战火1946

Roberto Rossellini’s Paisan [Italy 1946] surpasses his Open City [Italy 1945] in breadth of vision and significance. Open City was still a drama; Paisan is an epic, comparable only to [The Battleship] Potemkin [USSR 1925, dir. Sergei Eisenstein], though profoundly different from it.

This new Italian film consists of six real-life episodes which take place during the Italian Campaign. They seem entirely unconnected, except for the fact that their succession corresponds to the advance of the Allied armies. The first episode records the adventures of an American patrol immediately after the landing in Sicily. Led by an Italian peasant girl, the Americans explore a ruined castle—a nocturnal reconnaissance which culminates in a magnificent conversation between the girl and one of the soldiers. But this bilingual idyll does not last long. A few Germans emerg- ing from nowhere shoot the soldier and then kill the girl for having fired at them. When, alarmed by the shooting, the rest of the Americans return, they take it for granted that the girl has lured them into a trap, and her simple-hearted sacrifice passes unnoticed.

The second episode, in Naples, features a street urchin and a Military Policeman—an American Negro who is thoroughly drunk. The boy, set on stealing the Negro’s shoes, guides him to a rubble heap among the ruins, where his prospective victim raves about the hero reception prepared for him in New York and his home town. But the word “home” provokes a sudden shift of moods in him. He says he will not go home; and in a state of despondency he falls asleep, an easy prey for the boy. Shortly later, the Negro captures the thief and makes him return the shoes. The boy is a war orphan living in a cave crammed with ragged women and children. Overwhelmed by pity, the Negro leaves the shoes behind in the cave. Colorful street incidents round out the brilliant thumbnail sketches of these two stray creatures. The scene in the marionette theatre in which the frantic Negro climbs the miniature stage to defend a Moor is a veritable gem sparkling with Quixotic spirit.

The subsequent Roman episode is a somewhat literary love story, with a touch of Maupassant. Six months after the fall of Rome a drunken Ameri- can soldier follows a prostitute to her room. He is no drunkard but a sensi- tive boy appalled by the ever-increasing corruption around him. Instead of simply sleeping with the girl, he tells her about Francesca, the first girl he met on entering Rome on the day of liberation. A flashback, rich in charming details, renders their innocent flirtation and its premature end. Why did you never go back, asks the prostitute. He mutters that he could not find the house. The prostitute, trembling, describes it. He dozes off, vaguely realizing her identity. Next day, she despairingly waits for him, while he himself, on the point of leaving, tears up the slip of paper with her address. He mounts a truck, and the armies move on.

The fourth episode shows the Allies in the outskirts of Florence, pre- paring the last assault on the city, in which the Partisans are already at grips with the Germans and Fascists. An American nurse, eager to join her Florentine lover of prewar days, learns that he is “Lupo,” the legendary Partisan leader. The whole is a pictorial report on what happens to her and an Italian friend as they slip through the front lines into the Partisan-held sector of Florence. They walk past two British officers, portrayed in all their languid fastidiousness; they pass along the corridors of the abandoned Uffizi, catching a glimpse of three German soldiers who slowly advance deep down on the street. When they finally reach a bullet-swept street corner, one of the few Partisans defending this position is fatally wounded. His comrades liquidate two Fascists on the spot. Before dying in the arms of the nurse, the wounded Partisan says that Lupo has been killed that very morning. “God,” says the nurse.

In the fifth episode three American chaplains in search of shelter enter a remote Franciscan monastery in the Apennines and are accommodated there for the night. The naive unworldliness of the monks is characterized in scenes born out of respect and highlighted by an imperceptible smile. No sooner do the monks find out that one of their guests is a Protestant and the other a Jew than they involve the Catholic chaplain in a sort of religious disputation. Thesis stands against thesis: the worried monks insist that those two lost souls must be saved, while their urbane coreligionist believes them able to attain a state of grace outside the Church. This duel in pious dialectics is the more exquisite since battles are raging in the neighborhood. The end comes as a surprise. The zealous monks impose a fast on themselves for the sake of the Jew and the Protestant, and the Catholic chaplain praises their humility, instead of reaffirming his stand on tolerance. It is a strange conclusion, somewhat reminiscent of the spiritual note in Silone’s novels.1

