There is a profound novelty in the television series M. Son of the Century, and it isn’t just the fact that the main character, Benito Mussolini, speaks directly to the audience. The real innovation lies in its approach to narrating the rise and establishment of Fascism in Parliament through a playful, often ironic, and highly entertaining style. While nothing is fabricated – the brutality of the ideology and the moral depravity of its ideals are ever-present – Fascism is made spectacular. This is often critiqued in film and television: the ability to transform tragedy into entertainment. Yet here, that choice feels perfect. M. Son of the Century not only chronicles Mussolini’s ascent to power but also explores his complex relationship with Italians – those of his era, certainly, but increasingly engaging today’s viewers as well.
This series marks Italy’s first genuine attempt to reckon with Fascism. Historically, Italian cinema has approached the subject retrospectively.
Fascism has never enjoyed the same cinematic over-representation as its cousin, Nazism. Over the past 30 years, American cinema has transformed Hitler into a comic-book villain. Various portrayals have turned him and Nazism into the ultimate evil, fitting for fantasy narratives. Nazis have been depicted as monsters, vampires, zombies, thieves of lost arks, and comic book conspirators. Through cinema, Nazism has transcended historical fact to become a narrative archetype. Fascism, however, has remained grounded in realism. For the first time, M. Son of the Century breaks these constraints, presenting the historical narrative through a layer of fiction that brings us closer to ultimate truths.
This series marks Italy’s first genuine attempt to reckon with Fascism. Historically, Italian cinema has approached the subject retrospectively, focusing on characters who endured Fascism’s consequences. Early post-war films, such as liberation narratives, were set in a time when Fascism had ended, though its aftermath lingered. Films like Bernardo Bertolucci’s Il conformista explored characters ensnared by party loyalty, while comedies mocked officers without exposing their atrocities. In Una giornata particolare, Marcello Mastroianni and Sophia Loren’s characters are isolated during a Fascist rally, revealing their status as societal outcasts. Many films centered on those crushed by the regime, rarely on the regime itself. Only Marco Bellocchio’s Vincere delved into Mussolini’s early years.
Now, Mussolini becomes a cinematic character with his own conflicts – someone audiences might even empathize with at times. This is the strange effect of cinema: we tend to side with those in distress, even if they are murderers. His insecurities become the plot’s focal point, yet he remains an incompetent, boastful figure, elevated by his context and the dynamics of his followers. The most compelling scenes are those where he manipulates those around him, stirring emotions and emerging victorious from seemingly lost battles. Mussolini’s charisma is evident, as he declares early on: “Fascism! A beautiful creature that will win millions and millions of hearts, including yours. Follow me. You too will love me, you too will become fascists.” From the very start, the audience is drawn in, captivated by a fictional phrase that perfectly captures reality.
This cartoonish approach, where everything is distorted and stylized to convey deeper judgments, offers perhaps the best representation of early postwar Milan. It’s not the most beautiful or realistic, but it’s the most meaningful, producing a profound understanding. In the early episodes, Milan – where Mussolini founded a party to gather the disillusioned and defeated of World War I – is depicted as a city in ruins. Often shot in the evening or dark, the city reflects its decadence with gothic tones reminiscent of Peaky Blinders’ Victorian London. The streets are plagued by vagrants and filth, houses and buildings are riddled with cracks, and everything seems on the verge of collapse. It feels as if the characters are walking through ruins.
Milan symbolizes an Italy defeated on multiple levels by war. The so-called “Mutilated Victory” was a masked defeat, and this crumbling world becomes the perfect backdrop for a dictator’s rise. Instead of dialogue revealing people’s longing for a strong leader, M. Son of the Century tells this story through its environments. The dilapidated settings underscore the dire state of society. One of the most striking sets is a circular cell – damp, filthy, and despairing – where hopeless souls wander. This is how the series conveys the emergence of that repulsive ideology, through a world that had been dragged into the mire. It also explains the affection many felt for Mussolini and shows how a society, unable to sink any lower, longed solely for change.
As the series progresses, the environments gradually transform. The dark, night-heavy cinematography shifts to brighter, sunlit scenes. The more Fascism rises, the more daylight pervades the narrative. Mussolini’s journey from obscure beginnings to political prominence is reflected in the changing settings – from his wife’s dingy house to the luxurious residences of his mistress and mentor, Margherita Sarfatti, and finally to the grand palaces of power, where everything is bathed in light. The series, penned by Davide Serino and Stefano Bises and directed by Joe Wright, uses objects and environments to communicate Mussolini’s escalating ambition. Eventually, the iconic Fascist symbol appears: the massive dark bust of the Duce – grandiose, oppressive, an overblown representation of Mussolini’s megalomania – black.
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