clean as they could be, albeit modest. The commentary explains, “This is a poor life, for sure, but it is not sad.”38 In addition, one can see the many jobs that the inhabitants perform, practising the “arte dell’arrangiarsi,” or the art of scraping by. One line in the commentary is particularly telling: “a person’s need to rely on ingenuity makes for a powerful and optimistic life. In an atmosphere of perfect disorder, berets are being made for the guardians of order [police officers].”39 Ai margini della città combines images of the dwellings with those of people at work while the voice-over praises their strength, determination, and desire to be productive. The eulogy to the pre-modern world of the sub-proletariat in this film from the mid-1950s reveals a change in strategy vis-à-vis the housing question: rather than representing the poor as decent and yet temporary, Ferroni’s film suggested nostalgically that pre-modern societies were perhaps less abundant in property, but rich in moral values. Viewers cannot glean from the film the reasons behind the persistence of slums, but nonetheless, they feel for the inhabitants and admire their strength. In reality, war victims who had lost their homes during the conflict no longer constituted the majority of those living on the outskirts of Rome; now



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they came from southern Italy, where they could not support their families financially. Clearly, the intended political effects of the film were to divert attention from the fallacies of governmental programs. In addition, the film perhaps promotes the idea that indigence and exclusion were only states of emergency, rather than inherent to the modernized world. To use Ernst Bloch’s definition, according to Ai margini della città, sub-proletarians were “subjectively” rather than “objectively” nonsynchronous elements of Italian society. According to Bloch, subjectively non-synchronous are those elements in a society that are intentionally (and politically) exploited because they appear to live in a different time.40 On the other hand, the “objectively non-synchronous is that which is far from and alien to the present; it includes both declining remnants and, above all, uncompleted past, which has not yet been ‘sublated’ by capitalism.”41 In this light, we might say that 045 represented the poor as objectively non-synchronous because the idea expressed in the film was that governmental plans would successfully “sublate” them in the near future. A few years later, as the poor were still visible in the same slums, it was clear that poverty was a long-term social condition, not merely a temporary symptom of the postwar emergency. Therefore, Ai margini della città represented the poor as “subjectively” rather than “objectively” nonsynchronous elements of a modern society, in which people like Rome’s lumpen-proletariat could only be alien to the present. The pathetic voiceover commentary and the melodic tune playing over the images of the new slums indicated that the poor should be looked at almost nostalgically, and certainly with compassion. Hope for the Hopeless: The Cavemen of Matera and the Housing Project “La Martella” “Cavernicoli” (cavemen) is the word used to describe the inhabitants of the emergency dwellings built in Rome between the ruins of ancient Roman monuments or on the sites of the Fascist borgate rapidissime. The same word was also used in a more literal sense to describe the rural population living in Lucania, an area in southern Italy that was at the centre of national and international interest. The city of Matera, in particular, was specifically famous (and infamous) for the “sassi,” the caves curved in the tufa hill (Sasso Caveoso), first built in prehistoric times and inhabited mostly by peasants until the 1950s. Program Chief Vincent Barnett of the ECA Italy Mission stated in an interview:

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Matera is a city in which, at that time, many of the people literally lived in caves dug in the hillside. Now, what you’re visualizing when I say people lived in caves isn’t what you would see if you went there. These caves were very nicely furnished and had carpets on the floor and electric lighting and things like that […] but they were caves, they were still caves.42

An anonymous document in the folder “La Martella” (1953), collected in the Records of Foreign Assistance Agencies at the National Archives and Records Administration, in Maryland, summarizes a few important aspects of the American perspective towards the inhabitants of Matera’s caves: In Italy’s deep South, Lucania is the poorest and perhaps the most underdeveloped area. One of its two main cities and provincial seats, Matera, enjoys a questionable fame: about half of its 27,000 odd inhabitants are 20th century troglodytes […] Thus democratic Italy, with the help of Ameri­ can aid, is going a long way towards a final solution to Matera’s troglodyte problem, providing not only homes for the homeless but also new hope for the hopeless.43

Being “20th century troglodytes,” Matera’s peasants provide a good example of an asynchronous society – a social formation seen as living in contemporary times but belonging in reality to a different time. The term “troglodyte,” however, also carries a derogatory meaning, signifying “underdeveloped” and thus “inferior” individuals. The author of the document states that democracy and US aid give the “troglodytes” both economic and “cultural” betterment: democratic Italy would change their world view and provide them with hope. It was one of the priorities of the new Christian Democracy regime to intervene and eliminate such unacceptable “shame” for the nation. In this sense, the logic behind the project does not seem to differ from the urban cleansing of Fascist memory (the “sventramenti”). On the other hand, UNRRA initially approached the issue in a careful manner, without rushing to destroy the caves and simply replace them with modern buildings. UNRRA-CASAS transformed the realm of the sassi into an object of study and sponsored a variety of research projects, including interviews with peasants to establish their desires regarding the new dwellings.44 UNRRA-CASAS formed a commission of national and international scholars, the Commissione per lo studio della città e dell’agro di Matera,” assisted by the Centro Nazionale di Ricerca (CNR) and the



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Istituto Nazionale di Urbanistica (INU), with the goal of studying the realities of the region and thus preparing architects and legislators to work on urban planning and, more generally, on the “opera di risanamento.” Frederick George Friedmann, an American sociologist, was at the head of the commission. A new criteria was introduced in the study of this region, which consisted of interviews with the caves’ inhabitants about their feelings concening moving from the city to the new “borgo” in the countryside, about the location where they wished to build the “borgo,” and about how they would like their home to be designed.45 The results of the study were published in 1956 in three volumes, which included research on the geography, history, economy, and society of the area.46 In particular, the second volume discusses the relationship between the old and the new “system of living,” reporting and analysing the memories of the elderly and the present experiences of the young. Vittorio Gallo’s La via Appia (The Appian Way, 1950) mirrors the dynamics of research undertaken by the commission and sharpens the contrast between the old and the new. Produced by Telefilm (Rome) for ECA Italy, it illustrates how the caves were organized, furnished, and as clean as any other dwelling. The way in which the film looks at Matera’s cavemen is, in fact, similar to the way in which American documentary filmmaker Robert Flaherty looked at Nanook the Eskimo or at the fishermen on the island of Aran: with a romantic camera style that, as film scholar Brian Winston has written, relies on a mannered composition, a baroque flow of images, and a tendency to “seek the picturesque.”47 People living in caves are preserved as out-of-time exceptions, within (and not without) the modernizing whole. The misery shown in neorealist films such as Roberto Rossellini’s Paisà (Paisan, 1946), wherein one episode revolves around the “cavemen” of Naples, is replaced by the dignity of “noble savages” struggling for survival. The voice-over in La via Appia says: “In Matera, people could not put one brick on top of another. They had to look for space inside the rock, burrowing into it with obstinate persistence, like some molluscs would do.” La via Appia’s omniscient narrator knows what life meant in Matera and explains this life by means of much-sought vocabulary and elaborated syntax. “The lives of these people were up until now barren and monotonous as the uniform greyness of the rocks that seal the city in an incredible coil of stone,” he says. While the images express the attempt to get close to Matera’s people by means of close-ups, the commentary expresses the distance that follows the fieldwork in scholarly inquiries. The narration creates a linguistic gap that positions viewers together

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with these scholars above the objects represented in the images. Opening with a crane-shot, the sequence at Matera closes from an identical point of view, a vision of the city from the sky, as if viewers were observing the scene on the top of a hill. Interestingly, the same closeness / distance binary functions in photographs of the United States Information Service, taken at the same time that La via Appia was made, some of which were included in the publication of the UNRRA study commission. In the photo in Figure 3.5, for example, the woman’s and the child’s inner feelings are interpreted in the caption: “Matera, Italy. Still unaware of despair, a small boy of Matera, Italy unconsciously repeats the gesture of his grandmother’s hands.”48 Also sponsored by ECA, Matera / Life and Death of a Cave City (Romolo Marcellini, 1948–53) publicized “La Martella,” one “borgo” among the many built outside Matera in the 1950s, where the government meant to relocate the rural masses. The goal was to show that a better life awaited the peasants in the new city built on the hill. As the film voice-over says: “out of the caves, into the sun.” Like La via Appia, the first part of the film is a sort of anthropological inquiry on the “system of life” in the caves. Similarly to La via Appia, Matera showed that the caves were organized, furnished, and as clean as any other dwelling, assessing peasants as both the evidence and the example of good habits and morality. Showing peasants resigned to their life of misery and yet living in decorous and hygienic conditions, Matera reassured middle-class audiences about their own health and safety in face of a possible insurrection of the lower classes or the spread of disease, all the while praising their benevolence towards the poor.49 To sub-proletarian viewers, and in contrast to the stagnant life of the caves, Matera presented the new housing project as visible evidence of an exciting life of happiness and prosperity. Indeed, the film argued that a change in living conditions would constitute a change for the better, in the human condition. The images and sounds of the new city would astonish viewers by showing the technological miracles of modernization. Modern housing meant to harmoniously resolve the plight of the peasant, whose life would be improved only by the standards of a modern society. A trumpet call signifies a turning point in the narrative, showing how people already lived at the top of the hill, and how the Marshall Plan was building new houses there for the cave dwellers. The multiple layers of sassi, excavated in the rock, overstepping one another, traversed by tortuous alleys, stand in sharp contrast to the linear and open urban space of the new city, with white square buildings and busy boulevards.



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Figure 3.5. Ernst Haas, “Matera, Italy. Still unaware of despair, a small boy of Matera, Italy unconsciously repeats the gesture of his grandmother’s hands.” From the series “Photographs of Marshall Plan Activities in Europe and Africa ca. 1948 – ca. 1989.” Courtesy of the US National Archives and Records Administration.

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In the city, long shots or crane shots capture a mass of fast-moving people, dressed as white-collar workers or businessmen, passing through the traffic of cars and trucks. Both musical soundtrack and editing concur to articulate in a series of binaries the opposition between the modern and the pre-modern world, materialized in the new and the old cities: up and down, fast and slow, easy and hard, progressive and cyclical time, historical development and prehistoric stasis, hope and resignation. Placing these binaries in clear moral terms (good and bad), the film concludes by stating that “being,” in the sense of human being, is only possible in the modern world, that is, in a modern dwelling. The identification between being and dwelling is epigrammatically realized in the voice-over’s statement in the conclusive shot, when he says: “A man is where he lives.” The House, the Family, and Europe: A Place to Live While La via Appia and Matera represented the modernization of southern Italy through housing, A Place to Live / Case per tutti (Jacques Brunius, 1953), produced by Wessex Films and sponsored by MSA, showed how the “housing revolution” was far behind in Italy in comparison with other European countries. The film belongs to the series entitled the Changing Face of Europe, which consisted of a group of films by different European directors about the many Marshall Plan programs at work in different areas, including housing, health, industrialization, communication, and energy.50 In particular, Case per tutti includes a fictional part – the verisimilar story of a couple that has to move to Caen because the man finds a job in the housing industry. This story shows how the crisis of the family and the lack of dwellings were issues not only related to each other but also common throughout Europe. As the case of the French couple is framed in the history of the housing industry in Europe, their situation becomes emblematic. Providing more dwellings to more families both eliminated the housing shortage and normalized society. However, the approach towards these issues and the solution suggested in this USsponsored film are quite different from those in Italian governmental reels (such as Sala’s 045), as well as from other examples from commercial cinema, such as Vittorio De Sica’s Il tetto. A comparative analysis of Case per tutti, 045, and Il tetto highlights competing models of subjectivity and social structure. Jean and Marie, the couple in Case per tutti, are “displaced” physically, because they had to move from their hometown, as well as socially. Initially, gender dynamics within the couple are unconventional. As the



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voice-over says, the couple must wander throughout the city looking for “a place to live.” The woman directs and organizes the search for a dwelling, and even instructs her partner when they finally decide to build their own home in an abandoned area. Only when Jean and Marie manage to enter this home is their relationship reorganized according to conventional rules. In the last sequence, we see Jean coming home from work; the woman is framed in the window where she is hanging the laundry as he appears on the screen from behind her, putting his arms around her waist. At that point, a crying baby is heard from inside the house. In this way, Case per tutti shows that the US agency shares the Catholic concern for the family. “How can a man work without a place to sleep and eat in peace?” the voice-over implores; “how can a woman hope without a hearth? Feelings, trust, family: these are destroyed when a roof is missing.”51 According to Maria Luisa Sergio, the films promoting public housing in the 1950s represented the house as “the symbol of recovered national dignity against the pervading influence of secular behavioural models brought by the Americans, and the topical site for the retrieved primacy of the Christian family.”52 According to this MSA film, the home was a common symbol of traditional values to every European family. As Matera argued, as well, the US government, as much as any other democratic regime, wished for everyone to have a home and a hearth. At the same time, Case per tutti differed in its message from the films about housing sponsored by the Italian state, as it uniquely represented in a positive light the story of a couple building their own home illegally on public soil. This action is represented as a gesture of strong will and good initiative whereas in Italian governmental films, such as 045, it is considered to be a desperate gesture to which people resorted and from which they would be rescued in the moment when a space opened up for them in a housing project. In addition, Jean, Marie, and the many other people who live in illegal dwellings in Caen resemble middle-class families, judging by their clothing and their occupation. The voice-over describes them as plumbers, carpenters, and other workers who had to make do for lack of other options. In other words, Jean and Marie represent a European spirit of entrepreneurship. Case per tutti addressed viewers’ concerns about housing by claiming that capital investment would bring a prosperous economy in the future. In the meantime, each individual of every class had to embrace the motto of “self-help.” On the contrary, people shown living in caves in Italian governmental films were poor, as opposed to the middle-class families in Case per tutti, who just happened to be without a home. Even though the lives of the poor in

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045 or Ai margini della città were represented as decorous and worthy of praise, they still confined the issue of unauthorized dwellings to the lower classes. The Torriani family in 045 epitomized the symptom of a crisis, one which the state was trying to solve. Eventually, 045 demanded that viewers believe in the state and have faith that some day they would be rescued like the Torrianis. In this respect, theatrical feature films such as De Sica’s Il tetto presented a critical view, which both defied Italian governmental films and criticized the positive American attitude towards entrepreneurship in moments of social crisis. The story is almost identical in its general plot to that of Jean and Marie: Natale and Luisa, a working-class couple, are searching in vain for a home where they might raise the child they are expecting. Since it is impossible to find an affordable apartment to rent, Natale and Luisa eventually decide to build their own home, exactly like the French couple and like many other families in Rome, as De Sica’s film shows. However, the story of the French couple exalts the capacity of men and women to change themselves and the reality in which they live, in a world where the primary value is the freedom to act independently. Viewers do not get a sense that living in such spaces is a terrible fate; rather, they appreciate the inventiveness of workers who have made their own homes. On the contrary, through the story of Natale and Luisa, Il tetto reiterates the main issue in De Sica’s Ladri di biciclette, namely, the lack of solidarity in postwar Italian society, where each must fight for survival. Whereas Marie and Jean construct their house at leisure in broad daylight, Natale and Luisa must build their home at night, out of sight of other wretches who want to steal the land they struggled to find. Whereas Jean and Marie argue about where to put a window in the home they improvised without facing any legal issue, Natale and Luisa must have a door on their shack before the morning, so that when the police come, they will not be able to evict the couple. Because the time they have is so short, in the end they are unable to finish even with the help of a few men, and their home has a door but not a roof. When the police arrive, Luisa “borrows” a baby from a neighbour and is able to arouse pity in the officers and convince them to look the other way. In this final gesture, Il tetto reminds us of the man in Ladri di biciclette who lets Antonio Ricci go after Ricci tries unsuccessfully to steal his bike. In both cases, a random act of compassion functions as the momentary placebo in a situation in which the state is unable to take care of the citizenry. While Case per tutti happily announced the solution to the housing problems thanks to the many projects of solidarity between European nations, Il tetto



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exposed the everyday struggles of Italian families in a society in which solidarity is an unanswered political demand for the state. Epilogue: Resistance, Exodus In the film Borgate della riforma (Villages of the Reform, 1955), directed by Luigi Scattino and produced by Documento Film for the CdD, a pilotvoice-over flies over southern Italy and visits some of the poorest areas (Calabria, Lucania, and Puglia), regions in which the state has built several of these borgate. Borgate della riforma aims at demonstrating that the country went out of emergency and back to normality by solving the housing problem. The inside of the borgate is compared with the outside, and those who live there demonstrate not only an improved economic condition but also a superior moral status. The pilot-narrator calls the clusters of apartment buildings “modern, pretty little towns,” in which “the sense of property is sacred.” According to the film’s commentator, the rural worker who enters the new apartment takes a qualitative step away from a “primitive way of life” and towards “civilization.” The pilot-narrator never enters the borgate, but he speaks for those who live there. Viewers look at the borgate from the pilot’s point of view and enjoy the power of his knowledge. Borgate della riforma, like the other films that I have examined in this chapter, conveyed the intent to spiritually and physically transform the Italian population as much as the Italian landscape. If housing projects were meant to provide both prosperity and happiness, however, the results were often different from what would have been expected. The case of housing, in fact, exemplifies a further aspect of the analytics of government. As Mitchell Dean states, “Government is any more or less calculated and rational activity […] that seeks to shape conduct by working through our desires, aspirations, interests and beliefs, for definite but shifting ends and with a diverse set of relatively unpredictable consequences, effects and outcomes.”53 “La Martella” was meant to epitomize the revival of southern peasants, yet ECA official Vincent Barnett revealed that “within a year or two the people were going back to their caves, because they liked the community life of the caves better than they liked the artificially structured things that happened when some planners build you a city as the way you ought to live, instead of the way you like to live.”54 Along the same lines, an officer at the US Embassy, Aaron Schreiman, complained to Guido Nadzo, director of UNRRA-CASAS, about the way in which social workers managed the movie theatres in

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the housing projects. He wrote, “Is that not putting control of what the people shall see and hear, and even think, into the hands of one spe­ cial  group?”55 Enlightened architects and industrialists such as Olivetti thought that “La Martella” was meant to be the first of many new innovative communities in an Italy fuelled by democratic ideas. Instead, according to Olivetti himself, “the diversity of the social and political structure of Italy was not taken into consideration,” and the Marshall Plan was implemented through the same powers (monopolies and bureaucracy) that had created or accepted Fascism.56 Eventually, Riccardo Musatti wrote in his account of a visit to Lucania in 1953 that “peasants located in the new homes [were] psychologically lost and obscurely unhappy.”57 In 1960, a state law forced the relocation of fifteen thousand people from the caves of Matera. Most of them did not stay in the Lucanian region, but rather migrated, often to northern Italy. Southern men joined the northern working class, constituting an anomaly in Western Europe in regard to the composition of the labour force. In the years to come, this anomaly would become unexpectedly useful to the cause of workers’ struggles.58

Chapter Four

South Like North

Directed by Nelo Risi for Olivetti in 1960, the film Sud come Nord (South Like North) depicted the transformation of Pozzuoli, a southern city near Naples, thanks to the opening of a new plant. Crafted in a traditional documentary style, Sud come Nord provided national and foreign viewers with evidence that the Italian economy was flourishing nationwide. It demonstrated, furthermore, the mystifying power of the idea that the “backwardness” of southern Italy impeding the country’s modernization was due to the natural predispositions of southern Italians, who were lazy, passive, and pessimistic. Thus, Risi’s film challenged the discourse of the Southern Question, essentialized and racialized by both northern and southern Italian intellectuals in their writings since the unification.1 This discourse was further sustained in the 1950s by the seminal work of American sociologist Edward Banfield, entitled The Moral Basis of a Backward Society (1958). It consisted of a report and conclusions drawn from a field research project in a small Lucanian village in the mid-1950s. Banfield proposed that southern Italian society was backward because southern people’s natural propensity was to satisfy the shortest-term interests of their families; their “amoral familism” prevented them from acting for the common good.2 Against the theories and assumptions of Italian and American intellectuals, Sud come Nord claimed that once structural and political unevenness had disappeared, Pozzuoli not only looked like but also was like any northern city. Produced at the height of the economic boom, Risi’s documentary encapsulated ten years of sponsored films about southern Italy. Italian governmental productions about the agrarian reform showed that the modernization of agriculture, irrigation, redistribution of the land, and the creation of rural villages close to the cultivated land had completely

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transformed the South both economically and socially, forming a class of small farmers who owned their land and made it productive, thus building a unified nation.3 Similarly, the US Economic Cooperation Administration (ECA) publicized land reclamation, the construction of aqueducts and other such programs funded by the Cassa per il Mezzogiorno (Fund for the South, established in 1950), an agency collecting Marshall Plan counterpart funds – proceeds from the sale of Marshall Plan goods ­– intended specifically for projects in southern Italy.4 Other sponsoring agencies, like the National Union for the Fight against Illiteracy (UNLA) and the Propaganda and Information Service(Servizio Propaganda e Stampa, SPES) of Christian Democracy, the largest party in Italy’s parliament throughout most of this period, also produced films that represented how southern Italians participated in reconstruction, engaged actively in productive activities, and embraced democracy. How much these films corresponded to the reality of southern Italy is only part of what was at stake in the publicity of postwar programs of modernization. Most importantly, I argue, the challenge to the North / South dichotomy of sponsored films is a “façade,” to use historian Paul Ginsborg’s expression about the agrarian reform. According to Ginsborg, the three laws passed concerning agriculture did not actually constitute a “reform.” These laws dealt exclusively with the question of land distribution; they did not consider agrarian contracts or the conditions and wages of landless laborers.5 Just as the structure of power relations remained unchanged by the new agrarian laws, so the social discourse produced by sponsored films did not radically overturn the power relations between southern peasants and democratic agencies of power. In his recent discussion on the Southern Question, Italian thinker Franco Cassano argued that the discourse of modernization homogenized cultural differences and grafted them onto the same temporal line of development, with its category of progress and the abosolutism of velocity, by which standard the South appears to be an underdeveloped yetto-be-North.6 Although I agree with Cassano, at the same time I submit that the binary opposition between northern and southern individuals was not really eliminated in the discourse of modernization but rather displaced into the realm of productivity. In this chapter, I show that sponsored films such as Sud come Nord, while appearing to promote a renaissance of the South, enforced a “northern” conception of the world by educating southern people on the imperative of work, productivity, and efficiency. The negative part of the whole – the “other-space” – still remained in place; only it was not southern Italy but a barren, infertile



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field. The “other” was not the southerner but the idle, the unemployed, or the underemployed. Furthermore, I explore how the discourse on the Southern Question was rearticulated in the binary of (non) productivity, both at the national and at the international levels. Particularly in US-sponsored films, the “South” was not only the South of Italy, but rather Italy itself, in relation to the other Western European democracies and the United States. This parallel is not new; in fact, as Nelson Moe argued, “both in the nineteenth century and after, Italy’s Southern Question needs to be construed not only in terms of the country’s internal division but also in terms of its identity as a southern country within Europe.”7 From the last decades of the eighteenth century on, Moe maintained, “Italy had not simply fallen from its previous heights; it was backward with respect to the most advanced, modern societies in Europe.”8 Roberto Dainotto, as well, has highlighted a “latitudinal crisis,” which began at the time of the Catholic Reformation. According to Dainotto, this divide had religious connotations, opposing “an increasingly wealthy Protestant North and an increasingly impoverished Catholic South” (in this respect, it is relevant that Adriano Olivetti was a follower of the Protestant Waldensian Church).9 Interestingly, Dainotto described the opposition between the South and the North in a way that seems modelled on Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben’s observations on the concept of “people,” which I mentioned in the introduction. Both Agamben and Dainotto considered the binary of inclusion and exclusion (of self and otherness) not as an opposition between two separate entities, but rather as an internal fracture within the whole. As Dainotto explained, the “South” became “the sufficient and indispensable internal Other: Europe, but also the negative part of it.”10 Rescuing the South Leland Barrows, deputy mission director of ECA Italy, declared that Americans were dealing with “a developed country that happened to have a backward region.”11 Southern Italy, Barrows maintained, presented economic and social problems typical of a “Point Four-type situation.” Presi­ dent Truman explained in his inaugural address of 20 January 1949 that the American program for “peace and freedom” would emphasize four courses of action. Under Point Four, he declared: “we must embark on a bold new program for making the benefits of our scientific advances and industrial progress available for the improvement and growth of underdeveloped areas.”12 Italy was not treated as an “underdeveloped area,”

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Barrows added, since Italians themselves “were doing the kind of development thing with technical assistance and everything else that Point Four would undertake to do.”13 This contradiction in Barrows’ assumptions about Italy being both similar to and different from other underdeveloped areas is reflected in ECA films, which represented Italy, on the one hand, as the poor and pre-modern part of Europe and Italians, on the other, as strongly engaged in reconstruction and production to the same extent as any other European citizens. The idea of a “south like north,” expressed in Olivetti’s films and many films sponsored by the Italian government, not only concerned Italian viewers and their beliefs about their fellow citizens in the South but also revealed the aspirations of these sponsors vis-à-vis the ECA’s power over Italy’s economy. Speaking about the discourse on the Southern Question, Jane Schneider argued that northern Italians, with the complicity of southern intellectuals, displaced their anxieties about belonging to Europe onto that part of the country that they saw as most culturally distant.14 Objecting to this distance, films such as La terra nuova (The New Land, Francesco De Feo, 1952) and L’ora del Sud (The Time of the South, Edmondo Cancellieri, 1954) challenged the argument that was promoted in many of the ECA’s productions, namely, that Italy was still the backward part of Europe. In these films, the rampant peasant struggles are left out of the picture, assuring audiences that economic self-sufficiency would soon be a reality.15 Parallel to these competing representations of Italy, the actual relationship between the Italian government and the ECA consisted of frequent negotiations rather than complete and quiet submission on the Italian side. At the end of his term of office in the early 1950s, David Zellerbach, head of the European Recovery Program (ERP) Mission in Rome, stated that the underlying reason for the limited achievements in terms of structural problems was “the refusal of the vested interests in politics, industry, agriculture and bureaucracy to embrace the Marshall Plan vision of mass production for mass consumption based on free enterprise and constantly increasing productivity.”16 ECA Italy Deputy Chief Vincent Barnett also maintained that a strong “difference in perspectives” animated the Italian-American committee, which reviewed programs for the use of counterpart funds: the American political goal of maximizing investments struggled against the Italian fear of inflation.17 Americans “could not initiate a land reform program in a sovereign country,” Barnett argued, and the Cassa per il Mezzogiorno “was a joint effort by the Italians and the Americans.”18



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Eventually, it became clear that the “joint effort” was fundamentally dependent on the common goal of fighting the Italian Communist Party (PCI). Economically fostering and supporting small peasant landownership, the agrarian reform undermined the Communist objective of uniting the peasantry around a program of cooperation and egalitarianism. The political issues at stake were so crucial as to force the US administration to favour the controversial decision to implement land expropriation. As Barnett revealed in an interview in 1994: Why should the American taxpayers be paying to seize lands from landowners and chop them up and distribute them to these radical, you know, people in the south? […] We had our problems with some Congressmen in trying to explain to them that this was not just an economic measure to increase the productivity of these lands that hadn’t been properly used. It was also a political measure to reduce the instability and anti-establishment feelings in the south by giving people a stake in their country and a stake in the future of the country. So, it was political, it was political as well as economic, and certainly, I think from the Italian government point of view, it was the political aspect which was the decisive element in inducing it to undertake this.19

Fostering individual entrepreneurship and international cooperation, the ECA Film Unit assisted Christian Democracy (Democrazia Cristiana, DC) in counteracting the PCI’s hegemonic strategy, which was based on a class alliance between the southern peasants and the northern wage workers, as suggested in Antonio Gramsci’s essay “La questione meridionale” (The Southern Question, 1926), an important reference for the PCI’s secretary, Palmiro Togliatti.20 ECA films underscored the workers’ attachment to the land and the international if not universal scope of interest in people’s work. These films constituted a classless social space: the European community, inhabited by the citizens of Europe. This space replaced the communist vision of the field of social struggle in which the peasants, allied with the proletariat, would challenge the landowners. On the other hand, the Centro di Documentazione and the SPES educated Italian viewers on the moral values of work, the family, and private property. In the essay La riforma agraria in Italia (Agrarian Reform in Italy, 1952), Angelo Perego highlighted that “among all the goods that can be objects of private property, says Pius XII in accordance with the teachings of the Rerum Novarum, none conforms more to nature than the land, the family homestead, by which products the family

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gains totally or at least partially the means to maintain itself.”21 The “Pastorale dei Vescovi Meridionali” (1948), which revolves around the concept of landownership within the Catholic doctrine, also maintained that there was a “natural right to own property” and a “natural right to work […] that protected human dignity and made access to private property available.”22 In the “Pastorale,” landed property was, again, “the most in keeping with nature,” and small property had to be defended and improved for the social and economic elevation of the worker as well as for moral purposes. By making private property a natural right, Christian Democracy naturalized the transformation of peasants into small landowners and, more generally, the practices of the agrarian reform. Two films are best representative of the politics of the Italian and US governments with respect to the agrarian reform and the modernization of agriculture in (southern) Italy: the aforementioned La terra nuova, produced by Istituto Luce for the Centro di Documentazione, and Bonifiche / Land Redeemed, directed by Vittorio Gallo and produced by Telefilm for ECA Italy.23 In La terra nuova, commentator and writer Nicola Adelfi resonantly declares: “For the first time, Italians have the certainty that tomorrow will be a better day for them and for their children.”24 Adelfi also wrote and narrated the commentaries for the ECA series the Changing Face of Europe, in which Italy and Greece played the role of fifth wheel and which I will analyse in more detail in the next chapter. In this Luce production, however, Adelfi’s opinions were quite different, announcing the complete resolution of the problem of indigence in the South. La terra nuova stressed the uniqueness of Christian Democracy politics in comparison with those of the past. According to the commentator, the economic disparity between northern and southern Italy was historically caused by wars, defective government, and the implacable disease of malaria, all collectively responsible for killing southern civilization and its population. The voice-over urges viewers to compare previous attempts at land reclamation in southern Italy to the success of today’s bonifica and the government’s future plan to expand it. Using the third person plural to quote “altri regimi” (other regimes) that had previously glorified themselves for their great achievements, then switching to the first person plural to address viewers and invite them to compare the present to the past, Adelfi eventually homogenized the North and the South and created the superior unity of the nation. In the last sequence, the identification of individual bodies with the body politic comes true. Viewers enter the borgata of Gaudiano, in the province of Bari, in the region of Puglia. Romantic music is playing in



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the background when the camera stops in front of a marble plaque that reads: “Gaudiano,” new city of democratic Italy, here bears witness to the tenacious constructive will of the men of the South, who modified the arid and the burned [land]. (Consorzio di Bonifica della Fossa Premurgiana, 1950)25

In the next shot, the people of Gaudiano surround a woman with a baby in her arms.26 The “first citizen is born,” the voice-over says, and the baby seems to bear witness to the success achieved by southern men and women in postwar Italy: indirectly, the bonifica has proven productive for the latter as much as the former. Political and biological life intertwine and nurture one another: a new citizen is evidence of the good health of both democracy and the city. “Visibility” is a key word: the image of the city itself demonstrates the nature of southern men and demystifies the stereotypes surrounding their character. Interestingly, this scene is similar to Pelizza da Volpedo’s painting Il quarto stato. This famous work of figurative art from 1901 represented ­a mass strike, however, whereas the people in La terra nuova are going to a Church to baptize the baby. The commentator explains that it is a holiday (“giorno di festa”) for Gaudiano’s people, since both the civil registry (“registro di stato civile”) and the baptismal fountain (“fonte battesimale”) are opening today for the first time to officially introduce the first newborn. The camera pans from the new town hall to the new church, built like two pillars on opposite sides of the village. Gaudiano’s crowd is dressed for a celebration: modern, urban, and petty bourgeois outfits. Swells of triumphant music follow the men and the women as they walk to the church, to their / our future, and, the voice-over proclaims, “towards a life worth living.”27 While da Volpedo’s painting emblematically portrayed the masses struggling for emancipation, in the same way the moving images of La terra nuova staged the transformation of the rural lumpenproletariat into the new class of small owners. The ECA’s Bonifiche (1950) illustrated similarly positive attitudes towards change and betterment in southern Italy but put more emphasis on the universal values of labour and technology. Also, instead of stressing the geographical location of a particular population, as with as the Pugliese inhabitants of Gaudiano, this film homogenized northern with southern Italians in a general representation of their efforts and achievements. According to the commentator, fertile plains awaited the men who would conquer them; the imperative of modernization is a call to

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claim responsibility, for humanity and for the Earth itself. The North / South dichotomy is eliminated in the name of productivity: “in the North as in the South,” the commentator claims, “in the Padania valley as in Lucania, we will not stop our activity until we make the most out of every single square metre of our land, for the life and the welfare of our generation and the generations to come.”28 The image of water that closes the film emphasizes the commentator’s statements with this sense of an unstoppable and sweeping force triumphantly moving ahead. A consistent use of the image of water flowing into canals and out of pipes might provoke in viewers a sense of the power and strength of nature and, at the same time, of its control by means of man-made devices. The arrival of technical assistance would determine a necessary improvement in the economy of the region and the social life of the population: it was the beginning of a new era. Farm tractors, threshing machines, dams, and aqueducts: these were the elements that created the meraviglioso, the wonders, of modernization and that might possibly stimulate viewers’ imaginations and win their consensus. A particularly telling scene from Bonifiche depicts the construction of a dam at Montalbano, in Basilicata, represented as a major accomplishment for humankind, a synergic effort of rational and manual forces.29 The commentary frames the flow of information about the projects within a rhetorical structure and an oratorical style full of pathos. A stentorian voice-over tells us that the men employed here work for eight continuous hours inside boxes underwater in order to build the foundations. He proclaims the steadfastness of those who work for hours with their feet in the water, preparing the structures for the casting of cement. The soundtrack orchestrates the editing by emphasizing the heroism of men dispatching their duty. An impetuous rhythm follows the workers crossing the river on perilous suspension bridges, while a melodic tune accompanies the moment when the film shows the men’s tedious work in the water. At this dramatic point, leaving behind the long and medium shots of the construction site, the camera comes closer to the workers and pans across the line of men in the muddy water. During the sequence, people, machines and animals move diagonally and horizontally across the frame, generating what appears to be the great spectacle of modernization. This spectacle is both exciting for the spectators’ senses and meaningful to their minds. The commentator explains that we are watching only a part of a broader effort to raise productivity, “in order to fight unemployment and in order to decrease the disproportionate crowding of urban centres.” A crane shot emphasizes this final moment



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in which the larger picture is revealed (both conceptually and cinematographically), where the specific interests of individuals are shown to be part of the universal fight of humanity against poverty. The use of music to document national problems with emotional pathos suggests a curious link between Bonifiche and two films by American documentary filmmaker Pare Lorentz, The Plough That Broke the Plains (1936) and The River (1938). As mentioned in chapter 1, the link between Bonifiche and Lorentz’s films is there on many levels. The two directors had similar tasks to fulfil in different historical and geographical contexts, that is, documenting the practices of state intervention in agriculture. Lorentz was one of the few American directors who worked for a governmental agency, directing The Plough for the US Resettlement Administration and The River for the US Department of Agriculture.30 In addition, some documents at the historical archive of the Istituto Luigi Sturzo (ILS) show that Christian Democracy officials visited and were inspired by the work of the Tennessee Valley Authority, a federally owned corporation created to provide regional economic development and, particularly, to regulate the water flow of the Mississippi River so as to avoid floods and improve agricultural production, as depicted in The River.31 Finally, Vittorio Gallo directed two films for ECA Italy about land reclamation, Bonifiche and La via Appia, and for both of them Mario Tamanini composed and arranged the soundtrack. The Gallo-Tamanini teamwork recalls that of Pare Lorentz and Virgil Thomson, who was the composer for both The River and The Plough. In a similar fashion, the musical score basically replaces the voice-over commentary in many sequences of both Gallo’s and Lorentz’s films. In the midst of all these similarities, the most telling aspect of the link between Gallo’s and Lorentz’s respective representations of government programs is the radically different use that they make of framing. While The Plough and The River usually show images of plains and river valleys with long shots in which human figures are frequently only dark silhouettes, Bonifiche and La via Appia intertwine the long shots and panoramic visions of nature with close-ups of human faces and medium shots of moments in people’s everyday lives. In this original way, Gallo’s films exploit cinematography as much as they exploit music to infuse the viewers’ experience with emotion. By moving closer to what the voice-over calls the “craftsmen” of the bonifica, who demand “a considerable amount of coordinated and intense work,” Bonifiche attempts to make us feel the workers’ passion for the land they are making productive. Over a series of close-ups and medium shots of the workers during a lunch break, the commentator of Bonifiche declares,

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“The makers [of the bonifica] deserve to be known in person: they are strong and hard-working people who understand the vital importance of these operations, their unalterable necessity.”32 In this scene, the commentator takes on the role of the authoritative voice, with the exclusive privilege of knowing about the inner lives of the people acting in the film. Moreover, as an omniscient narrator, the commentator speaks a language that echoes General George Marshall’s speech on 15 June 1947: the Italian workers, like all Americans, had to “face up to the vast responsibility which history [had] clearly placed upon [their] country.”33 Remaking the Southerner Modernizing the South entailed, from the point of view of the ECA, an ethical demand: to help those who were in need. The writings of the American sociology professor Frederick George Friedmann seem particularly emblematic in this sense.34 In 1951, Friedmann took part in a research group that studied the social, economic, political, and cultural composition of Matera (in the southern Italian region of Lucania) and the “Agro” (the surrounding rural areas).35 A few years earlier, Carlo Levi’s book Cristo si è fermato a Eboli (Christ Stopped at Eboli, 1947) had exposed to a mass international (but especially American) audience the extremely poor living conditions of the rural population living in the caves carved into the rocks on which the city of Matera was built in ancient times.36 For the average American, Italy and Matera were objects of both pity and curiosity, and thus Matera became a prominent area of study for many American scholars. In a 1956 research report, Friedmann compared the “immensity of the American continent,” where the farmer has always dominated the land and taken advantage of it, (“he is the master, nature is his [female] slave”) to the “lunar plains of Lucania,” where “men and women moved along its curves, mounted on their pitching carriages with tall wheels, calling mules with rallying cries outside of time.”37 In Cristo si è fermato a Eboli, Levi similarly wrote that Lucania was an “other world, hedged in by custom and sorrow, cut off from History and the State, eternally patient, [a] land without comfort or solace, where the peasant lives out his motionless civilization on barren ground in remote poverty, and in the presence of death.”38 At the same time, Levi’s relationship with his “peasant friends” primarily demonstrated the intellectual’s attempt to understand them, to empathize with their sufferings, and to know them. Levi did not express a desire to “ameliorate” their lives, as Friedmann did; rather, he looked warily, even critically, upon progressive solutions that lacked a direct and deep experience of



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the land and its people. After his sister’s visit to the village where he was confined, after seeing her horror at the peasants’ miserable living conditions, especially in Matera’s caves, and her good intentions to better their lives, Levi concluded that “things in this part of the world are a good deal more complex than they appear to the clear thinking mind of a good man or woman.”39 In Friedmann’s neo-orientalist perspective, rather, the peasants were both impenetrable and incredibly fascinating. The sublime spectacle of the Lucanian plain, against which human beings saw how truly limited they were vis-à-vis the immense impenetrability of nature, generated in him a sense of nostalgia. In his words, “Today it becomes clear to me that at that time I was attracted by the epic grandeur of the fate of these peasants, that I romantically yearned to lose myself in the most ancient roots of their closed existences, that I wanted to learn their wisdom, and in exchange to help them reach some of the comforts and hopes of a more modern world.”40 Friedmann’s admiration and curiosity towards the peasants was tempered by his prejudices against the backwardness of their lifestyle, which in his view could benefit from modernization. Friedmann’s and Levi’s respective positions give a sense of the possible and often ambiguous relations between northern providers and southern recipients of public and private aid. Two sponsored films are particularly relevant to this question: Giuliano Tomei’s Paese senz’acqua / A Town without Water (1949), produced for ECA Italy, and Michele Gandin’s Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli / Christ Did Not Stop at Eboli (1952), which he directed for the Union for the Fight against Illiteracy.41 Both films focus on southern peasants but convey different perspectives on them and different ideas concerning the help that sponsoring agencies could provide. While Paese senz’acqua represented southern people as helpless individuals waiting for a providential rescue, Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli argued that anything was possible for them once they were educated. Paese senz’acqua is set in the region of Puglia, which borders the Lucania of Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli, and it is also frequently represented in the sponsored films of the 1950s (see the above-mentioned La terra nuova, among many examples).42 The film begins by showing a deserted land, emphasizing the difficulties that the people who lived there endured every day without being able to make a change. Viewers learn how the villagers cope with the scarcity of water: drinking wine instead of water; believing in the capacities of a water diviner (rabdomante) and following his dowsing rod; or simply looking at the sky and waiting for a providential rain. Ritual and magical practices define the southerners as irrational and impotent, implying both the need and the moral duty of

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modern men (American, Europeans, and Italians) to educate and nurse them. Then, Paese senz’acqua shows that thanks to the help of the European Recovery Program water will come to the village through a modern system of pipelines. The construction of the aqueduct is represented in the film as the much expected and desired event that will transform the peasants’ life, making the land productive and providing the village with facilitated and continuous access to water. In the last scene, the villagers, including the band and the mayor, mill around a fountain in the main piazza and wait in anxious silence. Suddenly, when the water comes out, the band starts playing triumphant music, a child runs and dips his arms into the basin, and the film ends with a close-up of his smiling and wet face (Figure 4.1). In his expression, the viewer might see hope, gratitude, and astonishment. According to Paese senz’acqua, the advent of the Marshall Plan marked a real change in the life of the southern village, conveyed in the film’s narrative and through stylistic choices that represent a change in the way in which time is perceived. The arrival of the American officers seems to introduce “history,” that is, progress, in a film narrative where time is indirectly represented as duration, by means of framing and editing, and conveyed as cyclical, by means of scenes describing situations or showing ineffective action. The vagueness of the film title itself, “a (not the) town without water,” highlights the indeterminacy of the temporal and spatial dimensions in which the story is initially set. At the beginning, while the commentator describes the peasants’ life as repetitive, the music underscores the monotony of habitual gestures. At the same time, the camera eases out as it pans, dilating the temporal dimension of framing in a long take. In addition, using exclusively the present tense, the voice-over avoids situating what is happening in the film in a linear time sequence. The only moment when the music and the rhythm of the editing accelerate in this initial part of the film is when the water diviner arrives. At this moment, the villagers envision a time in the future when they will have water. As soon as it becomes clear that the diviner’s efforts will come to naught, the music slows down again, and the villagers quietly return to their homes. Time as progressive development finally arrives in this remote village when the Marshall Plan officials reach the piazza: “one day,” the commentator says, “a car coming from the city stops in front of the town hall of the town without water.”43 This is the first car shown in the film. The music, editing, and commentary accelerate the pace; the voice-over begins to use the future tense. While the first part of the film is shot almost in real time, the second part follows the conception and execution of the

Figure 4.1. Paese senz’acqua (Giuliano Tomei, 1949). Courtesy of the Academy Film Archive, Academy of Motion Pictures Art and Sciences, Los Angeles, California.

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aqueduct, showing the rapidity of the progress made in revolutionizing this “town without water.” When water finally gushes from the fountain, the music and the close-up of the child clearly mark a new beginning. Southern peasants are portrayed in the film as passive subjects of these changes rather than active participants. Viewers, however, by means of a digression from the plot that describes the technical aspects of the project, have access to the know-how that only ERP officers hold in the film. I would say that while viewers are placed as subjects of knowledge when it comes to the introduction of modern technologies, southern peasants are subjects of labour, adapting to the new reality by transforming themselves into workers engaged in the building of the aqueduct. This alignment between viewers and ERP officers might be due to the fact that this ECA film was intended for an international audience and not only for southern Italians. Indeed, I submit that the ECA’s goal was to find complicity in an audience of “northerners.” Another aspect of the film that sustains this hypothesis consists of how the scenes set in the village before the aqueduct arrives appeal to viewers’ compassion. Life in southern Italy seems to be a continuously life-threatening condition, caused by the scarcity of water as much as by the impotence of the local people. At the beginning of the film, a slow-paced tune infuses a desolate and barren field with a sense of pathos. This feeling is immediately confirmed in one of the following scenes, where a couple dressed in white capes come to a house to remove a corpse. Empathically suffering on behalf of the villagers, viewers are urged to welcome the assistance of the Marshall Plan. The commentary, which redundantly repeats how perilous and excruciating it is to live in a “town without water,” reinforces the attempt to mobilize viewers’ emotions. In sum, Paese senz’acqua exemplifies two important elements in the postwar discourse of the Southern Question: first, modern technologies bring progress to a land in which society has been ruled so far by impotence and superstition; second, those who bring progress feel compassion, as much as they are condescending towards the Southern Other. Indeed, Levi entitled his autobiographical work “Christ Stopped at Eboli,” that is, time as progress has never moved past the southern border of Naples. Levi, who was a compassionate friend of the peasants living in the village and strove constantly not to patronize them, argued in his book that modernity had not come to southern Italy for historical reasons, namely, the long series of occupations by foreign powers and exploitations by the state and landowners. On the contrary, the ECA argued in Paese senz’acqua that the Marshall Plan had brought progress and technology to any-town-without-water, generating work and prosperity



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for all. In this ECA film, prosperity is solely an economic question. Gandin’s Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli, rather, demonstrated that postwar democratic agencies were responsible as well for the moral education and intellectual growth of southern peasants. The title is clearly modelled on Levi’s Cristo si è fermato a Eboli and mediates the writer’s accounts in its view of southern peasants, adding a different perspective on their future. Sponsored by the National Union for the Fight against Illiteracy (Unione Nazionale per la Lotta contro all’Analfabetismo, UNLA), an organization funded by the “Friends of America,” Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli is a docu-fiction about literacy. The verisimilar narrative deals with the foundation of a night school, as well as its outcomes, in the remote village of Salvia di Lucania. The opening titles affirm that the film documents “what really happened.”44 The man in charge of creating the school is also the voice-over commentator. He was born in the village, even though he has been missing for a long time. Therefore, we might say that Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli conveys the village’s social reality through the eyes of a Gramscian “organic” intellectual, who belongs to the South and yet has also travelled outside of it and, in so doing, has gained a broader and more critical perspective. The man has returned to his hometown in the role of intellectual as well as citizen to open a “cultural centre.” His point of view dismantles a stereotypical perspective on southern Italy from the very first scene. He says that Salvia di Lucania looks as picturesque as many other southern villages; however, what seems exotic and pleasurable on the outside contains, in fact, quite miserable and pitiful living situations on the inside. The images, however, contrast with the man’s assumptions: viewers do not see misery, but rather people and their simple, clean, and tidy dwellings. While the commentary reflects verbally on the social reality, the film represents visually a slice of life in a pre-modern time, where the bus line does not reach the town and one has to walk three miles to get there, where there is no running water inside the house, and where women wash their clothes by hand (Figure 4.2). The main social issue at stake in Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli is illiteracy, something that cannot be shown but only talked about. Thus, these first lines of the commentary are not descriptive as much as evocative of the ethics of the commentator and his moral attitude towards the subjects. Later, a graphic (a map) displays the statistics, making the social reality numerically quantifiable and, thus, practically workable for the UNLA, the sponsoring agency. Several elements in the film so far already show a correspondence with Levi’s literary example. Like Levi, the teacher narrates his own auto­ biographical experience rather than exposing the results of a scientific

Figure 4.2. Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli (Michele Gandin, 1952). Courtesy of the Cineteca Lucana, Potenza, Italy.



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inquiry. Also, the teacher defies from the outset the orientalist perspective on the South of Italy by questioning the picturesque. While Levi positioned himself as an outsider and observer, however, the teacher clearly sees himself in the role of the educator who had “to convince peasants and shepherds to go to the centre.” Levi admitted that he could never fully understand and thus never attempted to change those whom he affectionately considered “his” peasants. Perhaps the man’s role of educator in Gandin’s film is justified by the fact that Salvia is also “his” village, while Levi was a citizen of Turin living in exile in a “foreign” town for political reasons. Another relevant departure from Levi’s narrative is evident in the relationship between the protagonist and those who Gramsci would call the “traditional intellectuals” of the village: the doctor, the priest, the mayor, and the schoolmaster. This difference speaks to a change in power relations in the democratic regime with respect to the past, especially Fascism. Traditional intellectuals hoped to find in Levi a colleague and ally against the uncivilized, stubborn, and superstitious peasants. In the film, on the other hand, these intellectuals offer to collaborate in opening and running the centre. Peasants in Gandin’s film are also very different from those in Levi’s book, suspicious of anything coming from the state or from any other political power, all equally tyrannical in their eyes; they did not believe anything would change, nor did they want it to. As the teacher says and the images show, people at Salvia accepted the UNLA centre with enthusiasm, and the class at the centre filled to capacity: “All wanted to change, all wanted to learn. […] Never in my life had I taught such a willing and attentive class.” Quite emphatically, the voice-over stops talking at this point and images of attentive peasants looking at the board and writing in their notebooks flow without a word being spoken. The camera frames the peasants sitting at their desks in a medium shot, at the same height as they are and without any angle, panning from one end of the room to the other (Figure 4.3). This type of framing, camera movement, and lack of sound seems to express a feeling of compassion towards the subject represented, as viewers quietly observe from a point of view that neither diminishes the peasants nor exalts them. This feeling increases as the camera stops and captures the faces of young and old women and the hand of an old lady writing her first words in wobbly handwriting, while the voiceover proclaims: “Those knotted, sun-burned hands, how many pages did they fill with large childish letters!” (Figure 4.4) While these sentences express respect towards the peasants’ efforts, others highlight their differences: “The movement of writing, natural and flowing in those who

Figure 4.3. Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli (Michele Gandin, 1952). Courtesy of the Cineteca Lucana, Potenza, Italy.

Figure 4.4. Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli (Michele Gandin, 1952). Courtesy of the Cineteca Lucana, Potenza, Italy.

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have had a normal education, to them was the ultimate goal of a grim endeavour, a rediscovery of the alphabet.” From this point on, rather than listening to the firsthand experiences of the teacher, viewers begin to learn about the events and changes happening in the village. This is the part of the film that more closely resembles ECA or CdD films. The time of narration changes from the past to the present tense, and the style also changes from a docu-fiction to what seems like a more traditional documentary style, describing events taking place in real time. Time has passed, the voice-over explains, and the centre has become “something real” in the life of the village. The first elections confer new responsibilities to the representatives who must coordinate the fair distribution of all aid provided by “the various international aid organizations.” This part of the film is particularly interesting more for what one can infer than for what it says or shows. For example, the voice-over explains that students in the centre take other classes besides writing: agriculture, ethics, geography, legislation and social welfare, medicine and hygiene. They are, in other words, taught how to live and conform to modern society. Also, among various educational initiatives, the film depicts instruction in carpentry for men and embroidery for women. These two scenes confirm a division of labour along gender lines, which I discussed in chapter 1; moreover, a shot showing women embroidering while dressed in modern and conservative clothing suggests to the female audience the appropriate moral code to follow. The last part of the film shows what kind of education peasants received beyond the teaching of reading and writing. As the voice-over says, “In the library every evening, these people were finding the means to develop the technical knowledge of their jobs, to move freely in time and space by reading the encyclopedia, novels, newspapers. And from these readings arose new problems, new horizons, and a new consciousness.” A sequence consisting of a series of close-ups of peasants, shot as they stand up and move from the offscreen space just below the camera to the centre frame, delivers a series of questions asked either directly by the subjects on the screen or by the commentator off screen. For example, a woman staring at the camera asks, “If we are all brothers, why do men make war?” (“Se siamo tutti fratelli perchè gli uomini fanno la guerra?”) (Figure 4.5). The voice-over asks questions such as “Why did you come to the centre?” to which an old man answers “Not because of stuff, but to learn to be a just man” (“Non per la roba ma per imparare di essere uomo giustamente”). To the question of “What do you expect from the centre?” a woman says, “I wished that school never left me.” (“Io volesse che la

Figure 4.5. Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli (Michele Gandin, 1952). Courtesy of the Cineteca Lucana, Potenza, Italy.

