World cultural heritage is under systemic attack on several crisis fronts, most notably in Mesopotamia, where ISIS is practising a deliberate and highly sophisticated strategy of ‘cultural cleansing’. Through its newly established Task Force, Italy is leading the international community’s efforts to strengthen the protection regime by including a cultural component in the mandates of peacekeeping interventions. The Italian contribution distinguishes itself, thanks to its capacities and capabilities, in fulfilling the military, police and cultural tasks of ‘cultural peacekeeping’ and in meeting the needs of the international intervention in the crucial entry and exit phases. Moreover, Italy’s commitment to protecting cultural heritage fits perfectly with the distinctive features of Italy’s international identity and role while at the same time serving the country’s national interests by increasing its standing and visibility in world affairs.

In December 1805 a violent anti-French rural insurgency broke out in the mountainous area around Piacenza, in the States of Parma. Castell’Arquato was one of the centres of this rebellion: local leaders devised a strategy that, using to advantage the dominant French imperial discourse of competent and progressive government, saved the town from the anticipated reprisals. Close reading of this particular case of narrative ingeniousness brings into focus the larger issue of agency local Italians were able to derive from the French quest for stability in the region.

In the movie theatre, history risks drowning in sensory response, in pleasure, or in shock. Yet the cinema can also contribute to a special knowledge of history. Cutting across genres and modes of filmmaking, exploring the effects of duration, gesture, movement, mise-en-scène, framing and editing, recognising affective connotations and the intricacy of figural-poetic devices, this article weighs the impact of the senses and the imagination vis-à-vis the cinema’s historical task. In transforming the narrative past tenses of both fiction and history into the present tense of film viewing, the cinema may be said to loosen the critical grip of writing (history’s ‘proper medium’), to destabilise legibility and interpretation, to interfere with the retrospective, synthetic work of history. But this variability, the inherent ‘impurity’, even promiscuity of the medium also invests cinematic experience with a vitality and urgency: it implicates us in what we see, it animates our response, which is at once aesthetic and ethical.

Christopher Duggan made extensive use of the correspondence of the American Times journalist William James Stillman in writing his important biography of Francesco Crispi. This article focuses on Stillman’s published works that deal with the Italian statesman, principally his 1898 history of Italy since 1815, the first and only English-language biography of Crispi until Duggan’s, and the journalist’s own autobiography. It argues that, despite Stillman’s much vaunted love for Italy, he in fact despised most Italians, and saw in Crispi’s virtues a rejection of typical Italian conduct. While Stillman was extreme but not altogether unusual among British and American commentators on Italy in his passionate support for Crispi, his contempt for Italians was surprisingly widespread among late Victorian observers of the new nation.

Antonio Bresciani’s notorious trilogy of novels about the revolutions of 1848, starting with L’Ebreo di Verona, first appeared in the earliest issues of the Jesuit periodical La Civiltà Cattolica from 1850. They constitute an intransigentist attack on the Risorgimento, and portray the events of 1848–1849 as the result of a satanically inspired conspiracy by secret societies. This article re-analyses those novels by placing Bresciani in the context of the ‘culture war’ between lay and religious world views across Europe from the middle of the nineteenth century. The article argues that Bresciani represents a significant case study in the intransigent Catholic response to the kind of patriotic motifs identified by the recent cultural historiography on the Risorgimento. The ‘paranoid style’ of Bresciani’s conspiracy myth is analysed, as is Bresciani’s portrayal of Garibaldi, female fighters, and Jews – in particular the tale of Christian conversion presented in L’Ebreo di Verona. The article argues that, despite its polarising, reactionary intentions, Bresciani’s fiction betrayed many influences from the Romantic culture of the Risorgimento that he claimed to despise.

This article examines how the American conception of female beauty introduced new and distinct understandings of beauty and femininity to postwar Italy. In analysing beauty product advertisements from one of the most popular women’s magazines of the period, Annabella, the article articulates the components of the American beauty ideal and illustrates how these notions broke with previous Italian ideas of beauty. Moreover, the article also examines how this new ideal promoted democratic consumer capitalist values – freedom of choice, individualism, and affluence – which had an important political and cultural significance in Italy’s Cold War struggle. In light of this struggle and the country’s postwar redevelopment, the American beauty ideal sought to influence the women who read Annabella and the way in which they fashioned and identified themselves – as the Italian ‘Mrs Consumer.’

