Dio ride

God laughs. Fra’ Leopoldo da Casamacchia, a preacher in seventeenth-century Italy, is convinced of this. Pierfrancesco Favino makes the most of this showman’s role, with his dialect, rags and wide-eyed view of the world. The faithful flock to him; there were no other entertainments for these poor souls leading hard lives. God laughs – far more like a man than the Holy Scriptures would have us believe. The audience who have come from the neighbouring countryside are laughing too: this is no matter the Roman Curia can tolerate without reacting. As one anecdote follows another, all in the Umbrian-Italian style of L’Armata Brancaleone, the Inquisitor eventually arrives. Cardinal Vincenzo Maculani of Benevento—played by Silvio Orlando, who is, compared to the rest of the film, rather restrained and almost subdued—has been sent by Pope Innocent X. He must investigate and report, in preparation for the trial. We must thank the (numerous) screenwriters for not portraying the inquisitor as a backward, boorish figure who sentences people to death out of sheer prejudice, without understanding what is actually happening. To give an example: the Cardinal put Galileo on trial and forced him to recant, yet he keeps his telescope and gazes at the sky. The friar, originally from Umbria, has moved to Tuscany, near Montalcino, hoping to get by. A futile move: he is put on trial for heresy. There is also a ‘feminist’ interlude involving the young countess and her violent husband (who was murdered). We do not question the inspiration behind it, but it is truly difficult to imagine an audience for it.