Life Is Beautiful

Last evening I had the rare chance to watch a grown-up movie. I had randomly picked one off the shelf at the library when, last week, I had a similarly rare chance to spend a few moments in the library alone. It had a nice title, and it looked sunny, bright and Italian.

It was Life Is Beautiful. If by some chance you haven't seen this movie but would like to, I'll give you a spoiler warning (Turn Back! Go to the next post!)




Ok, so if you are still with me I'll presume you've either seen it, don't intend to, or you don't mind missing your own fresh experience of the movie.

The setting is Italy during the rise of Nazism and World War II. The main character is a compulsively positive, happy Italian waiter named Guido who falls in love with beautiful Dora and eventually has a son, Joshua. Oh, and Guido is Jewish. Guido has an incredibly quick wit, explosive imagination, the bravery of at least 1,000 men, and the extroversion of at least two average Italians and my son rolled into one (in other words, 500% extroverted). On his son's birthday, Guido, Joshua, and all the surrounding Jews are rounded up and put on a train to a concentration camp. Dora, who is not Jewish and who was not home when they were taken, demands of the soldier to board the train with them. Guido manages to convince his son that they are involved in an elaborate game, and the winner, the one who gets 1,000 points, will get a real tank. Although his desperation is evident, he still manages to keep up good humor for his son, and even occasionally finds a way to broadcast his love to his wife, who of course is separated off with the women. Finally, it seems the war is ending. He hides his son, and warns him, if Papa is delayed in coming for him, to only come out of hiding when everything is quiet. While Guido searches for his wife, he is caught. A soldier marches him at gunpoint past the spot where Joshua is hiding; they exchange winks and Guido breaks into a silly Nazi-parody march. We hear machine gun fire, and the soldier returns alone. The sun rises, it is quiet, and Joshua comes from his hiding place. He sees a huge tank drive toward him and shouts "It's true!" The American soldier helps him into the tank, they leave the camp and he finds his mother. At that point, a narrator says "This was the sacrifice my father made for me."

Let me tell you, the promo copy on the video box did not lead me to think this movie would involve a concentration camp. When I saw what was coming, I grabbed the box and scoured it for a hint that this would have a happy ending. I strongly weighed whether I should turn it off, as I know how profoundly things like this can sit with me, and frankly I wasn't sure whether I wanted to commit myself to dealing with it. But honestly, Guido's courage inspired me to go on. Even after I heard the machine gun fire, I fully expected him to reappear, smiling and victorious. The closing line, revealing that the entire movie was really told from the perspective of Joshua, left me sobbing. (Well, I would have been sobbing even without that line, I'm sure.)

The opening scene makes it clear that the story is not factual, but a fable. But really, I know it is much more than that. In so many ways, Guido personifies the Holy Spirit. Guido is courage, hope, love, in the face of the most extreme opposites of these virtues. He is a human being living fully, never allowing himself to be diminished to victim status but always acting as if he were the one making all the choices that affected his life, and in reality, finding life beautiful even in the ugliest possible conditions. He is what all human beings are called to be, and yet we fear obstacles so overwhelmingly minuscule in comparison with what he overcame -- for his son.

And of course what I have not been able to escape thinking about is the all too factual and historical elements of the movie. I've wanted only to hug and kiss my children, and to thank God that they are perfectly safe and cared for, as all children should be. I've wanted only to do penance for all the atrocities, all the darkness that somehow mankind unleashes upon itself. I've wished for some concrete way to express "I value and respect your human dignity" to those I've met today. I've longed for some way to show my God that my heart is with Him and to beg for the graces to do all of and only His will.

I'm not much of a movie reviewer, but I'm hoping that getting this out on my computer screen will help me sleep better tonight than I did last night.

Dear God, have mercy on humanity.