The last episode is a terrible nightmare unfolding in the marshes of the Po Valley, where flat land and sky fuse into a monotonous universe. A small group of Italian Partisans, British flyers, and American O.S.S. agents engage in a hopeless combat action behind the enemy lines. You do not see the Germans at first; you see only the corpse of a Partisan floating across the water. The reeds are filled with threats; unknown dangers lurk around the lonely house which in its isolation deepens the impression of monotony. Then, after an eternity of unbearable suspense, the massacre takes its course. The people in the house are killed indiscriminately, except for a little child who, outside the house, screams and screams, deserted by the dead on the ground. The Partisans, bound hand and foot, are thrown into the water. The horrified English and American prisoners see them, one by one, disappear, unable to stop the clockwork process. Another witness is left: the Partisan leader hanging behind the prisoners.

“This happened in the winter of 1944,” a commentator says at the very end. “A few weeks later, spring came to Italy and the war in Europe was declared over.”

All these episodes relate the experiences of ordinary people in a world which tends to thwart their noblest efforts. The dead Sicilian girl is cal- lously slandered by those who should have honored her; Francesca, the fresh Roman girl, turns prostitute, and her decent lover sinks into emo- tional inertia. It is the war which dooms them. Yet it is not always the war: in the case of the Negro, his fate results from circumstances entirely unconnected with events in Italy.

What endears these people to us is their inborn dignity. They have dignity in the same way that they breathe or eat. Throughout the film, humanity appears as a quality of man’s nature, as something that exists in him independently of his ideals and creeds. Rossellini’s Partisans never refer to their political convictions; rather, they fight and die in a matter-of- fact way, because they are as they are. And the Negro is simply a humane creature, filled with compassion, love of music, and Quixotic reveries.

This emphasis on the reality of good nature is coupled with a marked indifference to ideas. Of course, the Nazis appear as hateful, but it seems they are hated only for their acts of savagery and their vulgar conduct. All judgments are concerned with human dignity, and what goes beyond it is completely omitted. There is in the whole film not a single verbal statement against Fascist rule, nor any message in favor of democracy, let alone a social revolution. And the surface impression, that Paisan advo- cates pacifism, must be dismissed also, for it is scarcely compatible with the experience of the Catholic chaplain, to whom the war has been a great lesson in tolerance. This deliberate disregard of all “causes,” including that of humanity, can be explained only by a profound skepticism about their effects. Even the most praiseworthy cause, Paisan implies, is bound to entail fanaticism, corruption, and misery, thus interfering with the free flow of a good and meaningful life. Significantly, the Sicilian peasants are suspicious of American liberators and German invaders alike; and the Roman episode bears out their suspicions by highlighting the demoraliza- tion wrought upon the liberated in less than six months.

The attitude behind Paisan is in keeping with the film’s episodic struc- ture. In stringing together six separate episodes, Rossellini manifests his belief in the independence of human dignity from any overarching idea. If humanity materialized only under the guidance of an idea, then a single, well-composed story might suggest itself to express the latter’s significance (viz. Potemkin). But humanity is here part and parcel of reality and there- fore must be traced in various places. The six isolated episodes indicate that streaks of it are found everywhere.

Since Paisan confines itself to real-life experiences, its documentary style is most adequate. The style, cultivated by D.W. Griffith, Flaherty, and the Russian film directors, is genuinely cinematic, for it grows out of the urge, inherent in the camera, to explore the world of facts. Like Eisenstein or Flaherty, Rossellini goes the limit in capturing reality. He shoots on location and prefers laymen to professional actors. And instead of working from an elaborate script, with each detail thought out in advance, he lets himself be inspired by the unforeseeable situations that arise in the process of filming.

These techniques become virtues because of Rossellini’s infatuation with reality and his gift for translating its every manifestation into cin- ematic terms. He masters horror scenes no less expertly than moments of tenderness, and the confused street crowd is as near to him as is the abandoned individual in it. His camera angles and twists of action owe their existence to sparks of intuition ignited by the closest touch with the given material. And directed by him, most people play themselves without seeming to play at all. To be sure, Paisan has its weak spots: parts of the Sicilian episode are shot in slapdash fashion; the Roman love story is too much of a story; the nurse and her companion in the Florentine episode are strangely flat; and the Catholic chaplain is not entirely true to type. But these occasional lapses amount to little within a film which sets a new pattern in documentary treatment. Its wonderful freshness results from Rossellini’s unflinching directness in formulating his particular notion of humanity. He knows what he wants to say and says it as simply as possible.

