Award-winning documentary offers piercing portrayal of life on Italian island of Lampedusa
Points: 7
“Foucoammare bears witness to a tragedy that is unfolding right before our eyes. I think we are all responsible for that tragedy. Perhaps after the Holocaust, it is one of the greatest tragedies the world has seen,” said Italian director Gianfranco Rosi (Sacro G.R.A.) at a press conference following the screening of his new documentary Fuocoammare (“Fire at Sea”) at this year’s Berlinale, where he won the coveted Golden Bear award.
The tragedy Rosi speaks about is the one endured, time and again, by African and Middle Eastern migrants who flee their homeland out of extreme necessity and then put their lives at risk while travelling on precariously overloaded boats as they try to reach mainland Europe. Though there are rescue teams that often come to their aid, nobody can prevent the loss of thousands of lives of children, women and men while travelling or upon arrival.
Given the magnitude of the catastrophe and the visibility it has gained in the media throughout these last years, it shouldn’t be a surprise that the jury of the Berlin Film Festival has given its top prize to Rosi’s feature, very likely more because of its political weight than because of its strictly cinematic assets. But don’t get me wrong: Fuocoammare really is an impeccably filmed documentary with a handful of harrowing scenes, and yet it’s also disappointing in some regards. So if you expect no masterpiece, you’ll enjoy it more. To be exact, Fuocoammare targets its sharp gaze on the fate of refugees — mostly Africans, some Syrians — who, on a weekly basis, try to get to the shores of the small Sicilian island of Lampedusa, while the Italian coast guards rescue as many survivors as they can. This is the case that represents the universal scope of the tragedy.
On the other hand, Rosi focuses on the everyday life of the residents of the island, mainly young Samuele, a fisherman’s son, and Pietro Bartolo, the only medical doctor on Lampedusa, who said at the Berlinale that he’s been interviewed by almost all TV channels around the world about the refugee crisis he’d been witnessing for far too long now. He’s the man in charge of dealing with the arrival of the refugees, which means facing illnesses, deaths, and grief as up and close as it gets.
As for Samuele, you see him playing with a friend, practising with his slingshot, trying to cope with dizziness while on his father’s boat, and shooting an imaginary gun. There are also his regular visits to doctors because of his lazy eye and some breathing difficulties which may be anxiety-related.
While Rosi alternates scenes from rescue operations with those from villagers’ life in Lampedusa, he doesn’t have his characters interact at all. They don’t share any screen time and, moreover, they seem totally unaware of each other’s existence. With the exception of one scene where an Italian woman listens to the news on the radio about the migrants’ lives lost in a recent arrival (and she despairingly utters: “poor souls!”) the relations to be drawn between the two realities never seem clear enough.
Perhaps the implied idea is that, while these two groups of people — islanders and refugees — do eventually share a common land, the fact of the matter is that they don’t belong together, as the current policies of some European nations are expulsive rather than inclusive or welcoming. If that’s the case, it’s way too subtle to resonate strongly. You could also say that the sea itself can have different meanings for the two groups: danger and death for the migrants, food and life for the villagers. So if that’s the reason for the contrast, then it’s a bit too obvious and doesn’t add much to the overall picture.
Likewise, it’s never clear what notions are to be associated with the medical conditions of 12-year-old Samuele or to his compulsive shooting of an imaginary gun. Is it that his body is taking notice of the crisis surrounding him? Is there some damaging repressed angst? If that’s the case, then it’s far too broad to be compelling. And it can be quite distractive.
On the plus side, the images from the scenes depicting the arrival and rescue of the refugees alongside with the testimony from Dr Bartolo are as emotionally and aesthetically powerful as they come. They’ve been shot with a humanistic eye and with not a single blow below the belt. Though it’s also true that some close-ups and wide shots are too touching and distressing to be tolerated for more than a few seconds. But thanks to the right editing, they only last those few seconds. With not a hint of a patronizing outlook, this is how Rosi exposes a grim reality that will linger in your memory for a long time.
Production notes
Fuocoammare (“Fire at Sea” / Italy, 2016). Written and directed by Gianfranco Rosi. Cinematography: Gianfranco Rosi. Editing: Jacopo Quadri. Running time: 108 minutes.
@pablsuarez