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scuola non mi abbandonasse mai.”). In addition, other questions cover a wide range of moral and civic issues, such as “What is society?” to which a young man replies: “Society is strength, union, and brotherhood. What can you do without society? Nothing.” (“La società è una forza, unione, e fratellanza. Che cosa fa uno solo senza la società? Niente.”); “What do you mean by religion?” to which an older man answers, “Religion means to be men.” (“La religione significa ad essere uomi.”). The peasants’ grammatically improper answers to these questions seem to suggest that a certain awareness of their subjectivities is taken into consideration, even though what they answer responds exactly to the standards of modern society, for which the UNLA intended to make them suitable. The Power of Magic A central aspect of Levi’s book that Gandin’s film does not investigate at all is the belief in magic rituals, still present in the 1950s in various regions of southern Italy. In the ECA’s Paese senz’acqua, these rituals are symptoms of ignorance and naiveté. The arrival of ERP engineers signified the introduction of scientific knowledge and progress in pre-modern southern society, where people still coped irrationally with the issue of drought, for example, by bringing in a dowser. At the same time, the arrival of water in the village by way of the fountain is also represented as a magical moment in the eyes of the southern villagers. The people gathered in the piazza wait for the water to spring forth as they might wait for a miraculous appearance. In sum, the ECA seemed determined to convey that progress would happen, even if the peasants remained superstitious. On the other hand, through Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli, the UNLA argued that education was the key to changing people’s attitudes towards reality. Peasants spoke about their faith in democracy and society without hesitation, and the magic rituals that many of them were still practising are out of the picture. Speaking for themselves, peasants demonstrated that they had mastered the values of modern culture. In other words, both the ECA and the UNLA failed to understand how deeply rooted in the history of southern Italy the rituals of magic were. As cultural anthropologist Ernesto De Martino first highlighted in the 1950s, the economic hardships and political subjugation of southern peasants made these rituals necessary and psychologically indispensable. They were used as a protective function for the individual, forced to stay alive in a world in which everything “va di traverso.”45 Furthermore, according to De Martino, it was still possible to find rituals of magic in



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southern Italy in modern times because of the way in which high culture historically dealt with the alternative to rational thought. As he explained, the Neapolitan Enlightenment was different from that of the French or the English because it had to compromise between rational needs and the limited results of the scientific employment of human reason. In other words, as opposed to the ECA’s representation in Paese senz’acqua, magic rituals were a matter not only of low culture, but also of how different layers of society did not consider rational means as capable of effectively changing reality. At the same time, as opposed to what Gandin’s film argued, if magic rituals depended on economic and political factors, some consistent and visible changes were needed in these areas in order to change attitudes, and thus education alone was insufficient. The films sponsored by the Centro di Documentazione generally showed how the state helped or was helping southern regions to modernize and, thus, to eliminate precariousness and the psychological need for magic. At the same time, the CdD strove to provide foreign viewers with an image of Italy to counter the poor and miserable vision of neorealist films and other sources. In particular, private producer Incom made a series of newsreel-style short films for the CdC characterized by a satirical commentary and entertaining the audience with editing tricks, Technicolour, and images of beautiful women. Incom films about southern Italy attacked dominant stereotypes of the region and its people even as they poured out commonplaces that would make viewers laugh. Regarding magic, Incom films made fun of superstitious practices, arguing that modern technology had reduced them to a picturesque element of culture. For example, Edmondo Cancellieri’s L’ora del sud and Conquiste del sud (Achievements in the South, 1953) mentioned magic creatures or practices as elements of folklore that were recognized as fantasy. In satirizing this fantasy, L’ora del sud and Conquiste del sud transformed an integral part of the local culture into a subject of entertainment. For example, in Conquiste del sud, the famous voice of Guido Notari described his (and viewers’) journey across southern Italy following the aqueduct as the path followed by a rabdomante, or diviner. He says, “We will go now on a capricious journey of water diviners. We are chasing water.”46 In L’ora del sud, the same voice of Notari similarly refers to the “ianas” (fairies) and claims that the legend concerning them has been replaced by a new legend, that is, the implementation of the bonifica in southern Italy. This incident is not only a technique to attract viewers, I argue, but also a way to neutralize the power that magic rituals still had among southern people to the detriment of the modernization process.

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As a further example, we might look at Incom’s parodic version of the famous newsreel La Settimana Incom, titled Incomica. In Incomica, news stories are presented in forms of “mock-umentary,” that is, short stories delivered in a documentary style but also maintaining the evidence of their fictional content, so as to establish complicity between viewers and filmmakers. As Alexandra Juhasz and Jesse Lerner explained, a mockumentary’s audience must be in on the joke: “a fake documentary is close to the real thing, but not so close as to not be found out.”47 Thus, a fake documentary is able to channel critical responses from an audience that can both laugh and distance itself from the subject. This kind of critical reflexivity in the case of Incom concerned mainly two objects: the Italian Communist Party and the rituals of magic. Fake reports from Bulacchia (aka Czechoslovakia) scorned the apparently positive aspects of life under socialism and, at the same time, attacked the local followers of the Party for believing in the communist utopia. In this way, Incomica winked at its audience, encouraging viewers to share its critical view and to laugh at the Communist Party. Similarly, short stories about magic rituals made fun of such beliefs but also conveyed a condescending perspective towards those who still held to them. For example, the Congresso Annuale degli Jettatori (Annual Congress of Jettatori, 1950) represents a tournament in which two “jettatori” challenge each other in provoking more and more violent misfortunes.48 The words jettatore and jettatura describe, respectively, a person and a ritual by which an individual is able to bring bad luck to a community, but to also function as a scapegoat for any tragic event that might have happened in that same community. As De Martino explained, the “ideology of jettatura” was rooted in southern high culture, produced in the Neapolitan kingdom during the eighteenth century as a compromise between the low-culture fascino stregonesco (fascination with witches) and the rational needs of the Enlightenment.49 In Incomica, jettatura appears as another example of the “picturesque,” together with handicrafts, processions, and postcard-type landscapes. These elements constitute the public “façade” of southern Italy put on display abroad and to the rest of the country: a docile and sympathetic representation of what historically appeared to be a situation potentially dangerous to the hegemonic form of social cohesion. Furthermore, the treatment of magic overshadows the critique of clichés about southern Italy. In L’ora del sud, Notari heralds the discovery of the true southern “spirit” and declares, “This water deletes an old image of the South as humiliated, fatalist, silent. This music of water flowing is the song of its awakening.”50 Clearly, the attack on the old image is



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crafted in a rhetoric that makes the picturesque of modernization as beautiful to look at as the postcards that, according to the commentator, had attracted foreign tourists to the South in the past. As we hear his voice speaking, we see the images of water flowing, metaphorically cleansing the old (and false) image of southern Italy. Aurally, the sound of water represents a “song,” that is, it acts as a popular voice freed from a long and imposed silence. The arrival of water in southern Italy contributed to the solution of the Southern Question because it increased the land’s productivity, while the documentary footage of L’ora del sud clarified and purified viewers’ knowledge of southern people. Notari states, “It was said that in the South, where they have hunger for the land, they have thirst for water. Those were words that made us lazy [erano parole in cui ci s’impigriva]. These are now the facts.”51 While Notari is speaking, the camera pans from the man and the machines building a road to the sign describing the construction sites on which one can read “Cassa per il Mezzogiorno,” and then to a crowd of men who watch the other men at work. A watershed runs across the scene, dividing and opposing the “braccia lavoro” (working arms) from the “braccia conserte” (folded arms). An imaginary watershed runs between those who remain caught in a sterile debate on the Southern Question and those who act to eliminate this question, enlightened by technical knowledge. Bonifica meant a setting-free: another sequence in the film that expresses this idea shows men clearing the land of heavy stones, manually or with the help of machines, liberating the soil from the material burden that impedes its productivity. As much as documentary filmmaking could liberate southern men and women from the gaze that had objectified them in a stereotype, work could liberate men from economic necessity, the historical burden that had made it impossible for them to express their (eternal) nature. The same sequence of land clearance is also present in Conquiste del sud. In this case, Notari affirms that “in a comfortable environment, man acquires his native qualities. It is an old lie that the southern man is indolent, that he flees education.”52 A favourable environment is enlightened by technological expertise; the government is responsible for keeping this light in place, in southern just as in northern Italy. In this context, the southerner demonstrates a natural attitude towards work and education. Moreover, he shows a knowledge-seeking soul. In democratic Italy, to inform viewers about the success of the bonifica projects meant to spread knowledge about the success of Italian workers and also to enlighten them with the technical knowledge of modern times. The older opposition between an idle southern soul and a working northern

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soul was replaced by two newer oppositions: one between those who worked towards and participated in the solution of the Southern Question and those who remained idle, and another between those who could see the results and the implementation of the reconstruction and were, therefore, knnowledgeable about modern technology against those who still reasoned according to common sense. Modernization was a process of emancipation by means of labour and knowledge. While governmental programs took care of the former, the cultural practice of documentary filmmaking, also sponsored by the government, took charge of the latter. Cinema was a modern technology that satisfied the “knowledge-seeking spectator,”53 travelling in space and time from one corner of the world to the other to feed his or her craving. “We run here and there through the geography of Italy,”54 Notari states with the tone of a zealous reporter. Meanwhile, crane shots, long takes, and medium shots show a series of scenes that portray men and machinery at work in the reconstruction programs.55 Once the internal “other” is eliminated, Italians become a unified and homogeneous people disposed to work and open to education. Notari indulges in a science fiction–like fantasy in order to exalt the magnificence of the changes at work and, perhaps implicitly, argues that those who did not understand the process of modernization must be other than human. The cinematic eye looked at southern Italy while Martians were looking at the Earth. As Notari declares, “we” [Italians] will tell them (the Martians) that the “canalization of the Earth” is the “bonifica of Southern Italy.” Southern Italy was a substitute for the entire earth, in the commentator’s words, and the news about its rebirth was so exceptional as to spread into outer space. It was no more the northern eye looking at the southern object but the Martians, whom the Italian people would provide with a concept of their South. From Fiction to Fake: The SPES and Christian Democracy’s Road to Hegemony The output of the Servizio Propaganda e Stampa (SPES), the Propaganda and Information Service of Christian Democracy, constitutes an exemplary case study with which to conclude this overview of sponsored films about the Southern Question. It includes all the different styles explored so far: newsreel-style chronicles with features similar to those of the CdD’s and Incom’s films, including Guido Notari’s voice; docu-fictions à la Paese senz’acqua; and fake documentaries resembling Incom’s Incomica.



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Two films produced in 1952 on the economic development of southern Italy, Che accade laggiù? (What Happens Down There?, Giovanni Passavante) and Nasce una speranza (Hope Is Born, probably by Dino Risi) are docu-fictions in which the verisimilar stories of individuals are placed in the historical context of the agrarian reform and the Cassa per il Mezzogiorno.56 Starring a number of professional actors, Che accade laggiù? tells the story of a middle-class man of the North who, in a dream one night, turns into a poor peasant of the South, after having complained to a friend about the fact that all the taxes he paid to the state were wasted on helping “quei pigri terroni” (those lazy hicks). In his dream, the man goes through all the troubles that anyone who lives “down there” experiences every day: poor living conditions, miserable clothing and appearance, lack of water, disastrous road systems, and the absence of any means of transportation. Meanwhile, the voice-over comments ironically on his adventures, stressing the shortsightedness of the man’s previous judgment of the Cassa per il Mezzogiorno. Indeed, after he has lived through all these troubles (even if only in a fantasy), the middle-class man changes his mind and declares to his sceptical friend, who shares his previous opinions, that the government is just doing the right thing by helping their fellow citizens in the South. In the end, the protagonist’s trust in the government is rewarded. Time passes by and, an indefinite number of years later, a better economy in the South eventually means higher salaries for everyone, as well as lower prices. If the protagonist had only dreamed about having a scooter at the beginning of the film, he would actually have had one at the end. In sum, Che accade laggiù? criticized derogatory opinions of southern Italians and tried to persuade viewers that Christian Democracy’s political agenda of economic development in the South would ultimately benefit every citizen. In this way, the SPES seemed to target northern viewers. In employing a different approach to similar topics, Nasce una speranza appears to be directed towards an audience of southern peasants. Nasce una speranza talks about the agrarian reform and attempts to persuade viewers that people could hope for a better future thanks to land redistribution. The film features two peasants: the first is an older man who received a piece of land a few years before, thanks to the Ente per la Riforma; the second has just received his share, but he is still sceptical of the idea that it will be productive. The latter is a young man who is about to become a father, and he shares his worries about the future with the older man, arguing that many people he knows have told him how little

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he will gain from the plot of land. Confident and satisfied, the older man lists his positive experiences and shows some new shoes as evidence to the friend, whose shoes are rather worn out. As in Che accade laggiù? the fictional narrative in Nasce una speranza conveys the message to its audience, in this case, that a strong will to work and a positive attitude towards the future are the keys to success. In other words, the film strove to educate southern viewers on the conduct that would bring them prosperity while praising the government for the work it had been doing to help them. Both of these SPES productions have stylistic affinities with those of the Economic Cooperation Administration and Centro di Documentazi­one, particularly in the way in which they insert a fictional story into a documentary frame, that is, a few images concerning the governmental projects or the social issues at stake. For example, similarly to La terra nuova, Che accade laggiù? opens with a sequence in which the commentator explains how the many governments prior to the current one have always promised to eliminate poverty in the South but never made good on the promise. The fictional story that follows is then clearly marked as a “parabola,” which conveys something of Christian Democracy politics in a narrative form. To put it in another way, fictional narratives in all of the SPES films I’ve examined so far are aesthetic devices employed to convey a political message in a way that seems both more comprehensible and entertaining than in ECA or CdD films. The narrative of Che accade laggiù? features some fantastic and comical elements, while Nasce una speranza uses melodrama to trigger viewers’ emotions. More noticeably than in ECA or CdD films, SPES docufictions do not directly attack the Communist Party, even though they are clear examples of propaganda in favour of Christian Democracy, the opposite front in the Cold War. In this sense, they demonstrate another trend of the period: the growth of a form of political communication that is proactively persuasive rather than openly confrontational. These features definitely changed in the late 1950s, especially the lack of derogatory political content. Two films produced in 1958 for the regional election that took place in Sicily on 7 June 1959, Cinegiornale di Sicilia (Sicilian Newsreel) and Perché la rinascita continui (May the Rebirth Continue) are exemplary in this sense. The same slogan ends both films: “Let us defend Sicily from Communism so that the rebirth may continue” (Difendiamo la Sicilia dal Comunismo perché la rinascita continui). However, while the first eulogized the great projects of social welfare and economic intervention funded by the Cassa per il Mezzogiorno, the second warned viewers of how different the reality would be if the country were ruled by a different political party.



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Perché la rinascita continui consists of a long list of events that prove how the Christian Democracy government had improved living conditions and shown a special regard for Sicily and its population: reconstructing urban centres, road systems, and other means of communication, ameliorating agriculture through reform and mechanization, and above all, developing industry, including the oil business. In particular, the solution of the Southern Question and the national unity achieved thereby is represented through the use of interviews with both locals and northern Italians. These interviews communicate the changes that took place in the lives of southern Italians as well as in the relationship between people in northern Italy and southern Italy. Over the images of construction sites, the winning stories of a full-time carpenter, underemployed recipient of a home and a plot of land from the Ente per la Riforma, and a peasant, now working on the construction of a dam, are told by the men themselves, living proof (or embodiment) of governmental programs, the housing plan, the agrarian reform, and the projects sponsored by the Cassa per il Mezzogiorno. These stories are also exemplary of the homogenization of the country, modernized in its aspect and in the behaviour of its people, who are striving for productivity and prosperity equally. A man from the northern city of Trieste gives voice to this idea by saying to the interviewer in the film that Sicily is not only a beautiful country but also a place where “gli affari vanno meglio” (business is doing better). Indeed, Perché la rinascita continui represents southern Italians according to the “northern model” of the hard worker, but its subjects are mostly employed in public works or transportation rather than working independently as small farmers, as envisioned in Nasce una speranza. History appeared to have taken a different course, different from the one projected in the films from the early 1950s, which placed agriculture at the heart of recovery in southern Italy and which should have transformed sub-proletarians into small property owners, in Fanfani’s words. Only a few seconds in Perché la rinascita continui deal with the agrarian reform and its statistics (75,000 acres of land given to 15,000 peasants); however, neither images nor interviews are included to sustain these numbers. Instead, they are given while showing a group of men standing aimlessly in a barren field, one of them distractedly hitting the soil with a hoe, an oil platform visible in the background. A short interview takes place between the commentator and the man with the hoe about the oil industry, which had evidently brought some benefit to Sicily. In fact, industrialization is the main topic of the film, as is the pride of the Christian Democracy administration looking to sustain its mandate on the island.

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While Perché la rinascita continui is thus consistent with films of the economic boom such as Sud come Nord, Cinegiornale di Sicilia is very similar to Incom’s Incomica (the word “comica,” in fact, is used in the film to define one of its episodes). This fake newsreel mocks the current administration of the region, led by Silvio Milazzo. Milazzo was elected governor as a member of Christian Democracy but was accused of seeking alliance with the Communists and Socialists. When the film was produced in 1958, Milazzo was running for re-election as leader of a new party he had founded, the Unione Siciliana Cristiano Sociale. News stories such as the one entitled “Un posto al sole e una poltrona all’ombra” (“A place in the sun and a seat in the shade”) make fun of Milazzo’s double-play with Christian Democracy and the Communists and harshly criticize his conduct. Others address Milazzo’s despicable behaviour more directly, quipping for example, “Io do una cosa a te, tu dai una cosa a me” (“I give something to you, you give something to me”), in reference to his accepting bribes from local businessmen. “La comica finale” (“The final gag”) shows strikes breaking out in the local factories in spite of the promises made in the past by Milazzo and his party. These episodes are represented as happening in the present, even though they are, in fact, the object of speculation about the future of what would happen if Milazzo were re-elected. In this light, Cinegiornale di Sicilia is not only fake but also a “conditional tense documentary,” to use Paul Ward’s expression.57 In other words, the SPES criticized its political antagonist by means of both satire and warnings to viewers of the risks that Milazzo’s administration posed for the future.58 In conclusion, by recording, instructing, and warning, sponsored films about the Southern Question performed the act of “documenting” in the many possible ways that the term itself implied, despite differences in style. As Philip Rosen highlighted, the words “document” and “documentary” have a twofold etymology: “one of these interrelated semantic clusters has to do with teaching and / or warning, and the other with evidence or proof.”59 Any sponsored film about Italy’s modernization would have as its goal both education and recording; however, those films that depict southern Italian peasants reveal more than others the issues dependent on the power relationships binding educators to educated. In the next chapter, I will further explore similar issues as I focus on productions that were distributed in the classroom. From the citizens in the piazza to students at school, this is where the use of film for education more properly found a realm of application and debate.

Chapter Five

“United Europe Starts in School”

In 1991, the director of the Cineteca Lucana (Lucanian Film Archive), Gaetano Martino, found twelve thousand reels, twenty thousand volumes, and five hundred projectors, still in their boxes, in an abandoned warehouse adjoining a primary school in the San Lorenzo neighbourhood in Rome. These materials belonged to the Cineteca Autonoma per la Cinematografia Scolastica (Independent Film Library for Educational Cinema), an institution created in 1938 as part of the Fascist Luce Film Institute to produce and distribute films for use as audiovisual aids in classrooms.1 The Cineteca Autonoma closed in 1944 and then reopened in 1951 as the Cineteca Scolastica Italiana (Italian Educational Film Library, CSI). The CSI sponsored and distributed films in Italian schools until the early 1960s. Martino’s findings are now deposited at the Cineteca Lucana in Oppido Lucano (Potenza), but the collection is not as yet available to scholars. The discovery was announced in the public press when some of the films were shown during a film festival, “C’era una volta il cinema nelle scuole” (Once Upon a Time, There was Cinema at School), held at the Romanian Academy in Rome, 14–15 December 2001.2 How­ ever, the news mostly discussed the educational films from the Fascist period or the unique images of Mussolini distributed in the classroom. Little attention was given to the fact that the Cineteca Autonoma had continued to operate in the transition from Fascism to democracy, and furthermore, no one seemed to find it relevant that many educational films in the CSI’s collection were actually American productions or Fascistsponsored reels. The oversight of these key issues was not for lack of information. Indeed, even though the reels retrieved by Martino cannot be freely accessed, the contents of the CSI’s collection are known to us thanks to

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two catalogues, published in 1952 and 1954, respectively.3 Reading these catalogues, one realizes that about 50 per cent of these “educational films” are Istituto Luce productions from the 1930s that had previously belonged to the Fascist Cineteca Autonoma, thus calling into question the relationship between the latter and the CSI. In chapter 3, I began to discuss the legacy of Fascism concerning the goals and dynamics of housing projects. In this chapter, I will approach the same question from the particular perspective of educational cinema. I will examine the history of the CSI in relation to its past, including its organization and the policies regulating the production and distribution of didactic and educational films in the postwar period in Italy. In addition, fify-six out of 209 films that the CSI rented or sold to Italian schools were donated by the United States Information Service and were not meant exclusively for the classroom, despite their openly didactic content. USIS films promoted the Marshall Plan, especially in a European context, or portrayed the habits and lifestyles of American youth, citizens, and workers. Therefore, in analysing the films collected under the CSI’s jurisdiction in the 1950s, I intend to show how both domestic and US agencies participated in the education of Italian students through film. By working intertextually with the numerous publications issuing from the CSI’s Educational Board (Consulta didattica), in the context of the contemporary debate on cinema and education, I will examine on which terms and with which goals these agencies undertook this task, both at the time of the reconstruction and during the transition from Fascism to democracy. In the last part of this chapter, I will focus, in particular, on a series of films sponsored by the US government to publicize the work of the Marshall Plan in Europe and promote ideas of European solidarity and collaboration. While the legacy of the Cineteca Autonoma could be interpreted as a symptom of historical continuity with Fascism, the relevant presence of USIS in the catalogue demonstrates the American initiative to mould Italian youth and thus fight in the classroom the allure of communism just as much as Fascism. As American professor of government G.M. Lanzillotti wrote in The Nation in 1950, “nostalgia [for Fascism] is particularly strong among young people.”4 From the catalogues, it appears that the prevailing strategy to counter these political enemies was to promote ideas of political and economic cooperation between Western European Countries among students. In agreement with the CSI’s goals, USIS films about Western Europe expanded students’ knowledge about those countries.5 In addition, they functioned as a means to steer the opinions of young people in a positive direction regarding Western democracy,



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capitalism, and mass production, and the necessity of military alliances to defend the prosperity achieved. To young Italian viewers, in particular, the Changing Face of Europe series taught fundamental rules and principles by which they could assimilate morally, culturally, and socially into the modern (and shown as prosperous) world of France, Germany, or Sweden. In the words of Giuseppe Calabretta, who was giving lectures in major European cities in 1958 to celebrate the birth of the International Association of European Private Schools (Associazione internazionale delle scuole private europee), “United Europe starts in school.”6 The Cineteca Scolastica Italiana Under the authority of the Ministry of Public Education, the Cineteca Autonoma was created in 1938 as a part of Istituto Luce “with a juridical nature, holding political, educational, didactic, scientific and artistic objectives.”7 It had an administrative boardunder the minister for public education, which included a representative of the Ministry of Popular Culture (as vice-president), a representative of the Ministry of Finance, and the president of Luce (or a delegate). In addition, among other organizational duties, a board of experts (consiglio tecnico) supervised “the means to distribute propaganda widely among teachers, pupils, and families so as to form a cinematographic awareness” (as per Article 6 of the Royal Decree).8 Furthermore, the Cineteca Autonoma had the effect of supporting and expanding the “cinematografia a passo ridotto,” including 16mm films as well as 35mm films whose image and soundtracks had been transferred into the smaller format. In 1938, Luigi Baldelli wrote an article in Cinema proudly announcing the opening of the Cineteca Autonoma and explaining that it would not only “offer precious educational support, of which many other nations had already taken advantage, but also [...] open up inconceivable possibilities in other sectors that so far [had] seemed doomed unfairly to a position of inferiority, thanks to the progress achieved in 16mm cinematography.”9 By these words, Baldelli meant that thanks to the Cineteca Autonoma, more public funding would be dedicated to improving the 16mm format, so that films could be screened in small villages that lacked a commercial movie theatre and at the Fascist Party’s recreational centres such as Case del Fascio, Dopolavoro, and Gioventù Italiana del Littorio (GIL). The Cineteca Autonoma received about two million lire every year in state funding, as well as additional contributions by the Federazione commercianti del libro, della carta, ed affini (Booksellers Federation), the Casse

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scolastiche (Treasury of Schools), as well as partial revenues from radio transmissions, textbooks, and books about military culture. Baldelli’s article included a still from the Nazi German Universum Film (Ufa) Che fare, Sibilla? In the shot, a man in formal clothes stands beside a projected image, presumably delivering a lecture, however, to only one student, who sits alone in the empty classroom. The caption mentions the film’s title and adds that “one can see among other things [in the film] a modern school and how teaching is practised today.”10 From this caption, it seems that the intention of the Cineteca Autonoma was to use cinematography, like in any “modern school,” as an innovative pedagogical tool. Luce’s documentary The Fascist School (no date) instructs viewers on various activities performed by male and female pupils in a primary school, everything from emergency training with gas masks to a film screening.11 According to the woman narrating, these screenings were part of the daily routine: “in this pleasurable, delightful, and educational way, the school day of the Fascist pupil ends.”12 Cinematogra­ phy appears in the film as a technology of modernity, able to transport students to the farthest corners of the world, very much in the same spirit and even the same language as in the futurist manifesto entitled “La Cinematografia Futurista” (The Futurist Cinematography, 1916).13 Travelling by way of film is nonetheless a political gesture. As the voiceover in The Fascist School explains,“[students] are transported to the marvellous faraway lands of our African Empire.”14 Images of the documentary within the documentary show African pupils learning how to read and write in Italian, juxtaposed with close-ups of Italian children amazed and amused by what they see. While Baldelli and The Fascist School sustained that films were used in the classroom as educational tools, under Fascism, Evelina Tarroni claimed in 1954 in the catalogue of the CSI that the Cineteca Autonoma had used films exclusively as a means of propaganda. Tarroni, who judged the Cineteca Autonoma and its achievements so negatively, was a member of the Educational Board, a body of the CSI created to study the pedagogical values and aspects of films in the classroom. The CSI reopened in 1951 atop the remnants of its Fascist predecessor in the spirit of rede­ fining its organization and goals in harmony with the democratic educational system. One basic novelty vis-à-vis the Fascist experience was that schools were officially free to select what they wanted to show in their classrooms, and thus it was their prerogative to request that the national institution rent or buy only certain films. At the same time, according to a 1952 ministerial circular, “The Film Library of the Ministry of Public



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Education does not renounce in any way its function to direct and coor­ dinate peripheral centres and help those within the limits of its abilities.”15 For these reasons, the CSI selected a few films every year to be distributed free of charge according to a rigidly organized system of delivery. Italy was divided in zone di noleggio, or rental zones, and each of these was divided into centri di circuito, circulation centres. Each zone had a number and each centre had a letter. The primary centre of each zone received a box containing a selection of films from the CSI, which were then to be passed on to the next centre after a fixed number of days. For example, in 1952, each box contained fourteen films and each centre could keep the box for fifteen days; in 1953–54, there were six films in each box, which could be rented for thirty days.16 The school in San Lorenzo, where Gaetano Martino found the films and projectors, was probably one of the ninety-two county film libraries that periodically received or bought films and filmine (film strips).17 In addition to a system of distribution that managed which films every county received each year, the headquarters of the CSI controlled the use of cinematography in the classroom by means of a discourse of knowledge, produced and distributed by the Educational Board and its publishing house. “The CSI will not remain a bureaucratic body for controlling, collecting, and distributing films, but wishes to develop necessarily into a national institute of culture available for primary and secondary schools and for higher education,” Remo Branca wrote in the “Premessa” to the CSI’s 1952 film catalogue.18 In Branca’s mind, the CSI had a fundamental role in changing the ways in which students learned: by seeing and not just reading as a way of reinforcing the modern life in which they lived. In his words, the resonance of earlier visions of modernity (that of the futurists, for example) that shaped the individual’s perception of reality clearly defined the ways in which education through cinema revolutionized students’ cognitive processes. At the same time, Branca thought that films could not replace books, but should, rather, accompany the printed word in teaching both “things” and “values.” In his words, “The teaching of things is beheaded without the teaching of values.”19 In this light, Branca created what he called a “biblioteca,” or library, in charge of guiding, fostering, and controlling the study of the “problema filmico” (problem of film) as well as providing support for the critical viewing of films.20 Within a few years, eminent figures in the pedagogical field such as Luigi Volpicelli and other members of the Educational Board had churned out numerous pamphlets and monographs on cinema and pedagogy, the psychology of cinema, and other relevant topics.

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Publications by the Cineteca del Ministero della Pubblica Istruzione included, among many others: Remo Branca’s pseudo-scientific pamphlet Curva di fatica del bambino nella visione del film a colori e in bianconero (The Learning Curve of Children in Viewing Films in Colour or in Black and White, 1952), and his historical essay, Funzioni e limiti cineteca scolastica italiana (Goals and Limitations of the Italian Educational Film Library, 1952); Antonio Mura’s La funzione culturale del cinema nella scuola (The Cultural Function of Cinema at School, 1952) and Il film nell’insegnamento della storia (Teaching History with Film, 1955), or Evelina Tarroni’s L’educazione di base e i mezzi audiovisivi (Primary Education and Audiovi­ sual Aids, 1952). These texts reiterated the general idea that cinema greatly influenced viewers’ psychology, morality, and social behaviours. According to many, films could function as plain audiovisual aids to subjects such as art history and the natural sciences, but also they were useful as tools to form students’ world view and personality.21 As I will discuss in the following sections, in browsing through the CSI’s catalogue it is possible to conclude that several of the films, especially those donated by USIS, sought to educate students on the moral and civic rules of a democratic society. As Tarroni explained, in fact, in addition to a “cinema didattico” (instructional films in support of textbooks on various subjects), the CSI promoted a “cinema educativo,” one that intentionally exploited the power of cinema to affect viewers’ psychology and conduct. Educational Cinema: A Debate One of the publications on the topic of cinema and education, edited by Luigi Volpicelli and including several essays by members of the Educational Board as well as Remo Branca, was entitled Il film e i problemi dell’educazione (Film and Educational Issues), published by IGEIS in 1953. The same volume was republished in 1957 as a double issue of ex-Fascist Luigi Chiarini’s Rivista del cinema italiano under the title Cinema e educazione (Cinema and Education).22 This seemingly minor event sums up, in my view, the nature of the ongoing debate about the use of films in the classroom. These two identical publications by different publishers exemplify the continuous and osmotic exchanges between the popular and the specialized press, as well as between “experts” and politicians on the matter of educational cinema. These exchanges, I argue, were dependent on the intertwining of discourses on knowledge and power in the interconnected fields of the study of educational cinema and the practice of education.



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As Chiarini wrote in his introduction, all contributions to the double issue on the subject of cinema and education published by Rivista del cinema italiano came from “uomini di scuola.”23 Chiarini explained that the magazine aimed to inform and direct teachers who would need to use film as an educational tool in their classrooms. At the same time, all articles addressed filmmakers and invited them to consider students as part of their potential audience as well. They sought to reach filmmakers of educational cinema and, indeed, any director who intended to educate the masses. According to Chiarini, students would acquire “film awareness” (“coscienza cinematografica”) at school, that is, the capacity to understand and evaluate a film. In this way, films in the classroom would ideally form the viewers of the future, who would “be able to demand and determine a rise in the quality of cinema.”24 In sum, Chiarini argued, commercial cinema could also be used as an audiovisual aid in the classroom. In his essay, “Cinema e educazione,” also included in the issue, Volpicelli added to Chiarini’s assumptions his claim that the inherent quality of cinema lies in its capacity to transform reality into “dramma” through representation. Any subject represented in a film, according to Volpicelli, even one of the drier subjects of science or geography, will always have within itself a “charge of the human.” In using films for teaching, directors should not disown cinema’s “spectacular qualities,” but rather view them as a positive. In other words, while Chiarini thought that any commercial film could be educational, Volpicelli argued that any educational film could be entertaining. Educational films on topics such as geography, history, or the natural sciences should be produced with this principle in mind. Indeed, Volpicelli also agreed with Chiarini and argued that commercial films such as Ladri di biciclette could be screened to students with the purpose of educating them on social and moral values. Alberto Manzi and Renzo Canestrari further expanded on this point in their contribution to the issue, the essay entitled “The Psychological Function of Cinema in the Education of the Masses” (“La funzione psicologica del cinema nell’educazione delle masse”). The two scholars point out that mass education in 1950s Italy cannot disregard cinematography for two reasons: its power of wide distribution and its ability to stimulate viewers’ interest in and identification with the society to which they belong. Films could transmit thoughts and feelings to viewers, attaching them to others in the community. Many more articles on similar topics being circulated in specialty magazines and by the popular press contributed to this debate on film and

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education. In particular, Rivista del Cinematografo, a publication of the Centro Cattolico Cinematografico (Catholic Centre for Cinematography, CCC), ran several articles on some of the main points discussed above. One was the education of spectators, for instance, through the production of educational films as well as viewers’ awareness of cinematography, its techniques, and effects. Also prevalent was the use of commercial cinema for educational purposes and, more specifically, the moral and civic education of youth through cinema. For example, the well-known film critic Mario Verdone wrote in “Le inquietudini dello schermo” (“Anxieties of the Screen”) that children were affected the most because they had been exposed to cinematography from the moment of their birth.25 Therefore, films could shape the ways in which children thought or behaved. Furthermore, a culture of cinematography conditioned children’s desires, as they often preferred films to books because of their “contemporaneità.” Verdone’s opinion coincided with that of Jean-Georges Auriol’s in the article “Il cinema, strumento dello spirito” (“Cinema, Instrument of the Soul”), published a few months prior in the same magazine and accompanied by a photograph of a classroom in which a group of teenagers is watching an industrial film.26 Auriel explained that kids did not need to get used to cinematography; in fact, they understood its language immediately. Children could read films better than their parents could, Auriel argued, because they had watched them since they were little, both inside and outside of school. Rivista del Cinematografo was highly concerned with the need to educate viewers on how to view a film. In 1953, a series of articles published in five subsequent issues and entitled “Per un’educazione cinematografica” (For a Film Education) consisted of three questions intended to evaluate opinions about Italian viewers’ awareness of film culture and the educational value of cinema. Interviewees included, among others, directors Alessandro Blasetti, Vittorio De Sica, Alberto Lattuada, and Carlo Lizzani; actors Raf Vallone, Gino Cervi, and Aldo Fabrizi; Associazione Generale Italiana Spettacolo (AGIS) president Italo Gemini, and Associazione Nazionale Industrie Cinematografiche Audiovisive (ANICA) president Eitel Monaco; Sottosegretario all’industria e commercio Antonio Carcaterra and Professor Aldo Moro; film critic Arturo Lanocita and writer Corrado Alvaro.27 In the conclusions, author Emilio Lonero highlighted that “the painful side of the problem” was to teach spectators to be critical, “to be able to actively reject easy psychological or extra-artistic suggestions of the screen, and to refine their taste.”28 In Lonero’s words, viewers needed to be taught well in order to protect themselves from these and other potentially negative influences (political,



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social, or moral influences, I suggest) for which cinema might be a vehicle. Aesthetic and moral awareness, therefore, went hand in hand with the education of the public. Rivista del Cinematografo expressed quite clearly the Catholic Church’s concerns about cinema’s potential influence on the moral conduct of Catholic viewers. These concerns had a long history, which found its first public expression in the encyclical Vigilanti Cura, written by Pope Pius XII in 1936. This encyclical was published in the Rivista in 1951 and then referenced in several other pieces. The general argument was that cinematography was not negative per se but could be exploited to both positive and despicable ends. In an article entitled “Presenza dei cattolici italiani” (“Presence of Italian Catholics”), Monsignor Albino Galletto summarized this content and argued that an official body should be created to regulate the morals of the film industry.29 In order to transform cinema into a “powerful means of spiritual elevation” the Catholic community had to engage positively in the discussion. Thus, Galletto explained in another article, the CCC had the specific duty of informing people about which films were morally acceptable and which were damaging.30 The CCC included a National Reviewing Commission to examine each film produced in a year and to pronounce a moral judgment upon it, which would then promptly be communicated to the public via the press.31 As explained by Luigi Gedda, president of the Azione Cattolica (Catholic Action), the CCC responded to the specific missive of the encyclical, which asked to “keep vigil over this universal and powerful form of both entertainment and education, so as to protect against offence to the moral and religious senses and from anything against the Christian spirit and its ethics.”32 In fact, this missive was addressed to both the Curia and the believers, who then had to apply the same measures of moral censorship. In addition, the moral evaluations issued by the CCC influenced the film industry directly, both because of “a friendly relationship and kind agreements” with directors, producers, and distributors and because the Associazione Cattolica Esercenti Cinema (Catholic Association of Movie Theater Managers, ACEC) controlled more than 3,500 theatres in the local parishes. Finally, the Christian Democracy government shared the CCC’s concerns about cinematography, as its magazine made clear in the several articles by Giulio Andreotti that it published.33 Andreotti repeatedly expressed the belief that cinematography could serve as a positive tool for use in education only when enlightened by the right (i.e., Catholic) moral values.34 The argument about the possible negative influence of cinematography on the Italian population found a specific point of controversy in

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“neorealist” features, both in the political arena (Andreotti’s comments are well known, in this sense) and in the Rivista.35 The aforementioned Volpicelli evaluated the effects of De Sica’s Ladri di biciclette on students’ conduct quite positively. On the contrary, as Diego Fabbri explained in the Rivista, some neorealist films attributed to reality an exemplary and symbolic value with the potential to create misconceptions in the minds of viewers.36 Fabbri insisted that Catholics were not critical of “the new school” or of cinema’s representation of reality. Rather, the problem lay in the director’s moral values, which shaped the film’s realism and thus affected the conduct of viewers of the film. The Catholic journalist cited as morally negative examples the episode titled “The Miracle” in Rossellini’s Amore and the scene at the soup kitchen (“la scena alla Mensa dei Poveri”) in Ladri di biciclette. In the latter scene, Catholic philanthropists treat the poor with condescension and superiority, while the poor clearly take advantage of charity without any sign of sincere faith. In conclusion, Fabbri argued, We are exclusively interested in the educational problem of the spectator viewing these “neorealist” films. It’s an age-old problem: whether it is more damaging to a schoolgirl to read romantic novels such as Delly’s or Eleonora Glynn’s, or to read Flaubert’s Bovary. We would neither advise that she read Delly or Glynn, nor would we recommend Bovary. We would recommend any work that, although representing reality, would provide a judgment – i.e., an interpretation – according to the superior value of truth.37

As Mino Borghi put it in “Cinema e costume,” De Sica’s film failed to propagate the righteous “mos,” that is, “the complex of moral, social, ethnic and religious habits of a people.”38 Luckily, argued Turi Vasile only a few months after Fabbri’s denunciation in the same magazine, “the neorealist formula […] is in the process of being surpassed.”39 Catholics could, therefore, feel reassured, in his words, for the sake of art and spirituality both. “There is no such thing as an Italian school of neorealism, only an Italian cinema,” reads the title of Vasile’s article. And Italian films, the author argued, would contribute to the spiritual progress and moral betterment of humanity through the particular strength of persuasion and truth that only a work of art could possess. Fascist Legacy and American Intervention In light of these concerns and claims about the effects of films on viewers, especially the youngest, historical continuities between the Fascist



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film libraries and those associated with postwar education are even more striking. Indeed, remnants of the Fascist rhetoric of national pride are noticeably present in some of the aforementioned articles; in these, as well as others performing similar critiques of neorealism, authors such as Vasile praised “the glorious future” of Italian cinema.40 In reference to those who criticized Vittorio De Sica’s Miracolo a Milano (Miracle in Milan, 1950) because it discredited Italy abroad, expressed prejudiced opinions on reality, and depressed the audience, cultural anthropologist Ernesto De Martino wrote that “right-wing critics are suspicious of communist propaganda in the film, but what they are really complaining about is the absence of reactionary, nationalist (in reality, Fascist) propaganda.”41 With regard to the CSI, few critical remarks were made against the director Remo Branca regarding his involvement with the Fascist regime at the time of his nomination. Some already found it suspicious that Minister of Public Education Antonio Segni had already asked Branca, a compatriot from Sardinia and the principal of a public high school in the 1930s, to create a film unit at the Ministry of Agriculture (Rural Film) under his supervision.42 In a few articles on Cinema Nuovo, Aldo Paladini made several accusations about Branca’s personal relations with Segni as well as his political opinions.43 In 1941, Branca authored a book entitled Il tuo cinema (Your Cinema), a collection of essays about the use of cinema in the classroom.44 In this book, Branca declared his support for a “political school”: “The Italian school rose to the level of the Empire, following the vision that the esteemed Minister Bottai has already made clear in line with Fascist thought.”45 As Paladini pointed out, Branca also quoted with appreciation one of his female students at a high school for future primary school teachers (Istituto Magistrale) where he was the principal; the student supposedly responded to a survey about the Cineteca Autonoma with the following expression: “Here is Fascism coming to a marvellous new realization: educational cinema!”46 Soon after the publication of Il tuo cinema, Branca accepted a position at Gioventù Italiana del Littorio as “expert” in charge of organizing “film services meant to intellectually develop avanguardisti and balilla” (the two age groups in the Fascist paramilitary youth organization).47 He stayed at GIL only for a few months, though, and there is no further information on his whereabouts thereafter and during the Second World War. After the war, Branca founded two magazines, La rivista del Passo Ridotto (The magazine of 16mm) and Cinema d’Oggi (Today’s Cinema), short-lived experiments with very limited success. Regarding his being nominated “commissario” of the CSI, Paladini defined Branca as “an expert on avant-garde and rural films.”48

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Beyond Branca’s Fascist ties, the very logo of the CSI resurrected the remnants of the Cineteca Autonoma: it consisted of an open book in front of a reel and a circle of light radiating between the two. This logo appears at the beginning of one of the two films produced by the institute after the war, Macchine nell’agricoltura (Machines for Agriculture, Sebastiano Rizzo, 1950s), in an animated sequence: at first, the emblem of the Repubblica Italiana appears on the screen, and then it dissolves and is superimposed by the image of the reel, in front of which the book later appears. This sequence seems to represent Branca’s statement in Il tuo cinema: “the reel is the book of the future [avvenire].”49 Created in the Fascist context, where the term “avvenire” had a specific meaning in a discourse of empire and national pride, this sentence reappeared in Branca’s preface to the 1952 CSI catalogue, in which he claims that the birth of 16mm cinematography signified the second and best age of cinema, when reels became as widely available to schools as textbooks. In fact, as I previously mentioned, this format had been popular since the 1930s. The logo displayed in films produced by the Fascist Cineteca Autonoma also featured a shining light to represent rational knowledge, but only the book was represented visually. The symbol provided in the later film by the CSI, then, encapsulated Branca’s idea that both the book and the reel complemented each other so as to maintain education at the same pace as that of the civilization in which students lived.50 Finally, despite the theoretical and critical efforts by the Educational Board in redefining educational cinema in Italy, at least 50 per cent of the films listed in the 1952 and 1954 CSI catalogues are from the 1930s and 1940s. In other words, there was definitely a gap between theory and practice. Tarroni had argued that the library was a living and active body on the cultural front as well as the educational front.51 However, much of the scientific culture provided was quite dated, while the films that fulfilled educational demands were donated by the British Embassy and, for the most part, by USIS. According to Branca, this situation was caused by the limited financial support that the CSI received from the state (20 million lire, whereas the Cineteca Autonoma had received the equivalent of 300 million lire in 1938), which made it impossible to produce new films. In addition to his comments about Branca’s connections to Fascism, Paladini challenged the director on this assumption as well, claiming that for about 100 thousand lire the CSI could buy any good commercial documentary, perfectly acceptable for the classroom.52 Films inherited from the Fascist Cineteca Autonoma include thirtyseven films on surgery (“cinechirugia”), directed by Francesco Pasinetti



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in the late 1930s, as well as others on hygiene, art history, and the natural sciences, many of which are silent. None of them praised the regime directly, but they also did not serve the purpose of educating students on the appropriate social behaviours and moral values of a (Christian) democratic society. Moreover, remnants of Fascist rhetoric can be found in certain biopictures that exploit the lives of famous scientists or artists to exalt the Italian race, such as Galileo Galilei (Giovanni Paolucci, 1942) and Armonie Pucciniane (Giorgio Ferroni, 1938). More interesting in terms of visual and verbal rhetoric are the documentaries representing labour. For example, in Vele e prore (Sails and Bows, 1939), directed by Fernando Cerchio and produced by Istituto Luce, the physical strength of muscular male bodies, triumphant music, and monumental crane shots depict Italian industry as national pride and industrial labour as superhuman effort. In representing the ship industry, Vele e prore is anachronistic both in its rhetoric and its content. Triumphant music plays throughout, crane shots fly over a mammoth boat, and bold use of the zoom reveals minimal details such as a worker’s foot over a lever. Against this background, the commentator announces: “the ship needs a beating heart to live and open its way through the waves; in other immense workshops that work for the sea even though they are far away, heavy oil engines are built, a specialty in which Italy today [1939] has no rival in the world.”53 Representations of labour determined the most interesting contradictions within the collection, since labour and productivity were also staples of postwar culture, marking the transition from Fascism to democracy as a conversion from warfare to workfare. On the one hand, there is the aforementioned Fascist film, in which industry and labour constitute the epitome of the virile power that the Italian nation at its best had demonstrated on the battlefield, or should have demonstrated. On the other, the American-sponsored productions showing industrial development in Europe in the aftermath of the Second World War depicted an Italy that appeared pre-modern and backward in comparison with northern European countries, where the transition from the first (British) to the second (American) industrial revolution was already in place. Here I am referring, in particular, to the series entitled the Changing Face of Europe, translated as Problemi e progressi della nuova Europa. Shot originally in 35mm Technicolor Mopac, the British company Wessex Film produced the series for the Mutual Security Agency, and the films were then dubbed and distributed in all the countries participating in the Marshall Plan. The MSA administered the Mutual Security Act, signed by President Harry Truman in 1951, an agreement authorizing

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further foreign economic, military, and technical aid for a few years after the end of the Marshall Plan. The Changing Face of Europe films were meant to showcase the achievements of the European Recovery Program while charting a path for the future. Each film focused on one of the following areas (in chronological order): energy (Power for All / Carbone bianco, Graham Wallace and Anthony Squire), agriculture (Three Hundred Million Mouths / Nostro pane quotidiano, Julian Spiro), the housing industry (A Place to Live / Case per tutti, Jacques Brunius), serial production (Men and Machines / Uomini e macchine, Diana Pine), communication (Clearing the Lines / Via libera, Kay Mander), and health services (A Good Life / Vivere sani, Humphrey Jennings and Graham Wallace).54 All six films were included in the CSI catalogue and, although they were intended for a number of different audiences, they were educational insofar as they presented various issues and areas of progress in society, examining their history in the expository form of traditional documentary style. Thus, these films took care to explain their subject matter in great detail, treating everything from scientific knowledge and technical questions to cultural topics. In comparison with the films inherited from the Cineteca Autonoma and the few produced by CSI, the Changing Face of Europe series represented Italy (and Greece) as the “South” of Europe, the backward and pre-modern “other.” Each film seems to describe European progress towards economic recovery from a “northern” perspective, as I explained in the previous chapter regarding Case per tutti. The role that the Italian economy played in the European postwar renaissance was radically different in this series from what was conveyed in Vele e prore. For example, Uomini e macchine illustrated how European countries such as France, Germany, and Great Britain, which had already modernized their respective economies before the war, were now (in 1951) following the United States on the path of the second industrial revolution. Italy and the Venetian glassmakers, on the other hand, were used as an example of how handicraft could survive the spread of serial production. The same North / South dynamic was articulated in slightly different terms in other films of the series, particularly A Good Life, which is about the World Health Organization. Even though Italy does not appear at all in this film, the Greek landscapes portrayed are identical to those of southern Italy, where the same disease of malaria had similarly spread and killed many. In the end, all of the films in the series promoted solidarity between European nations in the sense of a free flow of products and services, not to mention the military alliances necessary to protect the same products and services from the common communist



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enemy. Although ideas of political and cultural unity had been circulating since the Second World War, as in the writings of Altiero Spinelli, who promoted the creation of “the United States of Europe” and founded the Movimento Federalista Europeo, the ECA and the MSA publicized exclusively economic and military alliances between Western European democracies. Ten other ECA films were donated by USIS to the CSI to publicize the Marshall Plan favourably in a number of other European countries: Austria, France, Germany, Belgium, Greece, England, Denmark, Norway, Ireland, and Holland. USIS donations also included animated cartoons, such as ECA’s The Shoemaker and the Hatter / Il calzolaio e il cappellaio (John Halas, 1950), which narrates the story of two small business owners who disagree initially but in the end jointly approve the abolition of customs, with the shared goal of bringing prosperity, progress, and development to all people. Industrialization was not the only context in which Italy had to learn from the American example. In addition to films about mass production or labour in a free market economy, several reels educated Italian students on the practices of a democratic regime. For example, Elezioni e opinione pubblica (Elections and Public Opinion), depicting the life of an US congressman at work, at home, and in conversation with his supporters; Un sindacato aziendale (A Company Union) by Luis de Rochemont (the March of Time), about workers’ “democratic” relationship with their bosses; Problema cittadino (Civic Problem) which illustrates “the way in which, in a small democratic centre, the community discusses the problems that relate to all the various aspects of civic life.”55 Similar situations exalting freedom of choice in a democratic and capitalist society are represented in the films under the category “Pedagogia e didattica” as well. For example, Collegio Antioch describes the educational system in an American school, where students can express themselves both in the subjects they study and in their practical training, which they choose according to the profession that they would like to pursue. In Progetti per il domani / Project for Tomorrow, a 16mm Victor Vicas film also featured in the USIS-Trieste collection, a group of kids in a small alpine villa in Austria are inspired by a screening of a Marshall Plan film to create a club on the model of the American “4H Club,” known for its mission to transform work in the fields and at home into recreational activities. The core value being emulated, of course, is that of the positive empowerment of the club’s young members, who hope to become great farmers in the future. Furthermore, the relationship between the CSI and the United States was not limited to these film acquisitions. Thanks to an exchange program

