Imagine a world where the most mundane moments—a mother yelling at her teenager, a teenager idolizing a fascist—become the lens through which we examine the collapse of societal norms. That’s the eerie brilliance of Ketticè, the new film that’s making waves at the Locarno Film Festival. But let me tell you, this isn’t just another coming-of-age story. It’s a scalpel slicing open the rot of generational disconnection, and Monica Bellucci is the star who’s holding the blade.
I’ll admit, I was skeptical when I first heard about Bellucci playing a frazzled, snack-obsessed mother. After all, she’s the woman who turned the moon into a symbol of desire in The Fifth Element. But here she is, embodying a character who’s trapped in a gilded cage of expectations. And honestly? It’s one of the most human performances I’ve seen in years. Why? Because this isn’t about glamour—it’s about the quiet, suffocating rage of a woman who’s been told her worth is tied to her role as a wife and mother. She yells not out of malice, but because she’s drowning in a system that demands perfection while offering no escape.
What makes this particularly fascinating is how the film uses Sicily’s 2012 backdrop—a time when Silvio Berlusconi’s populist antics were still fresh—as a mirror for today’s chaos. The protagonist, Giulio, is a 16-year-old adrift in a world that offers no direction. His friendship with Ketty, a more confident peer, becomes a rebellion against the adult world’s judgment. But here’s the kicker: the adults aren’t villains. They’re just as lost. Bellucci’s character, for instance, isn’t a monster; she’s a victim of a social role that’s designed to erase her individuality. And when she screams, it’s not at her son—it’s at the system that made her feel like a failure.
Now, let’s talk about the Mussolini scene. Yes, that’s right. One of the teenagers in the film openly admires Benito Mussolini. At first glance, it’s absurd. But dig deeper, and you realize it’s a chilling commentary on how easily youth can be seduced by authoritarianism. The director, Giovanni Tortorici, didn’t pull this out of nowhere. He’s admitting that he once dated someone who held similar views—a reminder that fascism isn’t just a historical footnote. It’s a virus that can infect even the most educated minds when they feel disempowered.
And here’s what really gets me: the film’s critique of generational divides isn’t just about Italy. It’s about us. Think about it—how many of us feel like we’re speaking a different language to our parents or kids? How often do we dismiss younger generations as ‘lost’ while ignoring the systems that left them with no alternatives? Bellucci’s performance is a masterclass in showing that tension. Her character isn’t just yelling; she’s trying to connect, to bridge the gap, but the system keeps pulling her back into the role she’s supposed to play.
What many people don’t realize is that Ketticè is also a love letter to the power of raw, unfiltered storytelling. The director, Tortorici, isn’t just a Guadagnino protégé—he’s a visionary in his own right. He cast real kids, not actors, which gives the film an authenticity that’s almost painful to watch. These aren’t performances; they’re moments. And that’s why the film feels so urgent. It’s not about the past; it’s about the present, and the future we’re building (or failing to build) right now.
So, what does this mean for us? It means that the next time we see a teenager acting out, or a parent screaming, we should pause. Because behind every yelling match is a story of broken systems, unmet needs, and a society that’s forgotten how to listen. Ketticè isn’t just a film—it’s a wake-up call. And if we’re smart, we’ll answer it before the next generation decides to admire someone else’s brand of madness.