Are examples needed? Far from capitalizing, after the manner of The Last Chance [USA 1945, dir. Leopold Lindtberg], on bilingual dialogue to sell the idea of international solidarity, Paisan presents the mingling of lan- guages in wartime Italy without any purpose. In the opening episode, the conversation between the Sicilian girl and the American soldier in charge of her is a linguistic dabbling which, born out of the latter’s boredom and loneliness, does not lead up to anything. Yet precisely by recording their pointless attempts at mutual understanding with infinite care, Rossellini manages to move and fascinate us. For in the process these two people, left speechless by their mother tongues, increasingly reveal what as a rule is buried under conventional phrases.

Each episode abounds in examples. When the drunken G.I. tells the Roman prostitute about his yearning for Francesca, he is seen lying on the couch, with his legs apart in the foreground—a shot which renders his physical disgust and moral disillusionment to perfection. Though long shots are ordinarily less communicative than close shots, Rossellini draws heavily on them in the last episode to picture the marshes. He does so on purpose, for these shots not only convey the impression of desolate monotony, but, through their very flatness, they make the ensuing mas- sacre seem more dreadful. A model of artistic intelligence are the street scenes in the Neapolitan episode. First it is as if these loosely connected shots of performing jugglers, ragged natives, blackmarketing children, and idling G.I.’s were inserted only in the interest of local color. Shortly, however, it becomes evident that they also serve to characterize the Negro. As he reemerges from the marionette theatre, his companion, the wily boy who does not want to lose him, begins to play a harmonica; and, enticed by these heavenly sounds, the Negro follows the little Pied Piper through streets teeming with the crowds and diversions that have already been impressed upon us. So we are all the more struck by the impact of the trickling harmonica music on the Negro.

This last example well illustrates the way Rossellini organizes his mate- rial. There is a veritable gulf between his editing style and the “montage” methods used in Potemkin and other early Soviet films. For Rossellini deliberately turns his back on ideas, while the Russian film directors aim exclusively at driving home a message. Paisan deals with the human assets of ordinary people; Eisenstein’s Potemkin shows ordinary people wedded to the cause of revolution. All editing devices in the Eisenstein film are calculated not only to render a historic uprising, but to render it in the light of Marxist doctrine. In Potemkin, the priest’s face, besides being his face, stands for Tsarist oppression, and the sailors are made to appear as the vanguard of the proletariat. Nothing of that kind occurs in the Italian film. On the contrary, Rossellini so composes his narrative that we never feel challenged to seek symbolic meanings in it. Such instances of oppres- sion or humanity as Paisan offers are strictly individual facts which do not admit of generalization. Rossellini patiently observes where Eisen- stein ardently constructs. This accounts for the thrill of a few shots which represent border cases. I am thinking in particular of the documentary shot of the three German soldiers in the Florentine episode. Reminiscent, perhaps deliberately so, of similar shots in official Nazi documentaries, it is inserted in such a manner that it affects us as a true revelation of German militarism. The allusiveness of this shot is sufficiently strong to drive us beyond the bounds of immediate reality, and yet too unobtrusive to make us lose contact with it.

Paisan is all the more amazing as it defies the traditional patterns of film making in Italy. The Italian prewar screen was crowded with historical extravaganzas and beautifully photographed dramas that displayed inflated passions before decorative settings—a long progression of glossy products, led by d’Annunzio’s world-famous Cabiria, of 1914. Taking advantage of their audience’s love for theatrics, these films reflected both the glitter and the hollowness of the regime under which they flourished. . . . It is a far cry from d’Annunzio to Rossellini, from the spectacular to the real. The sudden emergence of such a film as Paisan indicates that many Italians actually loathe the grand-style manner of the past and all that it implied in allegiances and sham beliefs. They have come to realize the futility of Mussolini’s conquests and they seem now determined to do without any messages and missions—at least for the moment.

