Alice Rohrwacher Crafts a Modern Hero’s Tale of Mythic Proportions with La Chimera

Chimera, noun 

an illusion or fabrication of the mind

especially : an unrealizable dream

While life and death sometimes feel as though they are on opposite ends of a continuum, they are more like two sides of the same coin, both ushering in the chance for something new and existing as codependent forms. It feels as though Italian director Alice Rohrwacher understands this with her newest film. In La Chimera, Rohrwacher delicately crafts a moving romantic tale of magical realism, entwining the immortal and mortal spheres, and those who find themselves stuck on either side. Her latest, dreamy offering stays rooted by Joshua O’Connor’s moody performance as an adrift grave robber getting by in Italy, one who’s desperately trying to unearth his life. 

When we first meet O’Connor’s Arthur, he’s gawked at by a gaggle of young Italian women on a train, who giggle at the stranger among locals. They poke and prod at him, along with a man selling items on the train, who makes fun of him for his supposed smell and disheveled appearance, throwing socks at him in jest. Arthur eventually snaps at everyone in the cart, leaving him lonelier—and more othered—than before. Once he arrives at his destination, it’s even more obvious he wants to be left alone, rejecting a ride from a friend who reveals Arthur has just been released from prison. It’s here we begin our excavation of Arthur’s mysterious life. 

Rohrwacher creates something of a modern myth with La Chimera, the story about a lovelorn grave robber, misplaced in the Italian countryside and stuck traversing through the untouched ruins of others in search of his own elusive treasure. The downtrodden Englishman is prized by his fellow “tombaroli” due to his innate ability to find fresh tombs using a divining rod, a centuries-old method for locating sought objects underground. However, it’s not just ancient vases and trinkets the stoic archaeology buff is after, but the ever evasive feelings of love and divine purpose. He’s an Orpheus separated from his Eurydice, definitely divided by the laws of the living and the dead, leaving him in a listless trance. 

Between his explorations, he floats among his Italian comrades and daydreams about his long lost love, Beniamina (Yile Vianello), who’s only seen in dreamlike flashback sequences. Rohrwacher borrows from another part of the world with the red string myth, which ties two people together in a shared destiny of eternal love. A red thread stretches from Beniamina’s dress, and Arthur constantly chases it in his mind, but never meets the end. 

He stays close to the memories of his absent lover through frequent visits to her grandmother Flora, played by the impeccable Isabella Rossellini. There, he meets Flora’s newest student, Italia (Carol Duarte), who acts more like a servant for the aging vocal teacher. She injects a spark into Arthur, coaxing him out of his catatonic existence, even just for a little while. 

So much rides on the furrow of O’Connor’s brow, enlightening viewers on his despondent character’s deeper feelings of frustration, confusion, and hurt. He’s a grounding force when his comrades revel in the fun of their work a little too much, with one linen suit to trot around in with a constant look of concentration. 

As the viewer, we’re dropped in the middle of Arthur’s story, and spend nearly the entire movie playing catch-up on the details about his recent imprisonment, his relationship with Beniamina, and nearly all other events. We don’t learn much about his past with explicit exposition, so Rohrwacher’s sneaky way of revealing information in passing comments from characters requires an attentive ear from viewers. This lack of introduction adds only more mystery to the unfolding story. We don’t quite know where Arthur came from, and we certainly do not know where he will end up. 

When detailed explanations do come, it’s in the folkloric form of song and triptych illustrations presented by fellow tombaroli, blurring the mystic with reality. They serve as our guides, fleshing out the story about the stony man on screen. La Chimera knows exactly when to be quiet, letting emotions stir on their own, and when to lean into warmer, evocative sounds.  We hear Beniamina’s red thread weave through blades of grass, and wind whoosh into sealed tombs, but also revel in the communal, raucous noise of a night party on the beach. 

It’s not a large ask to be fully enveloped into the world Rohrwacher has created, and stepping into the enchanting hills feels as easy as dipping into the idyllic French vacations crafted by Éric Rohmer. Cinematographer Hélène Louvart spins magic into the Italian beaches and countryside the tombaroli comb, with each moment more enamoring than the next. A sense of play pervades La Chimera, with spinning 360 degree shots, unwieldy celebrations, and a heavy dose of humor. Everyone else seems to revolve around Arthur in joy and with a levity concerning their impoverished living. His comrades view him as a kind of tortured artist, whose craft is finding the hidden. Even when things go Arthur’s way and the group finds a valuable haul, he remains removed from the communal happiness, walking amongst his friends like a ghost. 

Ancient history and the not-so-distant past continuously weave into one another in the ‘80s set film, as antiquities see sunlight for the first time in centuries, and Arthur dwells on the ghost who continues to haunt him. Rohrwacher also poses questions about who gets to profit from ancient objects of the dead and what happens to the spirit of the living until Arthur—with Italia’s aid—becomes disillusioned with the only thing propelling him forward, eventually giving up a fortune for him and his friends.  

In the film’s last moments, Arthur pulls on the red string he’s followed through ruins and rolling hills, meeting the end in a final embrace. 

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