Dismantling a room as a life unravels. Image: Letterboxd

What happens when society squeezes you out?

This is the question raised by the Italian neorealism film, Umberto D. (1952). Umberto, the titular character, is a polite, agreeable man who was once a civil servant. But now that his government is Done with him, he struggles as a senior on a meager pension. He has no family, and his friends are in the same miserable circumstance.

Alas, Umberto is behind on his rent, and his landlady plans to evict him. (She hopes he’ll die, sparing her Eviction trouble.) In the meantime, she embarks on a renovation, and hires workmen to tear apart the walls of his room.

Umberto does have an ally in this boarding house, a young woman named Maria, who works as a maid. Maria fusses over Umberto like he’s her grandfather; in return, he guards her secret: She is pregnant. (When the landlady discovers this juicy morsel, Maria will undoubtedly be fired.)

During the course of the film, Umberto (deliberately) runs into former co-workers who are uncomfortable with his presence, but pretend otherwise. Ah! Here’s my bus, I’m already late.

Yet, Umberto has his pride. He considers begging on the street or throwing himself out of a window, but can’t bring himself to do either.

He refuses to move into a shelter, although he occasionally takes a meal at a soup kitchen, which he feeds to his dog, Flicke.

The bond between Umberto and Flicke is nearly unshakable. For example, when Umberto finally packs his large, awkward suitcase and leaves the boarding house, Flicke doesn’t argue. His home is with his master, wherever that may be.

The secretly pregnant Maria. Image: IMDb

Umberto D. is like a slow strangulation. When the film opens, Umberto is part of a protest with several other seniors demanding a larger pension. They’ll not stand for this! But the crowd quickly disburses when police arrive because the government must not be embarrassed.

This is our first clue of the little hope for Umberto. We do not know how he came to be in such dire straits, but it was not uncommon in post-war Italy. He is poor, and there is no way out of it.

Added to this is the landlady’s pressuring him to pay the 15,000 lire he owes, and it’s All or Nothing. She wants no half-hearted fiscal promises.

Umberto falls ill and is admitted to the hospital, where, he hopes, they might keep and care for him for a while. They do not. When he returns home, he discovers Flicke has run away.

His life has become very small, constricted. At every turn, Umberto is given a clearer view of his futility.

Neither his landlady nor the hospital will house him, Maria will eventually be preoccupied with her baby, and no one wants his belongings or his dog.

It’s as though he has already died or, worse, has never lived.

Umberto’s best friend, Flicke. Image: IMDb

Umberto D. was a failure at the Italian box office, and it’s not hard to imagine why. The country was still reeling after WWII, trying to establish a workable economy and shake away its fascist past. The Italian government was Not Pleased with this film, and audiences weren’t keen to be reminded of their struggles.

However. This film was a big hit internationally, with a Grand Prize nomination at the 1952 Cannes Film Festival, as well as a 1957 Oscar nomination for best screenplay.

Director Vittorio De Sica, who dedicated the film to his father, was known to hire “non-actors”. For example, the man who plays Umberto was a university professor, and the girl who plays Maria initially went to the film auditions as a curious bystander.

The most clever thing about Umberto D., in our opinion, is that it doesn’t resort to Cheap Theatrics. Here is a man, and these are the facts of his situation.

It will break your heart.

This post is part of CRY ME A RIVER: TEARJERKERS BLOGATHON, hosted by the Classic Movie Blog Association.

Umberto D. starring Carlo Battisti, Maria Pia Casilio, Lina Gennari. Directed by Vittorio De Sica. Written by Cesare Zavattini. Dear Film, 1953, B&W, 89 mins.

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