Everyone believes they are familiar with a certain version of Tuscany. A vineyard in the distance, a row of cypress trees, and rolling hills bathed in golden afternoon light. The Italy of postcards, honeymoon itineraries, and movies that must convey “beauty” without doing much else is a real place, of course, but it has also evolved into a sort of shorthand. The Tuscany that doesn’t perform for anyone is more difficult to locate and more intriguing to consider. The one who just moves on.
The hilltop towns of Tuscany have always been that version of the region. Among them, Volterra is arguably the most subdued. There are no direct trains, buses that need to be planned, and roads that wind in ways that Google Maps is still a little taken aback by. Nevertheless, over the past few decades, it has attracted a constant stream of filmmakers, photographers, theater directors, and documentary storytellers who seem to find something in its unique seclusion that more accessible locations cannot provide. Walking through its Etruscan gate, which has three carved heads overlooking the valley below, gives the impression that this town has seen human activity for so long that it doesn’t need to impress anyone.
In addition to directing the International Festival at the Roman Theater in Volterra, Simone Migliorini owns a small bookstore filled with art catalogs, film publications, and theater histories. Without pausing, he can enumerate well-known figures in the documentary and film industries who have evolved over the previous fifty years. Some arrived once, prompted by a recommendation or out of curiosity. Many came back. The Roman Theater itself, with its ancient stone rising behind both audiences and performers, has evolved into a working backdrop for modern events that would seem forced anywhere else. It doesn’t here. History is not ornamentation. It is simply the location of people’s seats.
In this context, the documentary industry in particular appears to have found something helpful. The most intriguing documentaries being produced at the moment aren’t coming from the obvious film capitals, according to a growing argument that isn’t always voiced out loud. Meaningful partnerships are increasingly starting in regional hubs, which are authentic locations devoid of the transactional energy of large festivals. Conversations in a Tuscan courtyard differ from those in a convention center corridor, according to international co-productions. It’s difficult to say for sure if that really makes the movies better. However, filmmakers themselves continue to imply that it does.
Perhaps there is nothing mystical about places like Volterra that attract storytellers. Maybe it’s easier than that. Towns that have been inhabited continuously for three millennia have developed a unique relationship with time; things that seem urgent elsewhere seem a little less urgent here, and things that truly matter become easier to recognize. Sitting in a square where the Etruscans once traded, and the Romans later constructed theaters, a documentary filmmaker attempting to uncover the emotional core of a subject might just think more clearly. Or maybe the lack of Wi-Fi in some areas and the stone walls are helpful.
A smaller-scale version of this dynamic has been occurring down in the Garfagnana valley. The reopening of Villetta San Romano’s railway station carried the feel of something worthy of documentation. It was a local event in every way, attended by children, villagers, nonni in pressed coats, and a municipal orchestra. It was precise, not because it was grand. Documentary filmmakers describe this type of moment as what they are constantly searching for: a community expressing something authentic about itself without making an effort. These are not set dressings, such as the priest, the mayor in her sash, and the elderly man returning home. They are the substance.
Slowly and covertly, the Tuscan hill town festival circuit appears to be illustrating how real weight storytelling tends to take root in locations that already have weight. Filmmakers now need places and communities that can garner significant attention due to the global demand for documentary work—international festivals, streaming services, and younger audiences’ growing preference for non-fiction. Here, in the hills, among ancient gates, crowded bookshops, and stations reborn with ribbons and prayers, some of them seem to have discovered that. It won’t remain silent indefinitely. These things rarely do.
