The City of the Living Review – A Heart‑Wrenching True‑Crime Drama

When Edoardo Gabbriellini turns his camera toward a real‑life tragedy that shook Rome a decade ago, the result is a film that feels less like a forensic recounting and more like an intimate diary. The City of the Living spends its first half letting us breathe the ordinary world of Luca (Emanuele Maria Di Stefano), a good‑natured kid who helps his dad sell candy‑colored trinkets on the fringes of the capital.

Luca’s world is modest but warm. His adoptive parents, Silvana (Simona Senzacqua) and Giuseppe (Valerio Mastandrea), treat him like a son they chose, not a rescue. Their small, clutter‑filled home hums with the clatter of a kitchen radio and the faint scent of fried dough. Luca’s nights are split between a droning night‑school class that bores him to tears and whispered plans with his girlfriend Marta (Gaia Merlonghi) about moving in together. The film captures these moments with a lazy‑summer rhythm – the kind of pacing you feel when you’re waiting for a bus on a warm Rome afternoon.

Gabbriellini’s true genius is his restraint. He never drags us through a clinical chronology of the crime; instead, he lets the audience discover Luca’s hopes, his jokes, his occasional clumsiness. An early argument over a restaurant reservation – absurdly trivial – becomes a window into the gender dynamics that still linger in many Italian families. Luca’s quick apology, Marta’s lingering sigh, the way they both smile afterward – all of it feels lived‑in, not scripted.

But when the narrative finally tilts toward the horrific murder, the film deliberately shrouds the violence. The killers – a pair of drug‑soaked men whose sexual orientation is highlighted – are never shown committing the act; we only hear the aftermath. This decision protects Luca’s memory, yet it also creates an uncomfortable blind spot. The only attribute given to the perpetrators is their queerness, a choice that feels careless in a country where homophobic violence remains under‑reported.

It’s a dilemma that has haunted filmmakers for years: does a story based on real events give you a free pass to lean on stereotypes? In The City of the Living, the script – adapted from Nicola Lagioia’s novel – could have slipped in a single, decent gay character to broaden the picture. Instead, the murderers are reduced to “deviant” labels, which, after such a sympathetic portrayal of Luca, makes the audience uneasy. The film’s compassion for its protagonist makes this omission sting all the more.

That said, the performances are undeniably the film’s backbone. Di Stefano brings a fragile optimism to Luca; you can see his hands tremble when he talks about the future, yet his smile never fully fades. Mastandrea and Senzacqua provide grounding, embodying parents who love without pretense. Even the supporting cast feels lived‑in – the street vendor who offers Luca a stale doughnut, the schoolteacher who sighs at his lack of motivation.

Visually, the movie prefers natural lighting, the amber glow of street lamps, the dusty hues of the suburbs. There’s a documentary‑like honesty that suits the story’s modest ambitions. The soundtrack is sparse – a few plaintive guitar strings that echo Luca’s yearning – and it never overwhelms the scene.

In the end, The City of the Living is a beautifully crafted lament for a life cut short. It asks us to mourn not just the crime, but the everyday moments that make life worth living. While it falters in its representation of the killers, it remains one of Gabbriellini’s most emotionally resonant works to date, reminding us how fragile joy can be in a world that often forgets the humanity of the “other.”