Coming out was one of the most daunting experiences of my life. Confronting my identity felt like hiding a mountain behind a light pole—this thing loomed large and was impossible to ignore, try as I might. Comfortably expressing yourself—be it with your sexuality, your trauma, etc—is a terrifying ordeal. Writer and director Paolo Strippoli addresses this ordeal in the most extreme ways with his horror film The Holy Boy.
Making its Chicago debut at the 61st Chicago International Film Festival, The Holy Boy opens in the quaint town of Remis, dubbed the happiest town in Italy. Sergio (Michele Riondino) arrives to fill a PE teacher position, but his emotional baggage immediately clashes with Remis’ idyllic cheer. His erratic behavior prompts the town to bring him into the fold on its most sacred ritual.
Once a week, the town gathers in the church to hug Matteo (Giulio Feltri), a local fifteen-year-old boy. The embrace relieves the hugger of all their pain and suffering. Matteo’s position within the town comes with enormous pressure and little room to explore himself.
Strippoli immediately establishes Remis as its own character. Every shot upon Sergio’s arrival in the town is highly composed with stable camera movements. Marcello Di Carlo’s production design utilizes picturesque pastels. However, much of the film is washed in gray hues, crafting an unsettling atmosphere in the storybook town.
He establishes the disconnect between the town and Sergio early on as well. When we are alone with Sergio and his destructive tendencies, the camera gets up close and personal, opting for handheld rather than a steadicam. After Sergio’s initial encounter with Matteo, we start seeing him the way we see the town. Strippoli’s visual language conveys so much about this world and the people inhabiting it before we’re given a scrap of backstory.
Riondino’s Sergio comes to us battered by his own trauma. He feels like a ticking time bomb at the outset of the film, putting you on edge. His palpable burden feels heavy, and he may crumble at any moment.
The physical switch that comes after Sergio’s interaction with Matteo is a lovely exercise. The tension collapses and makes room for some peace. He carries himself lightly, and his eyes are brighter. Riondino’s attention to detail makes Sergio a fascinating watch.
Matteo serves as an excellent counterbalance to Sergio’s gruff exterior. He’s gentle, constantly itching to cave in on himself and take up as minimal space as possible. Yet, Feltri (in his bombastic feature film debut) peppers in a commanding presence to this awkward teen. Even though Matteo is struggling in his own skin, there’s something powerful and sinister radiating from him.
But The Holy Boy goes much deeper than typical “spooky kid” fare. At his core, Matteo is a young boy trying to figure out his blossoming queer identity while the world around him props him up to be something entirely different. Any moment Matteo steps outside the constraints of what’s been designated for him, people grow uneasy and concerned. However, as Matteo uses his gifts to explore further, he begins to push back at the constraints around him. Feltri’s naive curiosity morphs into confused shame and eventually unbridled rage in a painful-to-watch display.
Strippoli digs into this very specific moment in the coming-out journey that we don’t often see with queer narratives. He sensitively and viscerally taps into the horror of the realization that you are not who you are “supposed” to be, and there is no going back. Feltri beautifully balances the titillation and panic that swirl inside Matteo. Watching, you’re simultaneously scared for him and proud of him.
The town itself also operates in suppression as it utilizes Matteo’s gift to bury their own collective trauma. Everyone does everything in their power to avoid actually dealing with what has happened to them. There’s one moment when Matteo’s father (Paolo Pierobon) cancels the weekly ritual, sending the town into a frenzy. They’re so ill-equipped to handle their own pain, the thought of missing the ritual once sends them over the edge.
We witness an entire town avoid its own trauma and thoughtlessly dump it onto the shoulders of a child with little regard for how he is going to carry it. Strippoli and his co-writers, Jacopo del Guidice and Milo Tissone, began writing The Holy Boy back in 2017; yet, the screenplay speaks so loudly to our current cultural climate. The world’s failed young people turn after turn, consistently avoiding addressing any major issues and leaving the next generation to deal with them.
We live in a time where someone’s personhood is completely devalued, but they are also expected to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. They are simultaneously made to feel unimportant and vital. Matteo must carry the weight of others but has no room to carry anything for himself, which is a dangerous cage to place someone in.
The Holy Boy is a harrowing tale of suppression and identity that feels more relevant than ever. The supernatural elements do yield chilling results, but the real horror emerges from the way people bury their authentic expression of self and their emotions, and the cataclysmic aftereffects of doing so.
Review Courtesy of Adam Patla
Feature Image Courtesy of The Chicago International Film Festival