In these bitter days of Israeli army invasion of Iran, perhaps the only thing left to speak of is anti-war cinema. Alongside Rome, Open City, Rossellini made other films in this domain as well.
The film Il Generale Della Rovere (General Della Rovere) is one of the most outstanding examples of anti-war cinema, both in Italy and worldwide. Made in 1959, it marked Rossellini’s proud return to narrative filmmaking after several semi-documentary and television experiments. The story not only opposes war and violence but, with a humanistic yet bitter tone, exposes moral corruption and the duality of human behavior under crisis.
The film is a portrait of a man who survives by deceiving others, but a twist of fate forces him to confront his dormant conscience—ultimately transforming into an unassuming hero, not through grand gestures but through an ethical choice to resist oppression.
The story is inspired by the real memories of an Italian political prisoner during the Nazi occupation of Italy. At the center is a man named Vittorio Bardone (portrayed magnificently by Vittorio De Sica)—a petty, immoral con artist who, in exchange for money, offers false hope to women seeking news of their imprisoned loved ones. He is opportunistic and devoid of any human commitment. But after being arrested by the Gestapo and interrogated, he is offered a way out of execution: they ask him to impersonate a brave Resistance commander named “General Della Rovere” in prison, to spy on and report on other political prisoners.
With this story, Rossellini presents a form of heroism that emerges not from physical strength or weapons, but from internal transformation and moral awakening. Bardone initially performs like an actor playing a role for survival. But the deeper he sinks into the skin of “the General,” the more aware he becomes of the moral responsibility and humanity tied to that role. He is forced to face the painful truth around him: prison, torture, and execution. In the end, Bardone chooses to stop deceiving others, and instead embraces the essence of the man he was pretending to be—even at the cost of his life. This ending transforms him into a true hero—not one motivated by superficial patriotism, but one who sacrifices himself for humanity, much like the priest Don Pietro in Rome, Open City.
The black-and-white cinematography enhances the film’s suffocating and realistic atmosphere. Rossellini, drawing on his neorealist roots and using a documentary-style backdrop with a classical narrative structure, advances the story with powerful dramatic buildup. De Sica’s performance is one of the film’s highlights: he plays the deceitful man with such depth and humanity that even in moments of betrayal and weakness, the viewer cannot turn away. He captures the contrast between the character’s exterior and interior with quiet yet striking nuance. This very contrast reveals the film’s anti-war weight: war doesn’t only kill people—it destroys character, erases humanity, and turns morality into a bargainable commodity.
General Della Rovere explores the fragility of the human soul when faced with a repressive regime. It is a film about the moment when a man, even one with a dark past, can recreate himself. And in a world where the machinery of war aims to turn people into tools of conquest, that act of self-recreation becomes a form of resistance. Rossellini, with remarkable skill—eschewing slogans and exaggerated heroism—creates a film that stands against war precisely because it defends life; because it defends that part of humanity which, though perhaps late to awaken, ultimately realizes that saving oneself at the cost of others’ deaths is no salvation at all.
The film won the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival and played a major role in bringing Rossellini back to global attention. It is a work that beautifully shows how cinema can plant the seed of ethics in the scorched earth of war—and how, from the heart of falsehood, a deeper truth can be born.