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organized by the US State Department in 1955, director Remo Branca was able to travel to Chicago and Boston in order to study American educational film libraries and industries. Branca described his visit in a report published by the Ministry of Public Education in 1956, Società e scuola negli Stati Uniti (Society and School in the United States), which described his findings as well as his vision of American society. A short message at the beginning of the book announced to readers that the US ambassador to Italy, Claire Boothe Luce, had blessed Branca’s trip, hoping that “the friendship [he had] shown for the United States [would] grow warmer.”56 As is well known, Ambassador Luce was particularly angry at the fact that USIS did not seem to be working effectively to dissuade the Italian masses from supporting the Communist Party. In many ways, the educational films donated to the CSI could be seen as serving that very purpose, by showing positive American models of both democracy and capitalism. Branca’s writings maintained a positive view of American society, exalting the role played by capitalism in the field of educational cinema. Branca praised publishing companies that specialized in educational films, such as Encyclopaedia Britannica Films, Coronet Films, and the International Film Bureau, whose detailed catalogues allowed each school to select whichever films suited its respective programs. Branca thus promoted a “liberalization” of the CSI, wherein private producers and sponsors could distribute their films among classrooms. He presented the idea by arguing that a more efficient system of cataloguing and requesting could be established if the CSI were modelled on the American example. But the main issue at stake was whether to allow private agencies to participate in public education. As Branca pointed out, in the United States, films for schools were for the most part privately sponsored; only rarely was the State Department involved. He wrote that even “launching a new toothpaste provided an opportunity to make an educational film about teething and dental health.”57 Private publishers already sold their textbooks in Italy, Branca concluded, and he argued that there was no real reason why they could not make films as well.58 Dalla lana al tessuto (From Wool to Fabric, Edmondo Cancellieri, n.d.), one of the two films made in the 1950s and listed in the catalogue as a production by the CSI, can be read as a practical example of the lesson that Branca must have learned during his trip to the United States. Although ostensibly representing the stages of production in a textile factory, Cancellieri’s documentary also promoted the latest fabrics by Ermenegildo Zegna. At the end of the film, in a tone that almost seems



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to belong in an advertisement, the voice-over proclaims, “not even one metre of fabric leaves the plant without our signature, the well-known seal of Ermenegildo Zegna.”59 Images of the company’s logo impressed on the fabric precede a low-angle shot of the factory’s chimney, where the same emblem stands like a monument. Product promotion does not come until the end, however, and only after the film has established a much more important message: the degree of integrity and social awareness of the company, based on the personal engagement of the owner. In the opening scene, the commentator explains that the factory is located in a rural space shaped by the hands of a philanthropist: “In Trivero, on those biellesi mountains that a man’s love transformed into a green oasis of flowers, a modern wool factory stands, providing work to more than a thousand employees.”60 The voice-over does not say the name of the man whose love made a difference in Trivero; however, the images show the entrance to the factory, where “Ermenegildo Zegna e figli” is written in capital letters. As they watch the film, students learn the details of mass production in the age of the second industrial revolution, Italian style: images of workers attending machinery that seems to do all the labour go hand in hand with the idea of technologically advanced systems making high-quality products in the tradition of craftsmanship. At the same time, Dalla lana al tessuto taught them about the positive values of capitalist enterprise and family business, where economic profits seemed to be secondary to (if not absent from) the benefits that the factory brought to the community. In sum, students were taught to appreciate business and, in a larger sense, Italy’s transformation into an industrially advanced economy. This lesson was the same one that many “mental hygiene films” taught American teenagers. The musical soundtrack featuring the boogiewoogie brought this Italian educational film even more in line with the American example. The Changing Face of Europe In light of the model presented in Dalla lana al tessuto, it is worth analysing in more detail Men and Machines / Uomini e Macchine, directed by Diana Pine in 1951, one of the films in the aforementioned series the Changing Face of Europe. Two very different and competing pictures of Italy’s economy are conveyed to the same audience of Italian students by these Italian- and American-sponsored films. Hypothetically, the same students who admired their home country for its progress in industrial development in Dalla lana al tessuto also learned from Uomini e macchine

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that, according to American observers, the economies of northern and southern European nations still differed greatly from one another. Clearly, Uomini e macchine was meant for a wider European audience, rather than for Italians exclusively. In its message to Europeans, the MSA promoted mass production for mass consumption as a binding element against the Soviet bloc, and it rhetorically exploited the pre-modern and poor South to demonstrate the ways in which modernization meant prosperity. For instance, the story of Luigi Renault in Men and Machines exemplified how Europeans developed Fordism and the effects it had. Even though similar observations could have been made about the Fiat auto company, Italy was not included in the picture as an example of European achievement in serial production. To an Italian audience, and particularly to young students, the example of northern Europe was meant to be both economic and political. Economic prosperity went hand in hand with military alliances, depicted as necessary to defend the prosperity achieved through work and industry. As the commentator explains in the closing scene: If part of our energies must be used to produce defensive machines to protect work and freedom in Europe, the goal remains the same: to prevent and protect against hidden traps that might be set against our peaceful activities, against our collective effort towards a future that will not be dominated anymore by fear and need. Determined to continue in its peaceful work of reconstruction but also to defend itself from any possible threat, behind the shield of its work and with its recovered energy, Europe is again on its way.61

When it came to industrial development, European unity boiled down to a united military front against the Soviet Union and its communist allies in Europe. The sequence that ends the film represented the overlapping initiatives in production and defence. A group of tanks move across an industrial area; as one of the tanks turns around, the camera cuts to a tractor continuing in the same circular movement. A child is in the driver’s seat, replacing the soldier who was at the top of the tank. Underscoring the climax, the music quickens its pace. As the commentator firmly states Europe’s intention to continue the project of reconstruction and to defend work by means of work, the image of a factory stands out in the final crane shot. I do not see why the director would choose to have a child driving the tractor if not for the inherent symbolism, in an effort to represent



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Europe’s hope for a bright future. This and other rhetorical elements make the film very didactic, even though it was not meant exclusively for the classroom. Above all, Uomini e macchine is structured as a dialogue between two men holding opposite views about serial production. Through­ out the film, the enthusiastic commentator addresses the sceptical mate and perhaps the viewers, as well, attempting to explain in great historical and technical detail how the second industrial revolution was born in the United States and how factories of the day have changed the ways in which men and women work and things are made. His arguments in favour of serial production are, for example, that no one will ever be employed in harsh labour: “Now people use their brains and their hands.”62 But, above all, the idea is that traditional crafts will not be swept away by serial production: “[the] work [of artisans] could not possibly be replaced by that of a machine. To force Europeans to give up their traditions of fine craftsmanship would be a shame.” The case of a German beer factory exemplifies this argument: beer bottles are mass-produced and yet, the visible diversity that characterizes this production is a “phenomenon” of the “European spirit.” The bottles appear in many different shapes even though they are produced in great quantities and at a low cost, as the commentator explains. Eventually, Uomini e macchine imagines a European identity based on local handicraft, which unites the North with the South. As the voice-over explains, speaking about a Venetian glass-maker, “if this talent, this love for the careful object were to be lost because of serial production, the world would be uglier, Europe poorer: spiritually but also materially.” Rather than a non-synchronous element in the midst of modernization, handicraft is what makes the European “genius” visible. By a mechanism that turns a mode of production into an element of culture, Uomini e macchine diverts viewers’ attention from the actual change in the “face” of Europe, that is, the homogenization of uneven modern and pre-modern social formations. At the end, the sceptical observer announces that he is now convinced that it is possible to develop a Fordist method of production while preserving tradition. Humour and good storytelling technique are also necessary elements of a rhetoric addressed to an audience of young students. As I previously mentioned, many had argued that educational cinema should strive to be entertaining while instructing young viewers. A good example in Uomini e macchine consists of the commentator’s way of recounting the history of the British steel factory in Swansee, replaced by the new one in Morgan. “It seems like a pathetic story,” he says, “the old steel factory

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wanted to die in its beauty, as it was dismantled.”63 One should notice that in the case of this MSA film, the commentary attempts to be entertaining by using the language of fairy tales to describe the changes in the economic system, in ways similar to The Shoemaker and the Hatter and other animated cartoons sponsored by the ECA / MSA. In contrast to Italian-sponsored films, such as those produced by Incom, those of the ECA / MSA did not exploit the female body to make products more attractive or to create inside jokes that would trigger the approval of a male audience. As a matter of fact, the sheer number of women shown carrying out occupations usually monopolized by men, in my view, constitutes an additional educational aspect of Uomini e macchine (despite the fact that the title refers only to male individuals). Such representation of gender models, as I explained in chapter 1, was not common in the Italian context, where the sexual division of labour was clearly marked. Only Olivetti films made a difference in this sense, while Italian governmental films especially tried to contain the powerful effects of the entrance of women into the workforce, particularly the industrial workforce. Indeed, Case per tutti, another film in the series, represented a traditional hierarchy of familial roles featuring men as workers and women as mothers. In Uomini e macchine, one of the few films directed by a woman, in fact, women are fully integrated into the economic system, not exclusively in specific sectors and not secondarily to their role as housekeepers. In addition to the political and economic arguments, moral responsibility and cultural belonging formed the basis upon which European unity was determined, hoped for, and taught. As I discussed in chapter 3, the ethical drive of northern viewers in ECA / MSA films made the modernization of the South, that is, Italy, a moral obligation. Similarly, the series presented European projects of economic aid as gestures of disinterested friendship towards those who were in need, especially children. In addition, the Changing Face of Europe created a cultural basis for the moral obligation that made northern European countries “give back” to southern countries. Films such as Vivere sani promoted the idea of the South as the birthplace of European civilization, thus justifying the projects funded by the World Health Organization in order to cure disease and improve health care. Once again, it is worth looking at this film in some detail to explain how the American agency sold the idea of European unity to viewers all over the continent, Italian students, in particular. Directed by British director Graham Wallace, Vivere sani demonstrated that freedom of movement was fundamental to ensure a “good life” to every European. People and medicines must move freely across Europe,



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no less so than the capital needed to build hospitals and instruments for advanced research and health care. For a “great plan,” as Vivere sani calls the ERP, the harmony of body and mind that constituted good health and a “good life” was fundamental and dependent on mobility. For the Italian audience, Greece was a particularly appropriate subject for many reasons. Historically and politically, the situation in Greece showed what could have happened in Italy if Christian Democracy had not won the 1948 election; a document entitled “Consequences of Communist Accession to Power in Italy by Legal Means” (5 March 1948) envisages immediate US intervention, including a guerrilla war that the Americans would sponsor from behind the scenes, without appearing in person. Although the participation of Greece in the Marshall Plan was a point of contention in contemporary politics, the film depicts a cultural unity rooted in the history of medicine that makes its inclusion look obvious. Culturally, the representation of Italy and Greece in ECA and MSA films generally assimilated the two countries into a vision of the South as premodern and thus poor. Even though the commentator in Vivere sani argues that help from the North depends on the sense of fraternal community that Europeans share and not on a sense of superiority, the choices of images and soundtrack stress the contrast between the North and the South of Europe. The rural and city landscapes contrast with one another, as do the barren field and the busy streets, the ancient temples and the neoclassical villas, the rich and the poor children. European unity is based on the fact that, despite their differences, both the South and the North are “cradles of civilization,” respectively, the ancient and the modern. In the Italian version of the film, the commentary begins by quoting Hippocrates, who professed reciprocal help among the people of Europe. “These very human principles,” Nicola Adelfi’s voice-over announces, were born in Greece. From there, “they spread throughout Europe.” Therefore, Europe simply “pays its debt of gratitude,” by sending doctors and medicines to Greece from northern European countries such as Norway and Sweden. At the end, the commentator argues that “the harmony between yesterday’s and today’s things” is what made the Marshall Plan successful. In the final sequence, “yesterday” and “today” are visually represented by rural and industrial settlements, respectively, as much as by the contrast of ancient (southern) and modern (northern) architecture: a shot of a man and a little girl reaping a wheat field crosscuts an image of a Greek temple, followed by a group of nurses having coffee in front of tall, modern, buildings (perhaps a postwar housing project), the image of a modern bridge and

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Michelangelo’s David. Harmony between ancient and modern medicine exemplified the general idea of continuity and progress from past to present, the compatibility of rural and industrial work, and the balance between ancient and modern architecture: in short, the progressive and harmonious solution to the North / South dichotomy. Similarly to Paese senz’acqua, which I examined in the previous chapter, the solution to the divide between the North and the South is reached thanks to modern science, the masses aside. In Paese senz’acqua, ERP officers arrive in the village to build an aqueduct and conduct an on-site investigation, without engaging with the population. The latter would only be employed as labour in a project that would bring them benefits but that they seem to accept as miraculous, without understanding its mechanisms. In Vivere sani, only the male leadership of the village, that is, the priest and the mayor, communicate with the doctors of the World Health Organization. The female nurses, the Greek one in particular, act as intermediaries / translators for these male figures of power. The villagers, on the other hand, are kept in the dark. While the meeting takes place, the commentator says, “Everyone understood that something important was in the air. But what could it be?” The very curiosity that had characterized the attitude of southern people in Paese senz’acqua resembles the attitude of Greek villagers: “everyone tried to guess why a car with foreign faces and a plate from abroad would come there.” Building up tension, creating suspense in the audience and the villagers both, the commentator implicitly states that the future of common people was (secretly) in the hands of careful experts. The message that the secrets of modernity were a privilege of the few given for the benefit of all is common to both Vivere sani and Paese senz’acqua. Also widely shared is the idea that solidarity among people is a moral imperative, underpinning both the Marshall Plan and the projects of the World Health Organization. According the ancient teachings of Greek medicine, the physical and ethical aspects of existence constitute a “good life” for people. According to the modern teaching of the European Recovery Program, everyone has a right to this “good life,” beyond national borders. In this context, the fact that the protagonists of the film are mostly children has several implications. Clearly, in publicizing how Marshall Plan projects helped children especially, the MSA was marketing the humanitarian nature of US intervention in European recovery at its best. The voice-over compassionately describes WHO projects as intended to give childhood back to every child. In Greece as in Italy, as the voice-over says, millions of children who had never played



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ball could do so now, thanks to the help of other Europeans. For viewers of the film, the images of children being helped by the international organizations represented hope for the future and fostered their approval of the Marshall Plan, and these ideas engaged them emotionally as parents. In fact, the relationship between the authoritative voice-over and the children in the film is crafted to mirror a father-child relation, particularly when the narrator calls the boys and girls on the screen by first name or criticizes a girl’s fear of injections as a father would. The paternal voice-over also speaks to hypothetical viewers as parents, thereby creating a relationship of reciprocal understanding between the authority of the film and family authority. For example, while showing a group of Greek children doing gymnastics and then a class of girls learning how to put diapers on babies, the narrator says, “Your children perform the same activities at school as well. They learn how to cook, sew, and take care of babies.” Finally, if the film were shown at school, the presence of children might facilitate identification with the models of childhood represented on the screen. Besides nurturing hope in international organizations and admiration towards other European countries in its young viewers, Vivere sani also suggested behaviours that might help the same young viewers fit into the world of adulthood. In particular, a sequence repeated twice in the film clearly represented how children, too, could put into practice the core principle of the ERP, that of self-help (“aiutare ad aiutarsi”). In this scene, we see a young boy trying to walk with the help of a female nurse and holding two hand supports. As the commentator explains, in the same words that many other commentators use in other ECA / MSA films, this boy will ultimately succeed only if he has the will to do so. The “F” Word(s) The Italian CSI and its collection epitomize two important aspects of sponsored films in Cold War Italy: one, the function that they served and, two, the kind of negotiations between Fascist and democratic discourses that influenced both film narratives and the policies and organization of the institutions of the Republic of Italy. In previous chapters, I have long discussed the various ways in which sponsored films functioned as educational tools, not only among youth but also among the Italian citizenry at large: publicizing social and moral behaviours, distributing models of gender, promoting a “northern” conception of the world that would make each individual fit in with modern society as an efficient and

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productive subject. In the next and last chapter, I will focus more specifically on the ways in which memory and history participated in this educational scheme. In doing so, I will address more directly the relationship between sponsored films and Fascism. Fear, forgetfulness, forgiveness: these words and their semantic baggage were embedded in the narratives of the films in the Changing Face of Europe series and many others included in the CSI’s catalogues. Fear of another war and of communism formed the basis of the propaganda for European cooperation. Forgetfulness was the decisive element necessary to assimilate ex-Fascist Italy (as much as ex-Nazi Germany) into the other Western European democracies, despite the past. Forgiveness was also needed to overcome past conflicts and especially to allow individuals who had cooperated with the previous regime, such as Remo Branca, to participate in the reconstruction of Italy and the creation of democratic institutions. Fear, forgetfulness, and forgiveness are also the unspoken and yet fundamental words of the historical discourse constructed in sponsored films that narrated the past without speaking of Fascism.

Chapter Six

Histories through Tabloids

In 1953, speaking of the widely shown newsreel La Settimana Incom, an Italian journalist wrote in Cinema Nuovo, “These friends of ours with this light-heartedness [spensieratezza] of theirs run the risk of confusing our memory.”1 In 1964, Italo Calvino used the expression “provocative cheerfulness” (spavalda allegria) to describe the general climate right after the Liberation, which was in his mind conducive to an earnest collective recollection of the immediate past of the Resistance, a way of release.2 A few years later, the same “spavalda allegria” of Incom would have the opposite goals of making people forget (and forgive). The imperative of “good feeling” (buonumore) of many sponsored films was able to condition the ways in which, to borrow an expression used by historian Pierre Sorlin regarding “historical” films, “the bases of our future documentation accumulated”:3 how people would remember the time of the reconstruction and what kinds of images (and thus historical documents) of the period would be saved for the historians. “History is,” Sorlin also argued, “a society’s memory of its past, and the functioning of this memory depends on the situation in which the society finds itself.”4 The desire to forget the past, to reconcile in the present, and to embrace the “radical change” of democracy were common threads in postwar Italian culture, as explained by several contemporary historians. In addition, the Cold War, as Patrizia Dogliani has submitted, “with its accompanying stark political divisions and the veto against left-wing parties entering government, the very limited purge of ex-fascists and the well publicized trials of ex-partisans for murder and other alleged crimes, hindered the birth in Italy of a new, strongly, democratic, national consciousness, capable of a full reckoning with the fascist past.”5 A public use of history served the political purposes of both former Fascists and new rulers of the republic,

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as well as the collective need to clear up the past. Fictional films victimized Italians and exonerated them from having either passively accepted or actively followed Fascism, while public monuments commemorated Italy’s participation in the fight against the Nazis, manipulating the memory of the Resistance so that it might contribute to a politics of reconciliation.6 In this chapter, I analyse sponsored films that narrated the Second World War, the Liberation, and the Italian reconstruction by means of recycled newsreel footage. I examine how they made sense of the past and constructed a memory of the present, and I study the ways in which these historical narratives might have affected how people came to terms with the country’s Fascist past and with its modernizing present. None of the historical short films produced in the postwar period made any reference to Fascism and the ventennio nero. In addition, all of them represented the Resistance vaguely, avoiding naming fighters as “partisans” and stressing their engaged role vis-à-vis the Allies. Finally, 1945 constituted in these films a watershed between the present era of democracy and the past of Fascism, heralding the beginning of a new era marked by the arrival of the Marshall Plan, the government-implemented programs of reconstruction and recovery, or the other various productive activities funded by the films’ sponsors. Remembering the Resistance as a unifying moment, sponsored films fostered collective amnesia and prevented social unrest. In codifying the Liberation as the moment in which all Italians became victims and Americans their saviours, they sustained military alliances with the United States, countering communist claims of supremacy in the fight against the Nazis. Recollecting the immediate postwar period as a state of emergency and a time of constant fear, governmental films justified, in particular, certain policies of social regulation and the enforcement of police rule. In building a collective memory of the reconstruction as a moment of light-heartedness, Incom films, especially, instilled positive energy in viewers who were meant to believe in a future of prosperity. Particularly relevant to my analysis are the stylistic means employed in sponsored films to recall the past, most prominently the “compilation” of recycled footage. “Compilation” was a term first used by John Leyda to specifically define historical documentaries made of newsreel footage.7 Leyda highlighted the role of editing and soundtrack (music and voiceover) in providing images with new meaning when reused to compose new narratives. Several critics have discussed the implications of this aesthetic, especially in reference to questions of cinematic realism.8 Paul Arthur tellingly spoke of “the two ontologies of found footage”: newsreel



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images are neutral bearers of meaning, but also newsreel images are always inscribed with ideological or contextual biases.9 “Found footage” films can demonstrate awareness of these biases and thus constitute, as Michael Zryd has claimed, “metahistorical forms commenting on the cultural discourses and narrative patterns behind history.”10 Nevertheless, as American documentary director and producer Emile De Antonio argued, compilation films can embrace the claim of objectivity and represent reality through “fascist” aesthetics, in which the authoritative voice of the filmmaker / commentator claims to tell the absolute truth. Sponsored films compiling the history of Italy since 1943 treated recycled footage as objective and truthful images of reality. The manipulative role that the filmmaker played was not hidden, but rather emphasized. The “Incom style” of sponsored compilation films consisted of the juxtaposition of political events with crime news and gossip, using a satirical yet optimistic voice-over commentary and exploiting the spectacular features of editing and soundtrack. Combining newsreel footage with the aesthetic of entertainment that cinematography provided, “Incom-style” sponsored films made a “public use of history” that, perhaps deliberately, obfuscated what Claudio Pavone defined as “the two levels of usage”: a “higher, scientific” register and a lower one, “which propagates the common understanding of history.”11 The “scientific” aspect of filmmaking sustains a “higher” level of usage, whereby the bond between newsreel footage and the events portrayed allow filmmakers to convey their recollection of the past as “objective,” even in describing the Cold War, for example, as entirely the fault of the Soviet Union. But Incom-style compilation films exploited dramatic verisimilitude and sensational representations of scandal more typical of tabloids. As I demonstrate in this chapter through an examination of Incom’s style, “tabloid-compilation” films popularized history.12 In this way, I argue, democratic sponsors attempted to re-establish the trust of the citizens, who rejected both the escapism of “telefoni bianchi” films (light comedies and melodramas) and the indoctrination of the Fascist cinegiornale and who were also accustomed to the far less light-hearted representations of reality in neorealist films.13 I use the expression “Incom-style” in reference to the most popular newsreel of the period, La Settimana Incom. Vittorio De Sica’s Umberto D. (1952) included an emblematic scene that criticized the newsreel’s “spensieratezza,” which it displays without regard for people’s indigence. In this scene, the old and ill protagonist Umberto prepares to go to sleep in the bedroom he rents (but cannot afford) from a self-centred, greedy,

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libertine lady who wants to evict him. The notorious Incom jingle plays in the background as viewers discover that poor Umberto lives right above an open-air movie theatre.14 Critics have argued that the ultimate goal of the newsreel was to create support for the Christian Democracy government, either by praising its achievements or by conveying hyperoptimistic attitudes towards reality. Indeed, La Settimana Incom was funded by the government and clearly needed to keep in mind the government’s position on the topics presented to the population each week. Its dependence upon the government was stronger than is perhaps commonly acknowledged by scholars; in fact, as confirmed in a series of documents collected at the Istituto Luigi Sturzo (ILS), Incom was in direct contact with Christian Democracy’s Servizio Propaganda e Stampa (Propaganda and Information Service, SPES). For example, in a letter dated 10 October 1949, journalist and party member Giampietro Dorè, wrote to the head of SPES, Giorgio Tupini, to say that he had accordingly revised the content of La Settimana during the 1948 electoral campaign. Dorè also communicated to Tupini the importance of having as a new chief editor, “one of our men who has the necessary technical skills and can really be in charge of the newsreel.”15 Most importantly, Incom managed to eliminate all competitors and to create for itself a nationwide legal monopoly on information, even though the law allowed any private company to produce newsreels.16 Therefore, Incom had a leading role in accumulating visual records of the reconstruction and in building Italy’s memory of its past. In some ways, these recollections were similar to those of historians who consider 1945 to be the beginning of a new era. Apart from traditional historical narratives that compiled events in chronological order, however, “Incom-style” sponsored films often established metonymic and analogical connections, using voice-over commentary and editing to link different sequences with shots that shared a certain object or image. In Romolo Marcellini’s Made in Italy (1952), for example, the beating heart of renowned Italian cyclist Fausto Coppi, “the unstoppable organ of the world champion cyclist,” in the words of the film (produced by Incom for the Centro di Documentazione), connects a sequence on sports to one about medicine, cutting from his human heart to an “artificial” one created in an Italian hospital. The image of red blood flowing into tiny pipes tying the heart to a pumping machine is reprised in the following shot as the red thread spinning in the shuttle of an industrial loom, which produces fabrics used all over the world.17



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Many “tabloid-compilation” films function like Made in Italy in that they depict the past in terms of space rather than of time. In some cases, the voice-over commentary uses the present tense to describe the recycled footage of a past event, thus breaking the boundaries of linear time development. Newsreels presupposed a synchronic rather than a diachronic look at reality, so as to provide viewers with an immediate look at what was happening. “Tabloid-compilation” films that used recycled footage to narrate historical events took the hybrid form of historical newsreels, wherein the past was deliberately told in the present tense. In the following case studies, I claim that the exposed manipulation of footage, together with the blurring of newsreel footage and fictional reconstruction, managed to influence viewers in many ways. In some cases, the use of newsreels accompanied by a present-tense narration allowed viewers to feel included in the recollection of the past, as if they were witnessing the events at the moment in which they happened. In these cases, the public use of the past was intended to create and control a collective memory of the Liberation. Furthermore, the dramatization of events emphasized the emotional impact of the Second World War and triggered the necessary fear that would nurture the desire for peace and political stability. Finally, the sensational representations of the reconstruction, also in the present tense, and the popularizing of its leaders, depicted as if they were the girl next door who became a movie star, allowed viewers to feel closer to the immediate past. This effect was crucial in leading viewers to believe that they were actively making history, that they were not merely passive subjects of national and foreign powers. Histories of the Liberation: Clearing Up the Past In Cesare Casarino’s words, historical periodization can “produce and disseminate illusions of radical political change in order to conceal and foster what are, in effect, fundamental continuities in the agencies of power and their modus operandi.”18 When critically examined, compilation films highlight the implications of such continuities. For example, Incom’s Italia mutilata (Mutilated Italy, (1947) addresses the issue of Trieste and Istria with the same language that Fascists used in reference to the same regions, which were excluded from Italy’s sovereignty by the Treaty of Versailles in 1919. National pride and its defence, the Fascist justification for Italy’s participation in the Second World War, was also used as a means to support Italy’s alliances with the United States

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and Western European countries against Yugoslavia during the Cold War. While Luce is more commonly associated with Fascist propaganda, Incom, in fact, offered a much more bombastic sort of propaganda in favour of the regime than did the government institute itself. Incom had been a competitor since 1938 and had stolen some of Luce’s best men, such as Giorgio Ferroni.19 Towards the end of the Second War World, director and journalist Sandro Pallavicini swiftly managed to clear the company of its Fascist past by producing propaganda reels for the Allies.19 Ferroni and many other filmmakers who worked for both Incom and Luce, such as Domenico Paolella and Romolo Marcellini, also changed their positions and openly defended the cause of the Liberation and democracy. As I submitted in the introduction, it is not so crucial to determine whether Incom and its filmmakers were Fascist as it is to show the extent to which their involvement in the republic was tainted by the desire for redemption and by the claim of victimization, for themselves and for any other Italian citizen who had lived under Fascist rule. “At that time, everyone was a fascist” (“Tutti – in quei tempi – eravamo fascisti”), declared Gastone Silvano Spinetti, director of the governmental Centro di Documentazione and ex-official of the Fascist Ministry of Popular Culture, in his autobiographical and apologetic essay, Difesa di una generazione (In Defence of a Generation), published in 1948.20 Everyone was involved and everyone was guilty, argued the veteran protagonist of Giuseppe De Santis’ Caccia tragica (Tragic Hunt, 1947). “Do we want to continue being the perpetrators?” he provocatively asked his companions, gathered in the film to punish a thief who stole the truck of their co-operative farm. As historian Ruth Ben-Ghiat pointed out, films such as Caccia tragica can thus be interpreted “as meditations on how Italians might come to terms with the legacies of twenty years of fascist dictatorship.”21 Ben-Ghiat’s observations apply particularly to the compilation films by directors who had previously worked on Fascist propaganda. For example, Domenico Paolella’s L’Italia s’è desta (Italy Woke Up, 1947), produced by Incom, represented Italians as strongly united on the side of the Allies. The film’s title immediately identifies the Liberation as a “second Unification” (“secondo Risorgimento”), another collective effort towards national rebirth. The first scene takes place on 8 September 1943. A reconstructed scene shows a group of Italians outside of an empty restaurant, where a German officer is having his meal alone. On the radio, an original sound recording plays and viewers hear General Badoglio, who announces the armistice and asks Italian soldiers to



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respond to General Eisenhower and react against attacks “on all fronts.”22 A suspicious character with dark glasses leaves the scene quietly, clearly embodying the deviant but scarce Fascist sympathizers in a mass of innocent victims. Immediately after, a series of fragments of newsreel footage depicts disbanded soldiers wandering the streets and the countryside as a swell of dramatic music explodes and the voice-over proclaims: “You soldiers and we the Italian people, unaware of what lay before us, we entered the night of German terror.”23 By using the first person plural, the commentator underlines the collective engagement in the fight against the Nazis, even though the regime had just fallen. The exceptionalism with which Italian patriots fought is also immediately apparent: Naples was the first European city to send Germans away, according to the commentator describing newsreel footage of the popular revolt against the German troops in the southern Italian city. L’Italia s’è desta created a memory of Italians as united against the enemy (partisans and ex-soldiers, northerners and southerners). The announcement that “the clandestine front” (“il fronte clandestino”) has begun to put together its troops runs over images of disbanded veterans, creating the perception that partisans were, in fact, all former soldiers. Blame is placed squarely on the shoulders of the leaders, Mussolini and Graziani, who are shot as they run away from Milan, while the film ends announcing the Allies’ recognition of Italy’s good spirit, “[the Italian] desire to collaborate peacefully with other peoples.”24 Comparing L’Italia s’è desta to other films of Paolella’s, one is able to view the desire to demonstrate Italy’s willingness to side with the Allies in perspective. Paolella also directed for Incom Il vero volto dell’Inghilterra: Fatti e misfatti del dominio inglese nel mondo (The True Face of England: Deeds and Misdeeds of English Domination in the World, no date) and wrote for Luce Fronte di guerra (War Front, Vittorio Gallo, 1941).25 The latter justified Italy’s alliance with Nazi Germany against the Allies, explaining that Italy had entered the Second War as a German ally following the injustice of the Treaty of Versailles and the predatory attacks of French and British armies against the Germans (in line with the Fascist idea of “Italia mutilata”). The film concluded that Italian and German troops would fight “the battle of peoples superior in strength and manpower against those who starve us and upon whom the Axis [would] impose the sharp blade of victorious armies, a peace founded on justice, a Roman peace.”26 L’Italia s’è desta expressed the opposite point of view regarding the Allies, declaring at the outset Italy’s friendly support of their cause. The opening titles read: “documentary dedicated to the

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Italians who fought and suffered to see the dawn of freedom, to the Allies who helped to conquer that freedom, and to all other peoples so that they might know the passion and sacrifices of Italian patriots.”27 Compared with Fronte di guerra, L’Italia s’è desta appears to be an attempt to clear up Italians’ – and Paolella’s – past. Also, the rhetoric of sacrifice and goodheartedness speaks to the popular belief that Italians were, in fact, “brava gente,” both during and after Fascism. Only one year later, Paolella’s Thanks America! (1948), produced by Incom,confirmed these assumptions. Thanks America! depicts the Italian partisans who fought against Germans while the voice-over proclaims loftily that they struggled until the last man fell. Over the newsreel footage of an armed fight, which does not display any indication of the partisans’ attitude towards Americans, the commentator exclaims, “The Italian flag and the American flag flew side by side.” On several other occasions, Italy’s friendly relationship with the US army was represented in fictional reconstruction of verisimilar events, such as Italians hiding American soldiers, helping them to escape, providing food and medical assistance. Ultimately, Thanks America! demonstrated its producer’s admiration towards the United States not only in its content but also in its style, haphazardly mixing newsreel footage with reconstructed scenes. Like La Settimana Incom, Thanks America! has much in common with the American newsreel The March of Time, produced by Luis de Rochemont since the 1930s. Raymond Fielding described the newsreel in a way that might be applied to this Incom film and to the style of Incom in general. In both, “the vox e sepulcro strained with alarm, and the calculated air of fearlessness, all combined to delight a contemporary audience otherwise bored with the inanities of intermission travelogues and farces.”28 Incom director Sandro Pallavicini himself was an avowed fan of The March of Time; as a matter of fact, the Italian company imitated the film closely not only in its use of images as transparent evidence of reality, but also in incorporating fictional reconstructions of events not always made apparent as such to viewers and using voice-over commentary, soundtrack, and editing to manipulate footage for entertainment purposes. Ambiguities with regard to the political message of L’Italia s’è desta are symptomatically reflected in Italian historiography of anti-Fascist films. Paolella’s work was included in Carlo Di Carlo’s 1959 book, Il cortometraggio antifascista (The Anti-Fascist Short).29 According to contemporary film historians, however, Giorni di gloria (Days of Glory), made in 1945 collectively by Luchino Visconti, Giuseppe De Santis, and Giovanni Serandrei, was the last documentary to represent the Resistance. According to the



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film historians who contributed to Cinema, Storia, e Resistenza (Cinema, History, and Resistance), edited by Gian Piero Brunetta, the Resistance since then has been treated only in fictional films or in literary works.30 Ansano Giannarelli affirms that no further documentaries are to be found on the topic until Lettere dei condannati a morte della Resistenza (Letters of Partisans Sentenced to Death), directed by Fausto Fornari in 1953 and based on the publication by the same title, which had collected and published original partisan missives. The discrepancies between the two histories of Italian cinema depend, in my opinion, “on the situation in which society finds itself,” as Sorlin also argued in the previously mentioned essay on the historical film. These discrepancies, therefore, shed light on extra-diegetic imperatives behind the writings of film histories. In his essay “The Historical Text as a Literary Artifact,” Hayden White maintained that historians can “emplot” historical sequences in a number of different ways, all of which can be equally plausible to their respective readers.31 For White, historians and readers share “certain preconceptions about how [the historical sequences] might be emplotted, in response to imperatives that [are] generally extra historical, ideological, aesthetic, or mythical.”32 In 1987, when Cinema, Storia, e Resistenza was published, Italian historians lived in a time of revisionist attacks on the canonical version of their historical past. Thus, they made a public use of history that attempted to highlight rather than homogenize political differences. Di Carlo, however, lived and wrote in a time in which Italian society wished to solve these conflicts and to forget, in order to find common ground for a peaceful reconstruction. Thus, Paolella’s past and his ambiguous position towards the regime did not prevent the historian from compiling a history of anti-Fascist films. I interpret the discrepancies between the historical narratives of sponsored films of the 1950s and those of other contemporary films or later historical writings in the same light. L’Italia s’è desta includes a famous episode of “divided memory,” as Giovanni Contini entitled his essay about conflicting accounts of a massacre in Civitella Val di Chiana in 1944. Known as the massacre of “Fosse Ardeatine,” this 1944 rastrellamento in Rome killed 335 people, all shot in the back of the head by Nazi soldiers and their bodies left inside the caves (“fosse”), whose entrance was then blocked by a landslide. Among the victims were several prisoners at the Regina Coeli jail in Rome, where the prison warden Caruso removed and added fifteen people of his own choosing to the list compiled by the SS (Schutzstaffel, the military unit of the Nazi Party). There were also random individuals caught in the vicinity of Via Rasella, where

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a partisan conflict had taken place the day before. The divided memory originated precisely from the fact that, as in many other cases, the Nazis were acting in retaliation against the partisans, who had killed thirty German SS men and injured thirty-eight. When speaking of the monument built at the Ardeatine Caves, Dogliani wrote, “This monument would remain the object of some contestation since the partisan act which had produced it – an attack on German soldiers marching through the Via Rasella in Rome – was something of a classic case in the assessment of the morality of active resistance.” As historian Alessandro Portelli maintained, many Italians from both the political right and left believed, and still do, that partisans were responsible for the massacre because they did not present themselves to the German police. On the contrary, Portelli explained that the massacre had happened immediately after the partisan action, and that the fighters had not been asked to present themselves and thus could not have saved the victims. When people read about the arrests in the press and on the city wall, they also read, “l’ordine è gia stato eseguito” (the order has already been carried out).33 In Paolella’s compilation film, the two episodes (the partisan initiative and the Nazi massacre) are quickly presented by means of two short sequences, which allude to more than narrate the events, almost as if only a few hints were necessary to recall the entire story in the minds of a knowledgeable audience. L’Italia s’è desta does not fully explain the story, but rather exploits it to represent more generally the collective efforts and sacrifices of the Italian people. “We set the spirit of the Resistance against [the enemy] ever more strongly,” says the voice-over right before the scene in which a German soldier shoots the prisoners one by one at the Fosse Ardeatine (the victims are not visible, only the entrance to the caves).34 At the same time, the film does not deny that the episode at the Fosse Ardeatine was the consequence of the reckless behaviour of the partisans who initiated the Via Rasella attack, thus leaving the way open for a divided memory. As a demonstration that the editing of the two sequences (and episodes) in L’Italia s’è desta carries historical value, the footage of the dramatization of the Via Rasella attack and the Nazi shooting are in fact recycled images from another compilation film, Giorni di gloria (Giuseppe De Santis, Mario Serandrei, and Luchino Visconti, Days of Glory, 1945), made a few years earlier. In Gioni di gloria the exact same sequences recount a different story (the one in which “l’ordine è gia stato eseguito”). Giorni di gloria, a “collective film about the Resistance,” in the words of director Giuseppe De Santis, included other scenes about Via Rasella and the Fosse Ardeatine, explaining in great detail the various



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events that followed the attack up until Piero Caruso’s trial and execution (filmed by Visconti on 18–20 September, 1944).35 The fictional part recycled in L’Italia s’è desta was directed by De Santis and was used in other films, particularly Romolo Marcellini’s Dieci anni della nostra vita (Ten Years of Our Life, 1953). Marcellini, who had an ear for scandal and “the scoop” in many of his works, recycled several sequences from Giorni di gloria, not only the fictional scene at the caves but also De Santis’s interviews with the victims’ families, parts of Caruso’s trial and his execution, and a few instances of the crowd lynching Regina Coeli’s director, Donato Carretta (also filmed by Visconti’s crew). Recy­ cling of footage from sponsored films was a common practice in the 1950s, especially by the same producer or director who had made them. Some cases were more meaningful than others, for example, Giorgio Ferroni’s Ieri e oggi (Yesterday and Today, 1952), made for the Centro di Documentazione, recycled a scene with children in kindergarten from Incontro con la Olivetti, which he had directed in 1949. In the former, the images of the kids are used to represent welfare state services, even though it is really a scene that took place at Olivetti’s day-care facilities. However, Dieci anni della nostra vita recycled footage from Giorni di gloria, which was not a sponsored reel and thus might hypothetically have been subject to copyright. In addition, Giorni di gloria practically disappeared after its first screenings in 1945, denounced as “troublesome and damned” (“un film scomodo e maudit”).36 In 1953, the Italian National Film Library (Cineteca Nazionale) printed a copy of Giorni di gloria at a plant in Rome called the SPES (Servizio Propaganda e Stampa). Mario Musumeci, when he revealed this information in a recent publication about the film and its restoration, neglected to mention that the SPES was the Propaganda and Information Service of Christian Democracy (DC). According to Musumeci, this silent copy of Giorni di gloria disappeared and remained a mystery, although there is a case to be made that it was, indeed, the urtext of Marcellini’s Dieci anni della nostra vita. This case of the “stolen” footage deserves closer attention, in my opinion, and it is merely adjacent to a far more urgent issue, which I wish to discuss in detail in the next several paragraphs. I am talking about the fact that Dieci anni della nostra vita mixed war crimes, such as the massacre at the Ardeatine Caves, with crime news and film excerpts, composing a history of the past ten years of “life” of the Italian people that took cinematic images at face value and exploited forms of dramatic verisimilitude and sensational representations of reality in order to make people believe that they were part of a “master narrative” of progress and

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betterment (which, as we shall see, is not necessarily plotted out in an ordered chronology). This master narrative highlighted the literary rather than the scientific aspect of historical knowledge and appealed to viewers’ emotional reactions. Fear, excitement, laughter, and disgust: Dieci anni della nostra vita politicized Italian viewers “by visceral means.”37 The “Scoop” on History: Romolo Marcellini’s Dieci anni della nostra vita In Dieci anni della nostra vita, three devices construct the discourse of history in a tabloid fashion: the choice of footage, the editing, and the soundtrack, including both the music and the voice-over commentary. As I mentioned previously, certain sequences of this compilation film come from Giorni di gloria. In addition, Marcellini recycled parts of some fictional films, even though in this case they are cited in the commentary. For example, the famous scene from Roberto Rossellini’s Roma città aperta (Rome Open City, 1945), in which Pina (Anna Magnani) is killed in front of her son while running after the Nazi truck that has just taken away her fiancé is used to represent the victims of the Nazi occupation. As the commentator says: “the chronicle of those days lives again in an unforgettable film.”38 In other words, fictional films are taken at face value, as if they actually represented everyday life. What “lives again” in the film and is made “unforgettable,” in fact, is the emotion with which the “chronicle” is charged. Roma città aperta participated actively in the construction of a collective memory, turning everyday life into a unique event, and it was also used as a cathartic device, stirring up the same emotions once again. In the same way, the sensational documentary scenes recycled from Giorni di gloria that depict Carretta’s lynching and Caruso’s trial and execution were intended to mobilize viewers’ affective response. Rather than cathartically involving viewers in the emotional thrust of a fictional death, however, the scenes of lynching and the execution (which did, indeed, happen in reality, even if in a different place) were also intended to trigger an ethical reaction, which Vivian Sobchack attributes to the “documentary consciousness.” This consciousness, or “respons(e)ability,” as Sobchack calls it, is precisely the physical and moral reactions of the viewers to an act represented on the screen. The commentary functions as a device to manipulate this reaction by suggesting which moral position viewers are meant to take when confronted with the images. The scene with Carretta is described with particular stress placed upon the exceptional violence of the mob, but without explaining the reasons behind its rage. The voice-over emphatically claims in a



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stentorian tone that nothing could have been done “to snatch the poor man / scoundrel from the wild rage of the crowd.”39 Acting simultaneously as a moral judge and an historian, the commentator also suggests that the violence and death at the Ardeatine were the tragic results of the partisans’ lack of responsibility. Even though “the order [had] been carried out already” when notice of the arrest came out, the commentator in Dieci anni della nostra vita argues that for each dead German soldier, ten victims were executed, “in case the perpetrator of the attack did not present himself to the authorities.”40 In addition to the voice-over, the editing also contributes to the manipulation of viewers’ emotional and moral responses regarding Caruso’s involvement in the massacre, in particular. A shot included in the sequence and added to the recycled footage from Giorni di gloria shows the money and jewelry with which the condemned man had been ready to escape the country. This scene, in particular, I submit, refashioned the story through tabloids in an effort to persuade viewers of Caruso’s guilt. This is the only instance, in fact, in which Dieci anni della nostra vita attempts to trigger both emotional and moral reactions in viewers. More often, historical events are emptied of any ethical and political value and exploited solely for their sensational effects. For example, Caruso’s “crime against humanity” is ultimately presented as a common felony: he helped the Nazi police to steal some jewellery. Editing of the footage also supported this intention; Caruso’s execution is used as the initial cue that triggers a series of explosions, including bombings of partisan initiatives, and the sequence ends with the death of Mussolini. Caruso’s death and that of Mussolini are transformed into sound effects, emotionally charged but also emptied of political meaning. The film frequently gets caught up in providing viewers with the scoop on history in an attempt to maximize shock value. Frequently, the commentator emphasizes that viewers are witnessing rare documents: for example, a scene in which “the soldiers of the Republic assault a farm where some patriots have barricaded themselves.”41 The commentator stresses the fact that viewers are seeing something they have never seen before, yet he glosses over the political issues at stake in the footage. Indeed, the “remission document” (which is, in fact, taken from Giorni di gloria) not only shows unique combat footage, but also represents the Liberation as a civil war between “repubblichini” (Italian Fascists) and “patriots” – as opposed to the usual interpretation of the Resistance as exclusively a war of liberation from Nazi occupation. However, the commentator does not use the specific word “partisans,” but rather the general term “patriots,” and the “repubblichini” are not

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called Fascists or recognized as Italians. By contrast, Giorni di gloria used the same combat scene precisely to demonstrate that the Liberation was a war of “brothers against brothers.” Indeed, the combat scene is evidence of Marcellini’s interest in a cinema of attractions rather than of his political engagement. By cinema of attractions, I mean the use of cinematic images to shock the spectators. Other examples can be found in home video-style footage: a sequence representing Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun outside on a terrace with an alpine landscape on the backdrop, where Hitler takes a few dance steps in front of Braun (the scene is played twice in a row), and another of “exclusive images” of mafia boss Salvatore Giuliano.42 Both scenes managed to provoke indignation in viewers, both against Hitler, who dances while the rest of the world is desperately trying to survive the war, and against Salvatore Giuliano, who enjoys a quiet life in the Sicilian countryside while his fellow countrymen struggle to make ends meet. Contempt takes the place of rational understanding of cause and effect, with the result of demonizing extraordinary figures rather than explaining historical circumstances. By the same emotional means, Dieci anni della nostra vita induced viewers as much to despise leaders as to appreciate the Pope and the Vatican. Accompanied by the commentator’s solemn proclamation that “the Pope’s was the only voice that rose above the crowd of the wretched,” images of refugees gathered at Castel Sant’Angelo are meant to make viewers feel safe. The moral integrity of the Church is thus established in light of this moving act of charity, despite the historical alliances between the very same Pope and Mussolini.43 The part about the period following the watershed year of 1945 demonstrates at best how the cinema of attractions, according to Marcellini, functioned as a way of de-politicizing violence and sustaining the need for a strong police force to ensure social order. The depiction of homicides and other violent crimes created the impression that the imme­diate postwar period was a time of extreme social instability caused by economic indigence and moral depression. “Briganti” and common thieves are protagonists of the many gruesome episodes narrated in the film. These stories have two important aspects to consider: first, they blur the difference between the realm of cinematography and that of reality; second, they are identified in common with political crimes. Controversial cases are interpreted in a way that substitutes spectacular effects for political issues, as in a riot scene that takes place in the San Vittore prison of Milan, a bold action “alla moda del cinema” (like in the movies) led by “the infamous Barbieri.” The most striking example is perhaps that of “la



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saponificatrice,” Leonarda Cianciulli, an old woman from Emilia who killed and made soap with the bodies of her victims. The whole story is delivered with an uncanny similarity to Frank Capra’s Arsenic and Old Lace (1944), in which a couple of old ladies kill and bury their many victims in the basement of their home. Furthermore, the case of Leonarda nurtured the impression that irrational violence had spread in Emilia more than in other regions. In fact, several deaths in the region around this time involved ex-partisans who claimed to be administering justice to Fascists. The commentator, rather, explains these killings as brutal effects of personal conflicts, referring to the place where they happened as “the death triangle,” where “violence [was] at the peak, vendetta at the base.”44 The case of Leonarda is presented as one among many criminal events such as these, even though “la saponificatrice” had killed her victims in 1939–40. In fact, Dieci anni della nostra vita does not explain that the woman, who is clearly mentally unstable, had killed three women as “human sacrifices” that she hoped would bring back her son, who had been drafted to fight in the Second War World. Obviously, I am not mentioning these circumstances to re-evaluate the case of Leonarda but rather to highlight how the film rewrites her story to exploit the violence of her actions in order to demonstrate that the communist region of Emilia more than other places is under the attack of mentally deranged individuals. In the end, Dieci anni della nostra vita justified the use of police forces to contain criminals and maintained that the Church was the only safe haven for the Italian people: “a need for faith contrasts with corruption and moral disorientation, a spiritual demand that makes the places of popular devotion blossom.”45 In the last part of the film, the many achievements and changes that happened in Italy between 1946 and 1953 are listed one after the other: an enormous amount of information packed into thirty minutes of show, creating a sequence that would be tedious to quote in its entirety. Two sentences by the commentator significantly mark the flow of recollection and are worth quoting. The first corresponds to the writing of the Italian constitution in 1946: “the constituent assembly or chaos. There was no chaos and so people could go have fun.”46 The second one follows the sequence about the massacre at Portella Della Ginestra in 1947, when a group of socialists and communist sympathizers and their families were killed while celebrating May Day in the countryside near a Sicilian village. “Elections or chaos,” says the voice-over. “Once again there will be no chaos: [Prime Minister] De Gasperi has formed a government without the Communists.”47 The commentator is referring to the birth of the

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republic in 1946 (marked by the drafting of the constitution) while also highlighting the popular need to “have fun” and the opportunity to play sports and enjoy other leisurely activities, which was, of course, provided to the people by the political powers responsible for ensuring stability and social order. Emphasizing a further aspect of the same picture of general happiness and entertainment, the commentator in 1948 stressed that the enjoyment of free time was possible only because Christian Democracy was able to defeat the Communists and thus to contain acts of violence such as the killings at Portella della Ginestra (whose perpetrators were never brought to justice). As in many other instances, the commentator only hints at the political questions at stake, and he does not even mention the harsh battle that took place during the electoral campaign. Rather, the immediate focus is on the aid of the Marshall Plan coming to Italy and, soon after, on works of art returning from abroad and Cinecittà opening once again, and then on people playing cards and models showing off the latest Italian fashions. In sum, a patchwork of footage about the most varied and the least logically connected topics. Perhaps the most shocking example can be found in the editing of images related to the attempted murder of PCI secretary Palmiro Togliatti together with Gino Bartali winning the Tour de France. The commentator connects these two sequences in saying: “It seems like the revolution will explode at any moment” and then “the revolution is on the move, too: who will cross the finish line first? It’s Bartali!”48 In conclusion, the “spensieratezza” about which I spoke at the very beginning of this chapter exploded at its best in Marcellini’s 1953 compilation film, which recycles footage from Giorni di gloria without giving the authors any credit and carelessly splices events together to create a master narrative of national pride and progress. Paradoxically, the fragmented technique of compilation served the purpose of creating a teleological understanding of the past vis-à-vis the present. Despite the lack of any cause-and-effect relationship between episodes and the loose progression in chronology, in the end, Dieci anni della nostra vita appeared to exploit the sensational style of the tabloid to create meaning and unity in the “life” of the Italian people. The mixing of fictional and non-fictional events, rather than undermining people’s beliefs in reality, seemed to convey the idea that feature films were testimony of this same “life.” Dieci anni della nostra vita concludes by showing the American premiere of an Italian film, Due soldi di speranza (Two Bits of Hope, Renato Castellani, 1952). As the voice-over says: “the hope of the two young protagonists is now a certainty.”49



