In Gli ordini sono ordini, Monica Vitti delivers a comic yet sympathetic performance as Giorgia, a housewife suffocating under the monotony of domestic life. Her days are consumed by cooking, cleaning, and catering to her indifferent husband, Amedeo (Orazio Orlando), who regards her as little more than part of the household furnishings. From the opening scenes, director Franco Giraldi presents Giorgia as trapped in a cycle of drudgery, her dissatisfaction manifesting as quiet, detached boredom. Her domestic duties appear to be the only sense of structure in her life, reinforcing her passive existence.
This stifling routine is accompanied by Vitti's voiceover detailing the minutiae of her daily tasks—extolling the virtues of the pricier washing powder, the lively yeast that makes a cake more fragrant, the plan to change the napkins the following day, the supposed health benefits of a glass of red wine. These banal observations, delivered with mechanical precision, emphasise the sheer triviality that defines her world, reducing her thoughts to an endless stream of domestic concerns.
However, this passive existence takes a surreal and comical turn when Giorgia begins to hear strange voices in her head—voices that issue commands, compelling her toward increasingly subversive and transgressive acts. What begins as a quiet rebellion against her prescribed role as a housewife soon escalates into a series of bizarre encounters and experiences that will challenge the existence she has long accepted, forcing her to question not only her marriage and identity but also the very nature of autonomy and desire in a society that has conditioned her into servitude.
The catalyst for hearing these strange voices comes when Giorgia inadvertently stumbles into a women’s rights meeting after finishing her shopping errands. In a flashback to the event, we see a theatre filled with passionate feminists—and the occasional man, including an elderly gentleman who humorously raises his hand when the group is asked who has had an abortion, only for his wife to swiftly lower it.
The discussion is urgent and unfiltered. The feminists expose the harsh realities of a housewife’s existence: working up to 14 hours a day without pay, pension, holidays, or even the right to strike. They criticise men who prefer to be “sultans” rather than comrades and demand free contraception, arguing that a woman must be a conscious mother, not a rabbit. Above all, they call for the immediate legalisation of abortion, framing it as a fundamental right in view of the thousands of women who have clandestine abortions in a society that criminalises such procedures.
Yet, when Giorgia later tries to recount the meeting to her husband, her attempt to tell him about her experience is swiftly dismissed. He shows little interest, focusing instead on criticising the meal she has just cooked for him—an interaction that underscores the very inequalities the feminists had spoken of and reaffirms Giorgia’s entrapment in a world that refuses to see her as anything more than a domestic servant.
As Giorgia recounts the meeting to her disinterested husband, the protest art displayed on the stage of the theatre offers a visual commentary on the discussion. Spray-painted political slogans in bold red, accompanied by naked female mannequins, homogenised in their bald, uniform appearances, are twisted into scenes of protest and sexualised, subservient poses. These mannequins act as symbols of societal dynamics, with men positioned as "owners," women as the "means of production," and children as the "workforce." The soap powder Giorgia uses in the film’s opening scenes is now ominously strapped to a mannequin’s head, spilling out like brains. Its mouth is covered, ropes bind tightly around its neck and between its breasts, and its arms are replaced by a washing line draped with bras and negligees. This jarring imagery serves as a critique of the domestic burden placed on women, emphasising how their labour is not only taken for granted but rendered invisible, trapped within the confines of stereotypical, unpaid, and unappreciated domestic roles. Yet, Giraldi’s script also deftly finds humour in portraying the feminist movement itself, as well as Giorgia’s evolving understanding of her newfound freedom as she struggles to navigate the voices commanding her actions and the bizarre situations she finds herself in after her husband throws her out of their marital home. While the film addresses serious issues of gender inequality, it does so with a satirical tone that gently mocks some of the more radical elements of the feminist discourse of the time.
Gli ordini sono ordini, set in early 1970s Italy, reflects the era’s shifting gender dynamics during a time when the feminist movement was gaining momentum and challenging deeply entrenched patriarchal norms. The period was marked by pivotal social changes, notably the legalisation of divorce in 1970, which marked a significant break from the traditional Catholic views that had long governed Italian society. For the first time, women were granted the legal right to dissolve their marriages, a revolutionary step toward independence that empowered women to challenge the constraints of marital and domestic life. At the same time, debates around reproductive rights were intensifying, as abortion remained illegal but increasingly contested. It wasn’t until 1978 that abortion was legalised in Italy, but the fight for this right was already beginning to gain ground, with feminist activists demanding control over their own bodies and rejecting the societal control that criminalised their reproductive choices, as evidenced in the discussion among the feminists in the film.
The film’s engagement with contemporary issues was likely informed by its source material, an unpublished short story by Alberto Moravia. One of Italy’s most significant 20th-century writers, Moravia was known for his incisive explorations of modern sexuality, social alienation, and existential malaise. His protagonists often grappled with oppressive societal norms, particularly regarding relationships and power dynamics between men and women, themes that are present in Gli ordini sono ordini. Given his preoccupation with alienation and repressed desires, the film’s absurdist premise—an ordinary woman compelled by unseen forces to defy convention—aligns with Moravia’s broader body of work.
Moravia’s narratives have frequently served as material for cinematic adaptation. Some of the most notable films based on his works include Il conformista (1947), Le Mépris (1963), La ciociara (1957), and La noia (1960), all of which helped cement Moravia’s influence on European cinema.
Within this tradition, Gli ordini sono ordini may not be one of Moravia’s most successful cinematic adaptations, as it takes a more comedic approach compared to his darker, more introspective works. However, it still reflects his thematic concerns—particularly the constraints of social expectations and the tension between personal desire and external control.
Ultimately, while Gli ordini sono ordini functions as a comedy, it gradually shies away from the sharper social satire evident in its opening, instead devolving into a series of comic absurdities. While the beginning provides a witty critique of the domestic oppression experienced by women, and a humorous exploration of Giorgia's rebellion against her prescribed role, the film begins to lose its narrative grace as it progresses. The introduction of secondary characters, such as the flamboyant artist played by Gigi Proietti, adds comedy, but the plot becomes increasingly thin and meandering. The arrival of more banal elements, such as the increasingly outlandish situations Giorgia finds herself in and the clumsy depiction of her relationships, detracts from the film's earlier potency. However, as one would expect, Monica Vitti delivers her usual captivating performance, effectively conveying her character’s malaise, curiosity, and struggle to find herself within the confines of societal expectations. Her portrayal of Giorgia, a housewife caught between a life of subjugation and newfound self-awareness, remains the film’s emotional anchor, allowing her to navigate through the chaotic events surrounding her. At the film’s end, it feels fitting that Giorgia rejects her husband's proposition to return to their old life together, choosing instead to walk away and carve her own path. It is this decision that symbolises her ultimate liberation, marking a quiet yet powerful statement of her independence.
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