And this moment is a precarious one for the Italians. Fascist rule has ended, the new government is weak, and the country resounds with inter- nal strife. During this interregnum the Italians might feel completely lost, were it not for a compact cultural heritage which protects them from dis- integration. Theirs is an articulate sense of art and a tested way of putting up with the tragedies common to mortals. And under the undiminishing spell of custom they knowingly enjoy the rites of love making and the gratifications of family life. No doubt, the Church has played its part in shaping and civilizing these people throughout the ages. That they are aware of it perhaps accounts for the surprise ending of the Monastery episode in Paisan—that scene in which the American chaplain bows to the religious ardor of the Italian monks, thus disavowing what he has said about the inclusiveness of true tolerance shortly before. His deliber- ate inconsistency can be considered a tribute to Italian Catholicism and its humanizing effects.

Italian everyday life, then, is rich in meaningful outlets for all imagin- able needs and desires. So the Italians do not sink into a vacuum when they refuse, as they are now doing, to let themselves be possessed with ideas. Even without ideas they still have much to rely upon. And since their kind of existence, mellow and sweet as it is, has long since become second nature to them—something that seems to them as natural as the blue sky or the air they breathe—they may well believe that their repudiation of ideas relieves their lives of excess baggage. What remains, in their opinion, is humanity, pure and simple. And in their case, as Paisan demonstrates, humanity assumes all the traits of self-sufficient reality.

This is a mirage, though, which may appear as more than a mirage only at a very particular moment, such as the Italians are now going through. Paisan is delusive in that it virtually makes the triumph of humanity dependent on a world released from the strain of ideas, or “causes.” We cannot feel this way. As matters stand, we know humanity would be irre- trievably bogged down if it were unsustained by the ideas mankind breeds in desperate attempts to improve its lot. Whatever their consequences, they hold out a promise to us. Rossellini’s film dismisses the audience without any such promise. But this does not invalidate its peculiar greatness. And precisely in these postwar years with their tangle of oblique slogans and propaganda artifices, Paisan comes to us as a revelation of the steady flow of humanity beneath the turmoil of sheer ideology. So, if Paisan does not kindle hopes, yet it reassures us of the omnipresence of their sources.

原文出处：Siegfried Kracauer's American Writings Essays on Film and Popular Culture

Paisan (1948) P156

意大利，导演：罗伯托罗西里尼。1946年。

完这部电影以后更觉得战争他就太可恶了。他虽然也有一些进步的力量，但是它摧毁了太多东西了。又感慨我们现在生活在和平时期是真的很幸运。

这部电影我看到后面都快睡着了，虽然不能说他难看，但是他的故事性比较低。主要的是塑造当时的环境跟氛围，还有一些战时的生活。他没有太多刺激点儿，在每个故事结束的时候，你会发现每段故事都有它的凄惨，凄凉之处，都每个人都挺可怜的，受战争的困扰。

本片一共六个故事，第一段故事讲述的是美军找了一个意大利女的来带路。到了一个塔上之后遇到了敌军，带路的意大利女人为了帮一个美军报仇被敌军残忍杀害。

第二段故事讲述的是一个黑人的美军当地警察与没有了父母的一个意大利小孩儿的感情故事。

第三个故事又遇到了罗马不设防城市里的那个白痴女人，在本片当中在第三段故事演的是一个妓女形象。一个美军和一个站街女的爱情故事。

第四个故事挺黑色幽默的。一男一女为了找到各自的爱人穿越了战火中的城市。但是女的在马上抵达终点的时候，得知道自己的爱人已经死了。

第五个故事主要讲了宗教矛盾上的问题。三个美国兵来到了意大利的教堂之后，其中有两个美国人分别信仰犹太教和天主教，当基督教的教中听到这个消息的时候，突然一下气氛就变了。

第六故事是以游击队与德国军队之间矛盾展开的一个故事。这个游击队是以美国，英国还有意大利本土人组成的一个小的游击队。他们吃不饱，穿不暖为的是人民能够生存下去的信念而战斗着。但是最后这个小队被德国人全部歼灭。

