On 4 May 1938, the day Hitler visits Mussolini in Rome, Antonietta, a naïve, sentimental and overworked homemaker, stays home to carry out her daily duties while her fascist husband, Emanuele, and their six spoiled children flood the streets to follow a grand parade. The building sits oddly quiet, save for the caretaker Pauletta and a nearby neighbor, a charming man named Gabriele, a radio broadcaster who has just been dismissed and faces deportation to Sardinia because of his sexuality and perceived anti-fascist stance.
When a myna escapes from the apartment and flits past Gabriele’s window, Antonietta shows up at his door, hoping to retrieve the bird. Gabriele has just been interrupted from a suicide attempt, yet he helps rescue the myna by offering it food and is amused by the whole scene. Antonietta is taken aback by his demeanor and, unaware of his sexual orientation, flirts and dances a rumba with him. The moment feels innocent, but it carries a weightier sense of closeness that neither of them expected.
Despite their differences, they begin to warm to one another. Pauletta warns Antonietta that Gabriele is an anti-fascist, a label Antonietta greets with scorn. Gabriele opens up about his firing, confessing that he is homosexual. Antonietta shares her own troubles with a husband who is both arrogant and unfaithful, and who seems to prefer a more educated, polished partner. What follows is a careful unraveling of the assumptions each has about the other, revealing how both are constrained and shaped by the social and governmental pressures of their time.
As their conversation deepens, a quiet, mutual realization settles in: they see each other as people who have been pressed into narrow roles by the world around them, and this recognition softens their initial judgments. They end up choosing intimacy, but for different, personal reasons; Gabriele says this small act changes nothing, and Antonietta, though moved, feels almost the same. Yet a subtle shift lingers in the air—an awareness that the bond is not simply a moment of escape but a response to a shared experience of oppression.
Not long after their encounter, Antonietta’s family returns home, and Gabriele is arrested. The world outside their small moment of connection closes in once more, underscoring the fragility of private desire in a time of political enforcement. In the closing image, Antonietta sits by the window and begins to read a book Gabriele gave her, The Three Musketeers. She watches as her lover leaves the residential complex, escorted by fascist policemen, before turning off the light and going to bed. Her husband waits there, expecting a seventh child and already naming him Adolfo, a reminder that life within the regime continues its relentless march.
The film uses a restrained, contemplative approach to explore how intimate longing intersects with authoritarian power, illustrating how personal acts of connection can challenge even briefly the rigid scripts prescribed by society. The result is a quietly piercing meditation on love, repression, and the everyday costs of living under an oppressive regime, framed through intimate, human moments that linger long after the final scene.
