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Lamerica (1994) 
 
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0110299/

Italian and Albanian languages with English subtitles.

Lamerica is an award-winning 1994 film directed by Gianni Amelio.


  Enrico Lo Verso  ...  Gino  
  Michele Placido  ...  Fiore  
  Piro Milkani  ...  Selimi  
  Carmelo Di Mazzarelli  ...  Spiro (alias Michele Talarico)  
  Elida Janushi  ...  Selimi's Cousin  
  Sefer Pema  ...  Prison Governor  
  Idajet Sejdia  ...  Dr. Kruja  
  Marieta Ljarja  ...  Factory's manager  
  Elina Ndreu  ...  Singer in night club  
  Ilir Ara  ...  Orphanage's guard  
  Liliana Subashi  ...  Hospital's doctor  
  Artan Marina  ...  Ismail  
  Vassjan Lammi  ...  Cop at cafe  
  Nikolin Elezi  ...  Man dying  
  Fatmir Gjyla  ...  Innkeeper  


The intense, gritty Lamerica, set in Albania, depicts a nation's lost soul at the end of 50 years of harsh communist rule. 

As a documentary, which the film resembles, the glimpse would be wrenching enough. But Italian director Gianni Amelio (Stolen Children) plays out a potent, heartrending drama against the backdrop of refugees running for their lives to a better world. Italy, just across the Adriatic Sea, is a dream of freedom and riches for Albania's poor. It is a kind of America (thus the title of this exceptional Italian-language film). 

The refugee scene and the chaos of everyday life in Albania in the early 1990s at first seem almost too distant to understand. Amelio uses dry, mountainous backdrops, and all but two of the actors in his verite-style drama are nonprofessionals. The result is a disturbing, poignant film filled with real people whose lives are in upheaval. 

The drama involves two Italian hustlers who arrive to exploit this situation. Gino (Enrico Lo Verso) and Fiore (Michele Placido) are business partners in a scheme to set up a phony shoe factory, for which they will get government money intended for economic relief in Albania. They plan to take the money and run. 

Albania encourages foreign investment but the law forbids that a company be headed by a foreigner. So the two con men find a 70-year-old former political prisoner named Spiro (Carmelo Di Mazzarelli, a fisherman in real life) to serve as dummy CEO. Spiro is confused, and completely passive after spending most of his life in prison. 

The old man escapes from Gino's charge, hankering after hazy dreams of his youth, and Gino tracks him into rural Albania, a world of poverty and treachery. The Albanian poor know that Gino is a well-off Italian before he even opens his mouth (one giveaway: He's the only guy within hundreds of miles who drives a car). Little by little, the stranger in a strange land is stripped of his possessions including his passport and becomes almost indistinguishable from the local hordes. Gino has no choice but to bond with the only man he knows -- Spiro -- when he finally finds him. 

Amelio does an amazing job of interweaving the real-life tragedy in Albania with his fictional drama. Anyone who sees this film will walk away with both a sense of grief and a feeling of good fortune for living in a land of plenty. 

Lamerica does what the best films do. It shows us a reality that we'd otherwise never be able to experience. It provides meaningful ruminations in understandable cinematic terms. It explores stark visual imagery. Lamerica is a capable, powerful film.

The title and periodic clues throughout the movie tell us that Lamerica is really about refugees. This main point is delivered with conviction, but in a roundabout way. Almost imperceptibly, the theme creeps upon us. By the end of the movie you will know, perhaps even understand, what it is to be a refugee fleeing to America. Americans should view this film for that reason alone.

On the way to this powerful final point, we're treated to a densely layered convergence of politics, racism, capitalism, inhumanity, and hope. The plight of the Albanians is established with visual economy and convincing realism by the amateur actors. Fiore and Gino waltz through the country with a disdainful swagger that says everything about capitalist exploitation. The people, buildings, and government are tools with which to siphon money into Fiore's pocket. He does not care about any Albanian's plight if it will stand between him and money. For his part, Gino only displays emotion when his designer clothes or his jeep's leather interior are in jeopardy, and the emotion he displays is invariably nasty.

Themes involve the Albanians' ignorance of the subtleties of their own poverty, the cunning that the natives use to exploit Gino, the meaning of death compared to freedom, and many more. It is rich in political commentary, human perception, and symbolic content. By the time the end credits roll, you will feel as though you've been given a crash course in the human condition.

Writer-director Gianni Amelio uses the camera to do his talking. He sometimes uses deep-focus shots on ships or streets laden with people. The sheer number of extras is staggering, and they all seem genuine. Their weight presses in around us, giving us claustrophobia. When Gino walks down a street, he is constantly harassed by throngs of urchins, though he seems unfazed. We eventually see the rugged majesty of the Albanian mountains, and the image imbues us with a keen sense of isolation and pride. These shots are telling.

Amelio's ambitious tale is capably handled by the actors. Enrico Lo Verso and Carmelo Di Mazzarelli wring sophistication and depth from characters that could easily be stereotypes. Their relationship evolves painfully and continuously. Gino grows before our eyes, while Spiro sheds the weight of years. Countless dualities and similarities present themselves in this relationship.