第20届#法罗岛电影节#第1个放映日为大家带来《战火》，下面请看前线涉足战争之地的黎民百姓的评价了！

果树：

结构简单粗暴，好在内核完整。各个人物都带着点抽象的概况感，但全片成功地呈现出人道光芒。

保嵩：

用故事集理念来拍战争片很新颖，第一部罗西里尼。最爱第一个故事，可能因为他们误会那个意大利女孩吧，看完第三个故事还对第一个故事难过。

Morning：

盟军从西西里岛向上移动到意大利北部过程里发生的几个小故事，战争背景有效的统领了他们，他们的关系的改变离不开这个背景，每个故事都是做普通人物关系的范本，不强人设，不刻板印象，不操控故事，不渲染情绪，但它们的写实和背后的现实意义是非常重大的，我觉得这也是对家国的另一种理解，我怀抱着这片土地，我的眼睛看到了这么多容易湮灭的微不足道的事物。

Not Here：

战争中的人情世故，每一个故事的视角都不一样，所以感觉也不太好比较。个人最喜欢第四个故事，穿越战场时最无言也最波涛汹涌。

子夜无人：

非常生动的战时大后方写照，人物群像塑造得极其成功，在“写实”与“戏剧化”之间维持了恰到好处的分寸，情感是饱满的、浓烈的但绝非煽动的，从宏大叙事的陷阱中脱身做到视角下移，枪火与厮杀之外永远沸腾的是真实的人性。

松野空松：

以美意双方为敌开始，到美意合作对付德军结束，朋友的母题在逐渐升华，最喜欢中间三个直接的战争无关的部分，黑人大兵被偷东西，美国大兵与妓女的邂逅，穿越战区寻找爱人/家人。

SONGMJ23：

除了组成故事本身的那些“有意建构的镜头”，罗西里尼穿插其中的历史真实场面可能同样是作为一种”有意“的设计而存在，旨在凸显现实的多面性和人性之复杂。这种对影像与现实间是否存在某种“相互诞生”关系的深刻探讨与实验，正是新现实主义运动能够不断推出各种风格迥异的现实诗篇的一大源泉。

FranzCamus：

六则故事，组成一幅意大利二战浮世绘。 六则故事，描绘出二战之间意大利普通民众水深火热的生活。 六则故事，没有从正面战场来描述残酷的战斗。只是从不同方面来表达出罗西里尼对于整个社会的一种挽歌。有流离失所的百姓，有为生活所迫而站街的女性，有崇高理想反对法西斯的游击队员，也有偏安一隅对上帝依旧憧憬的僧侣。众人皆是残酷战争下的牺牲品。 给我一种在看白先勇的小说《台北人》的即视感。意大利新现实主义电影代表作。

给艾德林的诗：

六则故事一面情境，彼时现实中的姿态纪实，情感落实也不乏戏剧性和起承转合与遗憾，罗西里尼这部比起维斯康蒂的《大地在波动》，似乎更能唤起一个经验如何能更自然地适用新现实主义语法的问题（笑）。

#FIFF20#DAY1的场刊将在稍后释出，请大家拭目以待了！

这个不太知道怎么评分，妓女和教堂那两段挺有意思的。这电影属于战争全景？？现在这部电影不能写短评了？？？不清楚为什么，感觉也没有政治不正确的地方啊？？？写那么多就是为了凑字数发长评。好害怕标记的电影被删，特别是那些不怎么有印象的电影，豆瓣就属于唯一的凭据了，如果被删了，可能就永远记不起这一部电影了，删除，很可怕。

1. 像一篇篇短篇小说，没有形容词，只有动词和名词的那种。

2. 虚构和非虚构镜头的无缝衔接，真实的战争感。

3. 英语，意大利语，两种语言的隔阂和互通。

4. 六篇故事的主旨：每个人都认为自己是正确的。

5. 故事梗概：一. 西西里。将意大利女人当成敌人是错的。二. 那不勒斯。我们美国人富裕善良。美国人炸死了孩子的爸爸妈妈。 三. 罗马。你们女孩全变了。纯真的姑娘靠自己抵御饥饿，她们是好姑娘。四. 佛罗伦萨。狂奔。乌菲齐，雕塑，废墟。在将死之人口中听到爱人的死讯。五. 哥特线。五百年的修道院。派发好时巧克力和罐头的美国神父，不同教派。每个人都以为自己走在正确的道路上。（自认为的）美好心灵必然获得平静。六. 北部湖区。意大利游击队+美国士兵+英国空军，被杀，被推进水里。德国人说，建千年政权先得毁灭一切。1944年冬天。来年春天战争结束。

