morning, the cameras rolled and the actresses delivered their hastily memorised lines. But it was an uncomfortable situation, made worse when a doctor arrived for his ward round.
‘What is going on here?’ he demanded of the director. ‘I will not have these men subjected to this sort of disturbance. Who gave you permission to film here?’
‘Alessandro Pavolini,’ said the director. ‘It’s a ministerial order.’
‘But my patients are desperately ill – in some cases, dying. Is this how you think wounded men should be treated? Is this the sort of spectacle you think our people would enjoy? It’s not make-believe, it’s real life and death. To make propaganda out of it is an outrage.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said the director. ‘But I’ve got my orders… there’s nothing I can do about it.’
Isabella had some sympathy with the doctor’s point of view. Acutely aware they were in the medical team’s way, she did her job as professionally and swiftly as possible – smiling gracefully, touching a hand or an arm, trying to show genuine concern for the patients. But the scowls of the injured soldiers disturbed her. It could have been Ludovico lying there… with a leg missing, or his handsome face disfigured by shrapnel. And how would he feel being used in this way?
‘That was embarrassing,’ she muttered to Elsa at the end of the day, as they climbed into the taxi.
‘Embarrassing is not the word,’ Elsa replied, lighting a cigarette. ‘It was an outrage – as that doctor said.’
‘But what can we do about it?’
‘Make a complaint.’
‘Should we?’ Isabella was nervous. ‘We don’t want to upset the authorities. Besides, who would we complain to?’
‘Pavolini, of course. I noticed he never turned up – nor Doris! I shall speak to him.’ Elsa blew cigarette smoke out of the window impatiently.
‘She might not like you doing that,’ suggested Isabella, recalling how Doris had clung possessively to Pavolini at her party a few months earlier.
‘I can handle Doris,’ said Elsa dismissively, ‘and I suggest we refuse to take part in such disgraceful propaganda again.’
The hospital filming gave Isabella an insight into the terrible suffering of the young men fighting for their country. For the first time, she began to understand the true devastation of war. She realised how fortunate she was: she had enough food, she earned a lot of money, her family were safe, and Rome was untouched by bombing or invasion. The sight of those young men lying broken in their beds disturbed her, and she was relieved to get back to work in the New Year and lose herself in a project.
The film was a historical drama about two orphaned sisters played by Isabella and a young dark-haired actress called Alida Valli, who had been dubbed ‘the next Garbo’ by the press. Isabella’s part was a beautiful but blind young woman who is forced into a life of poverty. Alida won the role of her sister, kidnapped by an unscrupulous marquis. Isabella’s role was physically demanding – not least because she spent most of her time with a blindfold over her eyes, bumping into pieces of furniture on the set. At the end of a day’s filming, her legs and arms were covered with bruises, but when she thought of the men lying in that hospital, injured and dying, she knew how lucky she was to live in the rarefied world of the film industry.
As the winter of 1941 drew on, there was news of food riots spreading around the country. Rationing was so tight that people were at starving point, and the food that was available was increasingly expensive. Even in the State-owned Cinecittà canteen, the lighting men and sound recordists struggled to afford much more than an egg sandwich. When Isabella joined them at lunchtime, she would often buy a large plate of salami or ham and share it with the crew. But not everyone was so supportive of the workers.
One afternoon a young actress called Elsa Merlini, the highest-paid star at the studio, ostentatiously purchased an entire roast chicken, and fed it, piece by piece, to a stray dog. The workers looked on with a growing sense of anger.
Isabella was appalled at the woman’s behaviour.
‘What on earth do you think you are you doing?’ she asked angrily.
‘What’s it to you?’ Elsa replied.
‘Don’t you understand? People are hungry – they’re starving, and you waste good food on a dog.’
Elsa shrugged her shoulders.
‘It’s all right for us,’ Isabella went on. ‘We have connections, we earn good money, but these people,’ she