Theirs is a bittersweet springtime, but the film makes it clear that it is only an interlude in Cecilia’s wonderfully independent life. The film begins and ends with the female lead’s continuing search for meaning in life, through an epistolary narration to the mother who left her at the orphanage’s door as a baby.
It is also staunchly feminist - perhaps surprisingly so for the debut feature of a male director in his fifties. Then again, the gender of the creatives behind a film hardly dictate its tone. The late Jeff Baena’s star-studded The Little Hours, which was produced by his wife Aubrey Plaza, thrived on the sexualization of its nuns. Yet casting a character as an object of desire is not necessarily anti-feminist; the film has been viewed as a sexually empowering satire on historical women cloistered in repressed roles.
In contrast, Primavera resolutely abstains from sexualizing its characters. No nudity is displayed, even in situations when showing skin would appear more logical. The convent girls scrub themselves through opaque nightgowns in their communal bath (a refuge for sisterly bonding away from their strict matron’s supervision). A scene where a male practitioner inspects a hymen is shot from the examined girl’s first-person perspective in a cold and uncomfortably clinical lens: we see her clenched fingers and the doctor looming over her.
The film does not, however, refrain from exploring sexuality in its various expressions. In their shared bedroom, the girls huddle together to share their experiences - and lack thereof - with each other frankly. The only sex scene is framed as a means to an end, recounted by the female instigator with an almost asexual narrative. When her loss of virginity is discovered, there is neither regret nor reprobation from her beloved.
All of these pieces form an unflinching portrait of patriarchal Venice. The aristocrats and war heroes governing the city-state exchange their patronage of the orphanage for the right to wed the girls who are groomed to maturity within its cloistered walls. Conversely, the women are an equally uniform collective which can do little wrong. Even the convent’s stern matron and a powdered noblewoman who initially appears a negative archetype of her class eventually prove to be allies of the girls - to varying degrees of believability. While I appreciate that the film makes no excuses for the men’s harmful actions, I wonder if the women’s ultimately positive monolith isn’t an equally limiting portrayal. It would perhaps be more realistic if characters exhibited more moral nuances, regardless of their genders.
Primavera is an adaptation of the 2009 novel Stabat Mater, which won the prestigious literary Strega Prize in Italy. As no translation of the novel appears to be currently available, this review is by necessity an analysis of the film as a standalone medium. However, from “Stabat Mater”, a Latin allusion to the passion of the Virgin Mary during Jesus’ crucifixion, to “Primavera”, Italian for “Spring”, an adaptational transfiguration seems implied: the thesis transforms from that of female suffering into a period of joy. Indeed, it is the historical Vivaldi’s “Spring” concerto which plays when the credits roll.
With its smooth pacing and concise scenes, Primavera is an impressively mature feature film debut. Even though I was somewhat disappointed by the forgettable score, considering the director's background in classical music, it is ultimately the vivid characterizations of the main leads which elevate this to a memorable period piece.
Primavera (2025) premiered at the 50th Toronto International Film Festival, and was released in its native Italy on 25th December 2025. Filmhouse is screening its debut in Singapore on 12th June 2026, as part of its Italian Film Festival.
