They become fast friends out of necessity. On a remote village in the Italian Alps, two boys run and play through stunning landscapes, a kind of idyll that shapes both their lives. The Eight Mountains follows these boys through childhood and the onset of middle age, a gentle epic about the power and limits of friendship. In adapting a novel by Paolo Cognetti, Belgian filmmakers Felix van Groeningen and Charlotte Vandermeersch avoid easy dramatic clichés and instead allow the facsimile of realism to inform the dramatic developments, most of which are gently depicted and acutely felt. Its unhurried approach and gorgeous photography deepen experience, making the kind of rare film where you might not protest an extended runtime.
Our point of view character is Pietro, who is 12 when we meet him. Lupo Barbiero plays Pietro as a boy, and he is a shy kid who summers with his middle-class parents in a remote mountain village. He meets Bruno, played by Cristiano Sassella as a boy, who proudly announces he’s the only kid left who lives there. Bruno’s declaration proves to be fateful: as the boys grow older and become men, Bruno (played by Alessandro Borghi as an adult) finds that being a “mountain man” is a major part of his identity. Pietro goes through his twenties without seeing Bruno, but adult Pietro (Luca Marinelli) reunites with him under bittersweet circumstances. Now in their early thirties, Pietro comes back to be the mountain so he can build a house with his old friend, a common purpose that comes to define their lives. Reconnected and a bit more mature, the friends struggle to understand themselves, struggle to find love and struggle to stay connected.
At first, it is easy or facile to think the connection between them is romantic. Early scenes almost suggest just that, not unlike the recent Belgian drama Close, although Groeningen and Vandermeersch quickly establish their physical connection is strictly platonic. Instead, the early scenes are more about the cusp of manhood, and how seemingly inconsequential decisions have major repercussions. Pietro has a falling out with his father, for example, and learns much later that his father become a quasi-parent to Bruno while Pietro was estranged. All these developments are handled with matter-of-fact clarity, avoiding histrionics because there is no great drama when paths diverge for a time, only to run parallel later. Mostly the film conveys a kind of regret, tinged with irony, about how capricious children cannot know the pain they unknowingly inflict.
With its characters now in their thirties, The Eight Mountains settles into a deeper search for fulfillment. Along with cinematographer Ruben Impens, Groeningen and Vandermeersch use stunning mountain photography to embellish how the characters feel. Like the lack of romance, the striking mountainsides are not dramatic in a typical sense (i.e., not perilous), offering an ephemeral kind of peace that Pietro and Bruno chase their entire lives. To these friends, the mountain creates a fierce kind of independence, or the illusion of one, where someone can live deliberately and where promises are easily made. Of course, real life handily smashes that kind of intention, so the latter half is about how Pietro and Bruno struggle against hurdles and compromise. Country-tinged folk songs by Swedish singer/songwriter Daniel Norgren comment on the drama, albeit not in a saccharine way, which serves as a callback to The Broken Circle Breakdown, Groeningen’s earlier film where Europeans also form a deep connection to American music.
You may recognize Marinelli from Martin Eden, a terrific Italian adaptation of a Jack London book where he plays a young man hardened by encroaching fascism. The Eight Mountains is a showcase for Marinelli’s versatility, as Pietro could not be more different. Unlike Bruno, he ventures beyond the Italian Alps, living off-season in Turin and finding himself in the Himalayas. There is an openness to his performance, a wordless acknowledgment that wisdom can only come from learning from mistakes. As Bruno, Borghi gives a slightly showier, more complex performance. Pride and identity inform many of his choices, and since we always see him from Pietro’s point of view, there is a helpless feeling as his strengths curdle into faults. The Eight Mountains is careful not to cast judgment, and instead opts to show how some challenges can get the best of us. Later, Bruno and Pietro have a tough argument that can only happen in solitude, though the acrimonious split does not last long. The film understands that friends who become family are the kind of people you always want to forgive.
Unfolding over nearly 30 years, The Eight Mountains narrows its focus and mostly lets incremental change happen off-camera. It is a shrewd way to depict an epic: we do not see all of Pietro’s and Bruno’s struggles, although we get a fuller sense of their lives when those offscreen struggles lead to maturity. Perhaps you have seen The Best of Youth, an Italian TV miniseries that was theatrically presented in American cinemas 20 years ago. It was six hours long, and also focused on two friends who came in and out of each other’s lives over decades. The Eight Mountains is not as ambitious, as it avoids exploring social and political tumult of modern Italy, and its supporting characters do not get as much attention. Instead, by never wavering from its focus, there is a depth and refreshing honesty to its likable, flawed heroes. You may not wish to be friends with Bruno or Pietro, but you may want to call the long, lost friend in your life, no matter how much time has passed.
Photo courtesy of Sideshow and Janus Films
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