(Mirror.)

Since the Kingdom of Italy and the Austro‐Hungarian Monarchy were foes during World War I, Fascist films in the 1920s depicted Austrians in an unglamorous light (as the Kingdom of Italy’s 1910s films did):

As an example may serve Mario Volpe’s Il grido dell’aquila. The film was produced in 1923, to celebrate the first anniversary of Fascism’s seizure of power on October 28, 1922. In the film, Austrians rampage and destroy, knowing no mercy. Women and children fall victim to their violence.

Of note is the visual link in Il grido dell’aquila between the Austrians and some snakes. The montage shifts between images of the enemy storming a little town in Northern Italy and a pair of snakes hideously slithering in the dust. The spectator is invited to see the snakes through the lens of Christian symbolism as a picture of the devil.

Noteworthy also is La leggenda del Piave (1924), which offers a further example of the negative image of the Austrians in Italian cinema in the 1920s. The film revolves around an Austrian spy, who sneaks himself into an Italian family, where the man tries to seduce the young Elena. When war breaks out, the villa where Elena’s family lives is occupied by the enemy, and the spy appears again and [harms] her.

As Il grido dell’aquila, the film ascribes a barbaric strain to the enemy. When the Austrian mistreats Elena, it recurs to the metaphor of a white lily, squashed ruthlessly by a man’s hand and trampled by a pair of black boots.

When Austrofascism came to power in 1934, the Kingdom of Italy’s filmmakers depicted Austrians much more respectfully, and were careful to never emphasize their nationality in contexts where they fought Italians:

Le scarpe al sole stands exemplarily for the changing depiction of WWI in Italian cinema of the 1930s. War is celebrated and at the same time its memory distorted, and mystified, and somehow repressed. […] Significant too is the different connotation of the Italians and the enemy by means of their uniforms. The flawless white of the Alpini is opposed by the anonymous grey of the Austrians. Their thick, heavy coats contrast with the pleasing cut of the Italian uniforms.

Also, the camera rarely gets close to the enemy. The Austrians mostly appear as little dots in the distance, which we look at from the Italians’ perspective. They are indistinct, grey figures. The enemy in Elter’s film is faceless, an anonymous entity, and almost never are the Austrians called by name. Most of the time, they simply are referred to as ‘the enemy’, without clarifying their nationality. The enemy appears nameless, his identity undetermined.

[…]

One scene in Le scarpe al sole stands, in particular, in marked contrast to the devilish image of the enemy in Italian films of the 1920s. Austrian soldiers occupy a little village, advancing on the gravel road that runs through it. Some women observe them from the threshold of a house. An old woman quickly shuts the window, a man retreats inside.

On the empty street, a young woman hurries home. She is frightened as she suddenly glimpses some Austrians behind a corner. She hurries onward, yet the camera rests for a moment on the Austrian soldiers. They sit on a bench, tired, their uniforms muddy. One of them greets her: “Good evening, Miss.” It is an older man with a stringy beard and gaunt cheeks, missing a tooth. He seems harmless. What the camera shows is not a bloody warrior.

Counterintuitive though it may seem, countries do this all the time: when the circumstances force them to cooperate, they suddenly and conveniently forget about any hatred that they had for one another, and instead make nice with each other as if nothing had ever happened.

For example, when Imperial America officially allied with the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics in the early half of the 1940s, it became surprisingly easy to find pro‐Soviet media in Yankee culture, such as the films The North Star and Mission to Moscow. In contrast, when Robert Goldstein produced the war drama The Spirit of ’76 during World War I, Washington forced him to serve a decade in prison even though the British depicted unfavorably in that film were obviously not the same British who were now officially allied with their former colony.

Since the Fascists had a long‐term goal of annihilating Bolshevism, and Imperial Russia fought the Austro‐Hungarian Monarchy in WWI, it was useful to depict even prerevolutionary Russians in unfavourable lights:

Forzano’s film centers on a gigantic cannon and the squad of 13 men, referred to in the title, who maneuver it. The cannon hardly misses a shot and all efforts by the enemy to make out its position are vain. Of special note is the film’s location, for 13 uomini e un cannone takes place on the Eastern front, with the soldiers and the captain in charge of the astounding cannon being Austrians. They are the heroes, while the Russians represent the enemy, and the film clearly stands on the Austrians’ side. They are presented as capable, courageous and cheery.

The 13 men come from different backgrounds. There is a teacher and a peasant, a pharmacist and a student, a musician and a librarian. There are also an acrobat and a painter, while one of the men openly admits that he does not work: “My father is very rich”, he explains. Yet in spite of the social differences, they are sincere comrades and happy to share at table what delicacies they may personally own. The spectator is explicitly invited to identify with the Austrians, who are at the center of the narrative and from the first moment gain our sympathy.

(Note the class collaborationism there.)

In contrast, the Russians are portrayed with a touch of irony. At the beginning, the film emphasizes the unspeakable fear of the Russian troops before the cannon. It seems to them like a fabulous and monstrous being. The film also makes fun of the Russian generals. They try mightily to locate and destroy the cannon, but to no avail. When they think to have finally hit it and put out of commission, the feat is celebrated with champagne.

Yet suddenly, the cannon makes itself heard, hitting the Russian headquarters. Heavy dust envelopes and covers the generals. Their portrayal is in clear contrast with the image of the Austrians. The lavish table where the Russian officers take their meals, between silver candlesticks and fine porcelain, is contrasted with the frugal fare of the Austrian squad.

The montage sets the simple meal in the forest under a tent ironically against the Russian banquet, just as the uniform of the Austrian general who visits the squad on the day of its 500th hit, stands in explicit contrast with that of the Russians. His is field grey, unpretentious, while the Russian generals appear in showy uniforms, on which medals and all sorts of decorations shine.

13 uomini e un cannone represents a unique case among Italian films on WWI, with the enemy against whom Italy fights during WWI, the Austrians, becoming the film’s protagonists. The film takes the side of the past opponent, while Russia, which fought together with England, France and Italy against the Habsburg monarchy and Germany, is portrayed as the enemy.

(Emphasis added in all cases.)