Reflections

The film consistently dispenses with classic narrative structures. There are no interviews, voice-overs, explanatory graphics or dramatic arcs. Instead, a quiet, observational form of storytelling emerges, carried by a camera that lingers without imposing itself. The camera seems to breathe, as if it were a living entity within the landscape, listening, observing and waiting patiently. This formal restraint allows for an extraordinary closeness to the people and animals we see.

We follow the journey of biologist Luca Rossi, a central figure in the film who clearly enjoys Angelone's deep trust. Rossi was Angelone's PhD supervisor, and their close, long-standing relationship is palpable. This connection is evident in every scene. Rossi moves calmly and purposefully through the alpine landscape, seeming to be part of it. He is quiet, attentive and completely at ease. The camera follows him with a quiet loyalty, making it clear that a special understanding exists between the director and the protagonist, one that needs no explanation. The world around Rossi tells the story. The rustling of the wind in the grass, the barking of dogs, the ringing of bells and the dull crunch of footsteps on stony ground all become a form of music in the film. They replace what words would otherwise have to do. The result is a cinematic reality that is both documentarily precise and poetically detached. But 'Lupi Nostri' is not a film about wolves in the narrow sense. It is a film about perception and how people live with uncertainty, loss and contradictions. Angelone does not present simple categories. Instead, he juxtaposes different attitudes: the enthusiasm of nature lovers; the moral arguments of activists; the sober distance of science; and the vulnerability of farmers and alpine farmers.

One particularly striking moment illustrates the ambivalence of these relationships. While conservationists talk about the beauty of wolves, a shepherd points out that sheep are also 'beautiful and gentle', and that, for someone who lives with animals every day, the loss of one is not an abstract concept, but a deeply personal one. This simultaneous presence of beauty and brutality, compassion and pragmatism characterise the entire film. It does not judge. It observes.

Angelone also explores this ambivalence in his formal approach. In one scene, a man is shown holding a lamb while holding a knife, but it is later revealed that he is merely cutting its nails. This moment, almost like a little Hitchcock effect, illustrates how easily we impose narratives on images and how ready reality is to surprise us. This idea was continued in the subsequent panel discussion. Angelone openly admitted that the film did not have a fixed narrative from the outset. He trusted that, as so often, reality would be meaningful enough on its own. And it was. Luca Rossi himself embodies this approach: without PowerPoints or staging, he delivered his presentation in the staff room, sharing his experience, attention to detail and deep connection to the landscape.

Another point that emerged from the discussion and sheds light on the creative process behind the film concerns the characters themselves. Angelone openly explained that the world of shepherds, gamekeepers and farmers in which the film is set is male dominated, particularly in Italy. He had no intention of showing exclusively male protagonists. In fact, he and his team had tried to include women as well. However, gaining access to female perspectives proved challenging in this specific social environment, as many relevant activities are traditionally carried out by men, and women often act in the background or desire less media visibility. This structural reality is inevitably reflected in the film.

Nevertheless, Angelone notes how natural and unaffected his protagonists appear on camera. Giorgio, the shepherd, was mentioned several times during the discussion. He behaves in front of the camera as if it were not there at all. Angelone emphasised that this naturalness was neither staged nor demanded but arose from years of familiarity with the location. When people are busy with their daily work, they eventually lose all self-awareness in relation to the media. They simply do what they must do. This natural behaviour enabled Angelone to film scenes in long, uncut shots. The film thrives on this trust: the trust of the protagonists in the director, and the trust of the director in the reality he observes.

Stijn Verschueren, who conducts research on carcasses worldwide, added another dimension. He emphasised that conflicts surrounding wolves are rarely biological. Much more often, they are social conflicts. People with different values and expectations clash. The film illustrates this with a level of detail that would otherwise only be possible by living in the area for years. Verschueren also reminded us that large predators fulfil important ecological functions, and that their return to the Alps will present both challenges and opportunities in the long term. It is precisely the tension between ecological necessity and human concern that is central to achieving a deeper understanding.

The decision to place the topic of climate change at the end of the film was also discussed. Angelone explained that contrasts are necessary to highlight connections. Yes, the wolf eats sheep, but it is not the only threat. Diseases, accidents, extreme weather and climate change often cause greater losses, but these are often overlooked. It is only when these factors are considered together that the full picture emerges. While the film only hints at this, the discussion made it clear how closely issues of nature conservation are intertwined with global developments. One of the most striking ideas of the evening came from Angelone himself: the concept of a 'landscape of love'. When we celebrate dogs and fear wolves, it's not just a simple distinction; it's a complex web of care, fear, responsibility and projection. No one in the film hates the wolf. Not even the shepherd. He loves his animals, he loves his work, and he loves the challenge that comes with the wolf, even though losses are painful. It was precisely these ambivalences that Angelone wanted to capture in the final image.

What remains is a film that explains nothing, yet shows a great deal. It is a film that does not judge, but creates space for uncertainty, contact and enduring contradictions. Lupi Nostri does not force us to take sides. It merely shows that every attitude, fear, fascination, pragmatism and compassion are all part of the complex reality that is nature.

Thus, the evening ends without moralising or a definitive conclusion. We leave the cinema with the realisation that reality is often ambiguous, sometimes painful and always surprising, but full of stories that elude our desire for clarity. Therefore, Lupi Nostri is less a film about wolves than a film about us: our perspectives, feelings, fears and love.