During a mild morning of Autumn, a mother has been called by primary school teachers to talk about her daughter Francesca, a 10-year-old child who loves to draw. The teachers are worried because she obsessively draws the same empty, ephemeral ghosts silhouettes; they therefore decide to inform the child's parents. Thus we enter the world of little Francesca, where her daily life flows parallel to the world surrounding her: a mother, a brother, a boyfriend and their precarious presence.

DIRECTOR’S NOTES:

The story behind LARUA comes from a suggestion I’ve had a while ago. I have always tried to run away from my homeland and my roots using my mind and my imagination, as if I refused a part of me that is unfortunately very much rooted in people who were born and raised in Calabria.
I specifically refer to the absolute evil called ’Ndrangheta (the first mafia clan in Italy nowadays). I’ve never been particularly interested in telling a story about Calabria, which is far too often in the front-page of world renown newspapers and media outlets because of its involvement in major crimes or illicit events. This was not until I found out about a specific event that drew my attention and that inspired me, starting from this I’ve started asking myself many questions which will probably never find an answer.
That’s basically what LARUA is about: on the one hand it’s the representation of the impossibility to give a sense to the reiteration of evil, on the other hand it’s about the impotence of those who passively only look at the evil, being far too accustomed to its presence. I’d say that the ambition I have for this story is to give the viewer a new perspective on the well-known, yet still very controversial, theme of mafia’s descendants/sons and daughters.