La Chimera Film Apr 2026

Rohrwacher shoots this world in two registers. The sun-drenched surface—full of squabbling thieves, pasta dinners, and a chorus of middle-aged women singing off-key—is rendered in warm, grainy 16mm. It is chaotic, earthy, and alive. But when Arthur dips his rod and feels the pull of a buried chamber, the film cuts to 35mm, and the colors bleed into dream. The subterranean world is quiet, solemn, and full of the dead. Rohrwacher does not moralize about the grave robbing; she treats the tombs as libraries, and the tombaroli as illiterate poets who know the price of everything but the value of nothing.

It is a strange, beautiful, and devastating film—a folk tale about capitalism, colonialism, and heartbreak, where the real treasure is the permission to stop digging. La Chimera Film

La Chimera asks a radical question: What if we stopped trying to resurrect the past? Arthur is a ghost who can touch ghosts, a man cursed to find exactly what he is looking for and never be satisfied. The film’s magic lies not in the discovery of the lost statue, but in the moment Arthur finally lets the string snap. Rohrwacher suggests that the only way out of the labyrinth of grief is not to find the monster at its center, but to realize that you have become the monster yourself—and then to lie down, finally, beside the ones you have lost. Rohrwacher shoots this world in two registers

The film’s secret weapon is its third act, which shifts the setting from the men’s tunnels to the women’s world. Here, we meet Italia (Carol Duarte), the pregnant, practical sister of Beniamina, and Flora (Isabella Rossellini), an imperious former opera singer who runs a ramshackle music school out of her crumbling villa. Where the men steal to possess, the women build to sustain. The final sequence, a breathtaking, vertiginous journey through a necropolis that connects the past to the present, is not a treasure hunt. It is a funeral procession. But when Arthur dips his rod and feels