Postwar Italian helmer Luigi Comencini is one of a number of European directors whose career can be described, most intuitively, as bittersweet. Like Alberto Lattuada (one of his close friends through their ninth decades), Comencini achieved considerable acclaim in his native Italy, but never saw that infamy cross the ocean — thriving, as he did, in the shadow of an earlier generation deemed to have broader transatlantic appeal: one comprised of Vittorio De Sica, Roberto Rossellini, and other international giants. Comencini's stature was further diminished by his critical perception as something of an odd duck — he could not, and cannot, be classified as a neorealist by any stretch of the imagination. Like Lattuada, the director often turned out comedies, placing him at odds with the gravity of neorealism, and the inconsistent commercial reception of his films (repetitive alternation between flops and hits) did not help. Yet, in retrospect, Comencini's finest work ironically gains a universal resonance on par with that of his better-known predecessors, thanks to one marked gift: his oft-praised ability to capture onscreen the behavioral and emotional nuances of children.…  » Read more