Dark Illness

In the lingering heat of a Roman summer, Giuseppe Marchi carries the quiet burden of a life shaped by an authoritarian father whose presence still haunts every decision. Now in his fifties, the once‑hopeful screenwriter finds himself caught between the weight of unspoken regrets and a persistent yearning to give voice to the story that has defined him. The city’s bustling streets and sun‑bleached plazas echo his inner turbulence, a backdrop that mirrors both his lingering grief and the stubborn discipline he inherited.

​Sylvaine, a French widow, and The Girl, a much younger woman, become the two poles of Giuseppe’s fragile personal world. Their contrasting energies pull him toward intimacy while simultaneously exposing the lingering fissures in his self‑image. At the same time, his professional aspirations remain tantalizingly out of reach; a manuscript about a reimagined Judas and the endless search for the right script keep him teetering between creative fervor and the dread of mediocrity. Subtle health anxieties—an uneasy feeling in his abdomen and a wandering kidney—add a physical dimension to his existential malaise, prompting him to seek medical reassurance that only deepens his unease.

The film unfolds as a meditative portrait of a man navigating the thin line between obsession and resignation, set against a cast of distinctly Italian landscapes that shift from the oppressive heat of Rome to the cool, isolated olive groves of Calabria. The tone is intimate and quietly melancholic, allowing the audience to feel the texture of Giuseppe’s inner dialogue as he grapples with memory, desire, and the ever‑present ghost of a father whose legacy looms large. Through lingering shots, subdued colors, and a patient pacing, the story invites viewers to contemplate how the search for personal redemption can be both a solitary pilgrimage and a subtle, ever‑present conversation with the past.

Last Updated: December 03, 2025 at 23:41