原文地址：http://www.qh505.com/blog/post/5671.html

当战争爆发，当死亡发生，当一切被摧毁，谁希望拥有和平？甚至在和平到来时，谁能重建家园？这个问题或者能从片名中得到答案：意大利片名为“Paisà”，在那不勒斯方言里，这是同村人的亲切称呼；美国发行的片名是Paisan，在英语里这个词是指“朋友”或“同胞”——无论是意大利语还是英语，在战火蔓延以及战争结束的时候，需要的是一种朋友和同胞的同盟情谊，尽管语言不通，文化相异，观念不同，但是对于这片深受创伤的土地来说，需要的是大家携起手来，共建和平，就像那位在意大利北部修道院里得到牧师帮助的美国大尉马伽所说：“战争使我们失去了太多东西，也得到了太多教训，但是心存善念的人向往和平。”

战争注定会失去最宝贵的，但是心存善念的人才能建立真正的和平，在这个意义上，和平其实是内心的一种状态，是忘记恐惧修复内心的一种方式，也是消除隔阂的积极心态。美国大尉说这句话的时候，正在这个修道院里用餐，当时的战场正向山谷移动，德国人还在负隅抵抗，修道院似乎是偏僻所在，牧师在信中写道：“修道院没有损毁，我们也安然无恙。”这仿佛是战争之外的一种乌托邦存在，所以当三名美国兵到来寻求帮助的时候，修道院里的修士和牧师都友好地接待了他们：美国兵给他们糖果，修道院提供给他们住处和苹果酿成的酒；美国兵送给他们牛奶、巧克力罐头，修士们尝了一下说了句：“美国人真伟大。”而他们也给美国兵准备了村里人送来的鸡，在这座修道院里，马伽带领着另外两人参观了这座古老的修道院，说了一句：“这里的建筑有500年历史，而那时美国还没有建国。”

战争前线作为盟军的美国军官，战争后方像是避难所的修道院，“伟大”美国人带来的罐头食品，善良的修士和牧师提供的美味，在这个战争年代，他们似乎结成了跨越国界的友谊，但是在这友好的表面之下，却也有分歧，当马伽说自己的手下一个是犹太教徒一个是新教徒时，作为天主教的修士们马上感觉到了问题，他们下跪，祈祷，“修道院要被污染了。”因为在他们看来，犹太教徒和新教徒都是“异端”，只有天主教才是真正皈依上帝的宗教，所以一名修士对马伽说：“上帝会把迷路的灵魂拯救出来，能劝他们改宗教吗？”马伽认为没有必要改变他们的信仰，在用餐时，祈祷完毕，马伽看到这里的修士都没有进餐，一位修士说：“我们绝食了。”马伽站起来说：“也许我们的到来破坏了这里的规矩，但是有一件重压的东西交给你们。”

马伽所说的重要的东西就是在战争面前不同的信仰所归结的一个共同核心，那就是一种善念，以及在善念之中对和平的向往，善念之存在是超越宗教派别的，无论是天主教修道院的修士，还是信奉犹太教和新教的随军牧师，他们有着不同的宗教信仰，但是在向往和平上是一致的，而向往和平的基础是“善念”，善念是一种人性意义上的信念，向善而至上，甚至是超越宗教派别的。马伽说出的这番话，其实也代表了导演罗伯托·罗西里尼的观点，美国士兵的身份是共同对抗德国法西斯的盟军，而结盟的意义在战争中并不只是一起组建军队一起形成力量一起抗击敌人，更重要的是形成一种精神意义上的同盟，抛却宗教信仰、语言习惯和文化差异，在心善的普遍意义上构建和平世界。

实际上，罗西里尼就是将“战火”从枪林弹雨的前线移植到了后方，从表象意义上的力量组合转移到了心灵沟通，也就是在人这一普遍意义上探讨重建的可能性。作为罗西里尼“战后三部曲”的第二部，《战火》并非如《罗马，不设防的城市》和《德意志零年》那样，集中在一条线索的叙事中，而是用六个各自独立的故事编织起一种多元化的影像视角，而这种看起来碎片化的框架，似乎更容易在结构上寻找消除隔阂的善念。除了第六部分讲述在后方意大利游击队和美英盟军联合对抗德国法西斯斗争之外，其他五个故事都是通过盟军和意大利平民之间从隔阂走向联合的过程，侧重从心理上建立同盟关系。在第六个故事里，意大利游击队为主力的后方抗击力量，陷入到信息不畅、物质和弹药短缺的困境中，他们进入村子之后希望寻找机会，但是在强大的德国火力中，这支力量薄弱的同盟军遭到致命打击，在力量悬殊中有游击队员饮弹自尽，最后被俘的士兵也难脱不了被处决的命运，当他们被德国士兵残忍推向河沉入水底的时候，距离战争结束只有几个月的时间。