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Narratives of the Reconstruction Spensieratezza, buonumore: these were the defining features of all narratives of the reconstruction, especially when it came to La Settimana Incom. Several compilation films representing Italy’s economic and social recovery had in common with the popular newsreel not only this “festive” approach to reality, but also the synchronic representation of its happening.50 Dieci anni della nostra vita is representative of the technique used to connect footage by means of objects or words, rather than compiling a chronological narrative of events clearly marked by a linear development in time. In many cases, the use of the present tense in the voiceover commentary even when talking about events in the past added to the impression that history was being told synchronically, like a series of news stories on a tabloid page. In Incom’s Dalla monarchia alla Repubblica (From the Monarchy to the Republic, 1948), for example, several “live” interviews were included in the edited footage as if they were taking place at the time of viewing. The past was made present in the recorded interviews, while viewers were made aware of the filmmaker’s manipulative role and the “image-ness” of the footage. However, in my view, the goal of this exposure was not to “encourage a more analytical reading,” as William Wees argued in reference to film collage.51 Rather, the intention was to make viewers sympathize with the commentator, whose attitude and mindset they were meant to share. Viewers were meant to laugh at the satirical commentary, thus revealing the existence of shared values (particularly regarding gender). The possibility of travelling through space and time, as the commentator did, could be seen as a form of empowerment, a way to make the audience share with the filmmaker / voiceover the authority to manipulate reality through film. The train, the popular means of transportation, functioned in many productions as a privileged device representing viewers’ power to live, through film, in multiple temporal dimensions at the same time. The train had two “times”: one within the coach and another related to the movement of the entire train through space. In a few separate works, the train constitutes the concrete mode of transport that reunited Italian veterans, eager to work on the building of a new nation, with their fellow countrymen. Both L’Italia lavora (Italy Works, 1947), produced by Incom, and Braccia lavoro (Arms to Work, Giovanni Pieri, 1952), produced by Luce for the Centro di Documentazione, for example, begin with prisoners of war arriving by train, announced in the former by a large banner that reads “salute ai reduci” (“Welcome to veterans”). In many other

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films, the train epitomized technological advancement and progress. Moreover, the railway system symbolically represented the entire process of the reconstruction. Destroyed completely during the war, the railways were one of the major projects realized in the immediate postwar period to re-establish communications across the country. Connecting north to south, trains and railways embodied people’s efforts to rebuild their country and give rise to a “secondo Risorgimento.” Immediately following the film’s title, L’Italia lavora flashes a “subtitle” that reads: “documentary of the actual will to reconstruct the country” (“documentario della fattiva volontà ricostruttiva del paese”). Other films, such as La magica rete (The Magic Network, Pietro Benedetti, 1948),produced by the Ministry of Transportation and State Railways, Il treno del sole (The Train of the Sun, Romolo Marcellini, 1953), produced by the Ministry of Transportation and State Railways, and Elettrotreno ETR 300 “Settebello” (Electric Train ETR 300, Romolo Marcellini, 1953), produced by Breda Industries, exploited the inside of the train as a space where it was possible to observe the transformation of Italian society, while the train itself represented the transformation of the Italian body politic. La magica rete, a film produced by the Ministry of Transportation and State Railways but displaying the same style and using the same voice as Incom films did, runs through the years of the immediate postwar period. It begins inside a train, where a man talks to a woman about his situation: he was in Salerno on 8 September 1943 and now he is travelling to Bologna to look for his family. “Inside the train coach lies the psychological sentiment of the war,” explained the voice-over.52 This short fictional scene introduced the idea that the train collected the spiritual wounds that the Italian people suffered. The following sequences made of recycled newsreel footage show the evidence of physical damage with a similar degree of pathos. In contrast with the medium shot and the close-ups in the opening sequence, long and very long shots epically and lyrically narrate the remaking of bridges so that the trains can finally cross them, the reopening of tunnels, and the miraculous story of the rebirth of Cassino and Messina. Going back to the inside of the train, another fictional scene casting the same man from the beginning indicates the passing of time and the changes that have taken place in Italy between 1943 and 1948. The man is travelling with a family of five whose youngest child is only six months old, as he says to the ticket inspector. The triumphant and emphatic soundtrack that has accompanied viewers from the beginning plays again in the final moments, as the voice-over announces that the railways “reconnected and cemented the unity of Italy, which we have recovered and will not lose again.”53



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A particular case that paralleled the possibility of movement inside the train to the activity of recollecting the past is Incom’s Italia allo specchio (Italy in the Mirror, Pietro Benedetti, 1953). Sponsored by the Centro di Documentazione, this film tells the story of “Il treno della rinascita” (The Train of Rebirth), an itinerant exhibition about governmental programs of reconstruction that takes place on a train. The series of photographs and graphics inside the train, which leaves the station in December of 1952, narrates events that have taken place in Italy since 1945. While passengers are free to move inside the coach and experience the passing of time through the historical recollection made by words, numbers, and images, the train itself moves through a railway system that also represents the changes that have been taking place since the end of the Second World War. As the voice-over explains, a series of panels inside the train represent a “landscape [that] mirrors Italy’s journey.”54 Outside the train, in the words spoken by the voice-over, the landscape is a living testimony of the beaten path along which Italy “runs fast”: lands given back to the people who work them, “[lying] beyond the night of dismay that was the war.”55 At this moment, the train enters a tunnel and then exits into a landscape of buildings in ruins. From then on, viewers of the film are like the passengers, surveying the landscapes of Italy through images that move as fast as if they were seen from a moving train. The speed of the train is the speed with which the country has recovered economically. “Italia at great speed,” says the commentator, over images of housing projects, hospitals, schools, pipelines, gas stations, and so forth. In school, children can cure the “germs” of the soul, while their bodies heal in sanatoria. “Methane healed us from one of our inferiority complexes,” he adds, and “the telephone made us close to each other.”56 Italia allo specchio concludes by showing the new Italian army, responsible for ensuring that war will not return to Italy. “The treno della rinascita is a story of healed scars”: the “scars” of the past are visible in the landscape as much as they are commemorated in the exhibition. Other films, as well, emphasized the train’s two temporal dimensions – one relating to its movement as an object in space and one related to its inside space within which people could move. In addition, both Il treno del sole and Italia allo specchio exemplify the rhetoric of “records” (“primati”), taking Italy’s completed economic recovery as synonymous with excellence and national pride. Produced a few years after La magica rete, Il treno del sole described the qualities of the electric Naples-Milan train. “A record of modernity” (Un primato di modernità), the voice-over calls it, where by “modernity” he means advanced technology (“structurally in between an airplane and a transatlantic”) and speed (150 km / hour),

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but also commodities (food, drinks) and “freedom.” Italy’s modernization is represented by the speed of this fast-moving train, as much as by the prosperity of its passengers, who can move “freely,” the voice-over says, “rather than be confined to their seats.” In comparing Il treno del sole with Elettrotreno ETR 300 “Settebello”; moreover, it is possible to identify two aspects of this rhetoric of records, depending on the class of the target audience. Produced by Breda, Elettrotreno showed the exact same train as Il treno del sole but focused, instead, on the technical qualities of its engine and structure and the exceptional labour of Italian workers involved in its realization. Like Il treno del sole, Elettrotreno praised the many qualities of this innovative train, but it also exalts the Italian working class who made it. Il treno del sole, on the other hand, represented the Italian society that relied on the train: middle-class men and women, elegantly dressed and enjoying its “comforts.” Marcellini’s “train of the sun” was the train of consumption, where each additional service had “a calculated surcharge” (un calcolato sovrapprezzo). Representing the train from the perspective of labour and consumerism, both the Ministry of Transportation and State Railways and Breda Industries seemed to exploit film “more as a means of communication for capitalism than as a spokesperson for the government.”57 Thus, Sorlin argued, La Settimana Incom intended to promote consumerism in Italian society more than to establish a consensus in favour of the Christian Democracy government of the time. In addition, I argue that Incom films expressed support for mass production through a nationalist rhetoric not present in other sponsored films supportive of capitalism, particularly those sponsored by the US Economic Cooperation Administration. For example, if one compares Marcellini’s short Made in Italy, which I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, with other short films on the same topic, such as Italia d’oggi (Italy Today, 1952), also directed by Marcellini but sponsored by the ECA, their respective histories of the reconstruction exalt the country’s autonomy and superiority in different ways. Italia d’oggi did not neglect to mention the problems that still afflicted Italian society, such as the lack of sufficient housing and unemployment. Also, the voice-over repeatedly warned and counselled Italians as to how they should behave in order to maintain what they had: they were to vote for democracy to keep their freedom and to gain prosperity. In other words, Italia d’oggi certainly praised Italy’s progress but also mentioned the backwardness still plaguing the country and the risks that the population would run if people were to change their behaviour. In addition, frequently referring to “Italians” in the third person plural and trying to demonstrate that the country had left dictatorship behind and



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embraced democracy and capitalism, this ECA short seems to be directed towards an international audience. Instead, Made in Italy imagined an Italian community (to paraphrase Benedict Anderson’s famous expression), in which the reconstruction process had been achieved already and handled autonomously.58 This community had the qualifying characteristic of a spectacle, to be seen and enjoyed by national viewers and envied by foreign spectators. While Italia d’oggi described Italian festive society in terms of sobriety and composed appreciation, Made in Italy burst with enthusiasm. The voice-over in Italia d’oggi says that “these days, nobody remembers the difficulties of the postwar period anymore” (Oggi dei disagi del dopoguerra nessuno si ricorda piu). A melodic and quiet tune plays behind black-and-white images of Rome, congested with auto traffic but lit by a tenuous sun, and the narrator invites viewers to “look at how life has become pleasant again” (Guardate come la vita è tornata piacevole). Looking flashy in its Technicolor trappings, Made in Italy opens with a rather more bombastic claim: “We were the first to cross the finish line of national reconstruction in Europe and we will demonstrate that to you,” as Notari enthusiastically announces.59 Not only is Italy the land of exceptional records “that everyone in the world attributes to us,” but it is also internationally known for these reasons. Italy appeared to be the vanguard of the European recovery, especially in the export of Italian products, and the concept of Italian excellence abroad refashioned the “picturesque” image that foreign viewers and visitors attributed to the southern part of the country. According to the commentator of Made in Italy, almost five and a half million foreigners came to Italy in 1952, most of them looking for the country’s famous landscapes and its monuments. The first few scenes give the audience an idea of the “vision” of Italy that tourists usually expect by showing the seaside or the mountain villages. This vision only lasts a few seconds, however; Made in Italy’s “new itinerary” through Italy, which focuses mores on the “records” of modernization, remakes the concept of italianità.60 The latter integrates serial production with traditional craftsmanship, as in Men and Machines (see chapter 5), and also with intellectual and artistic activities. By means of the usual strategy of editing through analogies or metonymies, the film narrative concatenates an omnium-gatherum – urban architecture, the steel and auto industry, fashion, energy resources, athletic records and champions, actresses and directors, agriculture, musical instruments, and the Vespa. Later on, when Vittorio De Sica appears in the film smoking a cigar, the voice-over comments that the director’s habit has positive consequences for the tobacco industry, immediately after which we see a shot of women packing tobacco leaves in a factory. A final example

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among the many others is worth mentioning: the moment when the voice-over praises Italian fashion and concludes with the metaphor: “We won’t build a dam on branch offices abroad.” In the next scene, a dam in northern Italy is shown operating at full capacity. While foreign viewers might fashion a new image for the Italian community – the splendour of Italian culture objectified in factory products, hand-made artefacts, and stars – national viewers could set aside political factions and social discontent, and exercise the buonumore that would keep stability and order. The editing style, avoiding connections of cause and effect, mirrored the lack of historicity in the representation of a time, that of the reconstruction, in which the past defined by Fascism was absent and that defined by the war was enclosed within another space, before the “tunnel” (as in Italia allo specchio). In the eternal present of the tabloid, a highly sensational representation of events affected viewers emotionally and triggered their excitement, while the film narrative moved them in space and nurtured their sense of empowerment provided by the ubiquitous gaze of the camera. As many other Incom films sponsored by the Centro di documentazione, Made in Italy showed the “Italian way to Fordism,” to paraphrase a famous expression by secretary of the Communist Party Palmiro Togliatti, who rather hoped for a national form of socialism.61 In this way, the film achieved the impossible task of demonstrating Italy’s independence at the international level, particularly vis-à-vis the United States, while still managing to communicate the irresistible charm of American culture.62 Director Sandro Pallavicini’s “Americanism” was well known; La Settimana Incom was modelled on the American documentary The March of Time, and Made in Italy represented national rebirth as based on mass production and stardom, both of which had been “imported” from the United States. Even if openly nationalistic in its rhetoric, Made in Italy negotiated Italian culture through the American model. Rather similarly, film and cultural studies scholars have recently argued that the complex web of influences and dependencies that characterized Italy’s relationship to the United States in the period of the reconstruction should be considered in terms of “selective appropriation.” As Rob Kroes maintained, what it is commonly called “Americanization” can be more appropriately termed “creolization,” by which Kroes means a loosening of the structural links not only of a language but also of a cultural system.63 In my view, Marcellini’s Made in Italy purposefully exploited the idea of appropriation. A few years later, Due civiltà s’incontrano (Two Civilizations Meet, Vittorio Gallo, 1954), produced by Incom, further extended this position



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and argued that Italy and the United States were two “civilizations,” historically linked both by commercial and cultural bonds and also by the actual flow of people: both the many Italian immigrants who had previously gone to America and also the many Americans (particularly of Italian heritage) travelling to Italy in the 1950s. To prove that Italians should not feel inferior to or colonized by Americans, Due civiltà s’incontrano historicized their country’s relationship to the United States beginning at “its origin.” The film opens by saying that “the history of America begins with an Italian name: Cristoforo Colombo. The powerful mask of the great explorer is made eternal in the marble statues of many cities in the United States.”64 This fairly banal and trivial bit of proof introduces the argument that Americans have so much to thank Italy for, historically and on an everyday basis. During the film, recycled footage shows how “the American Italianizes himself” (“l’Americano si italianizza”) (drinking coffee or using Italian-made products), how Italian immigration is constitutive of the American nation, and how Americans have been frequent visitors to “the country they call nostalgia.” Typical of Incom’s style in the 1950s, as we also see in Made in Italy, the idea of Italy’s leading role in America becomes more relevant by comparison to earlier compilation films, for example, the afore­ mentioned Thanks America! of Domenico Paolella.65 Paolella’s film was funded by contributions collected from the Italian people who were grateful to Americans for the “Friendship Train,” an initiative that had brought first aid to the victims of the Second World War. Throughout the 1950s, many editions of La Settimana Incom similarly showed strong support for the Marshall Plan and the military and economic alliances established with Italy’s “American friends.” Gallo’s Due civiltà s’incontrano, however, recycled Incom footage to build a story of Italy’s relationship with the United States that omitted the images of American aid in the immediate postwar period. Rather, Gallo’s film focused exclusively on the monuments of Italy’s glorious past and the snapshots of Italy’s equally glorious present, on both American and Italian soil. At the end, the commentator concludes by saying that, Many features of Italian life were absorbed by the Americans. Italy spread throughout the United States the appeal of its art and history, and America exported to Italy the systems of its mechanical civilization and its systematized mentality. However, in the historical premises of today’s collaboration we find a sign of destiny, which entrusted the initial discovery of the New World to the Italians.66

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In other words, according to the film, Italy’s complex of inferiority ought to vanish, considering the actual debts that the United States owed to Italian citizens. This sense of entitlement, however, also appears to be a way of accepting the introduction of both a productive system and a “mentality” as a simple token of American friendship. Indeed, the commentary makes the important point that the implantation of mass production was connected to changes in habits as well as ways of thinking. The idea that the United States had exported to Italy a “mentality” in addition to an economic system was already present in Thanks America! in 1948. The trailers for this film appeared in several editions of La Settimana Incom and showed that the Italian people had contributed their own money to the funding of Thanks America! One trailer showed Neapolitan kids joyfully pressing the film crew to donate their own savings. The clichéd images of these sciuscià (shoeshiners) were not meant to appeal to the compassion of American viewers, as they did in two 1946 films: Roberto Rossellini’s Paisà and Vittorio De Sica’s Sciuscià. Rather, they were there to demonstrate that Italians had practised the art of saving since childhood. In Due civiltà s’incontrano, an Italian journalist interviewed in the film explains that his role is to “objectively” report on American life, where “the individual can establish himself in a free and exciting competition.”67 In sum, the “rationalized mentality” that the commentator discusses at the end of the film consisted of not only the capacity for efficiency but also, more generally, the mindset of capital entrepreneurship. Chronicles of the Cold War When the commentator declares the idea that Italy’s present rela­ tionship with the United States had its origins in Columbus’s journey to be “a sign of destiny,” in fact, he is popularizing a concept of history that constituted what is now considered modern Europe. In Europe (in Theory), Roberto Dainotto explained that modern Europe is based on the theorization of history as universal. History is conceived “as a chronology and teleology of great epochs carrying a precise meaning in the great scheme of things.” To conclude this chapter, I want to examine Romolo Marcellini’s L’Italia nel mondo (Italy in the World, 1953), in light of Dainotto’s assumptions, a compilation film that promoted Italy’s military alliances with the United States and Western Europe during the Cold War. Made in Italy and Due civiltà s’incontrano represented “history through tabloid” in the sense that they recycled glamorous footage of the reconstruction and connected the pieces using analogies or metonymies



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so that a synchronic view of the process could play before the viewers’ eyes. L’Italia nel mondo narrated “history through tabloid” in the sense that it recollected sensational footage about the Soviet Union’s obstinate rejection of Western European demands for peace and collaboration, along with fearful images glimpsing the violent and gloomy reality of the countries under socialism. In any case, to paraphrase Dainotto’s words, these sponsored films popularized an understanding of history as a chronology and teleology of events that carried a precise meaning in the grand scheme of Italy’s transformation into a modern (free and prosperous) country. Directed by Marcellini for the Centro di Documentazione and produced by Documento Film, L’Italia nel mondo narrates the history of the Italian “return” to the international arena of politics and business. This history reiterates the idea that Italian people were victims of Fascism, arguing that Italian “cultural heritage” and “civilization” could only foster a democratic regime and individual liberty. Moreover, L’Italia nel mondo sought to demonstrate that the Soviet Union was a threat to the well-being of this “civilization,” and that military alliances were needed among the “free countries” uniquely as a means of defence. Stylistically, L’Italia nel mondo realized the idea of history as development by exploiting cinematography for its capacity to set the past in motion. The film starts in a library – depository of a static source of knowledge – where a book lies open. Each year narrated in the film corresponds to one chapter of the book, which begins with a photograph. From the photograph, which freezes a moment in time, the cinematic sequence plays and unfolds the events of that year. At the end of the sequence, the film goes back to the book and to the next picture. The narrator opens the film making a claim about the events we are about to witness: “Yesterday, that was a chronicle. Today, it is history.”68 While a chronicle or a newsreel simply records, a history or a documentary explains. Video and sound editing orchestrate the immediacy of recorded images in the narrative, providing fragmented facts with a total vision. Events are given both in their happening and within a larger scheme or totality. At the beginning of the film, for example, the narrator says that Winston Churchill did not believe in any possible alliances between Great Britain and Italy. The film shows Churchill giving a speech and then cuts to images of the destruction caused by the war. In conclusion, the voice-over argues that the facts “belied” (smentirono) Churchill. However, he also says, “reality was like that, back then” (“allora la realtà era quella”). Even though they turned out to be erroneous, Churchill’s

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false predictions responded to the current situation, the aftermath of the Second World War. In the historical context in which they were produced, the newsreel images are truthful representations of reality, not only because they resemble the persona of Churchill, but also because they represent the historical contingency of the moment in which Churchill was speaking. Eventually, the series of events connected by the compilation film provides viewers with a complete vision of Italian history in a teleological trajectory, projecting the recorded image into the future. As the commentator proclaims at the end of the film, after showing footage of meetings of the European Coal and Steel Community or the pro-European cooperation posters by ECA: “Today’s faith in a United Europe will be able to transform into the great reality of tomorrow.”69 Cinematic duration provides viewers with a sense of the passing of time and the realization of history. The aesthetics of compilation films, however, allow viewers to see events in an organized fashion, clearly marked by intervening titles that indicate the year in which they happened. As opposed to most Incom films, which privileged a synchronic vision of reality, L’Italia nel mondo emphasized the chronological order of the events represented in the footage. In this way, the film emphasized the meaning of each episode within the larger narrative of Italy’s progress towards reintegration in the international political and business arena. First, L’Italia nel mondo conveyed the historical interpretation of Fascism as an aberration, victimizing the Italian people and maintaining that they were faithful supporters of democracy, as the Resistance had shown. The regime was responsible for the hostility of the British government, as demonstrated in Churchill’s refusal to deal with Italians in any business, and for the “sacrifice” or diktat, or rather the Peace Treaty of 1946. Italy is compared with Austria and portrayed as a victim of Nazi Germany. When De Gasperi took his trip to the United States in 1947, when the Marshall Plan began in 1948, when in 1949 “Italy sat equal to the other European powers” (“da pari a pari”), in “the year of the European Council,” and when Italy entered the United Nations in 1950, history demonstrated that democracy “belonged” to the Italian people. By signing the North Atlantic Treaty in 1948, Italy demonstrated the will to safeguard the freedom, common heritage and civilization that the country shared with the alliance’s other members, founded on the principles of democracy, individual liberty and the rule of law. These were the words of the treaty, which the commentator recalls when he justifies Italy’s decision to participate, claiming that “its civilization and its heritage did not admit another possible choice.”70



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The series of events that demonstrated how Italy belonged to the “free countries of the world” also showed how the Soviet Union had forced the same countries to reorganize their armed forces for defensive purposes. According to the commentator, Russia determined a new “course of history” in 1950 by attacking Korea. “The belligerent Soviet action forced the hand of the West,” he says, “to bring rearmament to the fore, and to unite in the defensive bulwark of the Atlantic Treaty.”71 In this context, editing, musical soundtrack, and the use of writings concur to provoke anxiety and fear in viewers who witness the events that reveal the Soviet Union to be the greatest enemy of freedom. In the episode about the 1948 Soviet occupation of Czechoslovakia, fragments of vision fastened together in succession without any evident logic created an image of the Soviet world as despotic, violent, and irrational. Extreme close-ups taken from a low or oblique angle, in which the Communist flag overlaps laughing faces with mouths and eyes wide open, intertwine with crane shots of marching soldiers and tanks, while the voice-over declares: “Czechoslovakia changed regime from one day to another. In the summer, war was a possible threat. The Soviet Union isolated Berlin from the West. Democracies reacted against these alarm bells by uniting first in the Western European Union and later in the Atlantic Treaty.”72 Images of newspapers or superimposed titles are also used to emphasize Russian hostility towards Italy, European unity, and freedom tout court. A newspaper headline reads: “The Kremlin is the real enemy of Italy. Moscow says ‘NO’ to the Allied proposal regarding Trieste.”73 In the shot immediately after, the camera zooms in on another article: “London, the morning of the 14th. Moscow Radio announces that the Soviet Union has rejected the proposal of the three Western powers to begin negotiating the restitution of Trieste to Italy through a revision of the Peace Treaty.”74 Finally, when in 1949 Russia expressed the “fourth and last veto” of Italy’s admission to the United Nations, four “NO”s flash on the image of a closed front door. Finally, parallel editing formally renders the idea that the Soviet Union repeatedly attempted to prevent the realization of a European Community and the achievement of Italian national unity. According to the commentator, Russia placed obstacles (frapposti) in the way of peace on the continent and Italy’s international recognition. Visually, the film intersects the episodes that depict Russian opposition with the images of European industrial workers, or with those of ships unloading cargo provided by the Marshall Plan. The images of the meeting of the fifteen countries entering the Marshall Plan crosscut with an animated graphic of a map where Russian borders expand like wildfire,

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covering Eastern Europe in black. Then, the “iron curtain” appears, cutting through the European “peninsula.” The dramatic way in which the film divides Western Europe from the Soviet bloc contrasts with the commentary, which instead, argues for this division as the goal to achieve in order to preserve Europe’s “glory.” The film quotes Italian Minister of Foreign Affairs Count Sforza, who said at the time of the North Atlantic Treaty: “We have to make it; if we do not make it, this glorious Europe might become again what it was ten thousand years ago: a poor, small, insignificant peninsula of Asia.”75 According to L’Italia nel mondo, American help was essential in order to realize “the fantasy of a Europe that want[ed] to think of itself as a geographical, natural, and factual unity.”76 Count Sforza’s statements immediately precede the meeting between Alcide De Gasperi and Harry Truman. This meeting and De Gasperi’s successful speech at the US Senate are presented as decisive in the matter of “clos[ing] with the past” and finally abrogating the restrictions imposed on Italy at the end of the Second World War. This is the second time in the film that we hear Italy’s relations with the United States being addressed. The first mention occurs in 1947, when De Gasperi’s visit to the United States secured help in the form of wheat, coal, and money, necessary commodities to begin the economic recovery and reconstruction. The complete identification between Europe and the United States vis-à-vis European collaboration is visualized in the last sequence of the film, when we see a few people looking at Marshall Plan posters about European solidarity. The voice-over does not clarify that these posters, which read “Europa unita. Garanzia di pace” (“United Europe. A Guarantee of Peace”) or “Unione dei popoli liberi. Garanzia di pace” (“Union of Free People. A Guarantee of Peace”) were actually funded by American money. However, the second poster shows the American flag flying among the European flags, all of them fluttering atop a tree, while a dove flies over them. A pan over the flags ends on the Italian tricolour, closing the film with a message of hope in the future. As the commentator insists, a united Europe is necessary to safeguard every society. Furthermore, every person should “feel” that the European Community is the choice that will bring peace, and also that those who already understand this, presumably viewers of the documentary, should “explain” what they know to the poor people who “feel” it but cannot articulate it. With these words, L’Italia nel mondo conveys that film means to realize the passage “from feeling to understanding to knowing,” as Antonio Gramsci once described the “popular element.” Thus, L’Italia nel mondo



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popularizes history in the sense that it targets the people who “feel” rather than those who “know,” as in the documentary tradition. The attempt to mobilize the viewer’s affect by means of film is clear. The last sentences in the commentary verbalize how the film exploits the “human” element within the spectator as a strategy of persuasion. This element necessarily includes the sentiment of fear, since the life of European people and of European nations are both at stake. Collaboration among European nations as well as between workers safeguards the lives of both. The apparatuses of security, in the hands of national and international agencies of power, are the tools with which to eliminate the gap between the People and the people, that is, between the body politic and the bodies of the wretched, beyond the nation. As the voice-over proclaims: “[A United Europe] is what will save us. The people feel that. Explain it to the poor people who feel it. This is peace, if we succeed.”77

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Filmography

The following filmography is based on existing copies of sponsored Italian films, produced roughly between the late 1940s and the late 1950s, all of which I was able to locate at one of several archival locations. Each entry notes the film’s location, as well as basic production information, and in cases where the film’s title does not suffice to explain its premise, a short summary. Such information is based on cross-checked data either from the reels themselves, from film catalogues published by producers or sponsoring agencies, or edited by the archives in possession of the collections. In addition to films produced in Italy, I also have included a few that were dubbed in Italian and distributed in Italy by the United States Information Service, as well as some films about Italy but for an American audience, sponsored by the US Economic Cooperation Agency. In sum, this filmography is not meant to be exhaustive of all Italian sponsored film productions; rather, it aspires to be a helpful tool for future research in the field. Centro di documentazione L’Abruzzo. 1953. Directed by Piero Turchetti. Produced by Istituto Luce. 16mm; 10’25”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Accadde in Lucania (It Happened in Lucania). 1953. Directed by Francesco De Feo. Produced by Istituto Luce. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. Agricultural development in Lucania finally becomes possible thanks to the Cassa per il Mezzogiorno. Acqua al sud (Water to the South). 1954. Directed by Fulvio Tului. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Also Alessandri. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 9’35”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL.

200 Filmography Southern and northern Italian landscapes are compared to show how they are different. The South is represented as both barren and hopeless until a new aqueduct is built with government funding. Acqua dei poeti (Water of the Poets). 1956. Directed by Gian Paolo Callegari. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Toni Secchi. 16mm; 9’20”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. The work of the Cassa per il Mezzogiorno, a governmental agency for economic development in southern Italy, is showcased. Acqua per un comune (Water to a Town). 1956. Directed by Antonio Petrucci. Produced by Istituto Luce. 35mm; 14’; colour; sound (Italian). ACS. The story, narrated with humour, describes a southern village struggling with drought. At the end, the building of an acqueduct will solve all problems. Ai margini della città (At the Margins of the City). 1954. Directed by Giorgio Ferroni. Produced by Istituto Luce for Centro di Documentazione. Cinematography by Giovanni Ventimiglia. Music written and directed by Renzo Rossellini. 35mm; 11’; Technicolor; sound (Italian). ACS, ASIL, DIEPC. The living conditions on the outskirts of Rome are depicted as poor, but honourable. Avvenne in funivia (It Happened on the Funicular). 1953. Directed by Guido Leoni. Produced by Astra Cinematografica. 16mm; 9’10”; b / w; sound (italian). DIEPC, ASIL. The Valle d’Aosta from 1948 on was relatively independent from the state, thus able to preserve its traditional culture. At the same time, the government made a concerted effort to rebuild its economy just as it did elsewhere in Italy. The film presents the modern funicular “Cermis” as a notable achievement. Avventure di ogni giorno (Everyday Adventures). 1953. Directed by Romolo Marcellini. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Rino Filippini and Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 10’; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. A survey of Italians about the fight against unemployment. A fisherman, a farmer, a truck driver, and a factory worker tell their stories to demonstrate that change is possible in spite of rampant pessimism. Borgate della riforma (Villages of the Reform) 1955. Directed by Luigi Scattini. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Toni Secchi. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL, ACS. Rural borgate (small villages) are built thanks to agrarian reform in southern Italy (e.g., Puglia, Calabria, Lucania). Braccia Lavoro (Arms to Work). 1952. Directed by Giovanni Pieri. Produced by Istituto Luce. Assistant director: Roberto Nardi. Written by Ugo Zatterin. Cinematography by Benito Frattari. Music by Virgilio Chiti. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16 mm; 12’5”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL, ACS.



Filmography 201

The fight against unemployment, Italy’s economic recovery, and the professionalization of the workforce as it unfolded in the ten years following the Second World War are depicted. Calabresella. 1955. Directed by Gian Paolo Callegari. Produced by Gamma Cinematografica. Cinematography by Elio Gagliardo. Music by Teo Usuelli. 16mm; 9’; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Through the story of a young couple, the film shows how modernization of everday life has changed the population of Calabria, a southern Italian region. At the centre of this story, the home is the emblem of these changes, with its running water and electricity. Calabria di domani (Calabria of Tomorrow). 1953. Directed by Aurelia Attili. Produced by Istituto Luce. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. Campania industriale (Industrial Campania). 1953. Directed by Pier Franci Giuseppe. Produced by Astra Cinematografica. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. Le case degli italiani (The Houses of the Italians). 1958. Directed by Vittorio Sala. Produced by Istituto Luce. Assistant director: Daniele Luisi. Cinematography by Angelo Filippini. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 35mm; 10’30”; colour; sound (Italian). ACS. The benefits of the Fanfani Plan are narrated through the story of a couple desperately looking for a place to live. Cassino anno X. 1954. Directed by Edmondo Albertini. Produced by Astra Cinematografica. Cinematography by Gastone Di Giovanni. Music by Alessandro Nadin. 16mm; 9’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. The story of Cassino, from immediately after the Second World War until its completed reconstruction ten years later, told from the point of view of a woman born there before the war. Un chicco di grano (A Grain of Wheat). 1954. Directed by Raffaello Pacini. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Francesco Attenni. Music by Francesco Casavola. 16mm; 10’; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. The new technologies used to farm wheat are showcased. The film also promotes the Alto commissariato per l’alimentazione (High Commission for Food), a governmental agency opened in 1944 to distribute food from the Allies to the Italian population. La città dei ragazzi (The City of Kids). 1955. Directed by Giorgio Ferroni. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Giorgio Merli. Commentary by Giorgio Stegani. 16mm; 11’; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. The “città dei ragazzi” is an institute in Civitavecchia that hosts runaway children to educate them in responsibility and self-control. The activities and principles of the institute are conveyed through the story of Bruno, a kid who learns to live in the “città.”

202 Filmography Come si vota (How to Vote). 1956. Directed by Daniele Luisi. Produced by Istituto Luce. 16mm; 7’; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. The different voting procedures and electoral systems in democratic Italy are described. Comunicare a distanza (Communicating from a Distance). 1953. Directed by Giovanni Passante. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Rino Filippini, Aldo Alessandri, and G. Chierici. Music by Virgilio Chiti. 16mm; 10’; b / w ; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. Postal services in Italy have improved and been modernized since the war, thanks to an efficient mechanized system of sorting and distributing the mail. Conquiste del sud (Achievements in the South). 1953. Directed by Edmondo Cancellieri. Produced by Incom for Centro di Documentazione. Cinematography by Lorenzo Fiore. Music by Raffaele Gervasio. 16mm; 9’05”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ACS, ASIL. Agrarian reform, housing reconstruction, land reclamation, and acqueducts and power linesare reshaping southern Italy. Dal Tevere al Liri (From the River Tevere to the River Liri). 1954. Directed by Pino Mercanti. Produced by Atlante Film. Written by Umberto Giubilo. Cinematography by Roberto Reale. Music by Costantino Ferri. 16mm; 12’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ACS. Roads, housing, and industrial reconstruction are improving Lazio, central Italy. La diga del Flumendosa (The Dam of Flumendosa). 1957. Directed by Enzo Trovatelli. Produced by Istituo Luce. Cinematography by Emanuele Piccirilli. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 9’; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. Irrigation in Sardinia is made possible thanks to the building of a dam, between 1953 and 1957. Il domani non fa più paura (Tomorrow Does Not Frighten Us Anymore). 1958. Directed by Vittorio Sala. Produced by Istituto Luce. Assistant director: Daniele Luisi. Cinematography by Angelo Filippini. Editing by Angela Monfortese. 35mm; 9’; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Through the story of a farmer and his son, the film shows how living conditions have improved since the passing of legislation regarding retirement plans for farmers. Una domenica a Trieste (Sunday in Trieste). 1954. Directed by Per Giuseppe Franci. Produced by Astra Cinematografica. Cinematography by Antonio Sturla. Music by A. Nadin. Editing by Luciano Anconetani. 16mm; 9; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. This film was made the same year in which Trieste was officially annexed to Italy. The city is shown in all the aspects that make it Italian, above all, the widespread usage of the Italian language.



Filmography 203

Domenica in provincia (Sunday in a Country Town). 1954. Directed by Mino Loy. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Benito Frattari. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 8’; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. Leisure activities on a Sunday in provincial towns, which are returning to older traditions and habits in the aftermath of the Second World War. La donna in Italia (The Woman in Italy). 1958. Directed by Giovanni Roccardi. Produced by Incom. 16mm; 7’; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. Fattoria Italia (Farm Italy). 1954. Directed by Roberto Nardi. Produced by Istituto Luce. 16mm; 9’45”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Improvements in the management and productivity of livestock are featured. Una fiammella si è accesa (A Small Flame Has Been Lit). 1960. Directed by Enzo Trovatelli. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Emanuele Piccirilli. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 9’; colour; sound (Italian). ACS, ANCI, ENI. The distribution and use of methane gas in northern Italy, thanks to the ENI, are described. The film also describes how methane gas has changed and improved the lives of Italian citizens, especially housewives. Note: Even though sponsored by the ENI, the film is included in the USIS-Trieste collection, and it is also catalogued as part of the films sponsored by the Centro di Documentazione. Gente del cantiere (People of the Shipyard). 1955. Directed by Giovanni Passante. Produced by Astra Cinematografica. Cinematography by Massimo Sallusti and Michele D’Ilio. Music by A. Nadin. 16mm; 10’; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL, ACS. The film shows the reconstruction of Italian shipyards and economic development in sea trade. Gente di Liguria (People of Liguria). 1953. Directed by Pino Mercanti. Produced by Atlante Film. Written by Umberto Giubilo. Cinematography by Toberto Reale. Music by Costantino Ferri. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ACS. The fhistory of economic development in the region of Liguria is described. Giorno di festa (A Day of Rest). 1958. Directed by Pietro Benedetti. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Cesare Colò. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 35mm; 10’; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. In a small town, on Saturday evening, most people take time to play schedina, betting on which soccer teams will win the Sunday game. In this way, the film hopes to show how life has changed for the better, for the average Italian family. Giorno di scuola (A School Day). 1954. Directed by Giorgio Ferroni. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Giorgio Merli. Music by Gaby Debbane. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC. This is the story of a little girl who can finally attend school, thanks to the opening of a nearby public institution.

204 Filmography I giovani e il lavoro (Youth and Work). 1958. Newsreel La Settimana Incom, no. 1643. Directed by Lucio Fulci. Produced by Incom. 16mm; 7’; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. “Giro” in Italia (A Trip around Italy). 1955. Directed by Silvio Gigli. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Antonio Secchi and Giuseppe De Mitri. Music by Ed. Musicali Ricordi. 16mm; 10’30”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Radio star Silvio Gigli is both the director and commentator of this film about the reconstruction of Italy, narrated through the device of the Giro d’Italia bicycle race. Un gradino più in su (One Step Up). 1953. Directed by Edmondo Cancellieri. Produced by Incom. 16mm; 7’22”; colour; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC, ASIL. According to this film, everyone in Italy has contributed to national recovery, from children to peasants to factory workers. Ho visto nel Molise (What I Saw in Molise). 1953. Directed by Piero Turchetti. Produced by Istituto Luce. 16mm; 9’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Ieri e oggi (Yesterday and Today). 1952. Directed by Giorgio Ferroni. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Aldo Alessandri. Music by Virgilio Chiti. 16mm; 12’10; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC, ASIL. A comparison between the situation in Italy in 1945 and 1952, after the reconstruction. Incontri sulla Pontina (Meetings on Pontina Way). 1955. Directed by Roberto Fabbri. Produced by Documento film. Cinematography by Aldo Greci. 16mm; 8’40”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Five stories show how social projects are helping the Italian population. In the background is the new highway built to connect the coastal villages of Lazio to the capital. Incontro con una regione (Meeting with a Region). 1953. Directed by Giorgio Stegani. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Fausto Zuccoli. Music by Virigilio Chiti. In collaboration with Giorgio Ferroni. 16mm; 8’45”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. Economic recovery in Emilia is made possible thanks to governmental help in many sectors, particularly the food industry. In volo sulla Sardegna (A Flight Over Sardinia). 1956. Directed by Gian Paolo Callegari. Produced by Documento film. Cinematography by Toni Secchi. 16mm; 9’20”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. L’isola risorta (An Island Reborn). 1955. Directed by Giulio Morelli. Produced by Gamma Cinematografica. Cinematography by Giuseppe Caracciolo. 16mm; 10’20”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC.



Filmography 205

This is the story of the reconstruction of the small southern island of Pantelleria (Sicily), which was deeply affected by bombings during the Second World War. Italia allo specchio (Italy in the Mirror). 1953. Newsreel La Settimana Incom. Directed by Pietro Benedetti. Produced by Incom. Music by Raffaele Gervasio. 16mm; 9’25”; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC, ASIL. The film describes “Il treno della rinascita” (The Train of Rebirth) which was an itinerant exhibition –on a train, travelling throughout Italy – showcasing governmental programs of reconstruction. L’Italia a Trieste (Italy in Trieste). 1955. Directed by Guido Gianni. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Malio Dolci. 16mm; 8’35”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. The arrival of the Italian army in Trieste is celebrated, once the city became part of Italy, in 1954. L’Italia e il mondo (Italy and the World). 1953. Directed by Romolo Marcellini. Executive producer: Fabrizio Schneider Graziosi. Produced by Istituto Luce. 16mm; 11’50”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. This film is about foreign affairs and the Italian republic, particularly, how Italy regained consideration from the United States and Western Europe after the Second World War, and the country’s involvement in the Cold War, against the Soviet Union. L’Italia è piccola (Italy Is Small). 1957. Directed by Antonio Petrucci. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Cesare Colò. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 35mm; 9’30”; colour; sound (Italian). ASIL, DIEPC, ACS. Telecommunications in Italy developed fast thanks to governmental aid. Italia in cammino (Italy on the Road). 1958. Directed by Giovanni Paolucci. Produced by Incom. Cinematography by Fulvio Testi. Music by Raffaele Gervasio. 35mm; 21’; colour; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC, ASIL. A trip from the South to the North of Italy shows some of the many projects of economic and social development. Il lotto (The Lottery). 1955. Directed by Vittorio Carpignano. Produced by Gamma Cinematografica. Cienamtography by Vincenzo Seratrice. Music by Teo Usuelli. 16mm; 9’05”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. The lottery is used in this film to represent southern Italian folklore, as well as the hopes and desires that southern citizens have for their future, such as riding a car or owning a motorcycle. Made in Italy. 1952. Directed by Romolo Marcellini. Produced by Incom for Centro di Documentazione. Realized by Raimondo Musu. Cinematography by Arturo Climati. 16mm; 8’05”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Italian “records” of modernity in different sectors such as tourism, industry, fashion, sports, and cinema are described.

206 Filmography Le Marche. 1953. Directed by Edmondo Albertini. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Rino Filippini. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. This film is about economic recovery and modernization in the region of Marche, especially the housing industry. Meglio di ieri (Better than Yesterday). 1952. Directed by Romolo Marcellini. Produced by Documento Film. Commentary by Sandro De Feo. Cinematography by Rino Filippini. Music by Antonino Antonini. Editing by Pino Giomini. 16mm; 9’45”; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC, ASIL. Industrialization, as can be seen here, has bettered the lives of Italians. Il Melograno (The Pomegranate). 1956. Directed by Gian Paolo Callegari. Produced by Gamma Cinematografica. Cienmatography by Elio Gagliardo. Music by Teo Usuelli. 16mm; 10’10”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ACS. This story of two peasants, engaged to be married, in Maremma, Tuscany, demonstrates the need to organize in co-operative farming. Mercato comune europeo (The European Internal Market). 1958. Directed by Vittorio Sala. Produced by Istituto Luce. Assistant director: Daniele Luisi. Cinematography by Libio Bartoli, Cesare Colò, and Angelo Filippini. Editing by Angela Monfortese. 35mm; 7’; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL, ACS. The film explains how the European Community’s internal market will better the European economy. Il mio comune (My Town). 1955. Directed by Giorgio Ferroni. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Giorgio Merli. 16mm; 11’15”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. The film shows how public administration works in a modern little town in Italy. La Naja (The Military Service). 1955. Directed by Gian Paolo Callegari. No information about production. Cinematography by Elio Galiardo. Music by Teo Usuelli. 35mm; 11’; colour; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC. A young peasant from southern Italy becomes a mechanic and, at the same time, marries a northern woman, all thanks to military service. Nell’interesse di tutti (In Everyone’s Interest). 1953. Directed by Marcello Giannini. Produced by Istituto Luce. 16mm; 8’16”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. In the midst of social unrest, political extremism, and poverty, Italy reorganizes the army and the police force. Non siamo lontani (We Are Not Far from Each Other). 1953. Directed by R.M. Forte. Produced by Istituto Luce. Written by Vittorio Sala. Cinematography by Angelo Filippini. Music by Virgilio Chiti. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC.



Filmography 207

Communication technology, greatly developed in recent years, can bring people together from all over the world. I nostri divertimenti (Our Hobbies). 1953. Directed by Vittorio Quaglieri. Unknown producer. Music by Antonino Antonini. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Sports, tourism, and leisure activities have recovered like any other industry in Italy. Note: The film was also distributed by USIS. Una nuova conquista (A New Achievement). 1954. Directed by Vittorio Gallo. Produced by Astra Cinematografica. Music by A. Nadin. Editing by Lucioano Anconetani. 16mm; 9’50”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. This is a film in praise of methane and how it has modernized and bettered the everyday lives of Italians. Nuova vita sul mare (A New Life on the Sea). 1953. Written and directed by Francesco De Feo. Produced by Istituto Luce. Photography by Francesco Antenni. Music by Virgilio Chiti. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC. How economic activities in harbours, shipyards, and sea transportation have revived are showcased. Oggi domenica (Today Is Sunday). 1957. Written and directed by Giovanni Paolucci. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Libio Batoli, Cesare Colò, Angelo Filippini, and Fausto Zucccoli. 35mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC. This is a typical Sunday for Romans: mass in the morning, picnic lunch in the countryside, soccer match in the afternoon, and a movie in the evening. Oggi in Lombardia (Today in Lombardy). 1953. Directed by Giovanni Passante. Produced by Astra Cinematografica. 16mm; 10’40”; b / w; sound (italian). DIEPC, ASIL. Oggi la donna (Women of Today). 1954. Directed by Francesco De Feo. Produced by Istituto Luce for Centro di Documentazione. Cinematography by Angelo Filippini, Libio Bartoli, and Aldo Alessandri. Music by Virgilio Chiti. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 9’ 35”; colour. DIEPC. This film is about the women’s movement and the rights acquired thanks to modernity and, in particular, the democratic system. The commentator concludes that the ultimate goal of women’s struggles is to allow all women to be mothers and wives. Opere in Sicilia (Public Works in Sicily). 1953. Directed by Giacomo Pozzi Bellini. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Angelo Jannarelli. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 9’45”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. L’ora del sud (The Time of the South). 1954. Directed by Edmondo Cancellieri. Produced by Incom for Centro di Documentazione. Photography by Lorenzo

208 Filmography Fiore. Music by Raffaele Gervasio. 16mm; 10’35”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Economic development in the south proves that those who claimed that any hope of betterment was futile were wrong. Note: This film is also listed in the 1953 USIS-Trieste catalogue. Otto Maggio 1945 (8 May 1945). 1953. Directed by Ugo Mantici. Produced by Sedi. Cinematography by Franco De Paolis. Music by Virgilio Chiti. 16 mm; 10’10”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC. This is another film about reconstruction after the war in Maremma, this time told through the personal story of a social assistant. Victory in Europe Day is 8 May 1945, the day the Second World War officially ended in Europe. Paese di artigiani (A Country of Craftsmen). 1958. Directed by Claudio Triscoli. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Renato Sinistri. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 9’20”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. The film shows how the government supports craftmanship by funding vocational schools. Pane quotidiano (Daily Bread). 1952. Directed by Gino Visentini. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Arturo Climati. Music by Antonino Antonini. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC. This film describes a survey on diet and nutrition in Italy. Panorami di Sicilia (Views of Sicily). 1954. Directed by Vittorio Solito. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Giorgio Merli. 35mm; 9’30”; colour; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC. A trip through Sicily is filmed, showing both tourist attractions and housing projects. Partono gli emigranti (Emigrants Leave). 1954. Directed by Fulvio Tului. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Aldo Alessandri. Editing by Alberto Verdego. 16mm; 9’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. The film describes the changes in the history of Italian emigration, which the government tries to regulate in the postwar period in many ways: by fighting poverty, engaging in international agreements, and building modern centres for emigrants where their health is checked before they leave. Passaporto europeo (European Passport). 1958. Directed by Mino Loy. Produced by Documento Film. 16mm; 7’10”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. This film explains how both goods and people can move more freely within Western Europe in the new era. Per il loro avvenire (For Their Future). 1955. Directed by Giulio Morelli. Produced by Gamma Cinematografica. Cinematography by Giuseppe Caracciolo. Music by Teo Usuelli. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC.



Filmography 209

The Ente Nazionale Assistenza Orfani del Lavoro Italiani takes care of 50,000 orphans in Italy; 15,000 are currently enrolled in professional schools. Pian di Rocca. 1954. Directed by Giampiero Pucci. Produced by Sedi. Cinematography by Giulio Rufini. Music by Virgilio Chiti. 16mm; 9’20”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. This film describes the modernization in housing and agriculture that have taken place in the southern area of Tuscany called Maremma. Una piccola amica (One Little Friend). 1953. Directed by Guido Leoni. Produced by Astra Cinematografica. 16mm; 10’15”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Irrigation plans and industrial development in Piedmont are showcased. I più begli anni (The Best Years). 1955. Directed by Giorgio Ferroni. Produced by Documento Film. Executive producer: Fulvio Lucisano. Cinematography by Giorgio Merli. 35mm; 12’; colour; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC. A young graduate of the University of Bologna remembers the years she spent at school. Un podere in Maremma (A Farm in Maremma). 1954. Directed by Giorgio Ferroni. Produced by Documento Film. Music by O. De Filippis. 35mm; 11’; colour; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC. A peasant family moves to their new farmhouse in Maremma (in the southern part of Tuscany), which they received thanks to the agrariarn reform. Polizia scientifica (Forensics). 1954. Directed by Pino Belli. Produced by Documento film. Cinematography by Vincenzo Mariani. Editing by Mario Bonotti. 16mm; 8’16”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Profughi dalmatici (Refugees from Dalmatia). 1955. Directed by Giorgio Stegani. Produced by Documento Film. Cienmatography by Giorgio Merli. 16mm; 9’50”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. This film is about people who left Istria, in Yugoslavia, to find political asylum in Italy. Promessa del sud (Promise of the South). 1953. Directed by Aurelia Attili. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Angelo Filippini. Music by Osvaldo Minevini. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. Prue sull’oceano (Prows on the Ocean). 1957. Directed by Vittorio Sala. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Cesare Colò. 16mm; 12’15”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. The rebirth of Italian tourism is celebrated by following the journey of the Cristoforo Colombo, a new and modern cruise ship that travels from Genoa to New York City.

210 Filmography Puglia il lavoro (Puglia: Work). 1953. Directed by Fausto Saraceni. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Renato del Frate. Editing by Serafino Rap. 16mm; 16mm; 10’10”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Puglia la terra (Puglia: Land). 1953. Directed by Fausto Sararceni. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Renato del Frate. Editing by Serafino Rap. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ACS. Il punto sulla riforma agraria (A Report on the Agrarian Reform). 1958. Produced by Astra Cinematografica. 16mm; 7’20”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Qualcuno pensa a noi (Someone is Thinking of Us). 1952. Directed by Giorgio Ferroni. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Giovanni Ventimiglia. Music by Antonino Antonini. Editing by Pino Giomini. 16mm; 12’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC. The film shows how the state takes care of citizens’ health from birth through old age. Redenzione della montagna (Redemption of the Mountains). 1958. Directed by Piero Turchetti. Produced by Sedi. 16mm; 7’25”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. This film is about forestry reclamation throughout Italy. La regione umbra (The Umbrian Region). 1953. Directed by Mino Loy. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Fulvio Testi. Music by Virgilio Chiti. 16mm; 10’15”; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. Ricerche scientifiche e progresso tecnico (Scientific Research and Technical Progress). 1954. Directed by Enzo Trovatelli. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by B. Frattari. Music by Febo Censori. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 9’30”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Sardegna il lavoro (Sardinia: Work). 1953. Directed by Ugo Fasano. Unknown producer. Cinematography by Giovanni Ventimiglia. Editing by Vittorio Solito. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. Sardegna la terra (Sardinia: Land). 1953 Directed by Ugo Fasano. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Giovanni Ventimiglia. Editing by Vittorio Solito. Executive producer: Lucisano Bramini. 16mm; 8’55”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC. La scuola dei grandi (The School for Adults). 1952. Directed by Giorgio Ferroni. Produced by Istituto Luce. Written by Fabrizio Schneider Graziosi. Commentary written by Renzo Trionfera. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL, ACS. The fight against illiteracy in Italy in the early 1950s is narrated through the story of a peasant family.



