The unlikely gang of unwitting, time-travelling criminals is back in action, following Non ci resta che il crimine (2019) and Ritorno al crimine (2021), directed by Massimiliano Bruno. Their goal in this third film is to return to 1943, to the days preceding 8 September, and steal Leonardo da Vinci’s most famous painting, the Mona Lisa, from the French. In their travels they meet famous characters and stumble into real historical events in an Italy overwhelmed by WWII.
By the end of the fast animated opening sequences, over the film titles, the gang has already stolen the Mona Lisaand is now by the aqueduct of ancient Monterano. Everything seems to be going well, the three prepare to return to the present-day with their haul. The time-travel portal is located in Camogli, however it will not be simple to travel through Italy in the chaotic aftermath of the armistice, amidst Nazis, Fascists and partisan fighters (“they haven’t built the A1 motorway yet!”).
The Fascist party headquarters where Moreno (Marco Giallini) and Claudio (Giampaolo Morelli) are taken after blowing up a bridge on the orders of Sandro Pertini (Rolando Ravello) and his group of partisans is Villa D’Antoni Varano, in via Barengo 182, northwest of Rome. King Victor Emanuel is expected to arrive at the Castle of Crecchio, actually Brancaccio Castle in San Gregorio da Sassola, to the east of Rome.
As the story unfolds, the band’s priority is to help Adele (Carolina Crescentini) rescue her daughter, Monica, the child who will become Moreno’s mother, from a Nazi ship travelling to Naples. On a beach in Bacoli, near the Marina Grande dock, Claudio improvises a conversation in pure Neapolitan dialect to find out if the ship has docked: the headquarters of the Nazi army in Naples is actually the Castle of Santa Severa, in the Macchiatonda Nature Reserve, on the Lazio coastline north of Rome. On the beach there the Germans organize a firing squad and an unlikely battle between Nazis and the Magliana Gang breaks out.
The production also shot in Cerreto di Spoleto and on part of the disused Spoleto-Norcia trainline in Umbria.
The unlikely gang of unwitting, time-travelling criminals is back in action, following Non ci resta che il crimine (2019) and Ritorno al crimine (2021), directed by Massimiliano Bruno. Their goal in this third film is to return to 1943, to the days preceding 8 September, and steal Leonardo da Vinci’s most famous painting, the Mona Lisa, from the French. In their travels they meet famous characters and stumble into real historical events in an Italy overwhelmed by WWII.
By the end of the fast animated opening sequences, over the film titles, the gang has already stolen the Mona Lisaand is now by the aqueduct of ancient Monterano. Everything seems to be going well, the three prepare to return to the present-day with their haul. The time-travel portal is located in Camogli, however it will not be simple to travel through Italy in the chaotic aftermath of the armistice, amidst Nazis, Fascists and partisan fighters (“they haven’t built the A1 motorway yet!”).
The Fascist party headquarters where Moreno (Marco Giallini) and Claudio (Giampaolo Morelli) are taken after blowing up a bridge on the orders of Sandro Pertini (Rolando Ravello) and his group of partisans is Villa D’Antoni Varano, in via Barengo 182, northwest of Rome. King Victor Emanuel is expected to arrive at the Castle of Crecchio, actually Brancaccio Castle in San Gregorio da Sassola, to the east of Rome.
As the story unfolds, the band’s priority is to help Adele (Carolina Crescentini) rescue her daughter, Monica, the child who will become Moreno’s mother, from a Nazi ship travelling to Naples. On a beach in Bacoli, near the Marina Grande dock, Claudio improvises a conversation in pure Neapolitan dialect to find out if the ship has docked: the headquarters of the Nazi army in Naples is actually the Castle of Santa Severa, in the Macchiatonda Nature Reserve, on the Lazio coastline north of Rome. On the beach there the Germans organize a firing squad and an unlikely battle between Nazis and the Magliana Gang breaks out.
The production also shot in Cerreto di Spoleto and on part of the disused Spoleto-Norcia trainline in Umbria.
Copyright: ph: Samanta Dalla Longa
Marco Giallini, Carolina Crescentini, Gianmarco Tognazzi, Giampaolo Morelli
Copyright: ph: Samanta Dalla Longa
Gianmarco Tognazzi, Carolina Crescentini
Copyright: ph: Samanta Dalla Longa
Marco Giallini, Giampaolo Morelli
Copyright: ph: Samanta Dalla Longa
Marco Giallini, Gianmarco Tognazzi
Copyright: ph: Samanta Dalla Longa
Massimiliano Bruno, Giulia Bevilacqua
Copyright: Sky
Massimiliano Bruno
Copyright: Sky
Giampaolo Morelli, Marco Giallini, Carolina Crescentini, Gianmarco Tognazzi
Copyright: ph: Samanta Dalla Longa
Gianmarco Tognazzi, Giampaolo Morelli, Marco Giallini
Directors like G. Aravindan, Adoor Gopalakrishnan, John Abraham, and Padmarajan brought parallel cinema into the mainstream. Films such as Chidambaram, Mathilukal, Amma Ariyan explored loneliness, caste, and politics without melodrama. This era also produced humanist comedies like Sandesham and Ramji Rao Speaking that remain cult classics.
