The Italian Mafia on Film: Amore No More

Eleven-year-old Rita Mancuso thinks her dad, Don Michele, is the greatest man in the world. And who can blame her? He’s handsome, playful, and respected by the whole Sicilian village of Balato. Don Michele is the kind of man people turn to when they have problems: land issues, money disputes, employee grievances. And unlike the local police, Rita’s dad actually gets results. He’s a man of honor, like Don Corleone, Tony Soprano, and Henry Hill. And like these iconic mafia figures, he uses violence as a negotiation tactic, ya know, making you an offer “you can’t refuse.”

Like The Godfather, The Sopranos, and Goodfellas, the new film The Sicilian Girl is an embellished tale based on the true story of a mafia family. In this case, however, the protagonist isn’t a wiseguy, but rather a very gutsy girl (whose story is based on the life of mob informer Rita Atria). After Rita’s father and brother are murdered by a warring mob faction, Rita seeks vengeance with the only weapon she feels she can depend on. She shares her detailed journals with Italian law enforcement. The film avoids the conventional pitfalls of a whistle-blower’s tale, thanks to its restrained script and exquisite casting. Italian actress Veronica D’Agostino, a newcomer, carries the film with an audacious performance on the order of Anna Magnani. The supporting actors are similarly transcendent. French actor Gérard Jugnot channels a dignified portrait of an anti-mafia magistrate (based on the life of Paolo Borsellino), and veteran actress Lucia Sardo plays Rita’s mom with vitriolic brilliance.

The Sicilian Girl is the first foray into fiction for writer-director Marco Amenta, a Sicilian photojournalist and documentarian. However, it is not Amenta’s first film about Rita Atria, the Sicilian folk hero/villain (depending on whom you ask) who shattered the omertà code of silence in 1991 and gave testimony to Italian law enforcement, resulting in dozens of convictions. Amenta told the story in his award-winning 1998 documentary, Diario di una siciliana ribelle, which he says was difficult to film because many people were afraid to speak on camera. Amenta made The Sicilian Girl in the hope that Rita Atria would take her rightful place in history and pop culture alongside esteemed anti-mafia judges Giovanni Falcone and Paolo Borsellino, who were both murdered in 1992.

Amenta also decided to revisit the Rita Atria narrative because he sees her story not as one woman’s journey, but as a symbol of Sicily’s enchantment with and enslavement by the mafia, and the subsequent battle for freedom from its grip. As a native of Palermo, Marco Amenta is particularly well suited to tell this tale. “People used to pretend to not see what was going on. They used to think that if you don’t get involved, you can have a normal life; the mafia won’t bother you. But that’s not true,” he says. Amenta dedicated the film to his father, a well-respected doctor in Palermo whose career ambitions were stunted by his refusal to play ball with mafia businessmen. “They had their hand in every aspect of society,” Amenta says. “It is bad for society when the corrupt rise to the top. It means the people don’t get the best doctors. They have buildings that don’t stand up and bridges that crumble.”

The Sicilian Girl is one of several Italian films to emerge in the past five years, alongside Gomorrah, Fortapàsc, and Io ricordo, that all portray the brutality and destructiveness of the mafia rather than the Armani-clad Hollywood glorification. “The Godfather is a great film, but I wanted to get away from the archetype and get closer to reality,” says Amenta. Although he acknowledges that the mafia once performed a useful function in Sicilian society in the early 20th century, by protecting the interests of local peasants against the corruption of Italian national police, those purer aims were lost when drug trafficking became the chief profit center for Sicilian crime bosses. Like Rita Mancuso, it was difficult for many Sicilians to accept that the patriarchy that represented Sicilian justice and tradition was more corrupt than the authorities it was supposed to be protecting them from.

Although Mancuso jumps to her death (as Atria did in real life), Amenta sees his film as an uplifting story of hope. “Some people have the courage to choose their own way in life,” he says. “It is important that people like Rita make this choice because in the end, they make it better for all of society.” Indeed, anti-mafia crusaders like Falcone, Borsellino, and Atria have helped drain the swamp, but organized crime is still an insidious threat to Italy’s prosperity. Amenta doesn’t presume that his film can make a difference, but he hopes that it will “create a little sparkle in some people that can become a fire.” The Sicilian Girl was awarded il Biglietto d’Oro, Italy’s national prize for the film shown most often in public schools. Perhaps it will light a fire among Italy’s youth that will someday spur them to overthrow the mafia for good.