Resurrectio (1931) review: A messy, loud, and totally charming early talkie

Look, if you are looking for a smooth, polished masterpiece, Resurrectio is absolutely not it. But if you have a soft spot for weird, early sound-era experiments where nobody quite knew where to stand near the microphones, you might actually love this messy relic.

Anyone who hates heavy, hand-on-forehead melodrama will probably want to throw their shoes at the screen. It is incredibly dramatic. 🤷‍♂️

The whole thing starts with a famous composer who gets his heart absolutely shredded when his lover leaves him. He decides the only logical response is to end his life, which feels like a bit of an overreaction, but hey, he is an artist.

Just as he is about to do the deed, he meets this young woman who basically coaxes him off the ledge. It is a simple setup, but the execution is just so frantic and fast.

The acting is... well, it is loud. Even when the characters are supposed to be quiet, their eyes are doing 90% of the heavy lifting.

Cinematic perspective: Exploring the visual vocabulary of Resurrectio (1931) through its definitive frames.

Idolo Tancredi plays the composer with this intense, sweaty energy. You get the feeling he had about five cups of espresso before every single take.

At times, it reminds me of other overwrought dramas from that era, like The Man and the Moment. You can almost feel the movie trying to convince you that every single sigh is a matter of life or death.

Odd little details I noticed:

• The background noise just completely drops out sometimes, like the sound guy accidentally unplugged his machine.
• The piano playing is so aggressive it sounds like the composer is trying to punch the keys through the floor.
• One reaction shot of an older lady in the background lingers so long it becomes funny.

And yet, there is something really charming about how Alessandro Blasetti shoots this. He does not just stick the camera on a tripod and let people talk like they did in Millie or other stiff dramas of the time.

There is a moving camera shot through a busy place that feels surprisingly alive. It is like the camera itself is trying to break free from the clunky sound equipment of 1931.

Lia Franca is easily the best part of the movie. She has this sweet, slightly puzzled look on her face, like she is not sure if she is saving a genius or just a very loud toddler.

The film gets noticeably better once the main guy stops shouting and actually starts listening to her. It is just a shame the ending feels like it wraps up about five minutes too fast.