Filmography 211

Scuola di eleganza. 1954. Directed by Fausto Saraceni. Produced by Istituo Luce. Cinematography by Angelo Filippini. Music by G. Fassino. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 9’30”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. This is a story of young men and women at the vocational schools in Turin, in particular, young women who attend a school for aspiring tailors with great success. Scuole per la vita (Schools for Life). 1954. Series: Cronache dal Mondo. Produced by GLM. 16mm; 7’40”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Il segreto del successo. 1954. Written and directed by Arnaldo Marrosu. Produced by Astra Cinematografica. Music by Alessandro Nadin. Editing by Luciano Anconetani. 16mm; 9’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC. The “secret to success” is specialization. For this reason, professional development courses are numerous in Italy, originally established to help fight unemployment. Sicilia 1953. 1953. Written and directed by Giacomo Pozzi Bellini. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Angelo Jannarelli. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. Music by Virgilio Chiti. 16mm; 9’35”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. Strada panoramica (Panoramic Road). 1955. Directed by Angelo Jannarelli. Produced by Documento Film. 16mm; 9’45”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. An engineer travels across Italy and sees important changes including the many cars, a modern highway, and the development of the tourist industry. Eventually, he meets a peasant (Lazzaro) whose land has been expropriated to build the highway. According to the engineer, Lazzaro will have other opportunities thanks to this highway, e.g., to become manager of a gas station. Studenti stranieri in Italia (Foreign Students in Italy). 1954. Directed by Rafaello Pacini. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Vincenzo Mariano. Music by Franco Casavola and Gaby Debbane. 16mm; 10’15”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ACS. Universities for foreigners in Italy host thousands of students every year from more than 80 countries. The film describes the universities of Perugia, Florence, and Rome. Taccuino di un breve viaggio (Notebooks of a Short Journey). 1954. Directed by Pino Belli. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Giorgio Merli. Music by Achille Pisanelli. 16mm; 9’40”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Modern transportation is now available to cross the channel that separates Calabria from Sicily. Vignettes about the travellers on the ferry feature typical scenarios of southern Italy (e.g., a Latin lover courting a young woman, a street vendor approaching foreign tourists to sell postcards).

212 Filmography Terra delle Dolomiti (The Land of Dolomiti). 1953. Directed by Emilio Marsili. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Vittorio Abbati. 16mm; 10’10”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Terra di bonifica (Land Reclamation). 1955. Directed by Luigi Scattini. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Toni Secchi. 16mm; 9’30”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ACS. This film depicts reclamation in the rural areas of Puglia and Lucania. Terra di lavoro (Land of Work). 1953. Directed by Pier Giuseppe Granci. Produced by Astra Cinematografica. Muic by Alessandro Nadin. Editing by Luciano Anconetani. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ACS, ASIL. Agricultural development in Campania and the building of an aqueduct are described. Terra lombarda (Land of Lombardy). 1953. Directed by Giovanni Passante. Produced by Astra Cinematografica. 16mm; 9’35”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ASIL. La terra nuova (The New Land). 1952. Directed by Francesco De Feo. Produced by Istituto Luce. Written and narrated by Nicola Adelfi. Cinematography by Francesco Altenni. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 10’10”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ACS. Agrarian reform has changed the lives of the peoplein southern Italy, for the first time in many years. Note: The Documento Film catalogue also includes this film among its productions. Tiriamo le somme (Let’s Add It Up). 1953. Directed by Giovanni Paolucci. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Angelo Jannarelli. Written by Vittorio Zincone. Music by Virgilio Chiti. 16mm; 9’20”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ACS. The budget of the state and its administration are compared to the everyday organization of a family. Uomini come gli altri (Men Like Any Others). 1954. Directed by Claudio Triscoli. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Alessandro Alessandrini. Music by Renzo Rossellini. 16mm; 10’10”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. This film represents the role of the state in rehabilitating young children who were victims of the war, making them fit to work and accepted citizens of Italy. Uomini e misure (Men and Measurements). 1955. Directed by Raffaello Pacini. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Toni Secchi. Editing by Pino Giomini. 16mm; 10’10”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. The housing industry is described and, in particular, the work of Catasto Nazionale, a government office that registers and monitors the distribution of buildings to Italians.



Filmography 213

Veneto il lavoro (Veneto: Work). 1953. Directed by Emilio Marsili. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by V. Abbati. Editing by Serafino Rap. Music by Riccardo Zanodai. 16mm; 9’40”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Industrial development in Veneto is narrated through the story of a man who comes back to his home region after many years. La verità su Trieste (The Truth about Trieste). 1954. Directedby Claudio Triscoli. Produced by Documento Film. 16mm; 11’55”; b / w; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Viaggio nell’isola (A Voyage on the Island). 1955. Directed by Sergio Giordani. Produced by Documento Filim. Cinematography by Giorgio Merli. Editing by Silvano Bellini. 16mm; 10’; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC, ACS. This film is about economic and social development in Sicily, especially agriculture, the oil industry, schools, and housing. Il villaggio del fanciullo (The Village of the Young Boy). 1955. Directed by Guido Gianni. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Toni Secchi. Editing by Pino Giomini. 16mm; 8’55”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. The “villaggio del fanciullo” is an orphanage located close to Trieste and funded by the Italian government to give hope and a future to the orphans in the area. La vita li attende. 1954. Directed by Giorgio Ferroni. Produced by Documento film. Cinematography by Giorgio Merli. 16mm; 10’40”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. This film describes schools and education for disabled and mentally challenged children. According to the commentator, these young boys are not discriminated against but rather framed as “normal,” even though they were considered “abnormal” at birth. In volo sulla Sardegna (Flying Over Sardinia). 1954. Directed by Gian Paolo Callegari. Produced by Documento Film. Cinematography by Toni Secchi. Editing by G. Bettoja. 16mm; 9’20”; colour; sound (Italian). DIEPC. Zeroquarantacinque: Ricostruzione Ediliza (Zero Forty-five: Housing Reconstruction). 1952. Directed by Vittorio Sala. Produced by Istituto Luce. Written by Ennio Flaiano. Commentary by Renzo Trionfer. Cinematography by Francesco Attenni. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 9’, b / w, sound (Italian). ACS, DIEPC, ASIL. The reconstruction and development of housing in postwar Italy are narrated parallel to the story of a sub-proletarian family who initially lived in a “cave” (a temporary dwelling) and then moved to a public housing project. Note: The Documento Film catalogue also includes this film among its productions.

214 Filmography Economic Cooperation Administration / Mutual Security Agency Agrumeti d’Italia / Liquid Sunshine. 1950. Directed by Primo Zeglio. Produced by Europeo Film for ECA Italy. Written by Pallotta and G.A. Longo. Cinematography by Rino Filippini. Music by Virgilio Chiti. Editing by Pino Giomini. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. Italy’s citrus fruit industry is rebuilt thanks to Marshall Plan aid. Aquila. 1949. Written, directed, and produced by Jacopo Erbi for ECA Italy. Assistant director: Tullio Kezich. Assistant producer: Tullio Mainardi. Cinematography by Franco Vitrotti and Gianni Vitrotti. Music composed and conducted by Mario Bugamelli and played by Orchestra Radio Trieste. Cast: Natale Peretti. 35mm; 15’; b / w; sound (without dialogue). ACS. An unemployed man is trying to find a job – having lost his function as the head of the household and his role as the breadwinner who earns the wages necessary for the family’s welfare. When the Aquila oil refinery (Trieste, Italy) is reopened, thanks to Marshall Plan counterpart funds, the man finds a position there, and thus regains his identity as both worker and husband / father / breadwinner. Assignment Europe. 1952 Series: Strength for the Free World. Produced by the ECA Film Unit, Paris, for MSA Washington. 35mm; 27’; b / w; sound (English). NARA. NATO allies are building defences against the potential threat of the Soviet Union, as narrated through the story of a group of journalists travelling across Western Europe. Much of the footage is recognizable from other Marshall Plan films. At the Foot of the Mountains.1948 / 54. Produced by Phoenix Films, probably for ECA or MSA. 35mm; 12’; b / w; sound (English). NARA. The European Recovery Program is funding several economic development projects in Piedmont: e.g., the rebirth of Turin’s vast automobile manufacturing plants, papermaking industries powered by hydroelectric plants, and an experimental television station. Bonifiche / Land Redeemed. 1950. Directed by Vittorio Gallo. Produced by Telefilm (Rome) for ECA Italy. Photography by Francesco Vitrotti. Music by Marco Tamanini. 16 mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. Several land reclamation projects in southern Italy, made possible by Marshall Plan aid, are featured. La casa (The House). 1950. Directed by Giuliano Tomei. Produced by Phoenix for ECA Italy Cinematography by Antonio Schiavinotto. Music by Mario Tamanini. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). CB.



Filmography 215

This is the story of housing reconstruction in Italy, told by a middle-class man who visits the outskirts of Rome in search of a place to live with his future wife. Ciampino-Aereoporto d’Europa. 1953. Directed by Vittorio Gallo. Produced by Vittorio­Gallo Produzione Cinematografica (Rome) for MSA Italy. Photography by Francesco Vitrotti. Editing by Giulia Fontana. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. Modern equipment, skilled staff, and teamwork assure the safe and efficient running of Rome’s renovated Ciampino Airport. Clearing the Lines / Via libera. 1951. Series: The Changing Face of Europe. Directed by Kay Mander. Produced by Wessex Film Productions Ltd, London, for ECA / OSR. Written and narrated by Nicola Adelfi. 16mm; 19’; Technicolor; sound (dubbed Italian). The film surveys the state of transportation in postwar Europe and the progress made in rebuilding and modernizing roads, railways, and airports. This is the fifth of the six films in the Changing Face of Europe series. È cominciato in Calabria / Calabria. 1950 / 55. Produced by Pino Giomini (Rome) for ECA Italy. Writer and commentator: Giangiacomo Napoletano. Cinematography by Rino Filippini, Busia, Aurelia Attili. Music by Carlo Innocenzi. Editing by Pino Giomini. 16mm; 27’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. The Opera Sila, made possible thanks to Marshall Plan counterpart funds, consisted of land reclamation and the reallocation of properties to peasants. Costruire sul mare (Building on the Sea). 1953. Directed by Francesco De Feo. Produced by Documento Film (probably for MSA Italy). 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. At Conigliano, near Genoa, a coal-and-steel centre is built thanks to the European Recovery Program. Cotone (Cotton). 1947 / 50. Directed by Ubaldo Magnaghi. Produced by Phoenix Films for ECA Italy. Narrated by Sandro De Feo. Cinematography by Renato Sinistri. Music by Ennio Porrino. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. From the United States, unprocessed cotton arrives in Italian cotton mills. From there, threads and fabrics are exported around the world. Dobbiamo vivere ancora / We Shall Live Again. 1948 / 50. Directed by Vittorio Gallo. Produced by Phoenix Films (Rome) for ECA Italy. Cinematography by Gabor Pogany. Music by Ennio Porrino. 16 mm; 14’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS, CB. A worker’s life is saved thanks to a blood transfusion, used as a metaphor for how Marshall Plan aid has saved the nation. Note: The Marshall Plan Filmography notes that although some catalogues refer to this film as We Shall Live Again, there is no evidence that an English-language version was made.

216 Filmography I due “Conti” /  The Two Counts. 1948 / 50. Directed by Ubaldo Magnaghi. Produced by Europeo Film for ECA Italy. Written by Mario Pannunzio. Cinematography by Renato Sinistri. Music by Virgilio Chiti. Distributed by Paramount. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. The Italian mercantile fleet has recovered in Genoa, Monfalcone, and Naples, thanks to the European Recovery Program. Emilia. 1951. Directed by Vittorio Gallo. Produced by Vittorio Gallo Films (Rome) for ECA Italy. Script by James Wellard, spoken by Frank Gervasi. 16mm; 22’; b / w; sound (English). NARA. The film describes “Red Emilia,” stronghold of the Communist Party. The region suffered much destruction during the war and was a major recipient of Marshall Plan funds. Europe Looks Ahead / Europa in cammino / . 1950. Produced by The March of Time, Paris, for ECA. 16mm; 18’; b / w; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. Several examples of Marshall Plan–funded projects are shown from different European countries, including Italy (the Po Valley and Trieste). European Labor Day. 1951. Produced by the ECA Film Unit, Paris, for ECA. 16mm; 9’; b / w; sound (English). NARA. Among the different celebrations of 1 May in Europe, in Italy, CISL president Pastore challenges the Communist-led unions of the nation. Free City. 1950. Directed by Romolo Marcellini. Produced by Telefilm (Rome) for the MSA. Camera work by Rino Filippini. Music by Alberico Vitalini. Editing by Pino Giomini. Assistant director: Micolo Ferrari. 35mm; 10’; b / w; sound (English). NARA. A day in the life of the “free city” of Trieste as it recovers from the destruction brought by the war and copes with the postwar quarrels among the Allies. A Good Life / Vivere sani. 1951. Series: The Changing Face of Europe. Directed by Humphrey Jennings and Graham Wallace. Produced by Wessex Film Productions Ltd, London, for ECA / OSR. Director of photography: Freddie Gamage. Written and narrated by Nicola Adelfi. Editing by Sydney Stone and others. 16 mm; 19’; colour; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. Health in postwar Europe and the efforts underway to prevent disease and promote well-being are described. According to the film, success can only come through international cooperation without regard to man-made frontiers. This is the last of the six films in the Changing Face of Europe series. A Gun for Gaetano. 1952. Series: Strength for the Free World. Produced by the MSA Film Unit, Paris, for MSA Washington. 35mm; 27’; b / w, sound (English). NARA.



Filmography 217

The film discusses how Italy is repairing its military capability to become a member of NATO. I Went Back. 1950. Produced by Terry Ashwood, Associated British Pathe Ltd, London, for ECA UK. 35mm; 16’; b / w; sound (English). NARA. Five years after the war, prominent British actor Leo Genn goes back to visit the nations he helped liberate. Talking to the citizens of Italy, Austria, Germany, Greece, and Denmark, Genn finds that with Marshall Plan help, they are busy rebuilding their cities, homes, and lives. Italia d’oggi / Italy Today. 1952. Directed by Romolo Marcellini. Produced by Documento Film, Rome, for MSA Italy. Production director: Pietro Notarianni. Editing by Pino Giomini. Cinematography by Rino Filippini and Vittorio del Monte. Narrated by Gino Visentini. Music by Paolo Girando, played by the Orchestra Sinfonica di St Cecilia, conducted by the composer. 16 mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. Since the end of the war, much progress has been made, but many problems still need to be faced. Glamorous tourist attractions of Rome and acclaimed movie stars (De Sica and Magnani, among others) are edited together with the images of the everyday life of the average Italian worker. A Job for Giovanni. 1952. Series: Strength for the Free World. Produced by the MSA Film Unit, Paris, for MSA Washington. 35mm; 27’; b / w; sound (English). NARA. The Southern Question is presented to the average American viewer: the film describes the tackling of the problem of unemployment and drought, e.g., building irrigation systems and modernizing industries. Larderello / Hidden Power. 1950. Directed by Vittorio Gallo. Produced by Phoenix Films for ECA Italy. Music by Mario Tamanini. Cinematography by Francesco Vitrotti. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. In Larderello (Tuscany) the local resources of hot steam from volcanic geysers and natural gases produce electrical power, with borax as a by-product for export. Mais / Corn. 1950 / 51. Directed by Vittorio Gallo. Produced for ECA Italy. Cinematography by Franco Vitrotti. Music by Marco Tamanini. Animations by Fontana Prat. 16 mm; 18’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. The film describes the improvement of corn cultivation in Italy with the use of modern agricultural equipment and American hybrid seeds. The Marshall Plan at Work in Italy. 1950. Directed by James Hill. Produced by Editorial Film Productions Ltd, London, for ECA / OSR. Script by Arthur Calder Marshall. Narrated by Jack Ralph. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (English). NARA.

218 Filmography In two reels, the film offers an overview of several issues in Italy and how the Marshall Plan is working towards improvement, e.g., in housing reconstruction, rebuilding of roads, remodelling of trains and railways, and the manufacturing of FIAT cars and motor scooters. This is one of the films in the series Europa im Bild / the Marshall Plan at Work. Matera / Life and Death of a Cave City. 1948–53. Directed by Romolo Marcellini. Produced by Documento Film (probably for ECA Italy or MSA Italy). Photography by Cyril Knowles. Editing by Pino Giomini. Music composed and conducted by Franco Mannino and played by the Symphonic Orchestra of St Cecilia. 35mm; 11’; Technicolor; sound (English). NARA, CL. The film publicized “La Martella,” one borgo among the many built outside the southern city of Matera in the 1950s, where the government meant to relocate the rural masses. According to the film, a better life awaited the peasants in the new city built on the hill. Men and Machines / Uomini e macchine. 1951. Series: The Changing Face of Europe. Directed by Diana Pine. Produced by Wessex Film Productions Ltd, London, for ECA / OSR. Written and narrated by Nicola Adelfi. 16 mm; 18’; colour; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. A survey of Europe’s economic recovery, as aided by the Marshall Plan. To lower costs, more automation and mass production are needed in both new and established industries. In the film, the Cold War is justified as necessity to defend work and productivity. This is the fourth of the six films in the Changing Face of Europe series. Minatori d’europa / Miners’ Window. 1952. Directed and produced by John Ferno for the ECA or the MSA. Assistant director: Nelo Risi. Cast: Andrei Keir, Bianca Maria Visciola, Joyce Allen. Written by Arthur Calder Marshall. Cinematography: Jacques Maner, Louis Maille, Joe Jago. 16 mm; 40’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. The life of European miners is described through the stories of three miners: an Italian emigrant in Belgium, a refugee from East Germany, and a Scot. The Miracle of Cassino. 1950. Directed by Ubaldo Magnaghi. Produced by Documento Film, Rome, for ECA Italy. Cinematography by Angelo Jannarelli. 35mm; 11’; b / w; sound (English). NARA. The reconstruction, with Marshall Plan counterpart funds, of historic Cassino, northeast of Naples, and its national monument, Monte Cassino. Nave in cantiere / A Ship Is Born. 1951. Directed by Ubaldo Magnaghi. Produced by Documento Film, Rome, for ECA Italy. Camera work by Cyril Knowles. Narrated by Frank Gervasi. Music composed and conducted by G. Pomerant, with the Symphony Orchestra of St Cecilia. 16mm; 10’; Technicolor; sound (Italian). ACS.



Filmography 219

At an Italian shipyard, revived with funds from Marshall Plan aid, a new ship is built. Note: This film is also listed as Nascita di una nave in the 1953 USISTrieste catalogue. One-Two-Three No. 7. 1953 / 54. Directed by Jacques Curtis, Maurice Harley, Wim Huender, Harald Kubens, Jacques Letellier, Romolo Marcellini, James McKechnie, Julian Spiro, and Alan Waple. Produced, edited, and written by Peter Baylis, Cinetone Studios, Amsterdam, for MSA / ECA. 16mm; 17’; b / w; silent (sound track missing). ACS. This is a newsreel about what is happening throughout Europe, including a section on chestnut trees in Italy, which are suffering from mildew and blight, and Korean trees that are being imported to improve the stock. (L’)oscurità è finità / City Out of Darkness. 1950. Directed by Max Diekhout. Produced by Merkurius Film, Berlin, for ECA. Music by Hans Ebert. 16 mm; 9’; b / w; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. West Berlin’s electric power plant is rebuilt thanks to US aid, thus main­ taining the viability of the city in its struggle against Communist domination. Our Drawings. 1947 / 52. Directed by George Trassler. Originally sponsored by ECA Austria (no date) and produced by George Trassler, Vienna. Commentary in Italian by Beatrice Di Monda. Music by Paul Kont. 16 mm; 9’40”; colour; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. The film describes a selection of drawings and posters made by Austrian children for a 1951 children’s poster competition sponsored in Austria under the Marshall Plan. Paese senz’acqua / A Town without Water. 1949. Directed by Giuliano Tomei. Produced by Phoenix Films, Rome, for ECA Italy. Treatment: Ercole Patti. Cinematography by Antonio Schiavinotto. Music by Alberico Vitalini. 16 mm; 12’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS, CB. This is the story of how Marshall Plan counterpart funds built a pipeline to bring water to a small southern Italian town for the first time. Partire è un po’ morire (Leaving Is a Bit Like Dying). 1950 / 55. Directed and produced by Romolo Marcellini. Cast: Peppino De Filippo. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. In this farce, actor Peppino De Filippo attempts to obtain a passport and then cross the Italian border. The film promotes a united Europe, without customs. Note: This film is part of the USIS-Trieste collection, and it was most likely produced for the ECA. Some footage is missing, though, and the title is not original but was created by archivists at the ACS. Pascoli rigogliosi (Fertile Lands). 1948 / 51. Produced by John Deere for ECA. 16 mm; 18’; b / w; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS.

220 Filmography The film describes the modernization of agriculture by means of tractors and other machinery produced by Deere. Un pezzo di carbone / A Piece of Coal. 1949. Directed by Giuliano Tomei. Produced by Phoenix Films for ECA Italy. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. The film looks at the history and uses of coal and its massive importation into Italy, thanks to the Marshall Plan. A Place to Live / Case per tutti. 1951. Series: The Changing Face of Europe. Directed by Jacques Brunius. Produced by Wessex Film Productions Ltd, London, for ECA. Written and narrated by Nicola Adelfi. Editing by Sydney Stone and others. 16mm; 17’; Technicolor Monopac; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. Framed within the history of the housing industry in Europe, this is a verisimilar story of a couple that has to move to Caen, where their situation becomes emblematic, because the man finds a job in the housing industry. This is the third of the six films in the Changing Face of Europe series. Power for All / Carbone bianco. 1950. Series: The Changing Face of Europe. Directed by Graham Wallace and Anthony Squire. Produced by Wessex Film Productions Ltd, London, for ECA. Narrated by Leo Genn. Executive producer: Ian Dalrymple. Editing by Sydney Stone and others. Cinematography by Cedric Williams. Camera work by Peter Newbrook and John Corbett. Sound recording by Peter Seabourne. 16mm; 20’; Technicolor Monopac; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. In the mountains of Austria, Norway, and Italy and in France’s Valley of the Rhone, enormous power stations are being built to supply the electricity that recovering industries must have. This is the first of the six films in the Changing Face of Europe series (shot between August and Christmas 1950). Power from the Earth. 1951? 35mm; 12’; b / w; sound (English). NARA. This is the story of natural gas in Italy and its development as supported by a “foreign aid program.” Note: Even though the film is not included in the ECA’s catalogues, the Marshall Plan Filmography considers it produced for ECA Italy and possibly renamed Italy’s Powerhouse, in the 1951 catalogue published by the ECA. Ragazzate / Enfantillages / Let’s Be Childish. 1950. Directed and produced by George Freedland for ECA France. Music by Van Hoorebeke. Edited by Nelly Bogor. 16mm; 22’; b / w; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. At an Alpine resort, children of various nationalities are on vacation with their parents, and they play together in the snow. At the beginning, they have rivalries and do not understand each other. At the end, when an English girl is accidentally hurt, they cooperate to help her and find friendship beyond differences.



Filmography 221

Rebirth of a Nation. 1952. Series: Strength for the Free World. Produced by the MSA Film Unit, Paris, for MSA Washington. 35mm; 27’; b / w; sound (English). NARA. This film reports on the postwar recovery of Italy with the help of the Marshall Plan. Anna Magnani and Gina Lollobrigida appear in the film, as well as Carlo Levi, Alberto Moravia, and Vittorio De Sica looking at strips of film in a cutting room. Ritratto di un paese / Handicraft Town. 1949. Series: Tempo in Cammino no. 2. Directed by Romolo Marcellini. Produced by Marcellini Films (Rome) for ECA Italy. Cinematography by M. Bonicatti. Music by Vittorio Chiti. Editing by Pino Giomini. 16mm; 13’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. Maniago, a small town between Venice and Trieste, has always been noted for its fine cutlery. Steel supplied under the Marshall Plan has allowed the townspeople to work again. The film also mentions that locals contributed 2 per cent of their wages to build a needed clinic. Rotaie / Railroads. 1948 / 50. Directed by Francesco De Feo. Produced by Europeo Film for ECA Italy. Script by Gino Palese. Cinematography: Angelo Iannarelli. Music by Virgilio Chiti. Editing by Pino Giomini. Distributed by Paramount. 16 mm; 12’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. The film depicts the reconstruction of the war-destroyed rail line between Civitavecchia and La Spezia, Italy. Sardegna Agricola (Rural Sardinia). 1948 / 53? Directed by Romolo Marcellini. Produced by Documento Film, probably for ECA / MSA Italy. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. Sardegna d’oggi (Sardinia Today). 1948 / 50? Directed by Francesco De Feo. Produced by Documento Film, probably for ECA / MSA Italy. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. Scalo a Genova (Layover in Genoa). 1948 / 50? Directed by Romolo Marcellini. Produced by Documento Film for ECA Italy. 16mm; 11’; b / w, sound (Italian). ACS. The Italian ship Conte Biancamano is reconverted with the help of Marshall Plan counterpart funds. The Biancamano is shown as very important to Italian merchant shipping and economic recovery. Senza paura / Without Fear. 1951. Directed by Peter Sachs. Production supervision Philip Stapp, W.M. Larkins Ltd, in association with the Producers Guild, London, for ECA. Written by Allan Mackinnon. Music by Francis Chagrin. 16 mm; 15’; b / w; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. Five years after the war, Europe remains divided. Much progress has been made in economic recovery but more work is needed towards international cooperation. Note: The film is listed as being in colour in the Marshall Plan Filmography; the copy at the ACS, however, is in black and white.

222 Filmography The Shoemaker and the Hatter / Il calzolaio e il cappellaio. 1950. Directed and produced by John Halas. Written by Joy Barchelor. 16mm; 15’30”; colour; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. Two small business owners disagree initially but in the end jointly approve the abolition of customs, with the shared goal of bringing prosperity, progress, and development to all people. Silkmakers of Como. 35mm; 10’; Technicolor; sound (English). NARA. Marshall Plan funds assist in rebuilding the silk industry in Como, so that the entire region can benefit. Note: There is no production information, but the Marshall Plan Filmography lists the film as produced for ECA Italy. It is also listed as Il lago della seta in the 1953 USIS-Trieste catalogue. Soldati della Libertà / Soldiers of Freedom. 1950–54. 16mm; 13’; b / w; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. Soldiers from Western Europe are trained in Georgia, US, as part of the program of Mutual Security. Note: The producer is unknown, but probably the film was produced for the ECA or MSA. The Marshall Plan Filmography does not include this film; however, it lists the Turkish and French versions of the same film, Soldiers of Freedom. Storia di un Salvataggio / Story of a Rescue. 1948 / 55. Directed by Jacques Asseo. Produced by Les Gemeaux, Paris, sponsored by ECA / OSR. Written by Paul Guth. Music by Gorge Parys. 16mm; 7’; colour; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. The “rescue” of Europe, thanks to the European Recovery Program, is narrated through an animated cartoon. Storm Over Italy. 1953 / 54. 35mm; 12’; b / w; sound (English). NARA. The head of the Information Division of ECA Italy, Frank Gervasi, appears before the camera to describe the severe storms and flooding of the Po River in 1953 that have devastated northern Italy. Note: The Marshall Plan Filmmography states that even though the film was not included in any catalogues, it was probably produced for or by the Information Division of ECA Italy. Struggle for Men’s Minds.1952.Series: Strength for the Free World. Produced by Europa Telefilm for MSA. 35mm; 27’; b / w; sound (English). NARA. The film offers an overview of the struggle in Italy in 1948 between communists and non-communists. It includes a re-enactment of the 1948 assassination attempt on Palmiro Togliatti, secretary of the Italian Communist Party. Sulcis. 1948 / 50. Directed by Francesco De Feo. Produced by Documento Film, probably for ECA Italy. 16mm; 12’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. With the help of the Marshall Plan, mining in Sulcis (Sardinia) provides coal for the central power stations that will cover a part of the energy needs of Italy. Talking to the Italians. No date. Produced by ECA or MSA Italy. 16mm; 23’; b / w; sound (English). NARA.



Filmography 223

The Information Division of ECA Italy used different methods, including­ films and puppet theatre, to explain the missions and activities of the European Recovery Program to Italians. Tempo perduto / Time Lost. 1948 / 50. Directed by Vittorio Carpignano. Producer unknown, but sponsored by ECA Italy. Script by Marcello Marchesi. Photography by Antonio Schiavinotto. Music by Mario Tamanini. 16 mm; 12’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. The film shows how better and more efficient organization of the life of a society means improving productivity as well as enhancing the quality of individual lives and thus of the nation as a whole. Terre d’Europa / A Farm in Four Countries. 1953. Directed by John Ferno. Produced by Ferno Productions, Paris, for MSA. Camera work by Nelo Risi. Script by Ian Stuart Black. Editing by Françoise Diot. Music by Maurice Thiriet. Narrated by Norman Wooland. 16mm; 31’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. Various projects of agricultural development in Europe are described in this film. Among other things, drainage and irrigation of the coastal plain of Paestum in Italy, neglected for centuries, made the land fertile again. Note: The USIS-Trieste catalogue indicates Nelo Risi as director, while the Marshall Plan Filmography says that he was the cameraman. Tesori nascosti / Hidden Treasures. 1950 / 51. Directed by Vittorio Gallo. Produced by Phoenix. Cinematography by Antonio Schiavinotto. Music by Mario Tamanini. 35mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). CB. The “hidden treasures” are Italy’s underutilized resources. Finally, they are beingused to better advantage in reforestation, fishing, tourism, steel mills, railroad car manufacturing, oil drilling, and natural gas plants, thanks to the Marshall Plan. The film, narrated from a foreign perspective, is also critical of the barriers that are still present between European countries. Note: The commentary is in Italian, but titles are in English. An English version of the film is archived at NARA. Three Hundred Million Mouths / Nostro pane quotidiano. 1950. Series: The Changing Face of Europe. Directed by Julian Spiro. Produced by Wessex Film Ltd., London for ECA. Written and narrated by Nicola Adelfi. 16mm; 16’30”; colour; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. The film surveys European agriculture five years after the war. Productivity still needs to be improved, and only modern methods and closer international cooperation can make this possible. This is the second of the six films in the Changing Face of Europe series. Translatantico: Una corsa attraverso la storia / Transatlantic. Directed by André Sarrut and Jacques Asseo. Produced by Madeleine Films (Philip Stapp), Paris, for MSA. Music by Gail Kubik. 16mm; 10’; colour; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS.

224 Filmography Americans and Europeans all belong to a single community of nations, which this animated cartoon hopes to represent. Trois hommes au travail / Tre uomini al lavoro. 1951. Produced by Bernard De Bre, Paris, for ECA / OSR. 16 mm; 8’20”; colour; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. Animated puppets tell the story of how modernization of equipment and work methods in a factory can improve both working conditions and productivity. Note: Although no copies are known to have been made in English, this film was also catalogued originally as Three Men at Work. Uomini al lavoro / Men at Work. 1948 / 49. Directed by Paolo Moffa. Produced by Documento Film for ECA Italy. Script by Antonio Petrucci. Photography by Giorgio Orsini. Editing by Renzo Lucidi. Distributed by Paramount. 16 mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. The film describes the courses of professional requalification in Italy, promised by the Fanfani Plan to train thousands of unemployed workers and to provide employment in reforestation and land reclamation. La valle dello zinco / The Zinc Valley. 1948 / 50. Written and directed by Joe Falletta. Producer not named, but sponsored by ECA Italy. Assistant director: Antonello Falqui. Commentary written and narrated by Antonello Falqui. Cinematography by Massimo Sallusti. Edited by Giorgio Lungarotti. 16 mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. On the expansion of the zinc mining industry in Val Seriana, in the province of Bergamo, with the help of the Marshall Plan. La via Appia / The Appian Way. 1950. Directed by Vittorio Gallo. Produced by Telefilm, Rome, for ECA Italy. Photography by Francesco Vitrotti. Music by Mario Tamanini. 16 mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. Following the old Roman road between Brindisi (Puglia) and Rome, the Via Appia, this film illustrates the progress being made using Marshall Plan aid in solving Italy’s postwar problems. La via del petrolio (The Oil Road). 1951–55. Directed by Vittorio Sala. Cinematograhpy by Edmondo Albertini. Music by Mario Tamanini. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. Oil can travel from the Middle East to Italy, through pipelines and tankers, thanks to the Marshall Plan. Note: The producer is unknown, but the film was probably sponsored by ECA / MSA Italy. Viaggio in Sicilia / A Trip in Sicily. 1948–50. Directed by Antonio Iannotta. Produced by Europeo Film for ECA Italy. 16mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. The film shows a voyage to postwar Sicily, committed to reconstruction and to economic development.



Filmography 225

Village without Words (no Italian title available). 1950. Produced and directed by David Kirland for ECA Italy. Music by Alberico Vitalini. 35mm; 12’; b / w; sound effects and music (no narration). NARA. Told only with images and music, this is the story of the revival of an Italian village where the townspeople have work again, and an income. Other Films Distributed in Italy by USIS-Trieste (1948–63) Progetti per domani / Project for Tomorrow. Directed and produced by Victor Vicas. Camera work by Helmuth Ashley. Music by Claude Arriev. Edited by Tolly Reviv. 16mm; 20’; b / w; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. Upon seeing a film distributed by the Marshall Plan on 4-H Clubs in America, a group of Austrian farm youngsters form their own 4-H group. I programmi ricreativi nelle fabbriche (Recreational Programs in the Factory). Produced by the International Association of Machinists. 16mm; 16’30”; b / w; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. Workers are watching a film (with the same title as this short) during a union meeting. The filmis about a factory in Los Angeles, where union organizers­ nurture employees’ motivation by means of recreational activities at the workplace. Questi dieci anni (These Last Ten Years). 1956. Directed by Luigi Barzini Jr. 16mm; 28’; b / w; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS; CB. This is a narrative of the past ten years of the Italian republic. Some important figures appear in the film, such as Alcide De Gasperi, Harry Truman, Dwight D. Eisenhower, Fiorello La Guardia, and Italian President Luigi Einaudi. Se il seme non muore (If the Seed Survives). 1950–52. Directed and produced by Romolo Marcellini. Cinematography by Rino Filippini. Edited by Pino Giomini. 16mm; 9’30’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. Chestnut trees are dying from a kind of fungus. The solution comes from the US: a new species of plant arrives from Georgia, and it is transplanted in Italy. Tom Schuler: Ciabattino e uomo di stato / Tom Schuler – Cobbler, Statesman. 1950. 16mm; 29’; b / w; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. An cartoon about the fictional Tom Schuler, a common man who eventually is involved in the government of the United States. Uniti per la Libertà (United for Freedom). 1952. 16mm; 9’30”; b / w; sound (dubbed Italian). ACS. History of the NATO, featuring the new Commander in Chief Matthew Bunker Ridgeway.

226 Filmography Uomini e Polli (Men and Chickens). 195?. Produced by Lavoro Film. 16mm; 10’; colour; sound (Italian). ACS. A coloured animation that uses the metaphor of men and chickens to describe the practices of the Italian General Confederation of Labour (CGIL) and its propaganda. Fiat Auto Industry Accanto al lavoro Fiat: Ricognizione tra le opere sociali Fiat (Beside the Work at Fiat: Reconnaissance on Fiat social works). 1962. Directed by Claudio Solaro. Produced by Cinefiat. Cinematography by Claudio Sterpone and Rodolfo Isoardi. Music by William Galassini. 35mm; 21’38”; colour; sound (Italian).CSF. Appuntamento a Torino: IV Salone internazionale della tecnica (A Date in Turin). 1954. Produced by Cinefiat. 35mm; 3’; colour; sound (Italian). ANCI. This film invites viewers to participate in the international fair, Salone della Tecnica, in Turin. At this fair, Fiat represents Italy’s technological advancement and industrial success. L’automobile ieri e oggi (The Car Yesterday and Today). 1949. Directed by Carlo Musso. Produced by Nando Pisani for Fiat. Cinematography by Giuseppe La Torre. Music by Giorgio F. Ghedini. 35mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI. This fim begins as a light-hearted history of cars, explaining jokingly how driving has become a safe and irreplaceable gesture of everyday life. At the end, it exalts the Mirafiori Fiat Factory in Turin as exemplary of the highest achievements in organization and technology in the country. Estate 1100 (Summer 1100). 1954. Produced by Cinefiat. Cast: Lucia Bosè, Gina Lollobrigida, Silvana Mangano. 35mm; 7’; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI. While promoting the new model 1100, the film represents the ways in which cars have changed the everyday lives of Italian citizens, both men and women. Fiat 600. 1955. Directed by Alessandro Blasetti. Produced by Cinefiat. 35mm; 4’; colour; sound (Italian, English). ANCI. Images and commentary describe the technical qualities of Fiat 600, as well as its style and comfort. This car is ideal for a family or to go to work in, ­according to the commentator. Fiat esportazione (Fiat Export). 1950. Directed by Tony Secchi. Produced by Vides. 35mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI. Through the story of a car commissioned in Turin from Melbourne, the film promotes Fiat workers and their efficiency, exalting Fiat’s role as a competitor in the international market. Fiat in casa! (Fiat at Home!) 1950. Animation produced by Pinschwer Film. Presented by Sifra. 35mm; 4’; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI.



Filmography 227

A short about Fiat appliances, which also represent a modern example of womanhood to be emulated. La gamma delle vetture Fiat (The Range of Fiat Vehicles). 1955 / 56. Produced by Cinefiat. Camera work by Claudio Sterpone. Cast: Rossana Podestà. 35mm; 13’; colour; sound (Italian). ANCI. By showcasing Fiat autos, this film aims to prove the company’s high standards of production and its crucial role in representing Italy’s modernity abroad. Invito a Torino: III Salone della Tecnica (Invitation to Turin). 1953. Produced by Cinefiat. 35mm; 3’68”; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI. A young woman from the future invites viewers to participate in the international fair in Turin. Mak P.100. 1955. Directed by Giorgio Ferroni. Produced by Luce for Cinefiat. Cinematography by Giovanni Ventimiglia. Music by Virgilio Chiti. 35mm; 11’; colour; sound (Italian). ANCI. This film takes place inside the Naval Aviation Academy and narrates the story of pilots from their arrival to their graduation. La nuova 500 (The New 500). 1957. Produced by Cinefiat. Cast: Brunella Tocci. 35mm; 5’; colour; sound (Italian, English, French, Portuguese, German). ANCI. Actress Brunella Tocci presents the new Fiat 500, as a car that can suit an elegant woman, as well as a professional or a blue-collar worker. Opere Sociali Fiat (Fiat Social Services). 1957. Produced by Cinefiat. 35mm; 9’; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI. Fiat’s involvement in the welfare of workers and their families is represented here through a survey of the various benefits provided with employment, such as medical care and summer camps for children. Note: This film is available only at the ANCI itself, not online. Il paese dell’anima (The Soul’s Country). 1957. Directed by Victor De Sanctis and Remigio Del Grosso. Produced by Cinefiat. Cinematography by Alfieri Canavero and Luigi Kuveiler. Commentary by Carlo Chiavazza. 35mm; 32’54”; colour; sound (Italian, French). ANCI. The story of the first Fiat pilgrimage to Lourdes. La scuola allievi Fiat “Giovanni Agnelli” (Fiat Vocational School). 1962. Directed by Stefano Canzio. Produced by Cinefiat. Music by Nino Oliviero. 35mm; 14’; colour; sound (Italian, English, French, Spanish, Russian). ANCI. The vocational school established by Fiat to teach young workers and future employees also provides a moral education to young Italian citizens. La velocità di lavoro (The Speed of Labour). 1953. Series: Audiovisual classes organized by Direzione Coordinamento Servizio Lavoro. 35mm; 11’; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI.

228 Filmography A training film that shows how workers can improve productivity by speeding up their manual labour. I vent’anni di Rossana Podestà (Rossana Podestà’s Twenty Years). 1953. Cinefiat. Cast: Rossana Podestà. 35mm; 4’19”; colour; sound (Italian). ANCI. The new Fiat 1100 is compared with the old model through the story of actress Rossana Podestà, who was born the same year as the old Fiat Balilla. Rossana is shown first as she used to picnic as a young girl with her parents, who had a Balilla, and then as she receives the new Fiat 1100 for her twentieth birthday. Sezione Cinema Edisonvolta Buongiorno natura (Good Morning Nature). 1955. Directed by Ermanno Olmi. Written by Ermanno Olmi and Walter Locatelli. Music by Pier Emilio Bassi. Editing by Carla Colombo. 35mm; 9’33”; colour; sound (Italian). ANCI. One Edisonvolta worker goes on vacation with his two brothers in the mountains. The beautiful landscape and their adventures will make the return to work more pleasant. Dialogo di un venditore di almanacchi e di un passeggiere (Dialogue of a Seller of Almanacs and a Traveller). 1954. Directed by Ermanno Olmi. Cinematography by Carlo Pozzi and Adriano Bernacchi. Editing by Giampiero Viola. Music by Pier Emilio Bassi and directed by Aniello Costabile. Cast: Enzo Tarascio and Paolo Pampurini. 35mm; 10; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI. Adaptation of a short story by nineteenth-century poet Giacomo Leopardi. The tale of a venditore di almanacchi and a passenger is also a meditation on the hope that everyone finds a place in the future, unknown as it is. La diga del ghiacciaio (The Dam of the Glacier). 1955. Directed by Ermanno Olmi. Commentary by Silvano Rizza. Editing by Carla Colombo. Music by Pier Emilio Bassi. 35mm; 10’22”; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI. The film is about both the building of the hyper-modern Edisonvolta dam on Lake Morasco in Val Formazza and also its builders and the effort they expend while working far away from their families. Manon Finestra 2 (Manon Window number 2). 1956. Directed by Ermanno Olmi. Assistant director: Walter Locatelli.Written by Pier Paolo Pasolini. Editing by Lilli Scarpa and Giampiero Viola. Music by Pier Emilio Bassi. 35mm; 12’; colour; sound (Italian). ANCI. The everyday life of miners, constantly at risk, is narrated against the background of beautiful mountains.



Filmography 229

Marinai d’alta montagna (Sailors of High Mountains). 1950. Directed by Pino Donizetti, Guido Rosada, and Gip Tortorella. Produced by Cineslogan. ACICI. A film about electrical plants using water power to produce electricity. La mia valle (My Valley). 1955. Directed by Ermanno Olmi. Commentary by Franco Fucci. Cinematography by Carlo Pozzi. Editing by Florio Nerino Bianchi. Music by Pier Emilio Bassi. 35mm; 9’; colour; sound (Italian). ANCI. This the story of how a modern dam transformed a valley, as told by the native who guards it. Michelino 1b. 1956. Directed by Ermanno Olmi. Written by Ermanno Olmi and Goffredo Parise. Cast: Sandro Peretta, Stefano Paroletti, and Giovanni Pandocchi. Cinematography by Carlo Pozzi. Editing by Lilli Scarpa and Giampiero Viola. Music by Pier Emilio Bassi. 35mm; 43’; colour; sound (Italian). ANCI. A boy from a village on the sea leaves his family to attend Edisonvolta vocational school in Milan. Note: 1b means first grade in the Italian school. Miniera di luce (Mine of Light). 1952. Directed by Pino Donizetti, Guido Rosada, and Gip Tortorella. Produced by Cineslogan. ACICI. The work of those who build power lines is narrated with emphasis on their heroism and the risk to their lives that they might encounter. La pattuglia di Passo S. Giacomo (The Patrol of St James’s Pass). 1954. Directed by Ermanno Olmi. Cinematography by Carlo Pozzi. Editing by Carla Colombo. Music by Pier Emilio Bassi. 35mm; 13’; colour; sound (Italian). ANCI. The story of an accident on the San Giacomo power line, on the Alps. While following the trip of a patrol of technicians, the film also shows mountain landscapes and rural workers in their daily activities. Il Pensionato (The Retiree). 1958. Directed by Ermanno Olmi. Assistant director: Walter Locatelli. Written by Ermanno Olmi and Walter Locatelli. Editing by Giampiero Viola. Cast: Mary Valente and Piero Faconti. 35mm; 9’36”; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI. An ex-Edisonvolta worker helps a couple of young workers to repair some machinery in their lab, located on the ground floor in the building where he lives. Piccoli calabresi sul Lago Maggiore: Nuovi ospiti della Colonia di Suna (Little Calabrians on Lake Maggiore: New Guests at Suna’s Summer Camp). 1951. Directed by Ermanno Olmi. Cast: Ermanno Olmi. 35mm; 8’44”; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI. In 1951, an earthquake leaves many families in Calabria in economic despair. The film tells the story of how Edisonvolta helped these families by hosting children at the company’s summer camp at Lake Maggiore, in Suna.

230 Filmography Tre fili fino a Milano (Three Lines to Milan). 1958. Directed by Ermanno Olmi. Cinematography by Carlo Bellero. Editing by Giampiero Viola. Music by Pier Emilio Bassi. 35mm; 24’30”; colour; sound (Italian). ANCI. The film describes the building of a power line in the mountains. Workers are represented in their everyday activities and the routines of their free time, while locals observe their work with curiosity. Vacanze nelle colonie Sicedison (Summer Camp at Sicedison). 1950–55. 35mm; 12’; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI. An animated sequence introduces life at summer camp in two locations (Venice and Cesenatico). Then, edited footage shows children at play in the camp and on the beach. Olivetti Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente (A Factory and Its Environment). 1957. Directed by Michele Gandin. Cinematography by Giulio Gianini. Written by Libero Bigiaretti. Music by Mario Nascimbene. Voice-over: Arnoldo Foà. 35mm; 18’; colour; sound (Italian, English). ANCI. This is a documentary about the activities of social and cultural services at Olivetti in Ivrea. Incontro con la Olivetti (Welcome to Olivetti). 1950. Directed by Giorgio Ferroni. Commentary by Franco Fortini. Cinematography by Giuseppe La Torre. Music by Virgilio Chiti. 35mm; 23’; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI. This film surveys Ivrea and Olivetti factories from the late 1940s to the early 1950s. Through the story of a typical Olivetti employee, the film tells about social services at the factory as well as the role that the latter plays in the city and its surrounding areas. Infermeria di fabbrica (The Factory Infirmary). 1951. Directed by Aristide Bosio. Commentary by Giulio Boario. Music by Gianfranco Trampus. 16mm; 16’; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI. The Olivetti factory has an infirmary that not only deals with health issues and responds to accidents, but also works preventatively for the sake of the employees’ welfare. Sud come Nord (South Like North). 1960. Directed by Nelo Risi. Commentary by Nallo Mazzocchi Alemanni. Cinematography by Carlo Ventimiglia. Music by Franco Potenza. 35mm; 14’03”; colour; sound (Italian, English, Russian). ANCI. The film describes the Olivetti factory in Pozzuoli, Naples, showing similarities with Ivrea and how the typewriter company has bettered this area of southern Italy.



Filmography 231

Un millesimo di millimetro (A Thousandth of a Millimetre). 1949. Directed by Virgilio Sabel. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI. Documentary illustrating progress in science, particularly in microscopy. Other Sponsoring Agencies Il carillon. No date. Directed by Mario Padovini. Producer unknown. Written by Rodolfo Gambelli. Cinematography by Vincenzo Grumelli. 16mm; b / w; sound (Italian). ACS. A child works in a toy store where a carillon is placed on the window. After a long period of saving, the child is able to buy the carillon. Note: The film is part of the USIS-Trieste collection, but it cannot be attributed to Centro di Documentazione or ECA. Che accade laggiù? (What Happens Down There?) 1952. Produced by SPES. Directed by Giovanni Passavante. Cast: Mimo Billi, Alfonso Di Stefano, Giorgio Malaspina, and Silvio Bafolini. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). CB. A fictional story about a John Doe, who is initially opposed to the Cassa per il Mezzogiorno and then in favour of it after he lives for one day in the shoes of a southern Italian peasant. Note: This film was produced by the Propaganda and Information Service of Christian Democracy; it is also included in the Catalogo Trimestrale USIS (1953) of short films. Cosiderazioni di Eduardo (Eduardo’s Reflections). 1948. Produced by Comitato Civico Nazionale. Cast: Eduardo De Filippo. 16mm; 3’; b / w; sound (Italian). CB. Famous actor Eduardo De Filippo talks to his neighbour about the importance of voting. The film is modelled on a well-known scene from De Filippo’s play Questi fantasmi. Note: Eduardo’s brother, Peppino De Filippo is the protagonist in Partire è un po’ morire, distributed by USIS. Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli / Christ Did Not Stop at Eboli. 1952. Directed by Michele Gandin. Sponsored by UNLA. 35mm; 13’; b / w; sound (English and Italian). CL. The fight against illiteracy in southern Italy, narrated through the story of an Italian-American teacher who comes back to his village in Lucania to open a school for all villagers. Cinegiornale Siciliano (Sicilian Newsreel). 1958. Produced by SPES. 16mm; 9’30”; b / w; sound (Italian). CB. In the form of a fake newsreel, this film expresses a critical view of the politics of Silvio Milazzo, governor of Sicily, at the time of his re-election. Colonia fascista (Fascist Summer Camp). 1936–45. 16mm; 5’30”; b / w; silent. ACS. This film about a summer camp during the Fascist period is included in the USIS-Trieste collection.