意大利游击队和美国士兵、英国飞行员共同战斗，其结局是悲惨的：被炸死的村民、嗷嗷待哺哭泣的孩子、失去了主人的小狗、被处决的士兵，这个1944年冬天发生的故事是直面了战争的无情，而在前线战场的死亡之外，心存善念的人如何向往和平如何重建家园？一名英国护士寻找身为意大利游击队员爱人的故事，同样也发生在战争一线，但是明显开始深入到人物的内心世界。帕丽额多是一名英国护士，她负责为受伤的意大利游击队员疗伤，她从伤员出打听到画家鲁伯正在佛罗伦萨市内和德国人交战，于是她迫切想要去佛罗伦萨市区寻找他，后来她找到了家人在市区里的马吉莫，受伤的马吉莫也急于见到妻子，于是两个人一起穿过美术馆，爬越房顶，避开街道上的德国士兵，深入前线，在枪林弹雨中希望见到自己牵挂的人。

罗西里尼似乎并没有交代帕丽额多和鲁伯之间的交往故事，那种爱情似乎也是隐匿的，但是当帕丽额多冒着危险一意孤行地突破防线，从侧面表达了对于爱人的相思，甚至在游击队员为掩护他们而牺牲的场景中，更强化了这种跨越国籍的爱情力量，但是在这个过程中，鲁伯始终没有出现，最后临死的游击队员告诉她：“鲁伯也死了。”死亡的结局如此突兀地降临，对于冒着生命危险前来的帕丽额多来说，无疑是沉重的打击，但是在帕丽额多的惊愕中，罗西里尼的镜头戛然而止，在并不过多抒情的画面中，战争的残酷性一览无余，而从另一个意义上，又回到了罗西里尼超越国籍的人的普遍意义上，正是战争的无情让他们错过、悲伤，但是心与心却连接在一起。

第一个故事，罗西里尼的用意更为明显。美国士兵在西西里岛南岸登陆，他们进入了一个村子，在教堂里发现了躲藏在那里的村民，为了确定德国士兵的踪迹，他们要去靠海的古堡，但是问题出现了，他们不认识路，而且还有语言问题。这些都是作为盟军必须面对的问题，但是罗西里尼以相融的方式化解这种困境：一个叫东尼的美国士兵，父亲曾经就是意大利人，他后来去了美国，所以东尼算是半个意大利人，他也懂得意大利语，所以在村民的交流中发挥了作用；村里有一个叫卡梅拉的女人，她认识去往古堡的路，所以她带着士兵们前去古堡。在古堡的矿区，没有发现德国兵，一个名叫乔的美国人负责看守卡梅拉，一个讲的是英语，对于意大利语，他板着指头数着自己知道的单词，而卡梅拉也不懂英语，但是两个人通过身体语言、有限的词汇开始了交流，慢慢的，乔说起了自己的家庭，他拿出了口袋里一家人的相片，给卡梅拉介绍自己的姐姐；渐渐的，两个人通过碎片的词汇交流，看到外面的流星，乔说对着流星可以许愿，自己已经许了53个愿望，自己最想的事情是能得到一瓶威士忌，“一喝酒就什么都忘了。”而曾经保持警惕的卡梅拉，曾经说“拿枪的都是一样”的卡梅拉，也慢慢加入到和乔的对话中。

意大利语和英语，似乎无法隔阂两个人在古堡面对大海和流星的交流，一个是思念远方的家人，一个是想念失踪的父亲和兄弟，两个人谈及的愿望、家庭、姐姐，似乎都在人性的意义上找到了共同点，这便是一种契合，而这种契合也成为了力量，当他们被德国士兵发现时，卡梅拉以找水为借口，拿起了那把枪，一方面是保护受伤的乔，一方面则是对法西斯的憎恶，尽管最后在古堡的地下室里乔被杀死，在高高的悬崖下，死去的卡梅拉也而被扔在那里，但是在死亡发生之前超越语言的默契，在某种程度上唤起的是对于战争更多的痛恨，在这个意义上，心存善念更成为构建一种和平的潜在力量。

