Torneranno i prati
Claudio Santamaria, Alessandro Sperduti, Francesco Formichetti, Andrea Di Maria, Camillo Grassi, Niccolò Senni, Domenico Benetti, Andrea Benetti, Carlo Stefani, Nico Tredese, Franz Stefani, Andrea Frigo, Igor Pistollato, Giorgio Vellar, Roberto Rigoni Stern, Davide Rigoni, Sam Ursida, Francesco Nardelli, Brais Vallarin
Ipotesi Cinema, Cinemaundici, Rai Cinema, supported by Ministero della Cultura, with the support of Banca Popolare di Vicenza, Edison, Nonino Distillatori, Regione Veneto, Vicenza Film Commission, Presidenza del Consiglio dei Ministri
festivals & awards:
"War is an ugly beast that wanders the earth and never comes to a halt”
Toni Lunardi, shepherd
We are on the north-eastern front, following the last bloody battles of 1917 on the Altopiano. In the film, the story unfolds in the space of one night.
Events follow one another without any kind of pattern: at times the waiting goes on so long that fear has you counting the minutes as they pass until the moment comes when it’s your turn.
And subsequently, the peace of the mountains becomes a place where men die.
Everything in the story told in this film really happened.
And since the past belongs to memory, everyone can recall it to fit in with their own feelings.
2014. A hundred years since the start of the First World War. A hundred years of history that fade further and further into the past while the river of time flows on ahead under the bridges of progress which relentlessly dims every other memory.
However, there are moments in which a date on a calendar, a newspaper headline or a photograph arouse dormant memories that call out to each other, burst into our era occupying a key position and rightly expecting to be recognized and reassigned their value which was given up for us: first and foremost, life.
My father was 19 when he was conscripted.. At that age, the glorification of heroism inflames hearts and minds, especially among the youngest. He chose to serve in the regiment of the Bersaglieri, assault troops, and he found himself in the middle of the bloodbath of the battles of the Carso and the Piave which marked his youth and, indeed, the rest of his life.
I was a child when he would tell me and my elder brother about the agony of war, of those terrible moments spent waiting for the order to go into the fray knowing that death was there lurking at the top of the trench. He remembered his fellow soldiers and more than once I saw him cry.
No one who lived through the First World War is left now and no one else will be able to bear witness with his own voice to all the pain and suffering caused by that carnage.
But written testimonies survive: those of men of letters and those of the more humble in which the truth is not embellished with rhetoric.