Celebrity scandals are a useful tool to reveal the pervasiveness of expected ways of behaving within a particular culture or society. Italy of the early 1960s was particularly marked by these kinds of scandals, including that of singer Mina’s pregnancy by Corrado Pani in 1963. This article takes this scandal as a case study to explore how star image in this period in Italy was influenced by the established ideologies that governed social convention, morality, and traditional gender roles. It examines in detail the ways in which the popular press reported on this scandal, using the reports that covered the announcement of the pregnancy and then the birth to cast light on the extent to which the mainstream social values and ideas regarding the status quo and expected ways of behaving for women in Italy during the early 1960s were destabilised and/or reasserted through the star persona of Mina.

This article starts by discussing aspects of Christopher Duggan’s first book La mafia durante il fascismo, published in 1986, whose main topic was the anti-mafia campaign led by the prefect Cesare Mori in the latter half of the 1920s. The book’s distinctive features were its rigorous historical approach and use of archival sources: these set it apart from most other work on these topics at the time, when the idea that the mafia could be subjected to historical research had not yet been properly established. In its central thesis Duggan’s book was influenced by previous interpretations of the mafia, then still widely shared, that denied its nature as a structured organisation. Duggan argued here that Fascism used accusations of mafia involvement essentially as a way of attacking its political opponents. The final part of the article presents key aspects of a newer area of research on the mafia and Fascism, the 1930s, when a new campaign to suppress the mafia was not made use of for propaganda purposes.

Italian neorealism is conventionally read as the authoritative cinematic chronicle of Italy’s experience of the Second World War and the Resistance. However, this article argues that viewing this period of Italian cinema solely through the lens of neorealism has obscured the importance of the affective charge of melodrama in constituting an alternative ethics of representation in the late 1940s and early 1950s in Italy, one that worked via an appeal to the emotions. It posits that the traumas of Fascism, war, occupation, and Resistance were worked through by Italian cinema after the war in a range of genres and modes, principally melodrama.

By focusing on the figure of the returning soldier or reduce, and the films’ representation of a return to domestic disruption, the article examines how this domestic or romantic disruption stands in for what cannot be narrated, which is the ideological chaos of the Fascist and post-Fascist period. The article argues that the disturbance caused by the reduce to familial relations speaks to the Italian struggle to come to terms with aspects of its repressed war experience, particularly that of the Italian soldiers imprisoned abroad.

This essay reconstructs the emergence of a growing sensitivity towards animal welfare in Italy during the so-called ‘liberal’ years. An examination of the origins and activities of animal protection societies, the debate on use of animals for scientific experimentation, and the earliest provisions for animal protection, reveals a growing concern for animal welfare in Italy too during the course of the twentieth century. This was channelled by the liberal-bourgeois values of the time: public decency, moderation, and goodwill towards animals as well as humans were all seen as signs of ‘civilisation’ and ‘progress’. It was claimed that foreign influence, particularly British, was of vital importance in such developments in Italy, including both the thoughts of the anti-vivisectionists and the work and propaganda of the societies for animal protection. This essay also examines the 1913 Law, which was the first important Italian legislation governing animal welfare and protection.

From 2008 Sicily’s president was Raffaele Lombardo, leader of the Movimento per le Autonomie (MpA), a party founded by politicians who were already well established in the city of Catania and its province. In the summer of 2012 Lombardo’s government was forced to resign following an investigation that exposed the connections between the president and Mafia families in eastern Sicily. This article draws on two ethnographic studies carried out in Catania between 2009 and 2013: in describing the political behaviour and power relations between voters, local councillors and MpA executive officers, the research examined the tendency to internalise the widely understood narrative about politics and patronage in Sicily that Lombardo and his colleagues embodied. By relating ethnographic data to the legal documents showing the links between MpA leaders and Cosa Nostra bosses, I argue that social and cultural support for the party will have included support from local Mafia members.

This essay analyses the evolution of the Holocaust film genre in Italy through the paradigm of sacrifice, understood both as a process of martyrisation and Christianisation of the Holocaust, and from the point of view of the instrumental use of the figure of the national hero. Using the examples of the opening sequence of the deicide and the metaphorical crucifixion of Matteo Blumenthal at the end of L’ebreo errante (The Wandering Jew, Goffredo Alessandrini, 1948); the sacrifice of Giulia in L’oro di Roma (The Gold of Rome, Carlo Lizzani, 1961), who follows her Jewish nature faced with the round-up of 16 October 1943 – the same fate suffered by Edith, the Parisian Jew in Kapò (Gillo Pontecorvo, 1959); and the self-inflicted death of Guido, the narrative device used to justify the survival of the son in La vita è bella (Life Is Beautiful, Roberto Benigni, 1997), this contribution will focus on the definition of the Christianised topos of sacrifice, connected to the conception and general use of the term ‘Holocaust’. The overall thesis, running through the analysis of these four films, is that the paradigm has contributed significantly to the creation of a context of conflicting memories, influencing therefore the formation of the religious, cultural, political or national identities that have been involved historically in the public and private memory of the Holocaust.

