For whom do you have more sympathy: the born fool, or the capable man reduced to foolishness? The first is to be pitied, for he was given no chance to be great; while the latter, you might say, squandered his. And yet, there’s something more pitiable about a man whose dignity is stripped from him. If we’re honest, we’ll admit it could happen to us too, no matter the strength of our character.
Antonio Ricci (Lamberto Maggiorani) is an average man in post-war Rome; a married father of two small children, one a baby, the other, a boy under ten. He aspires to no more than his family’s comfort, it seems: like many Roman tradesmen, he’s struggling to keep his loved ones fed, and so, when he wins a job placing posters—beating out dozens and dozens of other desperate men—he’s ecstatic. It’s a lousy job, really; you ride from corner to corner through busy streets, a ladder slung over your arm and a paste bucket in-hand, and you have to provide your own bicycle. But it’s a job, and Antonio needs a job more than anything.