Malayalam cinema draws deeply from Kerala’s rich traditions — Theyyam, Kathakali, Mohiniyattam, and folk art forms. Early classics like Nirmalyam (1973) and Elippathayam (1981) used these forms to critique feudalism and social hypocrisy. The industry also adapted Malayalam literature seamlessly, from Oru Vadakkan Veeragatha (based on folklore) to Aadujeevitham (contemporary novel).
For nearly a century, the Malayalam film industry—lovingly nicknamed "Mollywood"—has been far more than a factory of escapist entertainment. Nestled in the southwestern corner of India, the state of Kerala boasts a unique cultural landscape: a 100% literate society, a history of matrilineal inheritance, a secular fabric woven with Christian, Muslim, and Hindu threads, and a political consciousness that leans heavily into the left and labor movements.
Malayalam cinema does not just reflect this culture; it interrogates it, celebrates it, and occasionally, revolts against it. From the mythological tales of the 1930s to the brutal, realistic gangster dramas of today, the journey of Malayalam cinema is a masterclass in how a regional film industry can become a historical document of its people. telugu hot mallu aunty movies best
With OTT platforms, Malayalam cinema found a global audience. Films like Minnal Murali (India’s first grounded superhero film), Jana Gana Mana, Nayattu, and 2018 (based on Kerala floods) won acclaim for their tight scripts and technical polish. Actors like Mammootty, Mohanlal, Fahadh Faasil, Parvathy, Nimisha Sajayan, and Suraj Venjaramoodu are now recognized for their transformative performances worldwide.
Long before the current wave of "content-driven" pan-Indian cinema, Malayalam filmmakers were practicing the art of subtle, grounded storytelling. The culture of Kerala is historically one of the "visible" — where art forms like Kathakali (elaborate dance-drama) and Koodiyattam (ancient Sanskrit theatre) are larger than life, yet the content is deeply philosophical.
The Golden Era of Malayalam cinema, spearheaded by directors like Ramu Kariat (Chemmeen, 1965) and Adoor Gopalakrishnan (Elippathayam, 1981), shifted the lens from the stage to the soil. Chemmeen, the first South Indian film to win the President's Gold Medal, was a cultural watershed. It took the maritime caste culture of the Araya fishing community—their superstitions, their economic bondage to landlords, and the myth of the Kadalamma (Mother Sea)—and turned it into a Greek tragedy set in the backwaters. Directors like G
Cinema became an anthropological tool. Watch Nirmalyam (1973) by M.T. Vasudevan Nair, and you witness the decay of the Tantric Brahmin priesthood. Watch Ore Thooval Pakshikal (1988), and you see the rise of campus politics and the erosion of traditional leftist idealism. Malayalam cinema captured the Nair tharavadu (ancestral home) crumbling under the weight of land reforms, the Syrian Christian angst of losing mercantile power, and the Muslim Mappila identity rooted in the Malabar coast.
In the last decade, Malayalam cinema underwent a renaissance. Filmmakers like Lijo Jose Pellissery (Jallikattu, Ee.Ma.Yau), Dileesh Pothan (Maheshinte Prathikaram), and Mahesh Narayanan (Malik, Ariyippu) pushed boundaries in form and content. The rise of small-town stories (Kumbalangi Nights, Sudani from Nigeria, The Great Indian Kitchen) brought discussions of masculinity, migration, and patriarchy into living rooms.
If culture is codified behavior, then no one documented the Malayali middle-class psyche better than writers like Sreenivasan and directors like Priyadarshan and Sathyan Anthikad. This era also produced humanist comedies like Sandesham
The 80s and 90s saw the rise of the "common man" as a hero. Forget the macho, singing-romancing star; here came Mohanlal as the lazy, witty, alcoholic heir of a feudal family (Kireedom, 1989) or Mammootty as the ruthless, morally complex police officer or college professor.
This era produced a genre unique to Kerala: the family drama. Films like Sandhesam (1991) satirized the Gulf Malayali—the man who returns from the Middle East with gold chains and a distorted sense of cultural superiority. Godfather (1991) and Sphadikam (1995) explored the violent underbelly of caste and feudal honor, while simultaneously questioning the need for that violence.
What makes this period culturally significant is its dialogue. Malayalam cinema elevated the spoken word. The sarcasm, the Kochi slang, the Thrissur purdah-mouth—these were not just accents; they were identity markers. A single line from a movie could become a colloquial proverb. The culture of "verbal duel" intrinsic to Kerala's tea shops and college unions was perfected on screen.
