Within the space of a decade, from 1947 to 1957, Castellani shot at least four excellent films. From Sotto il sole di Roma (1947) and È primavera…(1949) to I sogni nel cassetto (1957), Castellani was great in this period (but even before that he was good). For me, the best – but all seem fun and exciting, brilliant and moving to me – is Due soldi di speranza (1951), an explosive and almost miraculous synthesis of a possible ‘natural’ evolution of neorealism in the direction of less melodramatic and ‘socially relevant’ stories with young protagonists (possibly the reason why they have remained fresh) and that pre-empts Jacques Rozier’s unusual ‘debut’, Adieu Philippine (1962). As often happens in loose improvised films with amateur actors, a significant part of their appeal comes from the successful choice of the latter. The discovery of Maria Fiore – who went on to become a successful actress without, however, repeating the magic and intensity shown in this film – was crucial; the camera was won over by her charm, and she does not put any ‘method’ between her and the lens.
Due soldi di speranza also stands out for its moving critical view of the characters whose innocence is never naive or fabricated, who feel like survivors eager to live in a context that does not allow them to do as they wish but within modest constraints and thanks to a certain shrewdness. Due soldi di speranza pre-dates the first French New Wave (Godard claimed to be a great admirer of this film in 1963) and demonstrates what is expressed in that sublime passage of Histoire(s) du Cinéma in which Godard uses Riccardo Cocciante’s song, Nostra lingua italiana, to pay his warmest respects.

Miguel Marías

Due soldi di speranza is a rustic Neapolitan idyll that Salvatore Di Giacomo would have liked. In a village on the slopes of Vesuvius young Antonio looks in vain for work to support himself, his mother and four sisters. Carmela, the daughter of a wealthy but miserly landowner, falls in love with him, and, with the passionate stubbornness of southern women, she decides she is going to be his wife. Antonio’s poverty hinders the wedding: Carmela’s father won’t hear of it. We are one step from genre painting and a backdrop for Neapolitan caricatures, but we never make the plunge. Castellani [seizes] some of the distinctive features of the enchanting culture of the Gulf of Naples: the idyllic purity of love relationships, the ingenious and carefree philosophy of getting by, the theatrical, almost Greek love of life in the piazza and on the street, the generosity of heart despite the poverty of everyday life.

Alberto Moravia, Cinema italiano. Recensioni e interventi 1933-1990, edited by Alberto Pezzotta, Anna Gilardelli, Bompiani Overlook, Milano 2010