美国士兵和意大利修士的和解，意大利游击队员和英国护士的感情，意大利女人和美国士兵的交流，都是在一种隔阂中滋生出力量，在不畅中化解矛盾，而罗西里尼都把这些场景放置在正面战场之外，就是用一种普遍视角来构筑心存善念的人性意义。消除战争是为了迎来和平，但是和平之意义并非只是战争之终结，或者说，战争终结只是和平的开始，而真正的重建之路还很长。美国黑人大兵在解放的那不勒斯街头，遇到了小流浪汉，这个在战争中失去了父母的小孩只能靠偷东西来维持生计，他趁黑人大兵醉酒的时候偷了他的鞋，看起来，两个人站在各自不同的立场，而且在这场战争结束之后，他们似乎并没有迎来共同的和平，黑人士兵躺在废墟上感慨：“回家？我可不回家。”战争结束了，他应该被当成英雄，应该成为庆功宴的主角，应该享受各种美味，但是他面对的依然是异乡的废墟，依然是不想回家的孤独，而小孩呢？他偷了鞋，三天之后被黑人发现，黑人让他把鞋交出来，当带着孩子来到贫民窟，得知孩子的父母都死于战争，他便沉默了，他只是失去了一双鞋，而孩子失去了家人，在他最后默然离开的时候，一种和平远远没有到来的悲伤情绪便蔓延开来。

美国大兵和孩子，其实都希望有一个归宿，而在没有归宿的现实里，他们其实在遗憾中相互慰藉，也正是这战后的凄然景象，更加深了战争的无情，更凸显了和平的意义。而最让人悲伤的是一个关于重逢的故事，弗雷德是一名美国士兵，在罗马解放之后，他的确像其他的战士一样得到了英雄般的用户，那些罗马市民给他们戴上花环，为他们鼓掌，也正是在这时候，他遇到了弗朗西斯卡，美丽、可爱和善良的弗朗西斯卡为他准备洗脸的水，感谢他在战争中的付出，一种爱慢慢萌芽，在拥抱之后他们相约再见。但是之后弗雷德再也没有见过弗朗西斯卡，六个月之后当他再次出现在罗马街头的时候，有些醉酒的他被一个街头的妓女带到了住处，但是他依然想着六个月前的弗朗西斯卡，对于眼前的妓女不为所动，“现在像你这样的姑娘多得是，记得刚来罗马时，她们都在笑，而现在一切都毁了。”

六个月前遇到了心爱的姑娘，六个月后被妓女带回了家，这是截然不同的遭遇，在弗雷德看来，曾经可爱、快乐的罗马姑娘是一个单数，她是弗朗西斯卡，而现在的罗马姑娘都是复数，是“你们”，是“她们”。而其实，这个妓女就是六个月前的弗朗西斯卡，但是当一切都毁了之后，她或许也感觉到再无法回到从前，“她们都在挣扎，她只是其中一个。”弗朗西斯卡自言自语，这更像是对自己命运的喟叹。但是对于她来说，她还是希望能重回六个月前，希望自己还是单数的弗朗西斯卡，所以她在弗雷德熟睡之后离开，留下了自己的地址——一种离开，就是告别作为妓女的自己，告别作为“她们”的集体身份。但是第二天醒来的弗雷德，不知道昨晚的妓女就是自己寻找了六个月的姑娘，在他离开罗马坐上军用卡车的时候，把那张纸条扔了，“只不过是一个妓女的地址。”他对同行者说。当他离开，留下的却是弗朗西斯卡站在雨中等他到来却永远无法等到的凄凉画面。

战争已经结束，为什么还有遗憾，还有错过，还有悲伤？为什么两个相遇的人不再认识彼此？为什么六个月后可爱的姑娘会变成妓女？战争带来的创伤是持久的，而和平也并非只是一句口号，在这个充满了悲伤的故事里，罗西里尼用镜头延伸了战争带来的残酷现实，也正是这种残酷性，需要清除废墟，需要修复创伤，需要挖掘向善的人性意义，才能抵达真正的和平世界。