The comedians, the dancers, and the singers are all filmed in their natural state, affectionate, with no deceptions. What the stage does not reveal, the screen brings to the forefront, meaning the age of the actors, their long fight against wrinkles and crooked teeth, the tenacity of certain bit parts, the size of the costumes, in sum, the effort exerted by all to provide honest fun for the audience each evening. We can easily say that the film has something human about it. And that is exactly where its strength lies. The show offered to us is never corrupting, or rather, it never pushes a dream, it doesn’t express the sentimental, rose-colored pornography of American films of the same genre. In the American filmed revues, everything is prearranged, exalted, taking on inhuman, perfect forms: even the dancers have the grace and splendor of vigorous emotions, but they seem soulless, excluded from the suffering of this world, oneiric creatures. Here, instead, the dancers are alive, fleshy, they introduce themselves with a first and last name, and they all have union cards. […] Philologists say that language is enriched and renewed from the bottom up. The same holds true in cinema; neo-realism is proof, and I pompieri di Viggiù, for what little it reflects of the life and habits of our times, is a considerable and even fun example of the genre.

Ennio Flaiano, in «Il Mondo», 30/4/1949