232 Filmography Correre un’ora, viaggiare una vita (Run for an Hour, Travel for a Lifetime). 1950. Written and directed by Mario Milani. Produced by Nord Film for Pirelli. Camera work by Giuseppe Giovi. 35mm; 12’; b / w; sound (Italian). ACICI. Defined as an industry at the service of common people (industria al servizio della gente comune), Pirelli sponsored this film about how tires are tested on the race track before they go on the market. Dalla lana al tessuto (From Wool to Fabric). 1947 / 60. Directed by Edmondo Cancellieri. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Cesare Colò. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 16mm; 18’15”; b / w; sound (Italian). ASIL. This film about a textile factory in northern Italy (Ermenegildo Zegna) is part of the CSI collection. Dalla monarchia alla repubblica (From the Monarchy to the Republic). 1948. Director unknown. Produced by Incom. Written by Nicola Adelfi. Narrated by Renzo Palmer. Music by Gino Peguri. 16mm; 28’58”; b / w; sound (Italian). ASIL. Dieci anni della nostra vita (Ten Years of Our Life). 1953. Directed by Romolo Marcellini. Produced by Documento Film. Editing by Piero Giomini. Commentary written by Vinicio Marinucci and Gian Luigi Rondi. Voice-over by Emilio Cigoli and Rolf Tasna. 35mm; 97’; b / w; sound (Italian). AAMOD. From 1943 to 1953, the history of Italy and its population run on a trajectory of progress and betterment. Due civiltà s’incontrano (Two Civilizations Meet). 1954. Directed by Vittorio Gallo. Produced by Incom. Cinematography by Emanuele Lomiry. Written by Francesco De Feo. Music by Raffaele Gervasio. 14’29”; colour; sound (Italian). ASIL. Italy and the United States are two “civilizations,” historically linked both by commercial and cultural bonds and also by the actual flow of people: many Italian immigrants had previously gone to America, and many Americans (particularly of Italian heritage) were travelling to Italy in the 1950s. Elettrotreno ETR 300 “Settebello” (Electric Train ETR 300). 1953. Directed by Romolo Marcellini. Produced by Breda Industries. Executive producer: Bramini Lucisano. Cinematography by Giovanni Ventimiglia. Editing by Pino Giomini. Music by Antonino Antonini. 35mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). ANCI, ACICI. The “Treno del sole” (train of the sun) was the new electric train built by Breda and travelling from Naples to Milan. The film focuses, in particular, on the technical qualities of its engine and structure and the exceptional labour of Italian workers involved in its realization. Inchiesta parlamentare sulla miseria (Parliamentary Inquiry on Misery). 1950. Directed by Giorgio Ferroni. Assistant director: Mino Loy. Produced



Filmography 233

by Istituto Luce. Cinematography by Rino Filippini. Music by Maurizio Quintieri. 16mm; 27’50”; b / w; sound (Italian). ASIL. The film talks about the fight against poverty in Italy in the aftermath of the Second War World. It was sponsored by the parliamentary commission at the head of the study that aimed at producing statistics on the economic and social conditions of the Italian population. Italia mutilata (Mutilated Italy). 1947. Produced by Incom. 16mm; 12’; b / w; sound (Italian). ASIL. The issue of Trieste and Istria is explained here using the same language that Fascists used in reference to the same regions, which were excluded from Italy’s sovereignty by the Versailles Treaty in 1919. National pride and its defence, the Fascist justification for Italy’s participation in the Second World War, is also used to support Italy’s alliances with the United States and Western European countries against Yugoslavia during the Cold War. L’ Italia s’è desta (Italy Woke Up). 1947. Written and directed by Domenico Paolella. Produced by Incom. Cinematography by Arturo Giordani. Music by Raffaele Gervasio. 16mm; 21’20”; b / w; sound (Italian). ASIL. In the film, Italians are strongly united on the side of the Allies. The film’s title immediately identifies the Liberation as a “second Unification” (“secondo Risorgimento”), because the country witnessed a collective effort towards national rebirth. Note: The film is also listed in an IFE catalogue (1945–48). Macchine nell’agricoltura (Machines for Agriculture). 1950–60. Directed by Sebastiano Rizzo. Produced by Istituto Luce. Cinematografy by Antonio Vendetti. Music by Virgilio Chiti. ASIL. Produced for the Cineteca Scolastica Italiana, this film concerns the modernization of agriculture in the postwar period. La magica rete (The Magic Network). 1948. Directed by Pietro Benedetti. Produced by the Ministry of Transportation and State Railways. Music by Carlo Innocenzi. ACICI. Displaying the same style and using the same voice as Incom films did, the film runs through the years of the immediate postwar period using the reconstructed railway system as a metaphor for change and recovery. Note: The film is included in an IFE catalogue (1945–48). Nasce una speranza (Hope Is Born). 1952. Probably directed by Dino Risi. Produced by SPES. 16mm; 10’; b / w; sound (Italian). CB. Similarly to Che accade laggiù, this is a docu-fiction in which the verisimilar stories of individuals are placed in the historical context of the agrarian reform and the Cassa per il Mezzogiorno. The film features two peasants: the first one is an older man who received a piece of land a few years before,

234 Filmography thanks to the Ente per la Riforma; the second one has just received his share, but he remains sceptical about whether it will be productive. Oltre Eboli (Beyond Eboli). 1948–53. Directed by Camillo Mastrocinque. Produced by the Ministry of Forests and Agriculture. Cinematography by Arturo Giordani. Screenplay by Vittorio Zincone. ACS; AAMOD. The story is of an Italian-American who comes back to Lucania with his wife after thirty years abroad. He meets an Italian engineer working on land reclamation and other projects in the area. Note: This film was also distributed by USIS. Panico (Panic). 1947–50. Directed by Alberto Pozzetti. Produced by Incom. Camera work by Emanuel Giuseppe Belloni. 16mm; 10’19”; b / w; sound (Italian). ASIL. Useless panic is often the cause of tragic disasters. The film advises the public not to lose their heads in case of danger, but to calmly follow the prescribed security measures. Perché la rinascita continui (May the Rebirth Continue). 1959. Produced by SPES. 16mm; 14’; b / w; sound (Italian). CB. A collection of footage that proves how the Christian Democracy government has improved living conditions in Sicily and shown a special regard for the island and its population by reconstructing urban centres, road systems, and other means of communication, ameliorating agriculture through the reform and mechanization, and above all, developing industry, including the oil business. Promessa di vita (Promise of Life). 1951. Directed by Vittorio Gallo. Produced by Phoenix Film. Cinematography by Edmondo Albertini and Francesco Attenni. Music by Mario Tamanini. 35mm; 12’; b / w; sound (Italian). CB. A film about the Marshall Plan beginning with the images of Alcide De Gasperi’s visit to the United States. Also explained in the film is the Fondo Lira, which manages the proceedings from the sale of goods coming from America, and uses them for public works. Note: The film belongs to the catalogue “Il cinema di propaganda” of the Cineteca di Bologna, and it is attributed to Christian Democracy. However, there are many indications suggesting that this film was produced for the ECA (the producers and artists were involved numerous times with the ECA). The Marshall Plan Filmography does not include Promessa di vita; however, it lists Tesori nascosti, also produced by Phoenix and directed by Gallo and also archived at the Cineteca di Bologna (and attributed to Christian Democracy). Thanks America! 1948. Directed by Domenico Paolella. Produced by Incom. Music by Raffaele Gervasio. Narrated by Orson Wells. 25’20”; b / w; sound (English). ASIL.



Filmography 235

The aim of this film was to thank Americans for their help in liberating Italy from the Nazis. It also explains how Italians fought hard against the Germans and were good allies of the United States. Note: This film was produced in Italy for an American audience. Il treno del sole (Train of the Sun). 1953. Directed by Romolo Marcellini. Sponsored by the Ministry of Transportation and State Railways. ACICI. The electric Naples-Milan train (also represented in Breda’s Elettrotreno ETR 300) has many qualities. It is “a record of modernity” (“Un primato di modernità”): advanced technology, and speed, but also commodities and “freedom,” both of which are available on the train. Università dello sport. 1957. Written and directed by Vittorio Sala. Distributed by USIS. Music by Vittorio Abbati. Editing by Alberto Verdejo. 35 mm; 11’; colour; sound (Italian). ACS. The “Istituto superiore di educazione fisica” is an institution of higher education that trains and instructs future teachers of physical education. Physical exercises and daily routines show that education at the “university of sport” is similar to military training.

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Notes

Introduction   1 “Noi Sacerdoti che viviamo in mezzo al popolo, ne conosciamo la psicologia e quindi i mezzi utili per attirarlo. In ogni Provincia o Regione si dovrebbe preparare un Documentario Cinematografico di tutte le realizzazioni compiute dal Governo […] Presentato ovunque, sulle piazze, nelle sale, nei teatri con alcune parole conclusive del presentatore, darebbe più frutto che tanti discorsi, dove ognuno cerca di urlare più forte. Questo sarebbe un’argine efficace alla lava di menzogne, di calunnie dei socialcomunisti.” Letter collected at the Archivio Centrale di Stato in Rome (ACS), Presidenza del Consiglio dei Ministri, Segreteria particolare del presidente del consiglio Alcide De Gasperi (1945–53), no. 12 / 009. Unless otherwise noted, translations from the Italian are mine. By “socialcomunisti,” the author is referring to a united political front composed of both socialists and communists, which was active at the time the letter was written.   2 The European Recovery Program (ERP), known as the Marshall Plan (named for its creator, General George C. Marshall) provided economic support to European countries for reconstruction after the Second War World. Financial aid was delivered by a combination of loans and the Marhsall Plan “counterpart funds”: the United States sent goods (e.g., cotton, wheat, coal) to the European countries and the proceeds from the sale of these goods were to be used by local governments for projects of reconstruction and economic recovery. The Marshall Plan involved 17 countries: Austria, Belgium, Luxemburg, Denmark, France, Germany, Greece, Iceland, Ireland, Italy (and the city-state of Trieste), the Netherlands, Norway, Portugal (only in 1950–51), Sweden, Switzerland (only in 1950–51), Turkey, and the United Kingdom.

238

Notes to pages 1–6

  3 For a history of the Istituto Luce that surveys its postwar activities, see Ernesto DeLaura, Le stagioni dell’aquila: Storia dell’Istituto Luce (Rome: Istituto Luce, 2004). Originally named L.U.C.E. (L’Unione Cinematografica Educativa), at the time when it was founded, the Istituto Nazionale Luce began to be called as such in 1925, and then it changed the name into Istituto Luce S.p.A. in 1961. For brevity, I will use the name Istituto Luce from now on, in this monograph.   4 USIS offices were located in several cities in Italy. Once the office in Trieste closed in 1963, the only ones that remained open were in Milan and Rome. See Francesca Anania and Giovanna Tosatti, L’amico americano: Politiche e strutture per la propaganda in Italia nella prima metà del Novecento (Rome: Biblink, 2000), 113–33. Postwar intelligence activities of the State Department were built on the precedent of the Office of War Information, in 1945. When both the Marshall Plan and the Mutual Security Act were over, in 1953, the United States Information Agency (USIA) was created, managing the Russian budget for propaganda. For a history of US government films, see Richard D. MacCann, The People’s Films: A Political History of U.S. Government Motion Pictures (New York: Hastings House, 1973).   5 Italian Films Export (IFE), Catalogo dei cortometraggi italiani I (1945-1948) (Rome: IFE, 1948), 9. The text quoted is from the volume’s foreword and is written both in Italian and in English. Two other IFE catalogues of short films were published in 1949 and 1950, respectively.   6 The information about the Friends of America, as the funding association of UNLA projects appear in the film’s opening titles.   7 Because they were discarded once they were no longer useful to their sponsors, the short films I discuss in this book can be called “ephemerals.” However, I prefer not to use this term, since it has been mostly employed in reference to industrial or educational reels, but not really for governmentsponsored films. The term also would not properly apply to short films directed by famous directors and relatively known to scholars or the general public before this study. The term “sponsored” is sometimes used interchangeably with “ephemeral,” for example, by one of the leading figures in this field, Rick Prelinger. See The Field Guide to Sponsored Films (San Francisco: National Film Preservation Foundation, 2007) by Prelinger, and the online resource “Prelinger Archive” (http:/archive.org/details/prelinger)   8 See “Il duce di spalle e altre scene proibite,” Corriere della Sera (7 Dec. 2009), 39, and “C’erano una volta nelle scuole i documentari della Cineteca,” Corriere della Sera (14 Dec. 2011), 57.   9 See, e.g., Catalogo trimestrale ottobre–dicembre 1953: Films documentari a passo ridotto e 35 mm (Rome: USIS, 1953); Catalogo dei film (Rome: Cineteca del



Notes to pages 6–8

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Ministero della Pubblica Istruzione, 1954); Linda Christenson (ed.), Marshall Plan Filmography (www.marshallfilms.org); Catalogue of Documentary Films (Washington, DC: ECA, 1951); and the above-mentioned IFE’s catalogues. At the end of this book, I provide a filmography of the reels that are available, to my knowledge, either online or at archival locations. 10 For a general introduction to “orphan” films, see The Orphanage: A Home for Orphan Film (www.sc.edu/orphanfilm/definition.html), which provides information on film symposiums regularly organized on this topic, including Paolo Cherchi Usai’s presentation “What Is an Orphan Film? Definition, Rationale and Controversy,” delivered at the University of South Carolina (23 Sept. 1999). Scholarly essays on “orphans” are numerous. See, among others, Paolo Cherchi Usai, “Are All (Analog) Films ‘Orphans’? A Predigital Appraisal,” Moving Images 9:1 (2009), 1­–18; Dan Streible, “The Role of Orphan Films in the 21st Century Archive,” Cinema Journal 46:3 (2007), 124–8, and “The State of Orphan Films: Editor’s Introduction,” Moving Images 9:1 (2009), vi–xix; Emily Cohen, “The Orphanista Manifesto: Orphan Films and the Politics of Reproduction,” American Anthropologist 106:4 (2004), 719–31. 11 For general information about the collection, see David Ellwood, “The USIS-Trieste Collection at the Archivio Centrale dello Stato, Rome,” Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television 19:3 (1999), 399­–404. ECA films were also prevented from being viewed in the United States, according to the 1948 Smith-Mundt Bill, which concerned any government-sponsored films produced for foreign audiences. The ban was lifted in 1990, thanks to an amendment to the Foreign Relations Authorization Act, introduced by Senator John Kerry. 12 See “Il cinema di propaganda” (www.cinemadipropaganda.it); ANCI (http:/www.cinemaimpresa.it / webtv_channel_ci.jsp?ID_LINK=27&area=5); AAMOD (www.aamod.it/catalogo/catalogo-audiovisivo); ASIL (www. archivioluce.com/archivio). 13 I must also specify that the term “orphan” addresses the material existence of a reel, besides its content or usage; orphans can be also forgotten silent films and theatrical feature films of which the negative is lost. 14 Charles R. Acland and Haidee Wasson (eds.), Useful Cinema (Durham: Duke University Press, 2011), 2. 15 On “useful cinema,” see also Vinzenz Hediger and Patrick Vonderau (eds.), Films that Work: Industrial Film and the Productivity of Media (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2009), in particular, the introduction,” 9–19; and the chapter by Thomas Ellsaesser, “The Place of Non-Fiction Film in Contemporary Media,” 19–34.

240

Notes to pages 8–9

16 For a study of the relationship between culture and the Foucaultian concept of “governmentality,” see e.g., Tony Bennett, Cultural Trajectories: Culture, Society, Intellectuals (Oxford: Blackwell, 2007); Jack Z. Bratich, Jeremy Packer, and Cameron McCarthy (eds.), Foucault, Cultural Studies, and Governmentality (Albany: SUNY Press, 2003); Nikolas Rose, Inventing Ourselves: Psychology, Power and Personhood (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998); Mike Gane, and Terry Johnson (eds.), Foucault’s New Domains (London: Routledge, 1993); Graham Burchell, Colin Gordon, and Peter Miller (eds.), The Foucault Effect: Studies in Governmentality: With Two Lectures by and an Interview with Michel Foucault (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991). 17 See Lee Grieveson, “On Governmentality and Screens,” Screen 50:1 (2009), 180–7, and Policing Cinema: Movies and Censorship in Early Twentieth-Century America (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004); Ronald W. Green, “Y Movies: Film and the Modernization of Pastoral Power,” Communication and Critical / Cultural Studies 2:1 (2005), 19–36, and “Pastoral Exhibition: The YMCA Motion Picture Bureau,” in Acland and Wasson, Useful Cinema, 205–29. 18 Michel Foucault, “Governmentality,” in Power: The Essential Works of Foucault 1954–1984, vol. 3, edited by James D. Faubion and translated by Robert Hurley (New York: New Press, 2001), 209. 19 Foucault, “Omnes et Singulatim,” in Faubion, Power, 307. 20 Jack Z. Bratich, Jeremy Packer, and Cameron McCarthy, “Governing the Present,” in Bratich et al. Foucault, Cultural Studies, and Governmentality, 3–22. 21 Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri, Empire (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001), 23. 22 Ibid. 23 Mitchell Dean, Governmentality: Power and Rule in Modern Society (London: Sage, 1999), 11. Quoted in Bennett, “Culture and Governmentality,” 47. 24 Bratich et al., “Governing the Present,” 4. 25 See Maria Adelaide Frabotta, Il governo filma l’Italia (Rome: Bulzoni, 2002) and “Government Propaganda: Official Newsreels and Documentaries in the 1950s,” in Luciano Cheles and Lucio Sponza (eds.), The Art of Persuasion: Political Communication in Italy from 1945 to the 1990s (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001), 49–61; and, in the same volume, David Ellwood, “Italian Modernization and the Propaganda of the Marshall Plan,” 23–48. More recently, Regina Longo has acknowledged some continuity between Marshall Plan films and neorealism, within a similar context of political propaganda. See Regina Longo, “Between Documentary and Neorealism: Marshall Plan Films in Italy (1948–1955),” California Italian Studies 3:2 (2012), 1–45, and “Marshall Plan Films in Italy,



Notes to pages 10–11

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1948–1955: Cinema as Soft Power,” Ph.D. dissertation, University of California at Santa Barbara (2012). 26 Among others, see Carol Pateman, “The Patriarchal Welfare State,” in Christopher Pierson and Francis G. Castles (eds.), The Welfare State Reader (London: Polity Press, 2006), 14–151; Angela MacRobbie, The Aftermath of Feminism (London: Sage, 2009); Alisa Del Re, “Women and Welfare: Where Is Jocasta?” in Paolo Virno and Michael Hardt (eds.), Radical Thought in Italy: A Potential Politics (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), 99–114. 27 For an introduction to the issue of Italy and specifically southern Italians as living in a post-colonial condition, see Jane Schneider (ed.), Italy’s “Southern Question”: Orientalism in One Country (Oxford: Berg, 1998); John Dickie, Darkest Italy: The Nation and Stereotypes of the Mezzogiorno, 1860–1900 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 1999); Nelson Moe, The View from Vesuvius: Italian Culture and the Southern Question (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002). 28 Schneider, Italy’s “Southern Question,” 6. 29 Barbara Allason, UNRRA-CASAS: Contributo alla ricostruzione (Rome: Istituto Grafico Tiberino, 1950), 23. I must thank Patrizia Bonifazio at the Archivio Storico Olivetti, who referred Allason’s work to me. 30 Edward Banfield, The Moral Basis of a Backward Society (Glencoe: Free Press, 1958). 31 Theodore A. Wilson in Washington, DC, conducted a tape-recorded interview with Leland Barrows for the Harry S. Truman Presidential Library on 8 Jan. 1971. The transcript was edited by the interviewee and is available online, in the Truman Library website (www.trumanlibrary.org/oralhist/ barrowsl.htm). 32 See “Letter from Mr Smith to Mr Whitman,” 8 Dec. 1949, NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, Records of the Office of Western European Affairs Relating to Italy, 1943–51, Commercial Policy and Trade thru Information, Education, Cultural Affairs, Box 3. 33 Moe, View from Vesuvius, 36. 34 Titles of sponsored films may be either in Italian or in a foreign language, depending on production and distribution. When a film was first released in Italian, and then dubbed in other languages, I will provide the Italian title first, followed by the English title at first mention of the movie (e.g., Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli / Christ Did Not Stop at Eboli), and then use the original title throughout the book. Similarly, for films produced in other countries and languages, I will use the Italian official translation only at first mention, e.g., The Shoemaker and the Hatter / Il calzolaio e il cappellaio.

242

Notes to pages 11–14

Whenever an Italian short film does not have an official English version of the title, translations will be mine and will be placed in parentheses, e.g., Puglia il lavoro (Puglia: Work). 35 Carlo Levi, Christ Stopped at Eboli, translated by France Frenaye (New York: Time, 1964), 2. 36 “La nazione che ha impiegato il cinema per intensificare e facilitare l’addestramento dei suoi combattenti e degli operai delle sue industrie di guerra deve riconoscere che il cinema è il migliore degli strumenti di educazione di civilizzazione e di pace.” Walt Disney, “Disegni animati educativi,” Sequenze 1:2 (1949), 23. In this quote, Disney makes reference to the Why We Fight series (1942–45), commissioned by the US government to support the efforts of soldiers and workers in the military industry during the Second War World. Carl Hovland discusses, in a seminal book on mass communication, how the series attempted to modify attitudes rather than simply instructing soldiers. See Carl I. Hovland et al. Experiments in Mass Communication, vol. 3 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1949), 21. 37 Ken Smith, Mental Hygiene: Better Living through Classroom Films, 1945–1970 (New York: Blast Books, 1999), 21. It is worth noticing that Smith’s is not a scholarly volume, but rather a book of popular culture. 38 Ibid., 12. 39 John Grierson, “The Nature of Propaganda,” in Forsyth Hardy (ed.), Grierson on Documentary (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1966), 39. 40 Foreign Services Operation Memorandum, “USIS: Cooperation with ENAL and CRALS,” 31 Aug. 1950, NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, Records of the Office of Western European Affairs Relating to Italy, 1943–51, Commercial Policy and Trade thru Information, Education, Cultural Affairs, Box 3. 41 Albert Hemsing, “The Marshall Plan’s European Film Unit, 1948–1955: A Memoir and Filmography,” Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television 14:3 (1994), 269–97. Hemsing worked for the Motion Picture Branch, Overseas Division, Office of War Information, New York City. After the Second World War, he worked as an independent filmmaker and taught at the City College of New York Institute of Film Technique. He was deputy chief of the Motion Picture Branch, Information Division, ECA-MSA, Paris, France, from 1951 to 1955. 42 Hardt and Negri, Empire, 22–3. Emphasis are in the original. 43 Foucault, “Governmentality,” 219. 44 As Foucault puts it, discursive practices “take shape in technical ensembles, in institutions, in behavioral schemes, in types of transmission and dissemination, in pedagogical forms that both impose and maintain them.” See



Notes to pages 15–17

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Michel Foucault, Ethics: Subjectivity and Truth (The Essential Works 1954–1984, vol. 1), edited by Paul Rabinow (London: Allen Lane, 1997), 12. 45 Remo Branca, Il tuo cinema: Giovani e scuola di fronte al cinema (Turin: SEI, 1941). 46 Gastone Silvano Spinetti, Difesa di una generazione (scritti e appunti) (Rome: Edizioni Polilibraria, 1948). 47 Christopher Duggan, “Italy in the Cold War Years and the Legacy of Fascism,” in Christopher Duggan and Christopher Wagstaff (eds.), Italy in the Cold War: Politics, Culture and Society, 1948–1958 (Oxford: Berg, 1995), 3. 48 “Corpi schermici non processabili e non condannabili.” See Salvatore Ambrosino, “Il cinema ricomincia: Attori e registi tra continuità e frattura,” in Alberto Farassino (ed.), Neorealismo: Cinema italiano, 1945–49 (Turin: EDT, 1989), 63. According to Ambrosino, the only ones to “pay” (with their lives) were Luisa Ferida and Osvaldo Valenti. 49 Ruth Ben-Ghiat, “Liberation: Italian Cinema and the Fascist Past, 1945–50,” in Patrizia Dogliani and Richard J.B. Bosworth (eds.), Italian Fascism: History, Memory, and Representation (New York: Palgrave, 1999), 83–4. 50 Ibid., 84. 51 For a study on Croce’s influence on postwar Italian cinema, and particularly on film criticism, see Luca Caminati, “The Role of Documentary Film in the Formation of Neorealist Cinema,” in Saverio Giovacchini and Robert Sklar (eds.), Global Neorealism: The Transnational History of a Film Style (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2012), 52–67. 52 Law no. 379 (16 May 1947). 53 “Al meccanismo dell’abbinamento è collegata la più vasta speculazione che mai si sia attuata, almeno nel settore del cinema, ai danni del pubblico erario.” Leonardo Quaglietti, Storia economico-politica del cinema italiano, 1945–1980 (Rome: Riuniti, 1980), 133. “Matching” (abbinamento) refers to “the release of the films in movie theatres before the feature presentation.” In the production agreement, each documentary had one feature film assigned prior to the screening. 54 In Quaglietti, Storia economico-politica, 133; published in Il Messaggero (18 Feb. 1951). 55 “Dopo averli rimontati, risincronizzati e ripassati al comitato tecnico, li vende oppure li sfrutta direttamente traendone un guadagno tutt’altro che trascurabile.” Quaglietti, Storia economico-politica, 134. 56 “I documentari si moltiplicarono come funghi […] Tutti i documentaristi disponibili furono messi all’opera e se ne utilizzarono di nuovi, di inesperti, di improvvisati.” Ibid. 57 “[D]a quattro anni il denaro dei premi dello Stato affluisce nelle tasche degli speculatori, mentre la migliore produzione soffoca e i documentaristi

244

Notes to pages 18–19

ne fanno le spese.” Roberto Guerrasio, “Lo scandalo dei documentari,” Cinema Nuovo 5:53 (1950), 358. 58 “Essa si è rivelata cioè come un semplice strumento politico, da usarsi a tempo e luogo, nelle situazioni di emergenza.” Renzo Renzi, “L’arte dei funzionari,” Cinema Nuovo 2:13 (1953), 382. 59 “Sui nostri schermi abbondano cortometraggi di propaganda a senso unico, e il pubblico li considera alla stessa stregua della pubblicità: una tortura che gli viene inflitta a pagamento.” Luigi Chiarini, “Le amarezze del documentarista,” Cinema Nuovo 2:7 (1953), 178. 60 “Male fa il pubblico a non deliziarsi […] non dovrebbe spazientirsi od annoiarsi mortalmente come invece fa.” Ubaldo Bosello, “Lo scandalo del documentario,” Cinema Nuovo 6:104 (1953), 114. 61 By these words I do not mean that Fascist cultural products should be unequivocally understood as blatant propaganda, as Ben-Ghiat and others have shown. I also do not want to suggest that democratic agencies necessarily were different. Rather, they aimed to project an image of themselves that was radically new and, for this reason, they also had an interest in representing Fascist culture unequivocally. See Ruth Ben-Ghiat, Fascist Modernities: Italy, 1922–1945 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004); Marcia Landy, The Folklore of Consensus: Theatricality in the Italian Cinema, 1930–1943 (Albany: SUNY Press, 1998); Caminati, “The Role of Documentary Film.” Some scholars have also claimed a continuity of spectatorship between pre- and post-war. See Mariagrazia Fanchi and Elena Mosconi, Spettatori: Forme di consumo e pubblici del cinema in Italia, 1930–1960 (Rome: Biblioteca di Bianco e nero, 2002). 62 These statements are from an interview with German film professor and director Hans Beller in 1997. I was able to read the transcript of this interview and others thanks to the help of archivist Linda Christenson. Some of the material was used in Beller’s film, The Marshall Plan in Action (1997). 63 Harry S. Truman, “Inaugural Address” (20 Jan. 1949), Harry S. Truman Presidential Library and Museum (http:/www.trumanlibrary.org/ whistlestop/50yr_archive/inagural20jan1949.htm). 64 Struggle for Men’s Minds was one ECA film set in Italy that revolved around the struggle between communists and non-communists. It was part of the Strength for the Free World series, produced in 1952 by ECA Paris at the request of MSA in Washington, and consisting of 24 half-hour documentaries for American audiences. These were shown nationally on the ABC-TV network in 1952–53.



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65 Vincent Barnett, “Competitive Coexistence and the Communist Challenge in Italy,” Political Science Quarterly 70:2 (1955), 230. Barnett was program chief of the ECA Italy Mission. 66 William Beveridge, Social Insurance and Allied Services (London: HM Stationery Office, 1942), 8. 67 Giorgio Agamben, “What Is a people?” in Means without End: Notes on Politics, translated and edited by Vincenzo Binetti and Cesare Casarino (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), 30. 68 Ibid., 31. 69 Claudio Pavone, “The Two Levels of Public Use of the Past,” in Giovanni Levi and Jacques Revel (eds.), Political Uses of the Past: The Recent Mediterranean Experience (London: Frank Cass, 2002), 74. 70 Among others: Paul Ginsborg, Storia d’Italia dal dopoguerra a oggi: Società e politica 1943–88 (Turin: Einaudi, 1989); Silvio Lanaro, Storia dell’Italia repubblicana (Venice: Marsilio, 2001). 1  Work, Welfare, Neorealism   1 A version of this chapter has been previously published in the Italianist. See Paola Bonifazio, “Work, Welfare, Biopolitics: Italian and American Film Propaganda in the Age of Neorealism,” Italianist 31:2 (2011), 155­–80.   2 The complete documentary production of the Centro di documentazione is collected at Dipartimento dell’informazione e dell’editoria (DIE), Presidenza del Consiglio dei Ministri PCM), Rome. For a catalogue of these films, and some discussion on their contents, see Maria Adelaide Frabotta, Il governo filma l’Italia (Rome: Bulzoni, 2002); Agostino Orabona and Cinzia Bellumori, 25 Anni di documentari della Presidenza del Consiglio dei Ministri (Rome: Tipografia “Artistica,” no date); PCM, DIE, Per immagini: Gli audiovisivi prodotti dalla Presidenza del Consiglio dei Ministri: 1952–1995 (Rome: Ufficio per l’informazione e la documentazione istituzionale, 1995). Several CdD films can be watched online at the ASIL website (www. archivioluce.com/archivio/). Others are available to view at the ACS, including some of the examples studied in this chapter. Oggi la donna is available at the AAMOD. For information about existing copies of CdD films, see the filmography at the end of this volume.   3 “[U]n potente mezzo educativo al servizio dello Stato.” “Per la rinascita,” Cinema 2:20 (1949), 59. For a detailed history of Istituto Luce before and after the Second War World, see Ernesto DeLaura, Le stagioni dell’aquila: Storia dell’Istituto Luce (Rome: Istituto Luce, 2004).

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Notes to pages 25–7

  4 The USIS-Trieste collection, at the ACS, contains most of the films produced for ECA Italy and MSA Italy, as well as several other films produced and distributed by USIS. For a complete listing of the films in the collection, see Giuliana Barbera and Giovanna Tosatti (eds.), United States Information Service di Trieste: Catalogo del fondo cinematografico 1941–1966 (Rome: Pubblicazione degli Archivi di Stato, 2007). For more informa­ tion on ECA and MSA film units and a listing of the existing copies of ECA and MSA films worldwide, see the Marshall Plan Filmography, edited and curated by Linda Christenson, in George C. Marshall Motion Pictures (www.marshallfilms.com).   5 John Grierson, Grierson on Documentary, edited by Forsyth Hardy (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1966); John Grierson, “L’organizzazione del cinema educativo in Canada,” Sequenze 13–14 (1951), 18–22.   6 Brian Winston, Claiming the Real: The Griersonian Documentary and Its Legitimations (London: British Film Institute, 1995).   7 The Resettlement Agency was the American federal agency that, between April 1935 and December 1936, in order to fight rural poverty, resettled struggling farm families in experimental communities and public housing.   8 NARA, RG 59, General Records of the Department of State, Records of the Office of Western European Affairs Relating to Italy, 1943–51, Commercial Policy and Trade thru Information, Education, Cultural Affairs. Box 5, USIA Folder.   9 UNRRA and ERP were similarly organized: supplies were given to the government, which distributed the goods for free or sold them. The proceeds of sales of ERP goods, the “counterpart funds,” merged in 1948 into the Fondo Lire, a special fund created in 1944 to collect the proceeds from the sales of UNRRA goods. For a detailed account of the use of counterpart funds in Italy, see Manrico Gesummaria, Piano Marshall e Mezzogiorno (Mephite: Atripalda, 2003), in particular, the chapter “Meccanismi e funzionamento dei counterpart funds,” 63–102. 10 “Un’organizzazione internazionale apolitica, non commerciale.” This motto accompanied the UNRRA logo. 11 One of the UNRRA posters collected at the United Nations Archives (UNA) says, e.g.: “UNRRA can only begin the reconstruction of Italy and provide temporary relief. The rest belongs to the Italian people, that is, to each and every one of you.” (L’UNRRA può solo gettare le basi della ricostruzione dell’Italia e fornire aiuto temporaneo. Il resto tocca al popolo italiano, ossia a ciascuno di voi.) See the records at the UNA, UNRRA, Italy Mission: Chief of Mission; Series: Subject Files, Box 4, Information-cuttings,



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information-interviews. UNRRA started providing the countries affected by the armed conflict with food supplies, coal, and medicines before ERP, as early as 1944. 12 These statements are from an interview with Hans Beller in 1997, transcripts of which I was able to read thanks to archivist Linda Christenson. Before becoming chief of Motion Pictures of ECA Paris, Lother Wolff was chief editor at The March of Time, the well-known American newsreel. 13 Hans Beller, “Interview with Albert Hemsing,” 9 Jan. 1997. Hemsing was seputy chief of the Motion Picture Branch, Information Division, ECAMSA, Paris, from 1951 to 1955. 14 In the chapters, I will only indicate the director and the year of production, when available. For more information, see the filmography. For consistency, I will use the Italian titles throughout the book when discussing the version that was sown in Italy, but provide an English translation at first mention of the film. Marcellini’s Partire è un po’ morire is a very special case, though. The title was arbitrarily created by the archivists at the ACS, where a copy of the film is part of the USIS-Trieste collection. Even though the USIS-Trieste catalogue indicates that Marcellini’s film was produced for ECA Italy, the same does not appear in Christenson’s Marshall Plan Filmography or in the ECA’s catalogues. Furthermore, the copy of the film that is currently available is cut at the beginning, so that no other information about its production is available at this time. 15 Many ECA and MSA films have multiple titles with which they were distributed in the countries participating in the Marshall Plan. Whenever both the original and the Italian titles are available, I will introduce them in that order, e.g., The Shoemaker and the Hatter / Il calzolaio e il cappellaio. 16 See, e.g., the photos of the exhibition of the US Diplomacy Center, “The Marshall Plan: Vision of a Family of Nations,” on permanent display at the historic Hôtel de Talleyrand in Paris, European headquarters of the Marshall Plan. Also, the film Talking to the Italians produced for ECA showed to the American public the results of Marshall Plan propaganda in Italy. There is no other information about the film in Christenson’s catalogue or in the copy I was able to screen. 17 Gastone Silvano Spinetti, Italy Today (Rome: Centro di Documentazione, 1955). The book is written in English and targeted towards an international audience. 18 Ibid., vii. 19 “Questa serie di film del dopoguerra è una confessione affannosa di tutte le nostre piaghe, solo le piaghe, con lo scopo di non dimenticarne, onde

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Notes to pages 29–39

l’immagine di un’Italia ridotta a un immenso slum, che forse lascia gli stranieri perplessi. Altro che neo-realismo! Confessione agitata.” 20 Giulio Andreotti, “Piaghe sociali e necessità di redenzione,” Libertas, 28 Feb. 1952. 21 Vittorio Sala, “L’Italia al primo posto,” Il Popolo, 30 Jan. 1952, and Ciak, 10 Feb. 1952; Vittorio De Sica and Cesare Zavattini, Il Mondo, 1 March 1952. 22 “Purtroppo l’esperienza quotidiana c’insegna che, la cinematografia, questo grande forse il più grande fenomeno artistico spettacolare sociale dell’ultimo cinquantennio; se può far molto bene e ha in sè germi costruttivi può fare e in realtà ha fatto e fa molto male e contiene in sè pericolosi germi distruttivi. Noi non possiamo contentarci, come cattolici e come cittadini responsabili, di un’azione puramente negativa.” Giulio Andreotti, “Le parole di S.E. l’on. Andreotti,” Rivista del Cinematografo 23:6 (1950), 7. 23 “Non sembra che fra il bilancio dello Stato e quello di un padre di famiglia vi sia una grande differenza.” 24 “Si deve convenire che il bilancio è il risultato di una battaglia quotidiana che esige la ponderatezza di ciascuno e di tutti, perchè alla fine la nostra famiglia come la famiglia più grande dello Stato possa prosperare nella continuità della sua storia.” 25 Foucault, “Omnes et Singulatim,” in Power: The Essential Works of Foucault 1954–1984, vol. 3, edited by James D. Faubion and translated by Robert Hurley (New York: New Press, 2001), 307. 26 Michel Foucault, “Governmentality,” in Faubion, Power, 209. 27 Paolo Virno, A Grammar of the Multitude: For an Analysis of Contemporary Forms of Life (New York: Semiotext(e), 2004), 83. 28 “Questo è il nostro plasma, il suo nome è Piano Marshall.” 29 It should be noted that the clerk at the agency has a prosthetic hand. This is significant because the disabled body of the clerk effectively controls the life of an able-bodied and athletic would-be worker, forcing him into idleness and enhancing his lack of control over his own destiny. 30 Vincent Barnett, “Competitive Coexistence and the Communist Challenge in Italy,” Political Science Quarterly 70:2 (1955), 230. Barnett was program chief of the ECA Italy Mission. 31 Foucault argued that the “mechanisms of security” are essential to the society in Security, Territory, Population: Lectures at the Collège de France: 1977–78, translated by by Graham Burchell (New York: Palgrave, 2007). 32 Berengere Marquez Pereira uses the term “cittadino-produttore,” in “Welfare, famiglia e fordismo: Il ruolo dell’ideologia dell’interesse generale nella costruzione sociale delle differenze,” in Alisa Del Re (ed.), I rapporti



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sociali di sesso in Europa (1930­–1960): L’impatto delle politiche sociali (Padua: Cedam, 1991), 9–28. 33 “La telecamera ha voluto rendersene conto.” 34 As Bill Nichols explains, “more recently, documentary has come to suggest incompleteness and uncertainty, recollection and impression, images of personal works and their subjective construction.” See Bill Nichols, Blurred Boundaries (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), 1. About documentary “veracity,” see also Bill Nichols, Representing Reality: Issues and Concepts in Documentary (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991); Stella Bruzzi, New Documentary (New York: Routledge, 2006). For a study on documentary filmmaking that specifically investigates how it can mobilize affect, rather than provide knowledge, see Keith Beattie, Documentary Display: Re-Viewing Nonfiction Film and Video (London: Wallflower Press, 2008). 35 Jean-Luis Comolli, Vedere e potere: Il cinema, il documentario e l’innocenza perduta (Rome: Donzelli, 2006), 206. 36 Spinetti, Italy Today, vii. 37 For example, the UNRRA commission of national and international scholars, Commissione per lo studio della città e dell’agro di Matera (Commission for the Study of the City and the Land of Matera), assisted by the Centro Nazionale di Ricerca (National Research Centre, CNR) and the Istituto Nazionale di Urbanistica (National Urban Institute, INU), with the goal of studying the realities of the Lucanian region, in southern Italy, and thus, preparing architects and legislators who had to work on urban planning and, more generally, on the “opera di risanamento” (recovery program). Another example is the committee of the Istituto Nazionale di Statistica (National Statistics Institute, INS), sponsored by the Italian parliament at the behest of the Inchiesta parlamentare sulla miseria (Parliamentary Inquiry on Misery, 1950). Several documentaries revolve around the work of such committees, e.g., Matera / Life and Death of a Cave City (sponsored by ECA, produced by Documento Film, and directed by Romolo Marcellini, 1948 / 53) or Inchiesta parlamentare sulla miseria (Parliamentary Inquiry on Misery, probably sponsored by the CdD, produced by Istituto Luce, and directed by Giorgio Ferroni, 1950). 38 The Griersonian entourage introduced the technique of interviewing in social documentary in the 1930s. In Housing Problems (produced by the British Commercial Gas Association and directed by Edgar Anstey and Arthur Elton, 1935), the British filmmakers interview working-class people living in slums in Stepney as they complain directly to the camera about their situation. Anstey and Elton use direct sound.

250

Notes to pages 43–8

39 Vivian Sobchack, “The Charge of the Real: Embodied Knowledge and Cinematic Consciousness,” in Carnal Thoughts: Embodiment and Moving Image Culture (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2004), 258–85. 40 Ibid., 270. 41 See Luchino Visconti, “Da Verga a Gramsci,” in Visconti, il Cinema, edited by Adelio Ferrero (Modena: Comune di Modena, Ufficio Cinema, 1978), 60-63. 42 Arturo Lanocita, “La terra trema di Luchino Visconti,” Corriere della Sera, 9 March 1948, 2. Lanocita’s article followed the first screening of the film at the Venice Film Festival in 1948. 43 Alisa Del Re, “Women and Welfare: Where Is Jocasta?” in Paolo Virno and Michael Hardt (eds.), Radical Thought in Italy: A Potential Politics (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), 103. 44 Amintore Fanfani, “Intervento alla III sottocommissione,” 13 Sept. 1946, 47. 45 Lucia Chisté, Alisa Del Re, and Edvige Forti, Oltre il lavoro domestico: Il lavoro delle donne tra produzione e riproduzione (Milan: Feltrinelli, 1979). 46 Adam Arvidsson, Marketing Modernity: Italian Advertising from Fascism to Postmodernity (London: Routledge, 2003), 75. 47 Leslie Caldwell, “What about Women: Italian Films and Their Concerns,” in Ulrike Sieghlor (ed.), Heroines without Heroes: Reconstructing Female and Nation­ al Identities in European Cinema, 1945–51 (London: Cassell, 2000), 131–46. 48 Ibid., 133. 49 Mary P. Wood, “From Bust to Boom: Women and Representations of Prosperity in Italian Cinema of the Late ’40s and ’50s,” in Penelope Morris (ed.), Women in Italy, 1945–1960: An Interdisciplinary Study (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006), 60–1. 50 I prefer to use the term “sexual” rather than “gendered” in the specific context of labour because female professions and the presence of women in certain sectors of the industry seem to be based, according to the films, not only on the perfomative aspect of gender (kindness, carefulness, and others similar attributes) but also on particular features attributed to the female body (such as the small hands of the rice workers). 51 Mary Ann Doane, “The Voice in the Cinema: Articulation of Body and Space,” in Bill Nichols (ed.), Movies and Methods (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1976), 565–76. On the voice in the cinema, see also Bruzzi, New Docu­ mentary, 47–72, and the seminal work by Michel Chion, The Voice in the Cinema, translated by Claudia Gorbman (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999). 52 Hélène Le Doaré, “Note su una nozione: Il rapporto sociale di sesso,” in Del Re, I rapporti sociali di sesso in Europa, 1–7. 53 “Dopo una settimana di lavoro, anche le donne si riposano. Il loro riposo consiste nel sentirsi solo ed interamente donne. Perché in fondo a pensarci



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bene la lunga lotta che essa ha condotto per la rivendicazione dei propri diritti, della sua dignità umana, non è stato che un mezzo per nobilitare appieno la sua naturale missione di sposa e di madre.” 54 Jane Gaines, Introduction, in Jane Gaines and Michael Renov (eds.), Collecting Visible Evidence (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1999), 1. 2  Sneaky Sponsors   1 Ansano Giannarelli, Introduction, in AAMOD (ed.), La sortie des usines: Il lavoro industriale nei cento anni del cinema (Rome: Ediesse, 1995), 6.   2 Dal dagherrotipo al millesimo di secondo (From the Daguerreotype to the Thousandth Second), in Catalogo dei film (Rome: CSI, 1952). Another example is Una fiammella si è accesa(A Small Flame Has Been Lit, Enzo Trovatelli, 1960), sponsored by ENI but also part of the CdD collection. ENI is a different case from Olivetti or Fiat, however, since the company was basically a state monopoly.   3 Ken Smith, Mental Hygiene: Better Living through Classroom Films, 1945­–1970 (New York: Blast Books, 1999), 55.   4 Mario Minardi, “Cinema e industria,” Notizie Olivetti 14:88 (1966), 57.   5 Sergio Toffetti, “Un’industria che è anche un’arte,” Cinemambiente 2003: Enviromental Film Festival (Turin, 2003), 132. ANCI is located in Ivrea (Turin) and it is a branch of the Centro Sperimentale di CinematografiaScuola Nazionale del Cinema (National Film School) in Rome.   6 Vinzenz Hediger and Patrick Vonderau (eds.), Films that Work: Industrial Film and the Productivity of Media (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 2009), 46.   7 Heide Frances Solbrig, Film and Function: A History of Industrial Motivation Film, Ph.D. dissertation, University of California, San Diego (2004), 3. Parts of this dissertation are included in Solbrig’s essay, “The Personnel Is Political: Voice and Citizenship in Affirmative-Action Videos in the Bell System, 1970–1984,” published in Hediger and Vonderau, Films that Work, 259–82.   8 Italian companies involved in film productions were not limited to those I consider in this chapter. ENI (gas), for example, has an extensive film collection, available to scholars at the Archivio Storico-Cineteca, Palazzo Eni, in Rome. Other companies sponsored fewer films, such as Pirelli and Peroni, with similar features as Fiat or Edison productions. Many of these are collected at ANCI. Smaller businesses such as Ermenegildo Zegna (textiles), whose film Dalla lana al tessuto I will discuss in chapter 5, might have been the focus of concurrent productions, without having the

252

Notes to pages 52–9

company directly acknowledged as the sponsor. For an extensive collection of industrial films see ANCI’s website (http:/www.fondazionecsc.tv/webtv_​ channel_ci.jsp?ID_LINK=27&area=5). All films analysed in this chapter are available on this site.   9 Mario Verdone, Cinema del lavoro (Rome: Realtà, 1961); Ettore Ghezzi, Il tecnofilm (Milan: Mursia, 1967); Leonardo Autera (ed.), Cinema e industria: Ricerche e testimonianze sul film industriale (Milan: Franco Angeli, 1971); Carlo Pellizzi, Roberto Petrognani, Mauro Wolf, and Fernando Zanella, Cinema industriale e società italiana (Milan: Franco Angeli, 1972); AAMOD, La sortie des usines (1995). 10 Il mestiere dell’uomo: Ermanno Olmi regista per la Edison (Milan: Motta, 2005) and Obraz Cinestudio and Montedison (eds.), Ermanno Olmi: Dal cinema industriale al cinema d’autore (Milan: Montedison, 1984). A commercial DVD including Olmi’s films for Edison in the 1950s came out recently by publisher Feltrinelli, in collaboration with the ANCI. 11 See Olmi’s films examined in this chapter, including Manon Finestra 2, for which Pasolini wrote the script. Also, see Blasetti’s Fiat 600 (Fiat, 1955), Antonioni’s Sette canne e un vestito (Snia, 1949), and Bertolucci’s La via del petrolio (Eni, 1966) and Il canale (Eni, 1967). 12 Sergio Toffetti, “Un’industria che è anche un’arte,” 131. 13 Hediger and Vonderau, Films that Work, 11. 14 Thomas Elsaesser, “The Place of Non-Fiction Film in Contemporary Media,” in Hediger and Vonderau (eds.), Films that Work, 23. 15 According to Alberto Farassino, this label was a double citation of the two major Italian producers of the time, Lux and Titanus, which produced many neorealist films. See Alberto Farassino, “Un metro di pellicola è lungo cinque: Ermanno Olmi alla Edisonvolta,” in Ermanno Olmi: Dal cinema industriale al cinema d’autore, 3. 16 See Donald Auster, “A Content Analysis of Business and Labor Sponsored Films,” Social Problems 9:4 (1962), 328–36. 17 David Ellwood, “Italian Modernization and the Propaganda of the Marshall Plan,” in Luciano Cheles and Lucio Sponza (eds.), Art of Persuasion: Political Communication in Italy from 1945 to the 1990s (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001), 34. 18 Maurizio Torchio, “Cinefiat e l’egemonia possibile,” Cinemambiente 2003: Enviromental Film Festival (Turin, 2003), 141. 19 “[D]iverrà sollevatrice di pesi.” 20 “Una diva del cinema, non può che preferire una diva della strada.” 21 “Meno un portavoce del Governo che uno strumento di comunicazione del capitalismo.” Pierre Sorlin, “La Settimana Incom messaggera del futuro:



Notes to pages 59–68

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Verso la società dei consumi,” in Augusto Sainati (ed.), La Settimana Incom: Cinegiornali e informazione negli anni ’50 (Turin: Lindau, 2001), 72. 22 “Con le nostre mani, con i nostri cervelli abbiamo cambiato i connotati del mondo, abbiamo popolato i cieli di stirpi alati.” Appuntamento a Torino begins with flight attendants, “daughters of the earth,” inviting viewers to hop on a plane that will take them to see the other wonders of Italy. 23 “Vedere le cose dall’alto è un segno di forza ma noi ne approfittiamo soltanto per goderci lo spettacolo dall’alto.” 24 11th Dec. 1956. “La tendenza delle grandi aziende industriali è di farsi i films da sé, attrezzandosi un proprio ‘Centro cinematografico’, con mezzi e uomini propri, pur valendosi di collaboratori esterni. Così fa la Fiat, e così fa anche la Renault, di cui era presente il capo del Servizio Cinema.” Quoted in Torchio, “Cinefiat e l’egemonia possibile,” 139. I should note that Renault and its story are mentioned both in Films that Work and in MSA film Men and Machines (Diana Pine, 1951), which I examine in chapter 5. 25 Federazione Impiegati Operai Metalmeccanici (Federation of Auto Workers, FIOM), a branch of the Confederazione Generale Italiana del Lavoro (General Confederation for Italy’s Workers, CGIL). 26 Torchio, “Cinefiat e l’egemonia possibile,” 142. 27 “Ogni treno ha un bar organizzato, un medico di servizio e damine che assistono amorevolmente chi ne ha bisogno.” For further discussion on the role of trains in sponsored films, see chapter 6. 28 “Ognuno ha preso il suo posto,” 29 “Come pellegrini d’Italia i membri di una grande famiglia dell’industria meccanica.” 30 “Ho saputo ieri che tre operai della Fiat ammalati hanno fatto l’offerta della loro vita perchè nell’azienda regni Gesù e la sua pace.” 31 “Una scuola modello per la preparazione dei giovani al lavoro moderno.” 32 “Mentre verso il cielo si alza radioso il simbolo della patria, noi offriamo a te o signore la gioia a cui la giovinezza e la natura ci invitano. Nel pensiero dei genitori lontani, e nell’offerta diurna di noi alla patria e al lavoro siamo preparati ogni giorno di più alla vita di domani che ci attende con i suoi doveri.” 33 “Per tutta la vita sarà la loro divisa. È come una iniziazione. Magari all’inizio si sentiranno impacciati come coscritti, poi a poco a poco i movimenti si scioglieranno.” 34 “Qui la scuola diventa scuola di vita che pone le basi essenziali sull’onestà e rettitudine dell’individuo.” 35 “Un piccolo importante vitale spazio, nato e cresciuto, grazie soprattutto alla sensibilità dell’allora Gruppo dirigente di Foro Buonaparte, che seppe

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Notes to pages 68–79

inentivare e dar vita a uno dei più clamorosi casi aziensali che si rammenti nella storia industriale del nostro Paese.” Enrico Cotroneo, “La Sezione Cinema Edisonvolta: Appunti di memoria,” in Ermanno Olmi: Dal cinema industriale al cinema d’autore (Milan: Montedison, 1984), 8. 36 “La Edison era per me il mondo intero. Prima con la vicenda di mio padre, poi con le colonie quando ero bambino. Durante la guerra, la Edison fa sfollare tutti i figli dei dipendenti che erano nelle grandi città del Nord, Torino, Milano, Genova, sottoposte a continui bombardamenti e li porta nella colonia di Suna, dove io ho vissuto due anni. Ero quasi più figlio della Edison che di casa mia.” 37 “C’è un signore che è stato come il babbo di tutti e si chiama Dottor Bobbio.” 38 “Ci hanno curato come fossimo bambini loro.” 39 Stylistically similar to Michelino 1b is Il pensionato (1958), which tells the story of Mr Bonfatti, a man who retired from the gas company and spends his time at home. Initially bothered by his neighbours, a couple of young printmakers who have an office right below his apartment, the man finally befriends them only because they need his experience with mechanics. In this way, the film quite openly conveys that Bonfatti stopped being social when he stopped working. Once the individual re-enters the productive world, his intolerance towards others ceases. In addition, since Bonfatti returns to work without wages, Il pensionato seems to suggest that work is constitutive of the social as much as the economic subject. 40 Giacomo Leopardi, Operette Morali: Essays and Dialogues, translated by Giovanni Cecchetti (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982). 41 “Finestra” (window) is the name given to the hole opened in the mountainside. 42 Director general in 1932 and president in 1950. 43 Olivetti was a member of INU from 1938 on, and he became its president in 1950. In 1947, he took part in a Commission of the United Nations, later managed by ECA, for the building of homes and villages throughout Italy (UNRRA-CASAS). See chapter 3 for more details on Olivetti’s involvement in the housing question. 44 Adriano Olivetti, “Corrispondenza per gli Stati Uniti,” Comunità 7:19 (1953), 3. 45 “Nuove autorità democratiche decentralizzate […] uno Stato onnipotente, sia esso influentato dal comunismo o controllato dalle forze e dalle forme di un nuovo fascismo.” Ibid., 4. 46 “La città era compresa dentro la fabbrica, più che la fabbrica nella città.” 47 “Lo sviluppo industriale è tutt’uno con lo sviluppo edilizio.” 48 “La fabbrica è anche questo: una scuola di coraggiosa iniziativa o almeno un esempio. La sua influenza […] si prolunga con un intenso lavoro di propaganda culturale e di educazione sociale. Ciascuno dei 7000 lavoratori



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non ricava dalla fabbrica soltanto il salario e le prestazioni di carattere assistenziale ma assimila e diffonde un gusto, un modo, un’esigenza di vita.” 49 In 1946, Olivetti changed the name of the publishing house he co-founded known as NEI (Nuove Edizioni Ivrea) to Edizioni Comunità. 50 Letter by Franco Giusti of USIS Firenze, to Soavi (1 March 1949), suggesting Tesori nascosti and Rotaie, to be requested from USIS Milan (Letter collected at the Archivio Storico Olivetti, item 22.263 1949 / 50 USIS). 51 “Impressioni d’America,” Giornale di fabbrica Olivetti 1:4–5 (1949), 2. 52 Item collected at the Archivio Storico Olivetti, letter to Parri, dated 6 May 1951. 53 Item collected at NARA, College Park, MD. 54 See also “Assistenza sanitaria di fabbrica,” Comunità 3:4 (1949), 27. 55 Un villaggio modello is available at the ASIL online at (http:/www.archivioluce​ .com / archivio /). 3  Filming the Housing Revolution   1 “Noi non abbiam dato loro soltanto il tetto, il riparo materiale dalle intemperie. Abbiamo inteso ricostituire per loro il focolare domestico, il centro di una vita familiare degna di questo nome, il punto d’appoggio per la graduale loro reintegrazione nella vita civile, per il riacquisto del sentimento della loro dignità di uomini e di cittadini.” Gustavo Colonnetti, “Discorso tenuto ad Acilia il 30 Marzo 1950 in occasione della inugurazione del villaggio UNRRA-CASAS,” in Barbara Allason, UNRRA-CASAS: Contributo alla ricostruzione (Rome: Istituto Grafico Tiberino, 1950), 6.   2 See Istituto Luigi Sturzo (ILS) (ed.), Fanfani e la casa: Gli anni cinquanta e il modello italiano di Welfare State: Il Piano INA-Casa (Soveria Mannelli: Rubbettino, 2002); Paola Di Biagi (ed.), La grande ricostruzione il piano Ina-Casa e l’Italia degli anni cinquanta (Rome: Donzelli, 2001).   3 See Raymond Williams, Keywords (London: Fontana, 1976), and Tony Bennett, “Culture and Governmentality,” in Cultural Trajectories: Culture, Society, Intellectuals (Oxford: Blackwell, 2007), 47.   4 Tony Bennett uses the term “cultural technologies” in his essay “Culture and Governmentality.”   5 Peter Miller and Nikolas Rose. “Governing Economic Life,” in Mike Gane and Terry Johnson(eds.), Foucault’s New Domains (London: Routledge, 1993), 75–105.   6 Ibid., 79.   7 Celso De Stefani, “Prime note sulla questione della casa nell’immediato dopoguerra,” presentation at the conference “La società italiana negli anni ’50” (Rome, 1982), cited in ILS, Fanfani e la casa, 23.