Directors like G. Aravindan, Adoor Gopalakrishnan, John Abraham, and Padmarajan brought parallel cinema into the mainstream. Films such as Chidambaram, Mathilukal, Amma Ariyan explored loneliness, caste, and politics without melodrama. This era also produced humanist comedies like Sandesham and Ramji Rao Speaking that remain cult classics.
Malayalam cinema draws deeply from Kerala’s rich traditions — Theyyam, Kathakali, Mohiniyattam, and folk art forms. Early classics like Nirmalyam (1973) and Elippathayam (1981) used these forms to critique feudalism and social hypocrisy. The industry also adapted Malayalam literature seamlessly, from Oru Vadakkan Veeragatha (based on folklore) to Aadujeevitham (contemporary novel).
For nearly a century, the Malayalam film industry—lovingly nicknamed "Mollywood"—has been far more than a factory of escapist entertainment. Nestled in the southwestern corner of India, the state of Kerala boasts a unique cultural landscape: a 100% literate society, a history of matrilineal inheritance, a secular fabric woven with Christian, Muslim, and Hindu threads, and a political consciousness that leans heavily into the left and labor movements.
Malayalam cinema does not just reflect this culture; it interrogates it, celebrates it, and occasionally, revolts against it. From the mythological tales of the 1930s to the brutal, realistic gangster dramas of today, the journey of Malayalam cinema is a masterclass in how a regional film industry can become a historical document of its people.
With OTT platforms, Malayalam cinema found a global audience. Films like Minnal Murali (India’s first grounded superhero film), Jana Gana Mana, Nayattu, and 2018 (based on Kerala floods) won acclaim for their tight scripts and technical polish. Actors like Mammootty, Mohanlal, Fahadh Faasil, Parvathy, Nimisha Sajayan, and Suraj Venjaramoodu are now recognized for their transformative performances worldwide.
Long before the current wave of "content-driven" pan-Indian cinema, Malayalam filmmakers were practicing the art of subtle, grounded storytelling. The culture of Kerala is historically one of the "visible" — where art forms like Kathakali (elaborate dance-drama) and Koodiyattam (ancient Sanskrit theatre) are larger than life, yet the content is deeply philosophical.
The Golden Era of Malayalam cinema, spearheaded by directors like Ramu Kariat (Chemmeen, 1965) and Adoor Gopalakrishnan (Elippathayam, 1981), shifted the lens from the stage to the soil. Chemmeen, the first South Indian film to win the President's Gold Medal, was a cultural watershed. It took the maritime caste culture of the Araya fishing community—their superstitions, their economic bondage to landlords, and the myth of the Kadalamma (Mother Sea)—and turned it into a Greek tragedy set in the backwaters.
Cinema became an anthropological tool. Watch Nirmalyam (1973) by M.T. Vasudevan Nair, and you witness the decay of the Tantric Brahmin priesthood. Watch Ore Thooval Pakshikal (1988), and you see the rise of campus politics and the erosion of traditional leftist idealism. Malayalam cinema captured the Nair tharavadu (ancestral home) crumbling under the weight of land reforms, the Syrian Christian angst of losing mercantile power, and the Muslim Mappila identity rooted in the Malabar coast.
In the last decade, Malayalam cinema underwent a renaissance. Filmmakers like Lijo Jose Pellissery (Jallikattu, Ee.Ma.Yau), Dileesh Pothan (Maheshinte Prathikaram), and Mahesh Narayanan (Malik, Ariyippu) pushed boundaries in form and content. The rise of small-town stories (Kumbalangi Nights, Sudani from Nigeria, The Great Indian Kitchen) brought discussions of masculinity, migration, and patriarchy into living rooms.
If culture is codified behavior, then no one documented the Malayali middle-class psyche better than writers like Sreenivasan and directors like Priyadarshan and Sathyan Anthikad.
The 80s and 90s saw the rise of the "common man" as a hero. Forget the macho, singing-romancing star; here came Mohanlal as the lazy, witty, alcoholic heir of a feudal family (Kireedom, 1989) or Mammootty as the ruthless, morally complex police officer or college professor.
This era produced a genre unique to Kerala: the family drama. Films like Sandhesam (1991) satirized the Gulf Malayali—the man who returns from the Middle East with gold chains and a distorted sense of cultural superiority. Godfather (1991) and Sphadikam (1995) explored the violent underbelly of caste and feudal honor, while simultaneously questioning the need for that violence.
What makes this period culturally significant is its dialogue. Malayalam cinema elevated the spoken word. The sarcasm, the Kochi slang, the Thrissur purdah-mouth—these were not just accents; they were identity markers. A single line from a movie could become a colloquial proverb. The culture of "verbal duel" intrinsic to Kerala's tea shops and college unions was perfected on screen.
