"Vincere' and the pitfalls of passion

During both World Wars it was often remarked that Italian men made abysmal soldiers because they had better things to do with their time— that is, that their passions were stirred by beauty, not by killing. A more recent joke maintains that in European heaven, all the lovers are Italian. These observations may be valid, but they beg a nagging question: How could a society nurtured on Dante, Michelangelo, Verdi and Puccini go belly-up for a tacky bully like Benito Mussolini?

Marco Bellochio's remarkable Vincere goes a long way toward supplying the answer. On the surface this film unearths a despicable and long-buried episode from Il Duce's youth— specifically, Mussolini's seduction of Ida Dalser, a young Milanese woman whom he impregnated, married, exploited and then abandoned when she became inconvenient to his perceived role as the second coming of Julius Caesar.

But at a deeper level Vincere persuasively demonstrates how the very emotions stirred by overwhelmingly beautiful music and images— indeed, by love itself— can overwhelm rational thought so as to render otherwise sensible people vulnerable to demagoguery.

Naked on a balcony, 1914

As portrayed by Giovanna Mezzogiorno and Filippo Timi, respectively, Dalser and Mussolini seem at first like a classic pair of operatic lovers, bound to each other through sheer physical and emotional passion. But as Ida writhes beneath Benito, moaning of her love for him, Mussolini makes love with his eyes open: His greatest passions lie elsewhere, in a hunger for political power and public adulation.

After one bout of lovemaking, Dalser and Mussolini hear voices on the street outside, shouting that the Great War has begun. The news so excites Mussolini that he runs stark naked onto the balcony, there to imagine himself addressing a huge throng gathered beneath him. Power is an aphrodisiac with which Ida can't compete.

For much of this harrowing two-hour film, our ears are bombarded with what we would ordinarily consider the gorgeous sounds of Italian opera. Yet our eyes are subjected to almost unrelieved darkness: claustrophobic dark rooms, dark streets, darkened movie theaters. This is Bellochio's way of messing with our brains— of giving us some sense of how Mussolini seduced an entire nation, just as he seduced Ida.

The rival wife

Eventually, when Mussolini marries a proper first lady to bear him a suitable first family, Ida is victimized again. Now Mussolini's fascisti are determined to obliterate any trace of her past relationship to Il Duce, at serious risk to herself and her son when she refuses to fade into the woodwork.

In such a situation, many another woman would say: Good riddance; I know this charlatan for the faker that he is. But Ida remains committed both to Mussolini and his cause, which she supported long before the others came along. She doesn't want child support or alimony; she wants the man she loves, tyrannical cad though he may be. If only she can penetrate his bodyguards and look again into his eyes, she believes, Mussolini will restore her to her rightful place beside him.

Ludicrous speeches

In the darkened theaters we see actual newsreel clips of actual speeches by Mussolini. His words and gestures are ludicrous, as any thinking person would recognize. But this passionate society isn't conducive to rational thought, least of all by Ida, now reduced to merely another member of Mussolini's adoring audience. She has consumed his Kool-Aid just like everyone else in Italy, and he is gradually driving her crazy, just as he is doing to everyone else in Italy.

To me, and to most opera lovers, the music of Verdi speaks of humanity, love, brotherhood and justice. To Mussolini it spoke of military conquest and triumphal marches. Passion and beauty, it turns out, are two-edged swords.

Such advice might be useful to career guidance counselors who often advise young job-seekers to "follow your passion." Bellochio has provided a cautionary true story of two people who took that advice in a land that was a veritable garden of passion. After all, it was not the boring Swiss or Swedes who fell in love with Il Duce; it was those quintessentially passionate Italians.♦


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