In the early 1950s, it seemed that even cinemas could not escape the post-war haze. Bright poetic realism and vivid French impressionism were inferior to German “ruin” cinema and Italian neorealism. The bombing still echoed through the destroyed cities, and the directors were desperate to pour the accumulated pain onto film.
The scars of war were clearly evident in The Third Man (cf. our text) is a painful drama from 1949, filled with fear of the unknown and tangible alienation. The victory in Cannes not only recognized the artistic merits of the painting; it allowed art to voice the truth even at a time when no one needs it.
But spring was already enveloping the Old World after Marshall Plan, and optimism blossomed in people's hearts as well as in movies. The French Riviera also breathed change and hope, which materialized in two completely different films: the neo-realistic fairy tale by Vittorio de Sica and the expressionist drama by Alf Scheberg.
The carefree childhood of the naive and slightly limited Toto ended at the orphanage door when his mother died. The hut, full of laughter and joy, was replaced by a soulless boarding school in the center of the vast city, and by the beginning of adulthood, the country had changed beyond recognition. The boy, already unprepared for the harsh world, found himself on the streets that are deadly to gullible innocence.
Luckily Toto was rescued by an unknown old man by inviting him to spend the night at his home. The dwelling, located in the middle of a sad wasteland, turns out to be a kennel made of tin sheets surrounded by dirty snow and garbage. The same disadvantaged people live on this day, who have lost touch with their homeland and are useless to anyone, even to themselves.
However, magic begins to happen around Toto, as poverty meets dreams and despair with hope. And in a world as prosaic as post-war Europe, there is a place for a miracle. When the boy appears, the scattered pack turns into a close-knit community, and a dull wasteland into a fabulous kingdom of mud and boards.
“Miracle in Milan”, which came out at the height of neorealism, seems to be tired of endless longing. Vittorio de Sica, one of the main masters of the genre, made a movie that stubbornly does not want to be discouraged. No matter what hardships fall on the shoulders of defenseless heroes, they still come out victorious. And when problems go beyond every conceivable limit, the director immerses them in a fairy tale.
At the same time, social gloom has not evaporated—while homeless people are rummaging through the garbage, greedy millionaires want to take away their insignificant shacks. But vagabonds still set up a cozy world, hold sunset films and lotteries where fried chicken wins. Miracle in Milan is a mischievous comedy set in a film style that rejects unfounded hopes.
Toto, almost Don Quixote in Milan's slums, is not armed with a spear, but with basic compassion. In his hands, even familiar objects acquire magical properties. An old coat becomes a source of warmth for everyone in need, and a simple greeting turns into a spell that can break the ice between grumpy neighbors.
Every episode of social injustice is countered by an act of magical resistance. When the police come to evict the homeless, they don't just rise up, but turn the confrontation into a surreal ballet where batons meet magical gestures and tear gas is dissipated with a wave of their hand.
Vittorio de Sica's painting is becoming not just a combination of social drama and fairy tales, but a hymn to the human spirit that can turn the darkest reality into a space of wonder. This is a story about how magic does not come from magic wands, but from the ability to maintain dignity and hope even under the most difficult circumstances.
On the other hand, an adaptation of the play “Freken Yuliya” It seems like an alien from a different time. In it, a young and rebellious aristocrat runs away from her older husband-count to a rogue servant ball in order, despite rumors, to lure the handsome footman Jean into a frank dance. There is no war or death here — only an ancient drama from the upper world.
Harmless flirting, which whimsically mixes natural grace and slavish kindness, daring ambition and cold calculation, turns into a trap. Like a hungry spider, the servant surrounds the naive and unloved woman with a web of charisma and sweet lies. So successful that after an evening she is ready to run with him to the ends of the earth, taking her husband's money.
Social conflict is like a nerve, and every touch on it causes acute pain. Yulia and Jean are not just a woman and a man trapped in a whirlpool of passion. They are living embodiments of two worlds doomed to eternal struggle and mutual attraction.
Yulia bears the weight of a degenerate aristocracy. Its noble origin is like a golden cage whose air is saturated with conventions and prohibitions. Raised in a spirit of gender equality and contempt for men, she rushes between her nature and her imposed role. And in her veins runs the poison of a collapsing class — pride that has no real support.
Jean, in turn, is a true product of the 20th century. He rubbed the parquet in the mansion to a mirror finish and now sees it only as a reflection of his own desires and ambitions. His refined manners are a pleasant mask that hides the predator's grin. And he knows the value of everything, including the lady's honor.
The film mercilessly dissects the social fabric of society, showing how contradictions penetrate the most intimate relationships. Class barriers that seem to have dared passion rise with even more brutality and bury those who dare to break them.
Alf Scheberg's intimate drama resonates with the claustrophobic atmosphere of post-war Europe, where winners and losers, executioners and victims, found themselves close together. The conflict between collapsed values and working-class hunger, seen through the prism of sexual attraction, reflects the magnitude of the social upheaval that has taken place.
And yet love, passion and lust are at the center of the picture. Her story has become a bridge between the pre-war tradition of psychological European cinema and the new artistic pursuits of the post-war era. She recalled that art can be born from a careful look into the human soul, even when the whole world is gripped by global problems.
At first glance, Miracle in Milan and Freken Julia look like complete opposites. A large-scale urban fairy tale and chamber psychological drama, a free flight over Milan and the suffocating atmosphere of master cuisine, a parable about salvation and a story of destruction. But this contrast hides a deep unity: both films explore social inequality, the most painful wound in European society at the time.
In Alf Scheberg's painting, it is expressed by a conflict between a dying aristocracy and ambitious commoners. In the film, Vittorio de Sica is a confrontation between poor people and ruthless capitalists. But while the Swedish drama shows how this inequality destroys souls, the Italian film offers a utopian way out — through solidarity, love and faith in miracles.
The two films that won in Cannes in 1951 reflect post-war Europe's desire for a new film language. Both directors proclaim that the old way of telling stories has decayed, as reality has become too complicated over time. And while The Third Man towered above the ruins, Miracle in Milan and Freken Julia tried to build something new on them.