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Notes to pages 88–94

  8 Maria Luisa Sergio, “Le organizzazioni economiche e la società civile,” in ILS, Fanfani e la casa, 30. Sergio describes the situation in Italy as an “emergenza abitativa”: without an immediate solution to the problem of housing, the “spiral” of poverty and the proliferation of misery and diseases would be insoluble.   9 Amintore Fanfani was minister of public worksin the fourth (1947–48) and fifth (1948–50) De Gasperi administrations; minister of agriculture in the seventh (1951–53) and minister of the interior in the eighth (1953). 10 INA stands for Istituto Nazionale delle Assicurazioni. 11 Jacques Donzelot, “The Mobilization of Society,” in Graham Burchell, Colin Gordon, and Peter Miller (eds.), The Foucault Effect: Studies in Governmentality (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 169–79. 12 Ibid., 171. 13 “Fa paura ad una democrazia la parola obbligare?” “Tutti saranno felici di essere obbligati a spendere meno per far le case Fanfani.” Giò Ponti, “Finestre tutte uguali nelle case del piano fanfani,” Corriere della Sera, 25 Aug. 1948, 3. 14 Ibid. 15 Giò Ponti, “Il bagno è una rarità in molte regioni d’Italia,” Corriere della Sera, 21 Dec. 1948. 16 Maristella Casciato, “L’‘invenzione della realtà:’ Realismo e neorealismo nell’Italia degli anni cinquanta,” in Di Biagi, La grande ricostruzione, 216. 17 John David Rhodes, Stupendous Miserable City: Pasolini’s Rome (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2007). 18 For a discussion on Pasolini’s films set in the Roman borgate, in addition to Rhodes’ book, see also my chapter “La bestemmia del lavoro: Borgate e sottoproletariato scritti e diretti da PierPaolo Pasolini,” in Ben Lawton and Maura Bergonzoni (eds.), Pier Paolo Pasolini: In Living Memory (Washington, DC: New Academia Publishing, 2009), 49–69. 19 Pier Paolo Pasolini, A Violent Life, translated by William Weaver (New York: Garland Publishing, 1978), 168. 20 Ibid., 189. The original reads: “Che notte passò Tommaso! La più bella, si può dire, della sua vita: perché, pure se dormiva, non dormiva proprio, ma era sempre un po’ sveglio, e, così, poteva sempre pensare di essere dentro la sua casa, una casa bella, grande e a regola d’arte, come quella dei signori.” See Pier Paolo Pasolini, Una vita violenta (Milan: Garzanti, 1995 [1957]), 207. 21 Paolo Pombeni, Il gruppo dossettiano e la fondazione della democrazia italiana (1943–1948) (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1979), 149. Cited in ILS, Fanfani e la casa, 16. 22 Giorgio Agamben, “What Is a People?” in Means without End: Notes on Politics, translated and edited by Vincenzo Binetti and Cesare Casarino (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), 32.



Notes to pages 94–102

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23 Pier Paolo Pasolini, “The Concentration Camps,” in Stories from the City of God: Sketches and Chronicles of Rome 1950-1966, edited by Walter Sity, translated by Marina Harss, 174. 24 Ibid., 175. 25 Interview quoted by Fabrizio Bottini in “Gli obiettivi sociali: Un’alfabetizzazione alla modernità,” in Di Biagi, La grande ricostruzione, 81. 26 Foucault, “Omnes et Singulatim: Towards a Critique of Political Reason,” in Power: Essential Works of Foucault, 1954–1984 (vol. 3), edited by James D. Faubion (New York: New Press, 2000), 307. 27 Giovanni Spagnolli, Il problema sociale della casa (Rome: Edizioni 5 Lune, 1957), 80. 28 Ibid., 21. 29 Sergio, “Le organizzazioni sociali,” 62. 30 UNRRA, Mostra delle attività dell’UNRRA-CASAS: Prima giunta, 1946–1952 (Rome: UNRRA-CASAS, 1952), 19. 31 Ibid., 34. 32 The above-mentioned posters were two of the 25 winners in a contest that was held throughout Europe in the fall of 1950, sponsored by the European Recovery Program. “You Hold the Key” was made by British artists Leonard Ray Horton and Ronal Sandefort. “Whatever the Weather” was made by Dutch artist E. Spreckmeester. More than 10,000 artists from various countries submitted posters that represented the theme of cooperation and economic recovery. These 25 posters are available to view online at the George C. Marshall Foundation website (http:/library.marshallfoundation.org/posters/library/posters/marshall.php), accessed 9 May 2013. 33 Allason, UNRRA-CASAS, 23. 34 “Le famiglie tarantine che hanno lasciato gli infetti vicoli della città vecchia, per le nuove linde cassette dei rioni di Corvisea e Tamburi, costruite dal Ministero dei lavori pubblici, sentono veramente che qualche cosa è mutato nell’aria del Mezzogiorno.” 35 Film catalogues present both 045 and Zeroquarantacinque; I will use here 045 for brevity. The film is available online (http:/www.archivioluce.com/ archivio /). 36 “Non sono più cavernicoli ormai, vanno verso una casa dignitosa. È stato cancellato un altro zero; altri ancora ne scompariranno a breve scadenza; lasceranno il posto a numeri civici normali, finiranno col passare nel campo dei ricordi.” 37 Spagnolli, Il problema sociale della casa, 43. “L’individuo senza casa o con una casa che non può neppure chiamarsi tale, tanto è lontana dai minimi criteri civili, è un individuo che viene posto fuori della legge e quindi contro la legge.” In the language of the 1950 parliamentary commission

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Notes to pages 104–10

evaluating the poverty level in Italy, the Torrianis are “poor,” that is, indigent but still morally and socially acceptable. If they were “miserable,” that is, lacking the primary means of subsistence (home and employment), they would be at a higher risk of social and moral corruption. See Paolo Braghin (ed.), Inchiesta sulla miseria in Italia (1951–52): Materiali della Commissione parlamentare (Turin: Einaudi, 1978); and the short film produced by Luce, Inchiesta parlamentare sulla miseria (Giorgio Ferroni, 1950), collected at ASIL. 38 “Povertà, sì, ma non tristezza.” 39 “La vita che è costretta ad ingegnarsi è prepotente e ottimista. Nel più schietto disordine, si fabbricano berretti per i tutori dell’ordine.” 40 Ernst Bloch, “Non-synchronism and the Obligation to Its Dialectics,” translated by Mark Ritter, New German Critique 11 (Spring 1977), 31. For this reference to Bloch’s argument, I am indebted to Cesare Casarino’s article, “Oedipus Exploded: Pasolini and the Myth of Modernization,” October 59 (Winter, 1992), 27–47. 41 Bloch, “Non-synchronism,” 30. 42 Interview by Eric and Linda Christenson with Vincent Barnett, 5 May 1994. 43 See “La Martella Village and Matera’s Cave-Dwellers,” 12 March 1953, in NARA, RG 469, Records of Foreign Assistances Agencies 1948–61, Mission to Italy, Production and Technical Assistance Division Records Relating to Housing 1948–55, Box 17, UC / 17 La Martella. 44 See Adriano Olivetti, “Corrispondenza per gli Stati Uniti,” Comunità 7:19 (1953), 3. 45 Giovanni Spagnolli, Il problema della casa e l’opera di recupero sociale dell’UNRRA-CASAS (Roma: Tipografia M. Danesi, 1953), 37. 46 See Commissione per lo studio della città e dell’agro di Matera, vols. 1–3 (Rome: UNRRA CASAS Prima Giunta, 1956). 47 See Nanook of the North (1922) and Man of Aran (1934), directed by Robert Flaherty. 48 Item from NARA, RG 286, Records of the Agency for International Development, 1948–2003, Special Media Archives Services Division. The photo is part of a series of pictures taken by Austrian photographer Ernst Haas in Matera, for ECA or MSA. 49 For this argument, I am indebted to Engels’ analysis of “How the Bourgeoisie Solves the Housing Question” in The Housing Question (New York: International Publishers, 1935). 50 I will discuss this series in detail in chapter 5. The films in this series are the only examples I focus on that are exclusively non-Italian productions. However, in my analysis, I make reference to the versions that are dubbed



Notes to pages 111–16

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in Italian. The narrator in the Italian versions of all the films in this series was Italian journalist Nicola Adelfi. 51 “Come può un uomo lavorare senza un posto dove dormire e mangiare in pace. Come può una donna sperare senza un focolare. Gli affetti, la fiducia, la famiglia stessa vengono distrutti quando manca un tetto.” 52 Maria Luisa Sergio, “Le Organizzazioni Economiche e la Società Civile,” in ILS, Fanfani e la casa, 62. “La Casa diventa allora il simbolo della ritrovata dignità nazionale contro la pervasiva influenza dei modelli laici di comportamento portati dagli americani ed il luogo topico del ritrovato primato della famiglia cristiana.” 53 Mitchell Dean, Governmentality: Power and Rule in Modern Society (London: Sage, 1999), 11. 54 Interview by Eric and Linda Christenson with Vincent Barnett, 5 May 1994. 55 See “A Criticism of Some Aspects of the Matera Project,” NARA, RG 469, Box 17, UC / 17 La Martella. The document is introduced by a letter signed “Aaron Schreiman,” FAO (UN Food and Agriculture Organization) US Embassy, to Guido Nazdo and dated 8 Dec. 1954. 56 “La diversità della struttura sociale e politica dell’Italia non fu tenuta in considerazione.” Olivetti, “Corrispondenza per gli Stati Uniti,” 33. 57 “I contadini immessi nelle nuove case, sono, piuttosto che angustiati dalle ristrettezze economiche, psicologicamente sperduti, oscuramente infelici.” Roberto Musatti, “L’uomo, la terra, la riforma,” Comunità 7:20 (1953), 20. 58 See Carlo Vercellone, “The Anomaly and Exemplariness of the Italian Welfare State,” in Paolo Virno and Michael Hardt (eds.), Radical Thought in Italy: A Potential Politics (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), 80–95. 4  South Like North   1 Jane Schneider, Italy’s “Southern Question:” Orientalism in One Country (Oxford: Berg, 1998), 6.   2 Banfield uses the expression “amoral familism” to describe the society of the southern Italian village he studied.   3 The latter was primarily based on the expropriation of land from great absentee landowners (the dissolution of the so-called latifundia) and its distribution in the form of “poderi” (family homesteads) to the peasants. The bonifica consisted of projects of land reclamation, the rebuilding of the road system, and the construction of borgate (rural villages) and case coloniche (single farmhouses), where the government would locate the beneficiaries of the reform. Antonio Segni was minister of agriculture from

260

Notes to pages 116–7

13 July 1946 to July 1951 (from the second to the fifth administration of Alcide De Gasperi). Amintore Fanfani was minister of agriculture from 26 July 1951 to 7 July 1953 (sixth government of De Gasperi).   4 On the role of the Cassa per il Mezzogiorno in the development of the welfare state in Italy, see Carlo Vercellone, “The Anomaly and Exemplariness of the Italian Welfare State,” in Paolo Virno and Michael Hardt (eds.), Radical Thought in Italy: A Potential Politics (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996), 83. However, as historian Paul Ginsborg points out, in the first ten years of the Cassa the areas of intervention were land reclamation, road building, and the construction of aqueducts, more than industrialization. See Paul Ginsborg, A History of Italy: Society and Politics, 1948–1988 (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1990), 162. See also Maria Adelaide Frabotta Il Governo Filma l’Italia (Rome: Bulzoni, 2002), 46.   5 Sila law (provision for Calabria, May 1950), the “legge stralcio” (July 1950), and the law regarding the reform of Sicilian latifondi (Dec. 1950). As Ginsborg writes, CdD commitment to agrarian reform seemed unquestionable at first; but between the electoral victory in April 1948 and the killings at Melissa in October 1949, the CdD had done absolutely nothing. Segni declared in May 1948 that the great estates would be eliminated; however, in August his project for an agrarian reform was still in the preparation stages. By October, Segni announced a “simple program of land reclamation,” explaining that this was “one of the means by which we can reach the agrarian reform” See Ginsborg, History of Italy, 130. As a matter of fact, Minister of Agriculture Antonio Segni was himself a landowner. Eventually, even the solution to the Southern Question (deemed accomplished by the modernization of Italy) was, in the analysis of economic historian Giulio Sapelli, a “façade.” For Sapelli, Italy did not transform into a modern capitalist society on the model of the northern European nations or the United States because social relations were not touched by the changeover from a system of power and cultural values based on status to a system based on contracts. According to Sapelli, Italy went through a “modernization without development.” See Giulio Sapelli, Southern Europe since 1945: Tradition and Modernity in Portugal, Spain, Italy, Greece and Turkey, translated by Ann Fuller (London: Longman, 1995).   6 See Franco Cassano, Pensiero meridiano (Bari: Laterza, 2006).   7 Nelson Moe, The View from Vesuvius: Italian Culture and the Southern Question (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 36.   8 Ibid., 16.   9 Roberto M. Dainotto, Europe (in Theory) (Durham: Duke University Press, 2007), 44. Interestingly enough, Dainotto does not quote or make any reference to Moe’s work in his book.



Notes to pages 117–20

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10 Ibid., 4. 11 Theodore A. Wilson in Washington, DC, conducted this tape-recorded interview with Lelan Barrows for the Harry S. Truman Library on 8 Jan. 1971. The transcript was edited by the interviewee and is available online (www.trumanlibrary.org / oralhist / barrowsl.htm), accessed 14 May 2013. 12 See Harry S. Truman’s inaugural address, 20 Jan. 1949, Harry S. Truman Presidential Library (http:/www.trumanlibrary.org/whistlestop/50yr_​ archive/inagural20jan1949.htm), accessed 14 May 2013. 13 Theodore A. Wilson’s interview with Leland Barrows, 8 Jan. 1971. 14 Schneider, Italy’s “Southern Question,” 8. 15 See Ginsborg, History of Italy, 124–30. Around the time when the Centro di Documentazione was created (1951), the protests of southern Italian peasants supported by the Communist Party and their attempts to occupy the great estates were violently suppressed more or less with the alleged complicity of the state. One of the most famous of these episodes was the Melissa massacre (29 Oct. 1949), when the police opened fire, killing three people (among them, a young boy and a woman) and wounding fifteen. Melissa is in Calabria, north of Crotone. Ginsborg points out that just before the squads arrived in Melissa, a group of Christian Democracy Deputies had left for Rome to request extensive police intervention. 16 See David W. Ellwood, Rebuilding Europe: Western Europe, America, and Postwar Reconstruction (London: Longman, 1992), 120. 17 Vincent Barnett’s interview with Linda Christenson, 19 Aug. 1993. As I previously mentioned, Christenson kindly allowed me to read the transcripts of several interviews that she and her husband had made with several individuals involved with the Marshall Plan Film Unit. James David Zellerbach was appointed chief of the Mission to Italy for the Marshall Plan in 1948. Zellerbach personally asked Vincent Barnett, who was at the time professor of economics at Williams College, to be his program chief. 18 Vincent Barnett’s interview with Linda Christenson, 19 Aug. 1993. 19 Vincent Barnett’s interview with Linda Christenson, 5 May 1994. 20 According to Gramsci, the working class would be in charge of producing machines and secondary products as well as providing political leadership. See Antonio Gramsci, La questione meridionale, edited by Franco De Felice and Valentino Parlato (Rome: Editori Riuniti, 2005). 21 “Fra tutti i beni che possono essere oggetto di proprietà privata, dice Pio XII, nessuno è più conforme alla natura, secondo l’insegnamento della Rerum Novarum, di quanto è il terreno, il podere in cui abita la famiglia, e dai cui frutti trae interamente o almeno in parte di che vivere.” See Angelo Perego, La riforma agraria in Italia (Chieri [Turin]: Antonio, 1952), 32. The literature on the agrarian reform and the bonifica between the end

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Notes to pages 120–4

of the war and the end of the 1950s is quite abundant. See, e.g., Nallo Mazzocchi Alemanni, La riforma agraria (Asti: Casa editrice Arethusa, 1955); Giovanni Conti, Dal Latifondo alla riforma agraria (Rome: Casa editrice Italiana, 1954); Arturo Maugini, La riforma agraria in Italia (Rome: Casa editrice Italiana, 1953); Daniele Prinzi, La riforma agraria in Puglia, Lucania, e Molise nei primi cinque anni (Bari: Arti grafiche Laterza, 1956); Antonio Zappi-Recordati, Riforma agraria e riforma dei contratti agrari: Scritti vari (1946–1951) (Imola: P. Galeati, 1953). 22 Zappi-Recordati, Riforma agraria, 18. 23 Christenson’s Marshall Plan Filmography lists the film with both the Italian and the English titles. However, there are no copies available of the English version. 24 “Per la prima volta questi italiani hanno la certezza che domani sarà un giorno migliore per loro e per i loro figlioli.” 25 “Gaudiano’ nuova città della democratica Italia – qui testimonia – del tenace costruttivo volere degli uomini del mezzogiorno che l’arido e l’arso modificarono.” The “Fossa Premurgiana” is located between the plateau of Murgia (in the internal part of the province of Bari, in the region of Puglia) and the Appennine Mountains, at the border between Puglia and Basilicata. 26 La terra nuova is available online (http:/www.archivioluce.com/archivio/). 27 “Verso una vita che valga la pena di essere vissuta.” 28 “Al Nord come al Sud, nella valle Padana come in Lucania, non dovremo fermare la nostra opera sinché ogni metro quadrato della nostra terra non venga sfruttato al massimo per la vita e il benessere delle nostre generazioni e delle generazioni che verranno.” 29 The voice-over in the film states that the dam is in Montalbano in Puglia, however, the town is actually located in the nearby region of Basilicata. 30 See chapter 1, n7. 31 See the letter by Christian Democracy Senator Aldisio to Cappi on his visit to the “wonderful plants” (“grandiosi impianti”) of the Tennessee River, dated 22 May 1949, and filed at the Istituto Luigi Sturzo (ILS), records of Segreteria politica, Giuseppe Cappi, Box 5, Folder 1. 32 “I suoi artefici meritano di essere conosciuti. è gente solida e laboriosa, che comprende la vitale importanza di queste opere, la loro necessità improrogabile.” 33 Transcript of the speech from a recorded tape collected at the George C. Marshall Foundation, available on-line at http:/www.marshallfoundation​ .org / library / MarshallPlanSpeechfromRecordedAddress_000.html (accessed 23 Oct. 2013).



Notes to pages 124–6

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34 Frederick George Friedmann was professor of sociology at the University of Arkansas. At the Archivio Storico Olivetti, Ivrea, the Fondo Georges Friedmann offers materials (although limited) about the sociological study of the sassi in Matera and the subsequent construction of a new village, La Martella. 35 This research group was the Commissione per lo studio della città e dell’agro di Matera (Commission for the Study of the City and Rural Land of Matera), which I mentioned in chapter 3. In 1956, the results of the commission’s work were published, including essays by George(s) Friedmann and other members, such as leftist intellectual Riccardo Musatti. See Commissione per lo studio della città e dell’agro di Matera: Saggi introduttivi di Riccardo Musatti, Federico G. Friedmann, Giuseppe Isnardi (Rome: UNRRA CASAS, 1956). For a detailed discussion of Friedmann and the commission’s work, see also Ann Parmly Toxey, Materan Contradictions: Architecture, Preservation and Politics (Burlington: Ashgate, 2011). 36 Carlo Levi, Cristo si è fermato a Eboli (Turin: Einaudi, 1947). Vincent Barnett also mentions Levi’s book as the work that made the American public aware of the social question in Matera. 37 “[U]omini e donne si muovevano nelle sue piece, montati sui loro carri sobbalzanti dalle alte ruote, chiamando i muli con richiami senza tempo.” Friedmann, in Commissione per lo studio della città e dell’agro di Matera, 11. 38 Carlo Levi, Christ Stopped at Eboli, translated by Frances Frenaye (New York: Time, 1964), 1. 39 Ibid., 90. 40 Friedmann, in Commissione per lo studio della città, 11. “Oggi mi è chiaro che fui allora attratto dall’epica grandiosità del fato dei contadini, che romanticamente anelavo di confondermi con le radici antichissime della loro chiusa esistenza, che volevo apprendere la loro saggezza, in cambio aiutandoli a raggiungere un poco degli agi e delle speranze di un mondo più moderno.” 41 While versions were made both in Italian and in English, I was able to watch only the one with commentary in English. Many thanks to Pier Luigi Raffaelli at the Cineteca Lucana for this unique opportunity. 42 Film historian David Ellwood erroneously states that the village is in Sicily. See David Ellwood, “Italian Modernization and the Propaganda of the Marshall Plan,” in Luciano Cheles and Lucio Sponza (eds.), The Art of Persuasion: Political Communication in Italy from 1945 to the 1990s (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001), 23–48. 43 “Un giorno, davanti al municipio del paese senz’acqua si ferma un’automobile che viene dalla città.”

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Notes to pages 129–45

44 Titles and commentary excerpts cited in this chapter are original from the English version of the film. 45 Ernesto De Martino, Sud e magia (Milano: Feltrinelli, 1960), 134. 46 “Faremo ora un capriccioso itinerario di rabdomanti. Stiamo inseguendo l’acqua.” 47 Alexandra Juhasz and Jesse Lerner, Introduction, in F Is for Phony: And Truth’s Undoing (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2006), 7. 48 This comic newsreel follows the news from two countries, Mesonia and Bulacchia. While the first is clearly democratic Italy, the second appears to be the comic representation of a country under a communist regime. It is possible to see Incomica on the Luce website (http:/www.archivioluce.com/ archivio/). 49 See Ernesto De Martino, “Regno di Napoli e jettatura,” in Sud e magia, 172–80. 50 “Acqua che cancella una vecchia immagine del sud umiliato, fatalista, silente. Questa musica di scrosci è il canto del suo ridestarsi.” 51 “Si diceva: nel Sud hanno fame di terra, nel Sud hanno sete di acqua. Erano parole in cui ci s’impigriva. I fatti adesso sono questi.” 52 “In ambiente propizio, l’uomo riacquista le sue qualità native. Vecchia calunnia che il meridionale sia indolente, rifugga dall’istruzione.” 53 Jane Gaines uses this expression in reference to documentary in the introduction in Jane Gaines and Michael Renov (eds.), Collecting Visible Evidence (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1999), 8. 54 “Scappiamo di qua e di là sulla geografia d’Italia.” 55 In another scene, the commentator addresses the viewers and explains some technical details about a device used for mineral excavation. 56 The DC Archive lists Dino Risi as director “non riconosciuto” (not confirmed). 57 Paul Ward, “The Future of Documentary? ‘Conditional Tense Documentary and the Historical Records,” in Gary Rhodes and John P. Springer (eds.) Docufictions: Essays on the Intersection of Documentary and Fictional Filmmaking (Jefferson, NC: McFarland Press, 2006), 270-283. 58 Once elected, Milazzo formed a coalition with the rightwing Movimento Sociale Italiano (MSI) with the support of the PSI and the PCI, but excluding the DC. 59 Philip Rosen, “Document and Documentary: On the Persistence of Historical Concepts,” in Michael Renov (ed.), Theorizing Documentary (New York: Routledge, 1993), 65. 5  “United Europe Starts in School”   1 Regio Decreto Legge no. 1780 of 30 Sept. 1938.



Notes to pages 145–9

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  2 See, e.g., “C’erano una volta nelle scuole i documentari della cineteca,” Corriere della Sera, 14 Dec. 2001; Edoardo Sassi, “Il duce di spalle e altre scene proibite,” Corriere della Sera, 7 Dec. 2001.   3 Cineteca Scolastica Italiana (CSI), Catalogo dei Film (Rome, 1952).   4 G.M. Lanzillotti, “Nostalgia and Fascism in Italy,” The Nation, (August 19, 1950), 165–6.   5 Evelina Tarroni, “Cenni storici sulla Cineteca Scolastica Italiana,” Catalogo dei film (1954), 15­–24.   6 Giuseppe Calabretta, L’Europa unità nasce dalla scuola: Conferenza tenuta dal prof. Giuseppe Calabretta nelle principali città europee in occasione della costituzione della Associazione internazionale delle scuole private europee (Rome: Segreteria Nazionale dell’AISPE, 1958).   7 “[C]on personalità giuridica […] avente finalità politiche, educative, didattiche, scientifiche e artistiche.” Regio Decreto Legge no. 1780 on 30 Sept. 1938, Article 1, published in Remo Branca, Scuola e cinema scolastico in Italia: Lineamenti storici e fonti della regolamentazione giuridica (Rome: Edizioni della Cineteca del Ministero della Pubblica Istruzione, 1954), 42.   8 “I mezzi atti a svolgere una vasta propaganda fra gli insegnanti, gli alumni e le famiglie per la formazione di una coscienza cinematografica.” Ibid.   9 “Oltre a fornire alla scuola italiana un prezioso sussidio didattico di cui altre nazioni godono già da qualche tempo, [la cineteca scolastica] darà anche, in grazia dei progressi realizzati nella cinematografia a passo ridotto, impensate possibilità in altri settori che fino ad oggi parevano condannati ad una ingiustificabile inferiorità.” Luigi Baldelli, “Cineteca autonoma per la scuola,” Cinema: Quindicinale di divulgazione cinematografica 4:65 (1939), 163. 10 “Si vede tra l’altro una scuola moderna e ci mostra come oggi viene praticato l’insegnamento” (emphasis added). Ibid. 11 The title of this film in the ASIL catalogue is in English; however, the commentary is in Italian. 12 “In questo modo piacevole, dilettoso, ed educativo si chiude spesso la giornata dello scolaro fascista.” 13 See Filippo Tommaso Marinetti, Emilio Settimelli, and Bruno Corra, “La Cinematografia Futurista,” 1916. 14 “Vengono trasportati nelle lontananze meravigliose del nostro Impero africano.” 15 “La Cineteca del Ministero della Pubblica Istruzione non rinuncia in nessun caso alla sua funzione di orientare e coordinare le attività periferiche e aiutarle nei limiti delle proprie possibilità.” Remo Branca, “Circolare Minsteriale,” in Catalogo dei film (1954), 106–9.

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Notes to pages 149–53

16 Branca, Scuola e cinema, 25. 17 Ibid., 23. 18 “La Cineteca Scolastica Italiana non intende rimanere un organo burocratico di controllo, di raccolta e di distribuzione di film, ma anche intende necessariamente svilupparsi come organo nazionale di cultura a disposizione della Scuola primaria, secondaria e universitaria.” Branca, “Premessa,” in Catalogo dei film (1952), 9. 19 “La lezione di cose è acefala senza la lezione dei principi. Ibid. 20 Remo Branca, “Prefazione alla II edizione,” in Catalogo dei film (1954), 13. 21 Tarroni, “Cenni storici sulla Cineteca Scolastica Italiana,”, 18. 22 Rivista del cinema italiano 2:4–5 (1953), also published in Il film e i problemi dell’educazione, edited by Luigi Volpicelli, (Milan: F.lli Bocca; Rome, IGEIS, 1953). 23 Luigi Chiarini, “Il cinema e la scuola,” Rivista del cinema italiano 2:4–5 (1953), 3. 24 “Potrà richiedere e determinare un innalzamento del livello di tutto il cinema,” ibid. 25 Rivista del Cinematografo 22:4 (1949), 5. 26 Rivista del Cinematografo 22:1 (1949), 7–8. 27 Emilio Lonero, “Per un’educazione cinematografica,” Rivista del Cinematografo 26:3, 4, 5, 6, 7–8 (1953). 28 “La preparazione critica dello spettatore, ovvero la sua difesa attiva dalle facili suggestioni psicologiche o extra artistiche dello schermo, e l’affinamento del suo gusto.” 29 Albino Galletto, “Presenza dei cattolici italiani,” Rivista del Cinematografo 24:1 (1951): 3–6. On the same topic, see Giuseppe Siri, “La Chiesa e il cinema,” Sequenze 2:7 (1950): 9–14. 30 Albino Galletto, “Moralità e spettacolo,” Rivista del Cinematografo 22:1 (1949), 8–9. 31 Luigi Gedda, “Attualità della Vigilanti Cura,” Rivista del Cinematografo 24:8 (1951), 2–3. 32 “Vigilare su questa universale e potente forma di divertimento e insieme d’insegnamento per far valere come motivo di proibizione l’offesa al sentimento morale e religioso e a tutto ciò che è contrario allo spirito cristiano e ai suoi principi etici.” Ibid., 3. 33 Giulio Andreotti (all in Rivista del Cinematografo): “Le parole di S.E. l’On. Andreotti,”23:6 (1950), 7; “Pubblicità A.G.P. e primi sintomi d’impazienza,” 23:9 (1950), 6; “Censura e censura,” 25:12 (1952), 2–5; “Secondo tempo” 29:6–7 (1956), 7–8. 34 Andreotti, “Le parole di S.E. l’on. Andreotti,” 7.



Notes to pages 154–6

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35 See also Renato Buzzonetti, “Europa ’51 è un messaggio cristiano?” Rivista del Cinematografo 26:1 (1953), 10­–13. 36 Diego Fabbri, “Neorealismo italiano, segno di contraddizione,” Rivista del Cinematografo, 22:1 (1949), 10–12. 37 “Il problema squisitamente educativo dello spettatore di fronte a questi film ‘neorealisti’ è quello che ci interessa particolarmente. È l’annoso problema: se a una educanda faccia più male la lettura dei romanzetti di Delly o di Eleonora Glynn o la lettura della Bovary di Flaubert. Noi, pur senza racocmandare la Bovary, non consiglieremmo, comunque nè Delly nè la Glynn. Consiglieremmo tutte quelle opere che, pur rappresentando la realtà, ne diano un giudizio – cioè una interpretazione – secondo il superiore criterio della verità.” Fabbri, “Neorealismo italiano,” 12. 38 “Il complesso di consuetudini morali e sociali, etniche e religose di un popolo.” Mino Borghi, “Cinema e costume,” Rivista del Cinematografo 25:1 (1952), 25. 39 “La formula del neorealismo […] è in fase di superamento.” Turi Vasile, “Non esiste una scuola neorealista italiana, esiste il cinema italiano,” Rivista del Cinematografo, 22:11 (1949), 7–8. 40 Vasile, “Non esiste una scuola neorealista italiana,” 7. 41 “Il critico di destra sospetta nel film la propaganda comunista, ma in realtà lamenta l’assenza di una propaganda reazionaria, patriottica, e, in ultima analisi, fascista.” Ernesto De Martino, “Poesia e propaganda,” Film critica: Mensile di studi cinematografici 4:21 (1953), 55–7. 42 Enrico Rossetti, “L’intraprendente signor Branca,” Cinema Nuovo 6:105 (1957), 230. 43 Aldo Paladini, “L’auspicato carrozzone,” Cinema Nuovo 3:41 (1954), 109–11; and “20 uomini e una cassa,” Cinema Nuovo 3:40 (1954), 54. 44 Remo Branca, Il tuo cinema: Giovani e scuola di fronte al cinema (Turin: SEI, 1941). 45 “La scuola italiana sollevata nel piano dell’Impero secondo quella visione che l’E.il Ministro Bottai à ormai chiarito nell’indirizzo del pensiero fascista.” Ibid., 84. 46 “Ecco il Fascismo in un’altra meravigliosa realizzazione: Il Cinema scolastico!” Ibid. 47 “Servizi cinematografici istituiti a vantaggio mentale degli avanguardisti e dei balilla” Paladini, “L’auspicato carrozzone,” 109. 48 “Ex-esperto di cinematografia avanguardistica e rurale.” Ibid., 110. 49 “La bobina è il libro dell’avvenire.” Cited by Branca, in Scuola e cinema scolastico in Italia, 12. 50 Remo Branca, “Prefazione alla II edizione,” Catalogo dei film (1952), 12.

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Notes to pages 156–62

51 Tarroni, “Cenni storici sulla Cineteca Scolastica Italiana,” 24. 52 Paladini, “L’auspicato carrozzone,” 110. 53 “La nave ha bisogno di un cuore pulsante per vivere e aprirsi il cammino fra le onde e in altre immense officine che lavorano per il mare anche se sono lontane, si costruiscono i motori a olio pesante per il cui perfezionamento l’Italia oggi [1939] non ha rivali nel mondo.” 54 In this chapter, as in chapter 3, I will quote from the Italian (dubbed) version. For this reason, I will use the Italian title of the films in the Changing Face of Europe series. 55 “La maniera in cui, un un piccolo centro democratico, vengono trattati e discussi dalla comunità i problemi che riguardano i vari aspetti della vita cittadina.” 56 Remo Branca, Società e scuola negli Stati Uniti (Rome: Edizioni Ministero Della Pubblica Istruzione, 1956), 4. 57 “Il lancio di un nuovo dentifricio offriva l’occasione di fare un film didattico sulla dentizione e le malattie dentarie.” Ibid., 162. 58 Ettore Ghezzi’s Il tecnofilm included a few chapters on the use of the industrial film in schools. Ghezzi highlighted how Italian industries had a vested interest in participating in the production of educational reels, also pointing out the leading role of the United States in the field. Ghezzi wrote the chapter, “Gli ausiliari audiovisivi negli Stati Uniti d’America,” in collaboration with USIS Milan and the American Book Company of New York City. Research, production (600 producers and 4,500 new titles every year), education of teachers (courses since 1922), development of technology, offices in charge in every state, county, and district, an efficient system of funding, full agreement among educators and public officials on the importance and effectiveness of audiovisual materials in teaching: all elements that clearly point out the discrepancies between the American and the Italian cases (and the sorry performance of the Cineteca Scolastica Italiana). 59 “Non un solo metro di tessuto lascia lo stabilimento senza la firma, costituita dal ben noto sigillo ‘Ermenegildo Zegna.’” 60 “A Trivero, tra quei monti biellesi che l’amore di un uomo ha trasformato in un oasi di verde e di fiori sorge questo moderno lanificio che da lavoro ad oltre un migliaio di operai.” 61 “Se una parte delle nostre nuove energie deve essere oggi utilizzata per la produzione di mezzi difensivi a tutela del lavoro e della libertà dell’Europa, lo scopo però resta sempre lo stesso: prevenire e sventare le insidie che possono essere tese alla nostra attività pacifica, al comune sforzo verso un avvenire non più dominato dalla paura e dal bisogno. Decisa a continuare nella sua pacifica opera di ricostruzione ma altrettanto decisa a difendersi



Notes to pages 163–71

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da qualsiasi minaccia, dietro lo scudo del suo lavoro e con le sue ritrovate energie, l’Europa è di nuovo in cammino.” 62 “Ora gli uomini impiegano il cervello e le mani.” 63 “Sembra una storia patetica: la vecchia acciaieria ha voluto morire in bellezza, via via che viene smantellata.” 6  History through Tabloids   1 “Questi nostri amici con la loro spensieratezza corrono il rischio di confonderci la memoria.” L. Zanetti, “La settimana del trucco,” Cinema Nuovo 16 (1953), 94.   2 Italo Calvino, The Path to the Spiders’ Nests, translated by Archibald Colquhoun (New York: Harper Collins, 2000), 7.   3 Pierre Sorlin, “How to Look at an ‘Historical’ Film,” in Marcia Landy (ed.), The Historical Film: History and Memory in the Media (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2001), 35.   4 Ibid., 34.   5 Patrizia Dogliani, “Constructing Memory and Anti-Memory: The Monumental Representation of Fascism and Its Denial in Republican Italy,” in Patrizia Dogliani and Richard J.B. Bosworth (eds.), Italian Fascism: History, Memory, and Representation (New York: Palgrave, 1999), 25.   6 For an analysis of postwar Italian films in relation to the Fascist past and the attitude of victimization, see Ruth Ben-Ghiat, “Liberation: Italian Cinema and the Fascist Past, 1945–50,” in Patrizia Dogliani and Richard J.B. Bosworth (eds.), Italian Fascism: History, Memory, and Representation (New York: Palgrave, 1999), 83–101. I will discuss Ben-Ghiat’s essay later in this chapter.   7 Jay Leyda, Film Begets Film (New York: Hill and Wang, 1964).   8 In addition to those mentioned in the text, see William C. Wees, Recycled Images: The Art and Politics of Found Footage Films (New York: Anthology Film Archives, 1993).   9 Paul Arthur, “On the Virtues and Limitations of Collage,” Documentary Box, vol. 11, (1997), 1–7. 10 Michael Zryd, “Found Footage Film as Discursive Metahistory: Craig Baldwin’s Tribulation 99,” Moving Image 3:2 (2003), 42. 11 Claudio Pavone, “The Two Levels of Public Use of the Past,” in Giovanni Levi and Jacques Revel (eds.). Political Uses of the Past: The Recent Mediterranean Experience (London: Frank Cass, 2002), 74. 12 For a study on documentary films taking into account the important role played by tabloids in the popular understanding of history, see Shawn Rosenheim, “Interrotroning History: Errol Morris and the Documentary of

270

Notes to pages 171–6

the Future,” in Vivian Sobchack (ed.), The Persistence of History: Cinema, Television, and the Modern Event (New York: Routledge, 1996), 219–34. 13 The expression “telefoni bianchi” (white telephones) derives from the fact that many fiction films produced during the Fascist period took place in a rich upper-class environment, featuring white telephones in their interior settings. 14 I am referring to the scene when Umberto D. is preparing to go to bed and the sound from the movie theatre enters his room. 15 “[U]n elemento nostro, che abbia le necessarie capacità tecniche e che possa quindi veramente fare il giornale.” See Giampietro Dorè, letter to Giorgio Tupini, 22 Oct. 1949, Segreteria Politica, Box 7, Folder 2, ASIL. Other information about the Party’s relation to Incom is in the records “Affari diversi” Gonnella, Box 9, Folder 9. 16 Pierre Sorlin, “La Settimana Incom messaggera del futuro: Verso la società dei consumi,” in Augusto Sainati (ed.), La Settimana Incom: Cinegiornali e informazione negli anni ’50 (Turin: Lindau, 2001), 71. 17 Cesare Casarino, “Oedipus Exploded: Pasolini and the Myth of Modernization,” October 59 (Winter, 1992), 29. 18 See Ernesto DeLaura, Le stagioni dell’aquila: Storia dell’Istituto Luce (Rome: Istituto Luce, 2004), 145–56, 180–6, 212–13, 228–40. Both Incom and Luce continued to produce films for the regime after the armistice in 1943, during the so-called Italian Social Republic (RSI). 19 See ibid., 229. 20 Gastone Silvano Spinetti, Difesa di una generazione (Rome: Edizioni Polilibraria, 1948), 38–9. 21 Ruth Ben-Ghiat, “Liberation: Italian Cinema and the Fascist Past, 1945–50,” 84. 22 “Da qualsiasi altra provenienza.” 23 “Voi soldati e tutto il popolo italiano, ignari di cio che ci attendeva, entravamo nella notte del terrore tedesco.” 24 “Riconosciuta la sua volontà di pacifica collaborazione con gli altri popoli.” 25 Paolella was also assistant editor of the film Los Novios de la Muerte (Romolo Marcellini, 1937), about Fascist aviation in the Spanish War. 26 “La lotta di popoli forti e numerosi di braccia contro gli affamatori, a cui l’asse imporrà con la lama tagliente delle armate vittoriose, una pace fondata su giustizia, una pace romana.” 27 “Documentario dedicato agli Italiani che hanno lottato e sofferto per vedere l’alba della liberta, agli Alleati che quella libertà hanno aiutato a conquistare, agli altri popoli affinché conoscano la passione e il sacrificio dei patrioti italiani.” 28 Quoted in Eric Barnouw, Documentary: A History of Non-Fiction Film (1974), 2nd rev. ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993 [1974]), 122.



Notes to pages 176–83

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29 Carlo Di Carlo, Il cortometraggio italiano antifascista (Turin: Istituto del cinema, 1959). 30 See Gian Piero Brunetta (ed.), Cinema, Storia, Resistenza: 1944–1985 (Milan: Franco Angeli, 1987). 31 Hayden White, “The Historical Text as Literary Artifact,” Clio 3 (1974). This article was published in White’s book Tropics of Discourse (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1978), 81–100. 32 Ibid., 85. 33 Another point of discussion was also the fact that people from different backgrounds had been killed, not only political prisoners and not only Jews. However, memories of the massacre painted the victims as fighters for the freedom of Italy or, alternately, as victims of the Holocaust. 34 “Contrapponevamo sempre più fermo lo spirito della Resistenza.” 35 Giorni di gloria used unique footage provided by partisans (Cino Moscatelli from Piedmont and Arrigo Boldrini from Romagna), and by the Psychological Warfare Branch of the US Army. 36 Mario Musumeci, “Suoni e immagini di quei giorni,” in Giorni di gloria: Un esempio di cinema e storia (Bologna: Consiglio Generale dell’Emilia Romagna, 2004), 47. 37 By these words, Jane Gaines argued that documentary filmmaking can affect viewers politically, rather than persuading them by rational means. See Jane Gaines, Introduction, in Jane Gaines and Michael Renov (eds.), Collecting Visible Evidence (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1999), 1. 38 “La cronaca di quei giorni rivive in un film indimenticabile.” 39 “Per strappare il disgraziato all’ira scatenata della folla.” “Disgraziato,” as the commentator calls Carretta, could have either meaning. 40 “Se l’autore dell’attentato non si fosse presentato.” 41 “I militi della Repubblica danno l’assalto ad un cascinale dove sono asserragliati alcuni patrioti.” 42 Among the documents of the DC’s SPES, archived at the Istituto Luigi Sturzo (ILS), a note by Marcellini explained that he had “the only existing footage of the bandit Salvatore Giuliano, very unique and invested with a rare power” (“uniche riprese cinematografiche esistenti del bandito S.G., riprese di rara efficacia”), which the director wanted to use for a film on the bandit that might valorize the government’s achievements in Siciliy’s “economic and moral recovery” (“l’opera di ricostruzione economica e morale in Sicilia”). See the records “Affari diversi,” Gonnella, Box 13, Folder 2. 43 “L’unica voce a levarsi su questa folla di oppressi fu quella del Papa.” 44 “Il triangolo della morte: Al vertice la violenza, alla base la vendetta.”

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Notes to pages 183–90

45 “Alla corruzione e al disorientamento morale si contrappone un bisogno di fede, un’esigenza spirituale che fa fiorire i luoghi di culto popolare.” 46 “La costituente o il caos; il caos non c’è stato e la gente puo’ andare a divertirsi.” 47 “Ma ancora una volta il caos non ci sarà: De Gasperi ha fatto il governo senza i comunisti.” 48 “La rivoluzione sembra doversi scatenare da un momento all’altro” and “anche la rivoluzione è in marcia: chi giungerà primo al traguardo finale? È Bartali!” 49 “La speranza dei due giovani protagonisti è ormai una certezza.” 50 “La Settimana Incom promuove insomma, un’immagine ‘festiva’ del paese.” Augusto Sainati, “Stile e formato dell’informazione Incom,” in Sainati, La Settimana Incom, 29. 51 William C. Wees, Recycled images: the art and politics of found footage films, (NYC: Anthology Film Archives, 1993), 11. 52 “Nell’interno dei carri, il sentimento psicologico della guerra.” 53 “Riallacciano e rinsaldano questa unità d’italia che abbiamo ritrovata e che non perderemo mai più.” 54 “Paesaggio [che] rispecchia il cammino d’Italia.” 55 “Di là da quella notte di sgomento che fu la guerra.” 56 “Il metano ci ha guariti da uno dei nostri complessi d’inferiorità.” 57 “Meno un portavoce del Governo che uno strumento di comunicazione del capitalismo.” Sorlin, in Sainati, La Settimana Incom, 72. 58 See Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 1983). 59 “C’è un primato dei primati che tutti nel mondo ci riconoscono, quello di essere arrivati primi in Europa al traguardo della ricostruzione nazionale. E ve lo dimostriamo.” 60 “Itinerario meno noto, attraverso i primati.” 61 Palmiro Togliatti spoke of an “Italian way to Socialism.” 62 David W. Ellwood, Rebuilding Europe: Western Europe, America, and Postwar Reconstruction (London: Longman, 1992), 122. 63 See Rob Kroes, “Americanization: What Are We Talking About?” in Hollywood in Europe: Experiences in Cultural Hegemony (Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 1994), 302–18. As Franco Migranti has argued with regard to rock-and-roll in 1950s Italy, “one may end up by expressing refusal of a culture by means of that culture’s own syntax.” See Franco Migranti, “Rock’n’Roll in Italy: Was It True Modernization?” in Hollywood in Europe, 143.



Notes to pages 191–7

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64 “La storia d’America comincia con un nome italiano: Cristoforo Colombo. La volitiva maschera del grande navigatore la ritroviamo eternata nel marmo in numerose città degli Stati Uniti.” 65 This train ran throughout the entire peninsula distributing food from America to the needy Italian population. See La Settimana Incom, editions 111, 112, and 113 in the ASILe Archive online (www.archivioluce.com/ archivio/). 66 “Tante caratteristiche della vita italiana sono state assimilate da quella americana. Se l’Italia ha diffuso negli Stati Uniti il richiamo della sua arte e della sua storia, se l’America ha importato in Italia i sistemi della sua civiltà meccanica e della sua mentalità organizzata, nei presupposti storici di questa collaborazione odierna troviamo pure un segno del destino, che affidò agli italiani la scoperta iniziale del nuovo mondo.” 67 “L’individuo puo affermarsi in una competizione libera e eccitante.” 68 “Ieri era cronaca, oggi è già storia.” 69 “La fede di oggi in una Europa Unita sarà in grado di trasformarsi in realtà in un domani.” 70 “La sua civiltà e le sue tradizioni non ammettevano possibilità di scelta.” 71 “L’atto di guerra sovietico costrinse l’Occidente a porre in primo piano il riarmo, unito nel baluardo difensivo del Patto Atlantico.” 72 “Da un giorno all’altro la Cecoslovacchia aveva cambiato regime. Nell’estate si temette la guerra. L’Unione Sovietica aveva isolato Berlino dall’Occidente […] Le democrazie reagirono a questi squilli d’allarme unendosi dapprima nell’Unione Europea Occidentale, poi, nel Patto Atlantico.” 73 “Il Cremlino è il vero nemico dell’Italia. Mosca risponde ‘NO’ per Trieste respingendo la proposta alleata.” 74 “Londra, 14 matt. – Radio Mosca ha annunciato che l’U.R.S.S. ha respinto la proposta delle tre Potenze occidental per l’inizio di negoziati tendenti ad ottenere la resituzione di Trieste all’Italia per mezzo di una revision del Trattato di pace.” 75 “Noi dobbiamo riuscire; se non riusciamo può darsi che questa gloriosa Europa ridivenga ciò che era diecimila anni fa: una povera, piccolo, insignificante penisola dell’Asia.” 76 “La fantasia di una Europa che voleva pensare a se stessa come una unità geografica, naturale, e di fatto.” 77 “[Una Europa Unita] è la salvezza. I popoli lo sentono. Spiegatelo alla povera gente che lo sente. Questa è la pace, se riusciamo.”

