For Canadian filmmaker Sergio Navarretta, the sweet and slow life in Italy sparked a new creative vision

Every Sunday at my home on Lake Simcoe, Ont., I bake pane rustico and make tomato sauce from scratch while Neapolitan jazz artist Pino Daniele plays in the background. It’s a weekend tradition that brings me closer to my roots. As a filmmaker, I’ve come to realize I need to keep my connection to Italy strong. There’s something about my parents’ homeland that brings me back into alignment, grounds me in truth and ignites inspiration.

Like most first-generation Canadians, I grew up feeling caught between two worlds. My parents were born in Dragoni and Caiazzo, two quaint neighbouring towns north of Naples. In 1969, they left everything they knew to move to Canada, where I was born and raised.

As a kid, I travelled back to Italy many times, but it always meant more to me than vacation. The country has often informed my work — from my first film, “Looking for Angelina,” the tragic true story of an Italian immigrant, to my most recent feature, “The Cuban,” a tale of two unlikely friends displaced from their home countries.

But by far my most memorable journey to Italy was my most recent, a trip I’d dreamed about for years. In the summer before the pandemic, my partner, Alessandra, and I spontaneously decided to go for it. We wanted our son, Luca, then six, to meet his extended family for the first time. I also hoped the connection I felt to Italy would be as much a source of inspiration for Luca as it has been for me.

We booked in a last-minute flurry, arranging only a few days’ accommodations, planning to follow our whims from there. We avoided tourist traps in major cities (not particularly child-friendly in 40-degree heat) and did our best to live as the Italians do. It turns out in Italy, kids are welcome anywhere. Even with his limited local fluency, Luca spoke the universal language of play wherever we went. We spent leisurely dinners lingering over margherita pizzas or seafood fritto misto and limoncellos, unrushed by the need for an early bedtime.

Halfway through our trip, we set out for Fano, about a half-hour drive from the Renaissance city of Urbino. A historic settlement with an archway built by Caesar Augustus, Fano is now a popular beach town, set against a picturesque backdrop of rolling hills reminiscent of Tuscany. Besides owning a house here when we were growing up, this is the area where my aunt Rosaria on the Mastroianni side of the family (yes, it’s rumoured we may be related to the legendary Italian actor) turned an old farmhouse into a charming, 10-bedroom agriturismo.

It had been at least 10 years since my last visit to La Locanda del Gelso in Cartoceto, and the countryside was just as bucolic as I remembered. Once a migrant worker from the south, my aunt is a brilliant entrepreneur and the embodiment of the quintessential Italian mother. I learned the art of handmaking pasta by helping her meticulously prepare the restaurant’s butternut squash cappellacci, a task she would begin at six each morning. Whenever I asked if a machine wouldn’t make things faster, she laughed, “Nothing can replace my pasta made with love.”

Here, the need to rush for anything felt foreign, and I revelled in the gentle, restorative rhythm of the Italian lifestyle, spending time hiking in the countryside, swimming in the Adriatic Sea, drinking Aperols at the beach or helping my aunt gather vegetables from the organic garden as the sun set. The dry, mineral-rich earth yielded tomatoes so sweet, they deserved to be called fruit.

Family reunions over languorous open-air lunches, splashed with wine, would stretch over at least two hours. As others headed off to harvest from the on-site olive groves, I would take my son for a dip in the pool, and then relax under the gelso — the sprawling mulberry tree that has stood here for more than 100 years. It was a rare moment in time when I felt I could just be. No one was chasing anything.

The atmosphere was perfect to take out my laptop and tackle a project that has been pulling at me for several years. It was the seed of the idea that will eventually develop into my next film project, about a man who travels to Italy in an attempt to find iconic Italian actor Marcello Mastroianni. It’s a character piece about a man’s journey of self-discovery and an homage to Italian cinema. I’d put off working on this for a long time, but under the gelso, the scenes began unfolding in my mind’s eye.

What is it about Italy that inspires me? Perhaps it’s the beauty, the pace and the fact that I’m the child of immigrants, making me more appreciative of the gifts this country has to offer. Maybe being an outsider enables me to connect to the soul of this place. As I reflected and wrote, I was pulled back into reality by the sound of laughter. I glanced up to see that Luca had found a little friend with an impressive collection of toy cars. He, too, seemed to feel right at home.

Every Sunday, I think of my aunt Rosaria as I remove the piping hot bread from the oven, engaging in a ritual that reminds me of that feeling of pure inspiration. Especially over the past year, it’s never been clearer that it’s the simple things in life that often bring us the most joy. With any luck, these mornings will carry me through to my next Italian adventure.

Sergio Navarretta is honorary president of the jury for Toronto’s Lavazza Drive-In Film Festival (June 27 – July 17), screening at Ontario Place. The program is part of the Italian Contemporary Film Festival, celebrating its 10th anniversary this year.

The Star understands the restrictions on travel during the coronavirus pandemic. But like you, we dream of travelling again, and we’re publishing this story with future trips in mind.