Why do people join extremist groups? What is it that allows someone to be swept up by poisonous ideas, to commit acts of violence, plant bombs and throw stones?
It's a question that has puzzled historians, political scientists and men of God. Treatises have been written about the rise of racist political movements. Maybe some are born evil, or maybe a few evil individuals corrupt the rest.
For Accio (Elio Germano), a frustrated Italian teenager in a depressed town near Rome, it's a bit simpler than that: he'd rather be a fascist than be anything like his big brother.
Manrico (Riccardo Scamarcio), you see, is a passionate Communist. He's handsome, charming, has an eye for the ladies and a nice line in clipping Accio around the ear. In the face of this kind of competition, his brother's solution is to be the polar opposite.
This initially takes him to a seminary. But when Manrico turns up to visit the boy he not only tells him all religion is superstition but fatefully leaves behind a picture of a scantily clad actress torn from a magazine. Beset by impure thoughts, Accio has a crisis of faith and returns home.
His mother is glad to have him back, but prays that he will now start behaving like a normal kid. She needs him to be good: life is difficult even at the best of times. It's the 1960s and Italy is stuck in a social and economic rut. Their family packed into a crumbing apartment, Accio's parents wait patiently for the social housing long promised them by a corrupt government. Nearby, the swaggering towers of Latina, a model town built by Mussolini on a reclaimed swamp, stand as monuments to the nation's political bankruptcy.
Before long Accio falls in with Mario, a market trader and leader of the local fascists. He joins up and becomes a model party member. Visiting Mussolini's tomb, getting into scrapes with the law and bashing Lefties becomes a way of life.
But Accio isn't the only one who can't seem to keep a low profile. Manrico finds work at his father's factory only to start a radical campaign against his employers. This, of course, attracts the attention of the fascist machine, and Accio finds himself having to make a stark choice.
In the end it's not surprising that Accio ends up on the other side of the ideological divide to where he started (the film's Italian title is Il Fasciocommunista and it's based on the book of the same name by Antonio Pennacchi). It's something like a law of psychology that blind fervour in one direction translates pretty easily into devotion to exactly the opposite cause - Oswald Mosley started out as a Fabian, and I wouldn't be at all surprised if Richard Dawkins had a secret religious past.
But despite politics providing the scaffolding for the story, this isn't a political film. The Communists, with their nutty rendition of the "Ode to Joy" at a rally, are at least as silly - if less menacing - than the fascists. Director Daniele Luchetti seems to be saying that, when it comes to the really important things in life - love and relationships - party lines are pretty much irrelevant and ideologies more or less interchangeable.
For some, this will seem like a bit of a cop-out. An edgier film would have taken sides, or at least explored the darker aspects of the rival philosophies and of Italy's failure to expunge Mussolini's legacy.
But this is a story about sibling rivalry, jealousy and self-realisation - really a kind of coming-of-age movie - and it's a pleasure to watch for the performances (in rough and ready Romanesco dialect), the photography and the music, if not for the political bite.
Germano is brilliant as frenetic Accio, easily eclipsing his better-known co-star Scamarcio, who's lazily touted as the Italian Leonardo di Caprio. The rest of the cast, including the long-suffering mama, Angela Finocchiaro, take full advantage of the free rein given them by Luchetti and interpret their roles beautifully.
In the end, My Brother Is An Only Child comes across as a poem, not a polemic, with a suitably lyrical ending: watch out for the last shot, which, accompanied by an old Nada Malanima tune, is sublime. |
