'The City of the Living' Review: A Masterclass in Humanizing Tragedy

When Art Meets Responsibility

As someone who's spent years examining the delicate dance between artistic expression and social responsibility, I found myself both deeply moved and quietly frustrated by Edoardo Gabbriellini's latest effort, The City of the Living. This isn't just a film about a murder; it's a meditation on what makes us human, and how we can be both tragic and triumphant in equal measure.

Luca Varani: The Heart of Rome

Gabbriellini wisely avoids the typical trap of centering violence in his narrative. Instead, he privileges the life of Luca Varani—a young Roman man whose story isn't defined by his death but by his breath, his dreams, and his relationships. This choice is both bold and necessary. The film opens with Luca's day-to-day existence, a quiet rhythm that makes his ultimate fate all the more devastating.

"We don't need any more from them, we do need some sign that being queer is not only associated with malignancy."

The character development is meticulous. Luca isn't just another tragic victim; he's a person with flaws, ambitions, and a deep connection to his adoptive parents. The film's greatest strength lies in how it makes us care about his world—his family, his dreams of finishing high school, his relationship with Marta, even his mundane job selling knickknacks from a truck.

The Price of Narrative Focus

However, this focus on character comes at a cost. While the film excels in humanizing Luca and his loved ones, it fails to extend that same depth to the murderers—a pair of gay men whose only defining characteristic is their sexual orientation. This isn't a new phenomenon, but it's particularly jarring in a film that's otherwise so attuned to nuance.

As I watched Luca's family grieve, I couldn't help but feel that Gabbriellini had forgotten his own words about empathy. He writes in the pressbook that "Cinema... has the great power of empathy and thus the ability to lead us to see through a lens that, if properly focused, avoids any facile or preconceived judgment." But in this case, the lens focuses only on one side of the equation.

Queer Representation and Cultural Impact

The film's treatment of queer identity is deeply problematic. It reduces two men to their sexual orientation and their deviance, creating an unsettling imbalance. This isn't just about representation—it's about how society treats the marginalized. When films consistently associate queerness with menace, it reinforces real-world prejudices.

This isn't a new conversation in Italian cinema, but it's one that demands more from artists. The recent wave of films like Call Me By Your Name and The Half of It have shown us that we can explore queerness without reducing it to tropes. Gabbriellini had the opportunity to do something similar here, but he missed it.

A Film Worth Watching Despite Its Flaws

That said, The City of the Living is still a remarkable achievement. The performances are exceptional—Emanuele Maria Di Stefano gives a nuanced portrayal that makes Luca feel like someone you'd actually meet in real life. The cinematography is beautiful, capturing both the mundane and the profound with equal sensitivity.

There's a moment early on where Luca argues with Marta about dinner choices, but it's not about the restaurant—it's about the dynamics of their relationship, about expectations, about how Italian society shapes gender roles. That scene alone makes the film worth watching, even when we're left feeling something is missing.

The Responsibility of Storytelling

What strikes me most about this film is its implicit question: What responsibility do filmmakers have to their audiences and communities? Is it enough to simply tell a story based on truth, or must we also ensure that our truths don't inadvertently perpetuate harm?

I've seen films that use real events as inspiration for artistic exploration, but rarely one where the inspiration so narrowly focuses on certain elements while leaving others untouched. Gabbriellini's film is a case in point—when it comes to marginalized communities, we need more than just empathy; we need representation that's both honest and respectful.

The film ends with a heart-wrenching sequence of grief, but it also leaves us with a question: How do we tell stories about tragedy without reducing the people involved to their worst qualities? The answer isn't always easy, but Gabbriellini's attempt at it is a starting point for that conversation.

Final Thoughts

The City of the Living is an emotionally resonant film that succeeds in its primary mission—telling Luca Varani's story with sensitivity and depth. But as a cultural artifact, it also serves as a reminder of how crucial it is for filmmakers to consider their role not just as storytellers but as shape-makers of public consciousness.

While the film's treatment of gay identity is a missed opportunity, its exploration of family, community, and resilience remains powerful. It's a film that will linger long after the credits roll, not because it's perfect, but because it dares to care deeply about its characters—even when that care isn't extended equally.