The attempt to halt the remorseless spread of organised crime in the Italian South should not just be an issue for the judges, investigating magistrates and forces of order; every citizen should feel that they are an integral part of a wind of change, coming from below, that can have a decisive impact on local society. Starting from this premise, art and culture, adopting an approach of participation and involvement, can play a primary role in processes of renewal. In various areas within the provinces of Naples and Caserta, carefully researched works of street art, with the direct involvement of the local population, have provided the means for intervention in decaying and marginal environments where organised crime seemed to be so well entrenched as to be ineradicable. This article presents four case studies, analysing their assumptions, methodology and objectives.

The anti-mafia operation undertaken in Sicily by the fledgling Fascist government had a powerful symbolic meaning in the construction of the ‘new state’. As a result, it left behind a wealth of sources: from the diaries of the prefect Cesare Mori and Alfredo Cucco, the Fascist Party’s representative in Sicily, to the many trials against ‘criminal associations’ from 1927 onwards. These sources are at the centre of a historiographical debate that dates back to the 1980s, and which has recently brought to light numerous elements of the complex relationship between Fascism and the Sicilian Mafia. In contrast, despite a similar level of publicity, the law and order operation launched in the same year of 1926 in Campania, in the province of Caserta, has largely been forgotten, and has received little historical analysis. This article presents the early results of research into the Fascist suppression of the mafia in Campania in 1926 and 1927, focusing on the city of Naples and the province of Caserta (Terra di Lavoro). An initial study of judicial sources suggests that, unlike Sicily, the notion of ‘organised crime’ that underpinned the inquiries was largely denied in the final verdicts.

The aim of this paper is to analyse the evolution of the Italian public funding regime, in the light of the assumptions of the cartel party thesis. In the mid-1990s, the debate on party and party system change was revitalised by R. Katz and P. Mair (1995), who introduced the concept of the ‘cartel party’ as a means to study the increasing influence of the state on party politics. Among the main analytical dimensions of the cartel party argument, the system-level variables have received little attention with respect to the Italian case. In what follows I try to find out empirical evidence for the hypothesised changes in the relationship between parties and the state and in the patterns of inter-party competition. I will analyse the trends of the law-making process in the domain of party funding (1948–2014), by combining these observations with data on parties’ reliance on state funds and party collusive behaviour.

This article explores the trajectory of the Italian comic archetype, ‘The Opportunist’, and how it illuminates, and allows us to draws connections between, numerous junctures of modern Italian history. The caricature ‘Arlecchino’, deriving from the masked ‘types’ of the commedia dell’arte of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, is an historic exemplar of the Italian ‘everyman’ who simultaneously evades and exploits the established order in order to ‘get by’, ‘get ahead’ and survive. Filmmakers of la commedia all’italiana such as Mario Monicelli, Dino Risi and Lina Wertmuller, employed this caricature of the wily – yet ultimately harmless – petty crook in their work. They did so not in order to reinforce prejudices of Italians as self-serving and apathetic, but in order to examine what it meant to ‘survive’ 20 years of Fascism and the socio-political turmoil of post-war Italy. Examining how this caricature has historically evolved according to its ever-shifting social milieu illuminates not only certain defining moments of Italian history, but also how this archetype has contributed to popular understandings about Italy’s past and its people.

Benedetto Croce’s description of fascism as ‘a moral illness of our time’ provides a useful starting point for thinking about the phenomenon of cine-revisionismo storiografico and the representation of Fascism and fascists in Italian cinema. In many films from the post-war period and beyond, the metaphor of moral illness is literalised in portrayals of fascist characters who are shown as mentally or physically sick or disabled (often confusing the two), in contrast to the otherwise healthy and wholesome body of Italians. Addressing the conflation of physical and moral impairment in three 1960 films that grapple with the memory of Italy’s Fascist past – Roberto Rossellini’s Era notte a Roma (Escape by Night), Carlo Lizzani’s Il gobbo (The Hunchback of Rome), and Florestano Vancini’s La lunga notte del ’43 (It Happened in ’43) – this article argues that in these films, bodies that do not conform to an able-bodied male norm function as lieux de mémoire that permit both the expression and containment of painful memories of the Fascist period.