The novelist Piers Paul Read wants us to know that the real Vitellio Scarpia, an 18th century Sicilian soldier for the Papal States, was not “sadistic,” as he is apparently shown to be in a play by one Victorien Sardou. Rather, in Read’s book “Scarpia” (2015), he is humane, dutiful, respectful of Catholicism—as well as highly imperfect. But not a cur.

In addition, Scarpia is anti-Jacobin, living when revolutionary France does bloody-minded harm to Italy. Not surprisingly for a Read novel, the subject of salvation crops up. The Arletty of Rome, the woman who sleeps with French Jacobins—Scarpia’s estranged wife, Paola—is the only character in the book who after repentance reaches a deep Christian devotion. One person, maybe more, has considered this Catholic propaganda. It is nothing of the sort. The conversion is one occurrence among many, taking place, remember, in Catholic Italy. And this book—riveting if not always satisfactorily edited—is not preachy at all.

The country the U.S. invaded in 2003, Iraq, eventually became a site of horrid domestic war. Based on actual events, the 2019 film “Mosul,” a Netflix production, focuses on the fighting against ISIS conducted by the Iraqi men who make up the Ninevah SWAT Team. These men would never be inclined to side with ISIS. “F*** you and what you stand for!” a commander named Jasem shouts at an ISIS member he has just killed. Suhail Dabbach is true and virile as Jasem, a decent man, and the other actors make no missteps either. Smartly directed and written by Matthew Michael Carnahan, “Mosul” is a movie wherein the presence of disgusting terrorists makes it impossible for the item to be antiwar.

I have been watching episodes of the old Mission: Impossible TV series (Season 2, 1967) starring Peter Graves, et al. They have a gravity the MI movies with Tom Cruise do not have. What is also noteworthy is the mode of labor of men and women at a time before feminism, whatever its virtues, came in and spoiled 50 percent of what goes on in TV shows and movies. Cinnamon Carter, played by the classy Barbara Bain, is a brave agent in one accord with the men she works with. She cooperates with them and they with her, and she harbors no anti-sexist agenda. It must be conceded, though, that the men are decent. (Everyone on the Right Side is decent.) They would never sexually harass anyone. Their attitude toward women is what it should be. In fact I can’t help sensing that Cinnamon knows this and loves it.

The main character in the 1955 Italian movie, Scandal in Sorrento (a.k.a. Pane, amore e . . .), is a womanizing gent who returns to his hometown—Sorrento—and becomes infatuated with the widowed fishmonger who has been living in his house. She is not a good match for him, and the woman, Violante, in whose elegant home he becomes a lodger begins to love him. However, Violante (expertly acted by Lea Padovani) is a devoted and prudish Catholic, and it is hardly certain what it would mean for the womanizer to return her love, or try to.

Dino Rosi‘s film is a minor comedy with very little plot (which is fine) and few laughs. Those who have called it charming, though, are right, and its characters hold our interest. They held mine, anyway. No great comic acting was needed from Vittoria De Sica and Sophia Loren, who purvey the necessary agility and sparkle. I give credit to Netflix for showing the film: one which is in color and features lovely seaside images. Moreover, Scandal is made in such a way that the whole of Italy seems to obtain here. A nice sensation.

(In Italian with English subtitles)

Based on the novel by Martin Andersen Nexo, Pelle the Conqueror (1987) is a highly commendable film for which director-writer Bille August deserves praise.

Lasse and his son Pelle, impoverished, emigrate from Sweden to Denmark to find work.  Max von Sydow ably, wonderfully exhibits every ounce of Lasse’s simplicity, desolation, false bravado, indignation, and contentment.  Pelle Hvenegaard is pleasingly true (and handsome) as young Pelle.  All the elements of nature appear in the film and awe us when they don’t chill us.  The work concerns the human tendency to settle, or being constrained to settle, for that which is onerous or humiliating—or simply knowable.  Not in every instance is there settling, but certainly the act goes on; and it can be heartbreaking.

(In Danish and Swedish with English subtitles)

Cover of Pelle the Conqueror