Paolo Sorrentino's latest film is also one of his most personal. A semi-autobiographical, coming of age story mired by tragedy but punctuated with delightful humour, insightful truths and personal reflections. At times fable-like and at times surrealistic, Sorrentino's camera offered a voyeuristic look into this family and the protagonist - a stand-in for him - as we watch him navigate through this eventful phase of his life.
There is pain, but there was also love. The love amongst the family felt palpable and genuine. This was a small film that felt authentically intimate. It had not been shaped nor moulded to fit the masses, and I doubt it will gain the mass appeal of Sorrentino's other big hits. However, here we have a filmmaker telling a personal story and we should be so fortunate to be allowed a step into this personal space.
In Filippo Scotti, Sorrentino has discovered a star in the making. With his curls and waif-ish men-boy look, comparisons with Timothee Chalamet will be inevitable, but Scotti's Fabietto had more of an innocence to his eyes than Chalamet's Elio, and as the protagonist Scotti's wide-eyed view of the world allowed us - cynical folks - to be simultaneously detached from his experience but also empathetic to it. And that was the power of Sorrentino's storytelling.
The supporting cast were great, especially Teresa Saponagelo and Toni Servillo as the parents, Luisa Ranieri as the enigmatic, tortured Aunt Patrizia and Betti Pedrazzi as the mysterious and cantankerous but wise Baroness.
Diego Maradona's infamous comment of course gave the film its title, but Maradona himself played little role in the story itself except as a placement in time.
With the Venice Film Festival Grand Jury prize under its belt (and the Marcello Mastrolianni Award for Scotti), it was no surprise then that The Hand of God is also now in the running for an Oscar. But it will be against stiff competition in the International Feature Film category with Drive My Car as the clear favourite.
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