The Tree of Wood­en Clogs (1978)

In Erman­no Olmi’s human­ist mas­ter­piece The Tree of Wood­en Clogs, a Catholic priest tells one of his peas­ant parish­ioners that ​“we wouldn’t be here with­out mir­a­cles.” The same could be said of the film itself, a rare epic that feels simul­ta­ne­ous­ly inti­mate and grand in its explo­ration of Ital­ian ten­e­ment farm­ers doing their best to sur­vive at the end of the 19^th cen­tu­ry. Using a cast of non- pro­fes­sion­al actors – cred­it­ed col­lec­tive­ly as ​“the peo­ple of the Berg­amo coun­try­side” – Olmi taps into the details of a spe­cif­ic cul­tur­al expe­ri­ence. Age-old tra­di­tions, super­sti­tions, cel­e­bra­tion songs, and rites of pas­sage all come to define the film’s sense of time and place.

This organ­ic qual­i­ty makes the inevitable col­li­sions between reli­gion and indi­vid­u­al­ism even more affect­ing. We see con­flicts unfold through the eyes of spe­cif­ic fam­i­lies: Batistì (Lui­gi Ornaghi) and his wife decide to send their young son Minec (Omar Brig­no­li) to school hop­ing he will break the cycle of pover­ty in their fam­i­ly; elder­ly Ansel­mo (Giuseppe Brig­no­li) helps his wid­owed daugh­ter raise six chil­dren; Ste­fano (Fran­co Pilen­ga) courts Mad­dale­na (Lucia Pez­zoli) with­out a hint of aggres­sion or lust. Each sto­ry inevitably over­laps due to the char­ac­ters’ close liv­ing quar­ters and shared work­ing hours.

Aside from explor­ing the beau­ti­ful and melan­cholic nuances of dai­ly life, The Tree of Wood­en Clogs also con­sid­ers the glar­ing social inequal­i­ties that keep these peas­ants mired in what Olmi sees as a feu­dal pur­ga­to­ry. The wealthy landown­er rarely makes an appear­ance, but his hyp­o­crit­i­cal rules are felt in the lim­i­ta­tions and pres­sures placed on each fam­i­ly. Talk of rebel­lion and pro­gres­sive ide­ol­o­gy bleeds through on the fringes but nev­er makes sig­nif­i­cant impact on the char­ac­ters them­selves. Instead, localised chal­lenges take on increased mag­ni­tude. Major events include a sick cow or the annu­al butcher­ing of a pig.

Sub­ver­sive acts of sur­vival are some­times nec­es­sary, and des­per­ate pleas to God him­self are not uncom­mon. Some­times prayers are answered, but often they are not. What remains con­stant is the film’s focus on the com­mu­ni­ty as true sav­iour. After trav­el­ling to Milan on their wed­ding day, Ste­fano and Mad­dale­na vis­it a convent/​orphanage and are con­sult­ed by a nun. She tells them, ​“we must help each oth­er in this world.” This quote fails to o er com­fort dur­ing the dev­as­tat­ing final act in which Batistì’s fam­i­ly are forced to leave because of a minor indiscretion.

While the strug­gles of his char­ac­ters are con­stant, Olmi care­ful­ly reveals the vital changes they must make when tran­si­tions occur. Wed­dings, births and deaths make rip­ples across the com­mu­ni­ty. The Tree of Wood­en Clogs refus­es to sen­sa­tion­alise such expe­ri­ences. It is a film of vary­ing human oscil­la­tions: row­dy hel­los and unspo­ken good­byes, casu­al swin­dles and mind- numb­ing hard work. Peo­ple drift through, and then leave for­ev­er. Ulti­mate­ly, it’s a hyp­not­ic trea­tise on prag­ma­tism that inspires hope and doubt. In the end, one neigh­bour tells anoth­er, ​“If we don’t help each oth­er…” In this warn­ing, the ellip­sis says it all.