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Film Catalogues

Barbera, Giuliana, and Giovanna Tosatti (eds.). United States Information Service di Trieste: Catalogo del fondo cinematografico 1941–1966. Rome: Pubblicazione degli Archivi di Stato, 2007. “Catalogo del Centro di Documentazione.” Rome: Dipartimento per l’Informazione e l’Editoria della Presidenza del Consiglio dei Ministri (unpublished). Catalogo dei film. Rome: Cineteca del Ministero della Pubblica Istruzione, 1954. Catalogo trimestrale ottobre–dicembre 1953: Films documentari a passo ridotto e 35 mm. Rome: USIS, 1953. Catalogue of Documentary Films. Washington, D.C.: Economic Cooperation Administration, 1951. Christenson, Linda, ed. Marshall Plan Filmography. www.marshallfilms.com Italian Films Export (IFE). Catalogo dei cortometraggi italiani I (1945–1948). Rome: IFE, 1948. – Catalogo dei cortometraggi italiani I (1949). Rome: IFE, 1949. – Catalogo dei cortometraggi italiani I (1950). Rome: IFE, 1950.

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Index

Italicized page numbers refer to photographs. Official translations of film titles appear with original titles; for example, A Place to Live/Case per tutti. Author’s translations of film titles appear in parentheses; for example, Incontro con la Olivetti (Welcome to Olivetti). 045. See Zeroquarantacinque Accanto al lavoro Fiat (Beside the Work at Fiat), 60, 226 Accattone (The Scrounger), 94 Acland, Charles, 7–8 actors. See producers, directors, and artists Adelfi, Nicola, 120, 165, 258n50 Agamben, Giorgio, 20, 117 agriculture: agrarian reform, 115–16, 119–20; American influences, 159; Catholic doctrine, 119–20; Changing Face series, 158, 223, 258; rice workers, 46–8. See also Bonifiche; La terra nuova Ai margini della città (At the Margins of the City), 92–3, 100, 104–5, 112, 200 Alberobello, 41–2 Allason, Barbara, 10, 97

Ambrosino, Salvatore, 15 Amore (Rossellini), 154 Andreotti, Giulio, 29, 153–4 animations, 27–8, 156, 159, 164 Antonioni, Michelangelo, 53 Appuntamento a Torino (A Date in Turin), 59, 226, 253n22 aqueducts. See water projects Aquila (Erbi), xi, 34–40, 36–7, 214 archives of sponsored films, 5–7, 239n10, 239n13 Archivio Audiovisivo del Movimento Operaio e Democratico (AAMOD), 6–7, 51 Archivio Centrale dello Stato (ACS), 6 Archivio del Cinema Industriale e della Comunicazione d’Impresa (ACICI), 6–7 Archivio Nazionale del Cinema Industriale (ANCI), 6–7, 52–3, 251n8

288 Index Archivio Storico Istituto Luce (ASIL), 6–7 Ardeatine Caves massacre, 177–9, 181, 271n32 Armonie Pucciniane (Ferroni), 157 Arthur, Paul, 170–1 artists, film. See producers, directors, and artists Associazione Cattolica, 18 Auriol, Jean-Georges, 152 automobile industry: film production centres, 60. See also Fiat S.p.A. autonomy. See self-help and autonomy Avanguardisti, 15, 155, 267n58 Azione Cattolica (Catholic Action), 5, 18, 153 Baldelli, Luigi, 147–8 Banfield, Edward, 10, 115 Barnett, Vincent, 19, 113, 118–19, 263n36 Barrows, Leland, 10, 117–18 Baths of Caracalla, Rome, 100–3 Benedetti, Pietro, 186, 187 Ben-Ghiat, Ruth, 15, 174 Bennett, Tony, 87 Bergman, Ingrid, 84 Bertolucci, Bernardo, 53 The Bicycle Thief. See Ladri di biciclette Bigiaretti, Libero, 81 Blasetti, Alessandro, 52–3, 56, 152 Bloch, Ernst, 105 Boario, Giulio, 81 Bobbio, Carlo, 69 Bonifiche/Land Redeemed, 26, 120–4, 214 Borgate della riforma (Villages of the Reform), 113, 200 Bosello, Ubaldo, 18 Bosè, Lucia, 56–8

Bosio, Aristide, 76 Braccia lavoro (Arms to Work), 185, 200 Branca, Remo, 15, 149–50, 155–6, 160 Braun, Eva, 182 Breda Industries, 186, 188, 232 Brunius, Jacques, 110, 158 Buongiorno natura (Good Morning Nature), 75–6, 228 Caccia tragica (Tragic Hunt), 15, 174 Calabretta, Giuseppe, 147 Calabria, 113, 261n15. See also Piccoli calabresi Caldwell, Leslie, 46 Calvino, Italo, 169 Canavese, 76 Cancellieri, Edmondo, 118, 137, 160–1 Canestrari, Renzo, 151 Canzio, Stefano, 60 capitalism: consumerism, 14, 60–1, 188; Olivetti as “enlightened” capitalist, 77; promotion of, 54, 58–9 Carbone bianco. See Power for All Carretta, Donato, 179–81 cartoons, 27–8, 159, 164 Caruso, Piero, 179–81 Casablanca, 34 Casarino, Cesare, 173 CASAS. See Comitato Amministrativo Soccorso ai Senzatetto La casa (The House), 90, 94, 100, 102–4, 214 Case per tutti. See A Place to Live Cassano, Franco, 116 Cassa per il Mezzogiorno (Fund for the South), 116, 118–19, 141–3, 260n4 Cassino, 186 Castellani, Renato, 184



Index 289

Catholicism: and Christian charity, 22, 95–6, 182; film review commission, 5, 152–4; and housing promotion, 95–6, 111; Lourdes pilgrimage, 60–2, 62; morality and film, 153–4; and private property, 119–20; as safe haven, 183; Southern Question, 117. See also Pius XII, Pope cave dwellers, 100–14. See also Matera; La via Appia; Zeroquarantacinque CB (Cineteca di Bologna), 6–7, 234 Ceneteca Scolastica Italiana (CSI), 5–6 censorship: by CCC, 153; by government, 16, 17, 18 Central Intelligence Agency (CIA, US), 81, 82 Centro Cattolico Cinematografico (CCC), 5, 152–4 Centro di Documentazione (CdD): overview, 4–5, 25; American and British influence, 26; archives, 5–6, 245n2; directors’ styles, 27; filmography, 199–213; goals, 28, 119; housing films, 113; international distribution, 25; Southern Question, 137; “unified Italy” in films, 11; venues, 28; women’s gender roles, 46 Cerchio, Fernando, 157 Changing Face of Europe series (Progressi e problemi della nuova Europa): overview, 23, 110, 147, 157–9, 168, 258n50; film titles and subjects, 158; Marshall Plan promotion, 110, 158–9; mobility, 164–5; narrator, 120, 165, 258n50; Southern Question, 157–8, 164; writers, 120

Che accade laggiù? (What Happens Down There?), 141–2, 231 Chiarini, Luigi, 18, 150–1 Christian Democracy (DC): agrarian reform, 119–20, 123; American influences, 123; archives, 7; Catholic charity, 95–7; censorship, 16, 17, 18; film sponsorship, 3–5, 16–18; housing policies, 95–7, 106; private property, 119–20; religious values, 22; Southern Question, 141; on women’s domestic roles, 45. See also Servizio Propaganda e Stampa Christian Socialism, 83 Cianciulli, Leonarda, 183 Cinefiat film unit. See Fiat S.p.A. Cinegiornale di Sicilia (Sicilian Newsreel), 142–4, 231 Cinema e educazione (Chiarini), 150 cinema of attractions, 182 Cinema, Storia, e Resistenza, 177 cinematography: in Aquila, 35; closeness/distance binary, 107–8; compassion towards subjects, 131, 132–3, 134; in compilation films, 186–7; in Dobbiamo, 33–4; editing and manipulation of viewers, 181; Flaherty’s romantic style, 26, 107; in Gallo’s films, 33–4, 122–4; in La gamma, 59; modern/premodern binary, 108, 110; in Olmi’s films, 72–4; time dimensions, 186; in Una fabbrica, 78; views of reconstruction programs, 140; in Zeroquarantacinque, 101 Cineteca Autonoma per la Cinematografia Scolastica, 145, 147 Cineteca di Bologna (CB), 6–7, 234 Cineteca Lucana (CL), 6, 145, 263n41

290 Index Cineteca Scolastica Italiana (Italian Educational Film Library) (CSI): overview, 145–50, 156–7, 167–8; American and British influences, 146–7, 156, 159–60; archives, 5–6, 23, 145–6; Changing Face series, 158; choice in film selection, 148–9; distribution system, 149; ECA films, 159; Fascist legacy, 145, 148–9, 156–7, 167–8; logo, 156; role in education system, 149–50, 167–8; US exchange program, 159–61 class. See social class Clearing the Lines/Via libera (Changing Face series), 158, 215 Cold War, 14–15, 18–19, 169–70, 192. See also L’Italia nel mondo Collegio Antioch, 159 Colonetti, Gustavo, 87 comedy: overview, 27–8; audience reception, 171; educational films, 163–4; Incom’s parodies, 138, 144, 264n48; slapstick, 27, 81; Southern Question, 137–8; SPES films, 142, 144; women’s gender roles, 46 Comitato Amministrativo Soccorso ai Senzatetto (CASAS), 96–7. See also United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration Comitato Civico (Catholic Action), 5, 18 communication: Changing Face series, 158, 215; railways, 186. See also trains Communist Party of Italy (PCI): anticommunism, 89, 160; democracycommunism dichotomy, 18–19; ECA film series, 244n64; economic and gender crises in Aquila, 35,

38, 39; parodies on, 138, 144; as revolutionary threat, 89, 119; Southern Question, 119; SPES against, 142–4; Truman on, 19, 38; USIS against, 146 Comolli, Jean-Louis, 41 compilation films, 169–97; overview, 24, 170–1; American influences, 190; Ardeatine Caves massacre, 177–9, 181, 271n32; crime news, 171, 179, 182–4; Fascist legacy, 24, 174–5; fictional films, 180; history as chronology, 194; history as progress, 179–80, 184; housing, 103; “Incom style,” 171; interviews, 185; military alliance promotion, 192–3; postwar “good feeling,” 169–70, 183–5; present-tense narration, 173, 185, 190; randomness of topics, 184–5, 190; Resistance in, 24, 175–9, 181–2; satire, 171; as “truth,” 171, 194; US-Italy relationships, 176, 191–2, 195–6. See also Dieci anni della nostra vita; Due civiltà s’incontrano; Giorni di gloria; L’Italia nel mondo; L’Italia s’è desta; Thanks America! “The Concentration Camps” (Pasolini), 93–4 Conquiste del sud (Achievements in the South), 137, 139, 202 consumerism. See capitalism Contini, Giovanni, 177 Coppi, Fausto, 172 Coronet Films, 160 corporate productions. See industrial films Il cortometraggio antifascista (The AntiFascist Short), 176 Cotroneo, Enrico, 68



Index 291

crime news in compilation films, 171, 179, 182–4 Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli/Christ Did Not Stop at Eboli (Gandin), 11, 125, 129–37, 130, 132–3, 135, 231 Cristo si è fermato a Eboli / Christ Stopped at Eboli (Levi), 11, 124–5, 128–9, 131, 136, 263n36 Croce, Benedetto, 16, 53, 243n51 CSI. See Cineteca Scolastica Italiana culture, defined, 87 Curva di fatica del bambino (Branca), 150 Dainotto, Roberto, 117, 192, 193 Dalla lana al tessuto (From Wool to Fabric), 160–1, 232, 251n8 Dalla monarchia alla Repubblica (From the Monarchy to the Republic) (Incom), 185, 232 Dalmine, 85–6 dams, 74–5, 122–4, 190 da Volpedo, Pelizza, 121 DC. See Christian Democracy (DC) Dean, Mitchell, 113–14 De Antonio, Emile, 171 De Bre, Bernard, 28 De Feo, Francesco, 46, 118 De Filippo, Peppino, 27 De Gasperi, Alcide, 3, 4, 25, 183, 194, 196 Del Grosso, Remigio, 60 De Martino, Ernesto, 136–7, 138, 155 democracy: communism-democracy dichotomy, 18–20; ECA films on, 188–9; postwar commitment to, 194–5; and sponsored films, 6; Truman on, 19; USIS films on, 159 Democrazia Cristiana. See Christian Democracy

de Rochemont, Luis, 159 De Sanctis, Victor, 60 De Santis, Giuseppe, 15, 29, 46, 176, 178–9 De Sica, Vittorio, 152, 155, 189, 192. See also Ladri di biciclette; Il tetto; Umberto D. De Stefani, Celso, 86, 88 Dialogo di un venditore di almanacchi e di un passeggiere (Dialogue of a Seller of Almanacs and a Traveller), 72–3, 228 Di Carlo, Carlo, 176–7 Dieci anni della nostra vita (Ten Years of Our Life), 179–85, 232 Difesa di una generazione (Spinetti), 174 La diga del ghiacciaio (The Dam of the Glacier), 67, 74–5, 75, 228 Dipartimento per l’Informazione e l’Editoria (DIE), 5 directors. See producers, directors, and artists Disney, Walt, 12, 242n36 distribution of films: CCC’s influence, 153; private distributors, 4; profits, 17. See also United States Information Services Dobbiamo vivere ancora/We Shall Live Again, 32–4, 215 docu-fiction: characteristics, 70–1, 142, 144; Edisonvolta’s films, 70–5; on housing, 102–3, 110–13; on literacy, 11, 129, 134; Southern Question, 129, 141–2. See also Che accade laggiù?; Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli; Nasce una speranza; A Place to Live documentary films: overview, 4–5, 16; “documentary consciousness,”

292 Index 43–4, 180–1; ECA and CdD purposes, 49–50; Fascist legacy, 26; fictional elements, 4, 43–4; Griersonian social documentaries, 26, 41; interviews in, 42–4, 45; neorealism, 50; parodies of, 138, 144, 264n48; as “truth,” 28, 41, 42. See also sponsored films Dogliani, Patrizia, 169, 178 Donzelot, Jacques, 89 Dorè, Giampietro, 172 Due civiltà s’incontrano (Two Civilizations Meet), 190–3, 232 Due soldi di speranza (Two Bits of Hope), 184 Duggan, Christopher, 15 Economic Cooperation Admin­ istration (ECA): overview, 4, 25–6; American and British influence, 26; animations, 164; anti-communism strategies, 119; archives, 5–6, 246n4; audiences, 128; “autonomy,” 27; ban on US showings, 239n11; countries participating, 4; democracy promotion, 188–9; directors’ styles, 27; female portrayals, 164; filmography, 214–25; housing project films, 22, 96–104, 107–8; local producers and directors, 13; modernization in sponsored films, 11; selfhelp, 27, 96–104, 98–9, 246n11; Southern Question, 128; venues, 28; women’s gender roles, 46. See also Marshall Plan; Mutual Security Agency economy of Italy: communism and economic crisis, 35, 38; parallels with family’s economy, 30–2,

39–40; savings, 22, 31, 34; serial production vs. crafts, 54, 158, 163, 189. See also agriculture; industries and factories; Marshall Plan; reconstruction Edisonvolta, 67–76; overview, 5, 54–5, 67–8; charity, 69–70; docu-fiction, 70–5; factory as “entire world,” 72; filmography, 228–30; nature vs. technology, 73–4; Olmi as producer, 67–8; purposes of films, 52; rural vs. modern worlds, 72–3; SCE film unit, 67–8; schools and camps, 68–73, 70–1, 229; subjective view, 68–9, 74–5 education: adult literacy, 129–37; CSI and USIS films, 146; Edisonvolta’s schools and camps, 68–73, 70–1, 229; Fiat’s schools and camps, 62–6, 64–5, 227; Olivetti’s library, 81 educational films: 16mm and 35mm formats, 147, 156; American and British influences, 12, 159–60; CCC’s influence, 152–3; choice in film selection, 148–9; commercial film as educational, 151–2; critical thinking skills, 151–3; debate on film and education, 149–52, 155; debate on neorealism, 153–4; effects on youth, 23; as entertainment, 151, 163–4; on Europe, 146–7; Fascist legacy, 23, 146, 148, 154–61; moral education of viewers, 153; private producers, 160; teacher resources, 151. See also Changing Face of Europe series; Cineteca Scolastica Italiana Eisenhower, Gen. D., 175 electric power. See Edisonvolta



Index 293

Elettrotreno ETR 300 “Settebello” (Electric Train ETR 300), 186, 188, 232 Elezioni e opinione pubblica (Elections and Public Opinion), 159 Ellsaesser, Thomas, 53 Ellwood, David, 54 Emilia, 183, 216 Empire Marketing Board Film Unit, 26, 41 Encyclopaedia Britannica Films, 160 energy in Changing Face series, 158 entrepreneurship. See self-help and autonomy ephemeral, as term, 238n7 Erbi, Jacopo, xi, 34, 36, 37, 214 Estate 1100 (Summer 1100), 56–7, 226 Europe: mobility, 164–5; Point Four situations, 117–18; reconstruction images, 162–3; Soviet Union as threat, 162, 193, 195–6. See also Changing Face of Europe series; Marshall Plan; Southern Question (Italy in Europe) European Recovery Program (ERP). See Marshall Plan Europe (in Theory) (Dainotto), 192 Una fabbrica e il suo ambiente (A Factory and Its Environment), 76, 78–84, 80, 82, 230 Fabbri, Diego, 154 factories. See industries and factories families: economic parallels with state, 30–2; normalization through housing, 91, 101–3, 111; social assistants for model conduct, 96, 97. See also housing Fanfani, Amintore, 22, 45, 88, 256n9

Fanfani Plan. See INA-Casa Fasano, Ugo, 40 Fascists and Fascism: as “an aberration,” 194; “collective amnesia” about, 24, 168; cultural products, 244n61; film production, 147–8; portrayals in sponsored films, 16; year 1945 as new era, 24, 170, 172. See also Cineteca Autonoma Fascist Istituto Nazionale Luce (National Film Institute), 3, 25. See also Istituto Luce Fascist legacy: overview, 14–16, 168–70; collective pardon, 15–16; in compilation films, 24, 170; CSI films, 145, 148–9, 156–7, 167–8; educational films, 145–6, 154–61; Fascist films in libraries, 156–7; “fear, forgetfulness, forgiveness,” 168–9, 173–4; housing, 88–9, 90–1, 93–4, 102, 114; martial education of youth, 65; “propaganda” and “ideology” rejection, 12–13, 27; warfare to workfare, 65–6, 157; year 1945 as new era, 24, 170, 172 The Fascist School (Luce), 148 feature films: educational value, 151– 2; film matching with documentaries, 5, 16–17, 243n53; film noir, 46; gangster films, 46; housing in Mamma Roma, 91–3; housing in Il tetto, 94, 110, 112–13; recycling into sponsored films, 28–9, 34; use of history, 170; women’s gender roles, 46. See also Ladri di biciclette; Umberto D. females. See women Ferroni, Giorgio, 26, 174 Ferroni, Giorgio, films, 14, 76, 92–3, 100, 157, 179

294 Index Ferrovie dello Stato (State Railways), 5 Fiat 500 and Fiat 600 (Blasetti), 56, 226 Fiat S.p.A., 55–66; overview, 5, 54–5; Cinefiat film unit, 52, 55, 60; Fascist legacy, 65–6; female celebrities, 55, 56–8; filmography, 226–8; gendered images, 56–8, 57–8, 59; housing industry, 61; Incom similarities, 55–6, 58–9; Lourdes pilgrimage, 60–2, 62; moral and religious values, 63–6; promotion of Italy, 59–60; purposes of films, 52, 54–5, 59; schools and camps, 62–6, 64–5, 227; training films, 83 fictional films: overview, 177; in compilation films, 180; docu-fiction, 70–1; Fascism in, 170; subjective view, 68–9, 74–5. See also docufiction; feature films Fielding, Raymond, 176 film commissioners: overview, 4–5. See also Centro di Documentazione; Economic Cooperation Administration; industrial films; Mutual Security Agency Il film e i problemi dell’educazione (Volpicelli), 150 Il film nell’insegnamento (Mura), 150 Films That Work (Hediger and Vonderau), 54 Flaherty, Robert, 26, 107 Fornari, Fausto, 177 Fortini, Franco, 80, 81 Fosse Ardeatine massacre, 177–9, 181, 271n32 Foucault, Michel: bio-politics, 32; discursive practices, 242n44; governmentality, 8, 31, 87–8, 240n16;

knowledge and power relations, 50; pastoral power, 8, 9, 13, 31, 87–8; security mechanisms, 38–9, 248n31; sovereignty-discipline-­ government triangle, 13–14; surveillance and control, 8, 31 “found footage,” 171. See also compilation films France in Changing Face series, 110, 162 Friedmann, Frederick George, 107, 124–5, 263n34 Fronte di guerra (War Front), 175–6 Funzioni e limiti cineteca (Branca), 150 Gaines, Jane, 49, 271n36 Galileo galilei (Paolucci), 157 Galletto, Albino, 153 Gallo, Vittorio, 14, 26, 32, 107, 120, 175, 190, 255n50 La gamma delle vetture Fiat (The Range of Fiat Vehicles), 56, 57–8, 59, 62, 227 Gandin, Michele, 11–12, 76, 85–6, 125 Gaudiano, 120–1 gender: overview, 9–10, 21; and division of labour, 83–4, 164; family roles and economics, 30–2; female directors, 164; in health services, 166; in Men and Machines, 166; modernization and traditional relations, 96; and productivity, 44–5; terminology, 250n49; transgressors of gendered work, 49. See also men; women General Post office Film Unit, 26, 41 Germans, Germany, 78, 147–8, 158–9, 163, 168, 174–6, 178, 181, 194, 217–18, 227, 235, 237. See also Nazi(s); Schutzstaffel (SS)



Index 295

Ghezzi, Ettore, 268n58 Giannarelli, Ansano, 51, 177 Giannini, Marcello, 32 Ginsborg, Paul, 116 Giorni di gloria (Days of Glory), 176–84, 271n34 Giuliano, Salvatore, 182 A Good Life/Vivere Sani (Changing Face series), 158, 164–7, 216 governmentality. See Foucault, Michel Gramsci, Antonio, 44, 119, 129, 131, 196, 261n20 Great Britain: Griersonian social documentaries, 26, 41, 249n37; postwar hostility to Italy, 194; production of Changing Face series, 157 Greece in Changing Face series, 120, 165–7 Grierson, John, 12–13, 26, 41, 249n37 Guerra alla guerra (War to the War), 14 Guerrasio, Roberto, 17 Halas, John, 28 handicrafts vs. serial production, 54, 158, 163, 189 Hardt, Michael, 8–9, 13 health services: ancient and modern medicine, 165–6; in Changing Face series, 158, 164–7, 216; Edisonvolta’s charity, 69–70; Fiat’s services, 66; gender and power, 166; for industrial injuries, 83–4 Hediger, Vinzenz, 52, 53, 54 Hemsing, Albert, 27, 242n41 history of Italy: as chronology, 193; in compilation films, 24; Constitution, 45, 183–4; continuities and periodization, 173;

as development, 193–4; divided memory, 177–8; “knowing” vs. “feeling,” 197; and memory of past, 169; modernity as progress, 16, 101–4, 116, 126–7, 128; and Southern Question, 116; US-Italy relationships, 176, 191–2; year 1945 as new era, 24, 170, 172. See also Fascists and Fascism; Fascist legacy; Marshall Plan; reconstruction; Resistance; Second World War Hitler, Adolf, 182 housing, 87–114; overview, 22, 87–8; American influence, 96, 103, 106–7, 111; anti-Communist purposes, 89; architects, 89–90; asynchronous societies, 105–6; in Changing Face series, 110–12, 158, 220; Christian charity, 22, 95; conduct models, 22, 91; ECA and Luce films, 90, 103, 107; Fascist legacy, 88–9, 90–1, 93–5, 102, 114; Fiat’s housing, 61; Foucauldian governmentality, 87–8; high-rise buildings, 90–3, 92, 103–4; illegal homes, 111–12; modernity as progress, 101–4; and morality, 87–8, 95–6, 111, 113; neorealist architecture, 90, 91, 95; Olivetti’s housing, 78–9; Pasolini on, 90–5; pastoral power, 87–8, 95–6; poverty as premodern condition, 103–4; public housing models, 91–6; self-help, 96–104, 98–9, 111–12, 246n11; solidarity, 88–9, 100; southern villages, 113–14; UNRRA-CASAS projects, 96–100. See also INA-Casa; Rome; housing housing in caves. See Matera; Matera caves; Zeroquarantacinque

296 Index Hovland, Carl, 242n36 humour. See comedy Ieri e oggi (Yesterday and Today), 179, 204 IFE. See Italian Films Export INA-Casa (Fanfani Plan): overview, 22, 79, 88–9; goals, 96–7; highrise architecture, 90; modernity and progress, 101–4; neorealist architecture, 90, 91; southern vs. northern regions, 100 Inchiesta parlamentare sulla miseria (Parliamentary Inquiry on Misery), 232–3, 249n36, 258n37 Incomica (newsreel), 138, 144, 264n48 Incom (La Settimana Incom): overview, 58–9, 172; American influences, 176, 190; consumerism promotion, 188; critique in Umberto D., 171–2, 270n13; female bodies, 137; and Fiat’s films, 55–6, 58–9; government support, 172, 174; “Incom style” of compilation film, 171–3; Marshall Plan support, 191; parody of Incomica, 138, 144, 264n48; postwar “good feeling,” 169–70; promotion of capitalism, 58–9; on Southern Question, 137; time in L’Italia lavora, 185–6; voice-over and satire, 56, 137, 171, 172 Incontro con la Olivetti (Welcome to Olivetti), 76–7, 78, 81, 83–4, 179, 230 industrial films, 51–86; overview, 5, 21–2, 51–5, 251n8; anti-Communist purposes, 54; archives, 6–7, 251n8; film production centres, 60; national pride, 59, 157; purposes, 52–3, 86; Southern Question, 54;

use in schools, 268n58. See also Edisonvolta; Fiat S.p.A.; Olivetti S.p.A. industries and factories: in Changing Face series, 161–2; Fascist representations, 157; gendered work, 49; serial production vs. crafts, 54, 158, 163, 189; steel factories, 85–6; textile factories, 160–1, 232, 251n8; workers’ health, 83–5. See also industrial films Infermeria di fabbrica (The Factory Infirmary), 76, 81, 83–5, 230 International Film Bureau, 160 interviews: British films, 249n37; in compilation films, 185; of Matera cave-dwellers, 106–7; in Puglia, 42–5; on Southern Question, 143; as “truth,” 43–4 Invito a Torino (Invitation to Turin), 59, 227 Istituto Luce (National Film Institute): overview, 25, 146–7, 238n5; Fascist legacy, 13–14, 146, 174; mobile projection trucks, 28 Istituto per la Ricostruzione Industriale (IRI), 85–6 Istria, 173 Italia allo specchio (Italy in the Mirror), 187, 190, 205 Italia d’oggi/Italy Today, 188–9, 217 L’Italia lavora (Italy Works), 185–6 Italia mutilata (Mutilated Italy), 173, 233 L’Italia nel mondo (Italy in the World), 192–7 Italian Films Export (IFE) catalogues, 4–5 L’Italia s’è desta (Italy Woke Up), 174–9



Index 297

Italy. See economy of Italy; history of Italy; reconstruction; Second World War; Southern Question (Italy in Europe); Southern Question (northern vs. southern Italy) Ivrea, 76–9 Jennings, Humphrey, 158 Juhasz, Alexandra, 138

Lourdes pilgrimage. See Il paese dell’anima Loy, Mino, 40, 49 Lucania: cave-dwellers, 105–6, 113–14; Southern Question, 115. See also Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli; Cristo si è fermato a Eboli Luce. See Istituto Luce (National Film Institute) Luce, Claire Boothe (Ambassador), 160

Kroes, Rob, 190 Ladri di biciclette (De Sica), 28–9, 90–1, 112, 151, 154; and Aquila, 35, 38–9 La funzione culturale del cinema (Mura), 150 Lanocita, Arturo, 44–5, 152 Le Doaré, Helene, 48 L’educazione di base (Tarroni), 150 Leopardi, Giacomo, 72–3 Lerner, Jesse, 138 Lettere dei condannati a morte della Resistenza (Fornari), 177 Levi, Carlo, 11, 124–5, 128, 129–31, 136, 263n36 Leyda, John, 170 Liberation, the: in compilation films, 170, 173–4, 181–2; as “second Unification,” 174–5 libraries: education of southerners, 134, 136; at Olivetti, 81–2 literacy, 11, 129, 134. See also Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli; Unione Nazionale per la Lotta contro l’Analfabetismo Lollobrigida, Gina, 56–8 Lonero, Emilio, 152–3 Lorentz, Pare, 26, 123

Macchine nell’agricoltura (Machines for Agriculture), 156, 233 Made in Italy (Marcellini), 172–3, 188–92, 205 La magica rete (The Magic Network), 186, 233 magic rituals: parodies on, 138; and southern identity, 125–6, 136–9; water diviners, 125–6, 136 Magnani, Anna, 180 I Malavoglia (Verga), 44 males. See men Mamma Roma (Pasolini), 91–3 Mander, Kay, 158 Mangano, Silvana, 46–7 Manon Finestra 2 (Manon Window 2), 67, 73–5, 228 Manzi, Alberto, 151 Marcellini, Romolo, 14, 26, 174, 182 Marcellini, Romolo, films, 14, 27, 108, 172, 179, 180, 186, 188, 192 The March of Time (de Rochemont), 159, 176, 190 Marshall Plan: overview, 237n1; Cassa projects, 116, 118; in Changing Face of Europe series, 110, 158, 165–6; counterpart funds, 246n9; in Dobbiamo, 32–4, 215; funding

298 Index after, 157–8; housing, 103, 108, 109, 110; limitations, 118; neorealism, 240n25; Olivetti on, 77; Point Four situations, 10, 117–18; portrayals, 11, 13, 27, 247n16; posters, 97, 98–9, 196, 257n32; USIS films, 146, 159; water projects, 126, 127, 128. See also Changing Face of Europe series; Economic Cooperation Administration; Mutual Security Agency; self-help and autonomy Marshall Plan Filmography, 7, 246n4 Marsili, Emilio, 40 Martinelli, Elsa, 47 Martino, Gaetano, 145 massacre: Fosse Ardeatine, 177–9, 181, 271n32; Melissa, 260n5, 261n15; Portella Della Ginestra, 183–4 Matarazzo, Raffaello, 46, 47 Matera/Life and Death of a Cave City, 108–11, 218, 249n36, 263n35 Matera caves: community life, 113– 14; Friedmann on, 107, 124–5; history, 103, 105–6, 114; interviews, 107; Levi on, 124–5, 263n36. See also La via Appia medical care. See health services Melissa massacre, 260n5, 261n15 melodramas, 46–8 men: unemployment and masculinity, 20; work and gender in Aquila, 34–40; work and gender in Dobbiamo, 32–4. See also gender Men and Machines / Uomini e macchine (Changing Face series), 54, 158, 161–3, 189, 218, 253n24 Messina, 186 La mia valle (My Valley), 75–6, 229 Michelino 1b (Olmi), 70–3, 229, 254n39

Milazzo, Silvio, 144 Miller, Peter, 88 Un millesimo di millimetro (A Thou­ sandth of a Millimeter), 51, 231 Minardi, Mario, 51–2 Miracolo a Milano (Miracle in Milan), 155 mock-umentary, 138 modernization: overview, 9–10, 21–4; modernity and progress, 101–4; rural vs. urban in Dialogo, 72–3; of work, 40. See also reconstruction; work Moe, Nelson, 11, 117 Montalbano dam, 122–4 The Moral Basis of a Backward Society (Banfield), 10, 115 Movimento Comunità party, 77–83, 85 MSA. See Mutual Security Agency Mura, Antonio, 150 Musatti, Riccardo, 114 music. See soundtrack, music Musumeci, Mario, 179 Mutual Security Agency (MSA): after Marshall Plan, 157–8; archives, 246n4; Changing Face series, 23, 157–8; distribution by USIS, 23, 246n4; female representations, 164; filmography, 214–25; housing films, 110; modernization in sponsored films, 11; replacement for ECA, 4, 5, 25. See also Changing Face of Europe series Nasce una speranza (Hope Is Born), 141–3, 233 National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), 6 National Film Institute. See Istituto Luce



Index 299

National Union for the Fight against Illiteracy. See Unione Nazionale per la Lotta contro l’Analfabetismo Nazi(s), 148, 168, 170, 175, 177–8, 180–1, 194, 235 Negri, Antonio, 8–9, 13 Nell’interesse di tutti (In Everyone’s Interest), 32, 206 neorealism: overview, 28–9; Andreotti on, 29, 154; audience reception, 171; debates on, 50, 154; “documentary consciousness,” 43–4, 180–1; Fascist legacy, 15; gendered work and rice workers, 46–8; interviews, 42–4, 45; Marshall Plan, 240n25; melodrama, 47–8; moral education of viewers, 153–4; recycled images from feature films, 28–9. See also Tiriamo le somme newsreels: American (March of Time), 159, 176, 190; Incom as monopoly, 172. See also Incom (La Settimana Incom) Nichols, Bill, 41, 249n34 northern vs. southern Italy. See Southern Question (northern vs. southern Italy) Nostro pane quotidiano. See Three Hundred Million Mouths Notari, Guido, 56, 137, 138–40 Oggi la donna (Women of Today), 46, 48–9, 207, 245n2 Olivetti, Adriano, 76–8, 81–2, 85, 114, 117, 254n43 Olivetti S.p.A., 76–85; overview, 5, 51–2, 54–5, 76–8, 85; American influences, 81–3; architecture, 76; Christian values, 85; filmography,

230–1; film production, 80; gendered images, 83–4, 164; health services, 83–5; Movimento Comunità party, 77–83, 85; social and cultural services, 77–82, 179; Southern Question, 118; workforce, 80–1, 83–4 Olmi, Ermanno, 52, 53; biography, 68; Edisonvolta films, 67–76, 75, 83, 252n10; filmography, 228–30; subjective view, 68–9, 74–5 Opere Sociali Fiat (Fiat Social Services), 60, 227 Operette morali (Leopardi), 72–3 L’ora del sud (The Time of the South), 118, 137–9, 207–8 Orbis, 5, 14 orientalism, 44 orphan films, 6, 239n10, 239n13 Il paese dell’anima (The Soul’s Country), 60–2, 62–3, 64–5, 66, 227 Paese senz’acqua/A Town without Water, 125–9, 127, 136–7, 166, 219 Paisà (Rossellini), 107, 192 Paladini, Aldo, 155, 156 Pallavicini, Sandro, 174, 176, 190 Paolella, Domenico, 174–7, 191 Paolucci, Giovanni, 30, 157 parody, 137–8, 144, 264n48 Partire è un po’ morire (Leaving Is a Bit Like Dying), 27, 219, 231, 247n14 partisans. See Resistance Pasolini, Pier Paolo, 53, 75, 86, 91–5, 252n11 Passavante, Giovanni, 141 pastoral power. See Foucault, Michel La pattuglia di Passo S. Giacomo (The Patrol of St James’s Pass), 73–5, 229

300 Index Pavone, Claudio, 24, 171 PCI. See Communist Party of Italy Il Pensionato (The Retiree), 70, 229, 254n39 Perché la rinascita continui (May the Rebirth Continue) (SPES), 142–4, 234 Perego, Angelo, 119–20 Pian delle stelle (Plain of the Stars), 14 Piccoli calabresi sul Lago Maggiore (Little Calabrians on Lake Maggiore), 67, 68–9, 70–1, 72–3, 229 Pieri, Giovanni, 185 Pine, Diana, 54, 158, 161 Piovene, Guido, 28–9 Pius XII, Pope, 14, 95–6, 119–20, 153, 182 A Place to Live/Case per tutti (Changing Face series), 110–11, 158, 220 The Plough That Broke the Plains (Lorentz), 26, 123 Podestà, Rossana, 56–8, 228 Ponti, Giò, 89 Portella Della Ginestra massacre, 183–4 Portelli, Alessandro, 178 Il posto (Olmi), 71 poverty: moral values of citizens, 104–5, 111–12; non-synchronous poor, 105; slums, 93–6, 103–5 Power for All /Carbone bianco (Changing Face series), 158, 220 Pozzuoli, 115–16 Problema cittadino (Civic Problem), 159 producers, directors, and artists: advertising style of directors, 27; celebrity actresses, 46–7, 56–8; Changing Face series, 23; ECA use

of local, 13; Fascist legacy, 14–16, 26, 174; government funding, 16– 18; recycling for compilation films, 179; role in sponsored films, 4 Progetti per il domani/Project for Tomorrow, 159 Progressi e problemi della nuova Europa. See Changing Face of Europe series propaganda, 12–13, 18–19, 26–7 Puglia, 113, 125. See also Paese senz’acqua; Puglia il lavoro; La terra nuova Puglia il lavoro (Puglia: Work), 40–5, 100, 210 Quaglietti, Leonardo, 16–17 Quaroni, Ludovico, 89–90 Il quarto stato (da Volpedo), 121 railways. See trains reconstruction: American influences, 190; in compilation films, 170, 173, 192–3; ECA films, 188; exhibitions, 187; in Italia d’oggi, 188–9; in L’Italia nel mondo, 192–3; in Made in Italy, 188–9; postwar “good feeling,” 169–70, 185; in Puglia, 41–5; railway system, 5, 186–7; in Sicily, 142–4; in southern regions, 42; in sponsored films, 3–4. See also housing; industries and factories; Marshall Plan; self-help and autonomy; water projects recycled footage. See compilation films La regione umbra (Umbria), 40, 49, 210 Renault S.A., 60, 253n24 Renzi, Renzo, 18



Index 301

Resistance: overview, 24, 170, 176–7; Ardeatine massacre, 177–9, 181, 271n32; in compilation films, 24, 175–9, 181–2; films on, 176, 179, 271n34. See also Dieci anni della nostra vita; Giorni di gloria; L’Italia s’è desta; Thanks America! Rhodes, John David, 90 rice workers, 46–8 La risaia (The Rice Field), 46–8 Risi, Dino, 141 Risi, Nelo, 115 Riso amaro/Bitter Rice, 29, 46–8 The River (Lorentz), 26, 123 Rivista del cinema italiano (Chiarini), 150–1 Rivista del Cinematografo (CCC), 29, 152–4 Rizzo, Sebastiano, 156 Roma città aperta (Rome Open City), 180 Roman Catholicism. See Catholicism Rome, housing: borgate, 93–5, 104; cave-dwellers, 100–5, 112–13; INACasa projects, 90–3, 91–2, 100–3. See also Ai margini della città; Zeroquarantacinque Rose, Nikolas, 88 Rosen, Philip, 144 Rossellini, Roberto, 107, 154, 180, 192 Sabel, Virgilio, 51 Said, Edward, 44 Sala, Vittorio, 100 Salice d’Ulzio, 63–4 Salone internazionale della tecnica, 59, 227 Salvia di Lucania, 129, 131 Sandoz, Henry, 27 Saraceni, Fausto, 40

Sardegna il lavoro (Sardinia: Work), 40, 210 Sasso Caveoso, 105–6 Scattini, Luigi, 113 SCE (Sezione Cinema Edisonvolta). See Edisonvolta Schneider, Jane, 118 schools. See education Schreiman, Aaron, 113–14 Schutzstaffel (SS), 177, 178. See also German; Nazi(s) Sciusciè (De Sica), 192 screening of sponsored films: 16mm and 35mm formats, 55, 147, 156, 567; overview, 4, 5; CCC’s influence, 153; CdD films, 25; ECA films, 25; feature film matching, 16–17, 243n53; mobile projection trucks, 28; movie theatres, 5, 113–14; venues, 8, 25, 52, 153. See also viewers of sponsored films La scuola allievi Fiat “Giovanni Agnelli” (Fiat Vocational School), 62–6, 64–5, 71, 227 Second World War: Allies in L’Italia s’è desta, 174–9; in compilation films, 170; Italy’s justification for participation, 173–4, 175. See also Fascists and Fascism; Resistance self-help and autonomy: overview, 27, 96–7; in Changing Face series, 167; and fear, 33; housing, 96–104, 98–9, 111–12; posters, 97, 98–9, 246n11, 257n11 Serandrei, Giovanni, 176, 178 Sergio, Maria Luisa, 111 serial production vs. crafts, 54, 158, 163, 189 Servizio Propaganda e Stampa (Propaganda and Information

302 Index Service) (SPES): anti-communism, 142–4; docu-fiction, 142; goals, 119; Incom relations, 172; parodies, 144; Southern Question, 116, 140–4; support for DC, 142, 179. See also Che accade laggiù?; Cinegiornale; Nasce la speranza La Settimana Incom (Incom’s Weekly). See Incom Sezione Cinema Edisonvolta (SCE) film unit. See Edisonvolta The Shoemaker and the Hatter/Il calzolaio e il cappellaio, 28, 159, 164, 222 Sicily: in La terra trema, 44; massacre at Portella, 183–4; SPES films on, 142–4, 231 Un sindacato aziendale (A Company Union), 159 slapstick, 27, 81. See also comedy Smith, Ken, 12, 51 “sneaky sponsors,” as term, 51. See also industrial films Sobchack, Vivian, 43–4, 180 social class: and gender roles, 102; and housing, 93, 95, 104, 111–12; mobility in Mamma Roma, 93 Solbrig, Heidi Frances, 52 solidarity: overview, 88–9; and health services, 84; and housing, 89–90, 97, 100; as moral imperative, 22, 166 Sorlin, Pierre, 58–9, 169, 177, 188 soundtrack: compassion towards subjects, 131; in compilation films, 173, 193; Fascist educational films, 157; in Gallo’s films, 123–4; interviews, 42–4, 45; modern and pre-modern binaries, 108, 110; in Olmi’s films, 74; subjective narration, 68–9, 74–5 soundtrack, music: and fear, 33;

heroism of labour, 122–3; and modernization, 42, 120–1; rural vs. modern, 72–3; and time, 126, 128; water, 122, 126, 127, 136, 138–9 soundtrack, voice-overs: cyclical vs. linear time, 126; female voiceovers, 48; “Incom style,” 56, 171, 172; moral position of viewers, 180; present-tense narration, 173; satire, 56, 171; time shifts, 134 Southern Question (Italy in Europe): overview, 11, 23, 54, 117; in Changing Face series, 23, 157–8, 161–6; in ECA films, 118; moral obligation of Europe, 164; in USsponsored films, 117, 157–8 Southern Question (northern vs. southern Italy), 115–44; overview, 10–12, 23, 54, 115–17; agrarian reform, 115–16, 119–20, 141–2; Cassa projects, 116, 118–19, 139, 141–3; causes, 120; in Changing Face series, 23, 120, 158, 164–6; docu-fiction, 129, 141–2; ECA and CdD films, 118, 120, 136–7, 142; homogenization, 116, 120–2; housing, 97, 100, 113–14; Levi on, 124–5, 128–31; literacy, 129–37; magic rituals, 136–9; Marshall Plan promotion, 126, 128; migration to north, 114; modern science and reconciliation, 166; parodies, 137–8, 144; SPES films, 116, 140–4; stereotypes, 10, 23, 42, 44–5, 106, 115, 141; technology and progress, 128–9; in US-sponsored films, 117–18; water projects, 125–9, 127, 139, 166; work and gender, 41–5; work, productivity, and efficiency, 23, 116–17, 121–4, 139–40. See



Index 303

also Che accade laggiù?; Conquiste del sud; Cristo non si è fermato a Eboli; L’ora del sud; Matera; Nasce la speranza; Paese senz’acqua; Sicily Soviet Union, as threat, 162, 193, 195–6 Spagnolli, Giovanni, 95–6, 102 SPES. See Servizio Propaganda e Stampa Spinelli, Altiero, 159 Spinetti, Gastone Silvano, 15, 28, 174 Spiro, Julien, 18, 158 sponsored films: overview, 3–11, 238n7; American and British influences, 12, 26, 107; archives, 5–7; communism-democracy dichotomy, 18–20; conduct models and values in, 19–20, 22, 26–7; depoliticalization and term “educational,” 13; Fascist legacy, 14–15; first appearances, 16; government requirements for funding, 16–18, 243n53; history as progress, 7, 16; information sources, 7; orphan films, 6, 239n10, 239n13; postwar “good feeling,” 169–70, 183–5; “propaganda” and “ideology” in, 12–13, 18, 26–7; recycling of feature film narratives, 28; Southern Question, 10–11; as useful cinema, 7–14, 19–20, 167–8. See also compilation films; educational films; industrial films; screening of sponsored films; viewers of sponsored films Squire, Anthony, 158 State Department (US), 160, 238n4 Strength for the Free World series (ECA), 244n64 Struggle for Men’s Minds (ECA), 222, 244n64

Sud come Nord (South Like North), 115–16, 230 Talking to the Italians, 222, 247n16 Tamanini, Mario, 123 Tarroni, Evelina, 148, 150, 156 La terra nuova (The New Land), 118, 120–1, 142, 212, 262n26 La terra trema/The Earth Trembles, 28–9, 44–5 Tesori nascosti/Hidden Treasures, 223, 234, 255n50 Il tetto (The Roof), 94, 110, 112–13 Thanks America! (Paolella), 176, 191–2, 234 Thomson, Virgil, 123 Three Hundred Million Mouths/Nostro pane quotidiano (Changing Face series), 158, 223, 258 Tiburtino, Rome, housing project, 90–3, 91 Tiriamo le somme (Let’s Add It Up), 30–2, 40, 45, 212 tobacco industry, 189 Toffetti, Sergio, 52–3 Togliatti, Palmiro, 15, 119, 184, 190 Tomei, Giuliano, 90, 125 Torchio, Maurizio, 55, 60 tourism industry, 191 trains: in compilation films, 185–8, 190; government films, 5; Lourdes pilgrimage, 60–1; progress narrative, 186, 187–8; US first aid trains, 191, 273n64 Treaty of Versailles, 173, 175, 233 “Il treno della rinascita” (The Train of Rebirth) (exhibition), 187 Il treno del sole (Train of the Sun), 186–8, 235 Trieste, 173

304 Index Trois hommes au travail/Tre uomini al lavoro, 28, 224 Truman, Harry, 19, 38, 117, 157–8 Il tuo cinema (Branca), 155–6 Turin international fair, 59, 226, 227 Tuscolano, Rome, 92, 92–3 typewriters. See Olivetti Umberto D. (De Sica), 28–31, 171–2, 270n13 Umbria, 40, 49, 210 unemployment. See work Unione Nazionale per la Lotta contro l’Analfabetismo (UNLA), 5, 11, 116, 125, 129, 136, 238n6 United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration (UNRRA): archives, 7; “autonomy,” 27; cave-dwellers, 106–8; counterpart funds, 246n4; housing policies, 10, 96–100; self-help, 27, 96–100, 98–9, 246n11 United States: educational films and social conformity, 12; influence of filmmakers, 26–7; Italian reception of US films, 13; Italy-US relationships, 191–2, 196; “mental hygiene” films, 12; military films during WWII, 242n36; motivational films, 52; newsreels (March of Time), 159, 176, 190; “sneaky sponsors” of classroom films, 51. See also Economic Cooperation Administration (ECA); Marshall Plan; Truman, Harry United States Information Agency (USIA), 238n4 United States Information Services (USIS): overview, 4, 238n4; distribution by CSI, 146–7, 156, 159;

distribution of Changing Face series, 23; distribution of ECA and MSA films, 4, 23, 25; filmography, 225–6; USIS-Trieste collection, 6, 159, 246n4 UNLA. See Unione Nazionale per la Lotta contro l’Analfabetismo UNRRA. See United Nations Relief and Rehabilitation Administration Uomini e macchine. See Men and Machines Uomini e polli (Men and Chickens), 28, 226 USIS. See United States Information Services Vasile, Turi, 154, 155 Vele e prore (Cerchio), 157, 158 La velocità di lavoro (The Speed of Labour), 83, 227 Veneto il lavoro (Veneto: Work), 40, 213 Venice Film Festival, 26, 44, 67, 250 I vent’anni di Rossana Podestà (Rossana Podestà’s Twenty Years), 56–7, 228 venues, screening. See screening of sponsored films Verdone, Mario, 152 Verga, Giovanni, 44 Il vero volto dell’Inghilterra (The True Face of England), 175 La via Appia /The Appian Way (Gallo), 107–8, 110, 123, 224 Via libera. See Clearing the Lines Vicas, Victor, 159 viewers of sponsored films: awareness of sponsors, 52; CCC’s moral education of, 153–4; critical thinking skills, 152–3; “documentary consciousness,” 43–4, 180–1;



Index 305

documentary presuppositions, 41; film preferences, 171; middle-class fear, 108; nationalities, 3; neorealism, 153–4; parallels with parents, 166–7; photographs of responses, 28; and present-tense narration, 173; rejection of “propaganda” and “ideology,” 12–13, 26–7; responses to compilation films, 173, 185; responses to sponsored films, 18; as subjects of knowledge, 128. See also screening of sponsored films The View from Vesuvius (Moe), 11 Vigilanti Cura (Pius XII), 153 Un Villaggio modello (A Model Town), 85–6, 255n55 Virno, Paolo, 32 Visconti, Luchino, 28, 44, 176, 178–9 Una vita violenta (A Violent Life), 91–2, 95 Vivere Sani. See A Good Life vocational schools. See education voice-overs. See soundtrack, voice-overs Volpicelli, Luigi, 149–51, 154 Vonderau, Patrick, 52, 53, 54 Wallace, Graham, 158 Wasson, Haidee, 7–8 water projects: aqueducts, 42, 126–8, 166, 260n4; dams, 74–5, 122–4, 190; water diviners, 125–6, 136, 137. See also Paese senz’acqua Wees, William, 185 Wessex Film Productions, 25, 110, 157, 215, 216, 220, 223 White, Hayden, 177 Williams, Raymond, 87 Winston, Brian, 26, 41, 107 women: automobile drivers, 56; constitutional rights, 45; feminized

work sectors, 45–6; gendered division of labour, 48–9; traditional domestic roles, 45–6, 48–9; traditional roles and bio-politics, 32. See also gender Wood, Mary, 46 work: in Aquila, 34–40; in CdD and ECA films, 40, 51; in Dobbiamo, 32–4, 215; and feminine identity, 45–9; Foucault’s bio-politics, 32; and masculine identity, 31–2, 34–5, 39–40; in Puglia, 40–5; rice workers, 46–8; southern migration to north, 114; technology and Southern Question, 121–4; unemployment, 20–1, 35, 38; and welfare society, 31–2. See also Changing Face of Europe series; industries and factories; Southern Question (northern vs. southern Italy) World Health Organization, 158, 166–7 World War II. See Second World War Zellerbach, David, 118 Zeroquarantacinque: Ricostruzione Ediliza (Zero Forty-five: Housing Reconstruction), 90, 94, 100–5, 111–12, 213, 257n35 Zryd, Michael, 171