‘Elisa’ Review: Di Costanzo’s Film is a Story Lost in Its Own Silence [B-] Venice

Leonardo Di Costanzo’s Elisa is a deliberate and methodical exploration of guilt, memory, and the psychology of extreme acts of violence. At the center is Elisa (Barbara Ronchi), a woman who has spent a decade in prison for the murder of her sister, and her interactions with criminologist Alaoui (Roschdy Zem), who visits the facility as part of a restorative justice initiative. The film revolves around the central question: “What drives you?” It is a question that reverberates not only in the characters’ reflections but also in the audience’s attempt to grasp the motivations behind acts that seem incomprehensible. Di Costanzo is less concerned with sensationalizing the crime than he is with probing the moral and psychological dimensions of human behavior.

The story unfolds gradually, set against the austere yet strangely serene backdrop of a modern Alpine prison. Inmates are granted a degree of freedom within the snow-covered grounds, creating a stark contrast between the calm of the environment and the intensity of the events it contains. Di Costanzo alternates between present-day interviews with Alaoui and fragmented flashbacks that trace Elisa’s life leading up to the murder. These glimpses reveal a troubled upbringing, a mother who belittles her, and the crushing responsibility of managing her family’s sawmill at a young age. Through these details, the film suggests how ordinary pressures and familial dysfunction can combine to produce extraordinary acts of violence, highlighting the director’s leaning toward nurture over nature in the age-old debate about human behavior. The film is equally preoccupied with the ethics of restorative justice, framing the interviews as a space for reflection, acknowledgment, and, potentially, redemption.

Barbara Ronchi anchors the film with a quietly commanding performance, conveying layers of anxiety, guilt, and calculation almost entirely through subtle expressions and body language. Her performance is understated but emotionally resonant, making her the central emotional force of the film. Roschdy Zem, in contrast, functions primarily as a facilitator of dialogue, his presence necessary but underutilized. Supporting characters, including Elisa’s father and a prison guard, are present but remain peripheral, offering glimpses into her past and prison life without significant narrative weight. Valeria Golino’s brief appearance as a grieving mother provides thematic counterpoint, but her role is largely symbolic rather than dramatically substantive. Without Ronchi’s presence, the film would struggle to maintain emotional engagement.

Visually, Luca Bigazzi’s cinematography is meticulous and immersive. The snowy Alpine setting, combined with muted colors and carefully composed static shots, reinforces the film’s themes of isolation, introspection, and quiet unease. Di Costanzo favors an observational style that borders on documentary, which amplifies the realism but also contributes to the deliberate pacing and sense of stasis. Flashbacks to the crime itself provide rare moments of narrative tension, yet the murder is portrayed off-screen, which, while consistent with the film’s restrained approach, limits the immediate emotional impact and suspense. The director’s stylistic choices emphasize psychological insight over dramatic spectacle, a decision that may appeal to some viewers while alienating others who expect more conventional cinematic tension.
 
Despite its compelling thematic ambitions, the film’s pacing is often so slow that it risks losing the audience’s engagement. The story unfolds primarily through extended interviews and intermittent flashbacks, with small incremental revelations building a mosaic of Elisa’s character and motivations. This approach demands patience, as key emotional and narrative developments emerge gradually rather than with dramatic immediacy. Scenes repeat thematic motifs or revisit similar moral questions, creating a sense of circularity that mirrors the introspective, analytical nature of restorative justice sessions but can also feel stagnant. While the ethical and social issues presented are thoughtful, they are occasionally explored in a manner that is more philosophical than dramatically compelling, and the narrative lacks the highs and lows that might generate a more visceral response.

Elisa does succeed in creating a chilling, psychologically layered portrait of a woman coming to terms with her past. The film explores the dissonance between external calm and internal turmoil, the way memory and guilt interact, and the complex interplay of personal responsibility and societal influence. It also raises compelling questions about rehabilitation, forgiveness, and how society deals with those who commit incomprehensible acts. The film’s subtlety and intellectual rigor make it rewarding for patient viewers willing to engage with its slow rhythm and reflective tone. However, its muted emotional arcs, repetitive sequences, and limited dramatic tension may frustrate viewers who expect more conventional narrative momentum or character development.

Ultimately, Elisa is a film that is more quietly affecting than overtly gripping. Its greatest strength lies in Barbara Ronchi’s performance, which brings depth, nuance, and credibility to a character whose past actions are both horrifying and enigmatic. The Alpine prison setting, the restrained visual style, and the philosophical inquiry into the nature of guilt and restorative justice provide moments of genuine reflection. Yet the film’s meticulous focus on dialogue and observation, while intellectually stimulating, results in a slow-moving and occasionally tedious viewing experience. For audiences interested in psychological character studies, moral inquiry, and meditative European cinema, Elisa offers a quietly powerful experience. For those seeking dramatic tension, narrative propulsion, or cinematic spectacle, it may feel austere, overly measured, and frustratingly inert. Nevertheless, the film remains a thoughtful examination of culpability, memory, and the possibility of redemption, carried by one of the strongest central performances of the year.

Grade: B-

This review is from the 2025 Venice Film Festival. There is no U.S. distribution at this time.