On May 8, 1938, Rome was a stage. Adolf Hitler arrived to meet Benito Mussolini in a choreographed display of aestheticized politics that brought millions into the streets. But while the world’s cameras were focused on the geometric ranks of the parade, Ettore Scola’s 1977 masterpiece, A Special Day (Una giornata particolare), pivots the lens toward a desolate, echoing apartment complex where two people are left behind. In this episode, we explore the intimate, soul-breaking distance between the state’s public spectacle and the private reckoning of two outsiders: Antonietta, an overworked housewife and timid comply-er, and Gabriele, a radio announcer being purged by the regime for his deviance.

One of the most striking elements of the film is its pervasive soundscape. Even though we never see the parade, the regime is omnipresent through the acoustic violence of the radio broadcast. The booming, ecstatic narration of the rally echoes through the hallways of the apartment block, serving as a visceral reminder that under fascism, there is no such thing as a private interior. We discuss how Scola uses this audio to create a state of liturgical trance that the characters must struggle to speak over, highlighting the way fascism colonizes domestic space.

Antonietta represents the visceral understanding of fascism as a domestic religion—one that provides a sense of purpose and beauty to a life otherwise defined by drudgery. By casting Italy’s most glamorous stars, Sophia Loren and Marcello Mastroianni, against type and stripping them of their cinematic luster, Scola humanizes the cost of compliance and the exhaustion of trying to fit into the Ideal Fascist mold. We look specifically at Antonietta’s Mussolini scrapbook as a primary example of fascist kitsch—how the regime domesticates its horror through sentimental imagery. Join us as we unpack a film that proves the most powerful resistance doesn’t always happen on the battlefield, but in the quiet, dangerous act of seeing another person clearly when the state demands you look only at the parade.