“Mussolini: Son of the Century” arrives with considerable fanfare and controversy in its portrayal of one of history’s most polarizing figures. Adapted from Antonio Scurati’s M. Son of the Century and directed by Joe Wright (Pride & Prejudice, Atonement), this eight-part series focuses on Benito Mussolini’s early political career, spanning 1919 to 1925. With a distinctive visual flair and a powerhouse lead performance from Luca Marinelli, the show demonstrates striking originality while raising difficult questions about the nature of historical dramatization.
From the opening scenes, Wright’s trademark mastery of period drama is evident. In contrast to his earlier works—replete with elegant tracking shots and richly realized landscapes—Mussolini: Son of the Century employs faster cuts, bursts of neon-like color, and stylized dream sequences that generate a frenetic energy, underscoring the turmoil of post–World War I Italy. At its best, this spirited style captures the headlong rush of societal unrest, punctuating how it paves the way for authoritarianism. At times, however, the show’s hyper-stylized approach becomes distracting and overwrought, as editing choices meant to amplify intensity occasionally undermine the drama’s gravity. Moreover, a puppet-show dream sequence, though thematically intriguing, diminishes the series’ emotional impact.
The primary draw is Luca Marinelli’s riveting portrayal of Benito Mussolini. With his jutting jaw, intense stare, and unwavering physicality, Marinelli embodies Mussolini’s self-styled “man of destiny” persona while hinting at deeper insecurities beneath the bravado. The script affords him daring fourth-wall breaks reminiscent of Shakespeare’s Richard III, as Mussolini addresses the camera directly to seduce viewers with the same rhetorical tactics he wielded against the Italian populace. These moments are both provocative and unsettling, showcasing Marinelli’s charisma and menace. They also highlight the show’s biggest gamble: illuminating the seductive power of fascism without appearing to endorse or glamorize its ideology.
Wright—who initially intended to film in English but chose Italian for authenticity—further cements the production’s immersion. Supporting characters, from socialist agitators to the Blackshirts who march on Rome, converse in the language of the setting, giving viewers a tangible sense of postwar Italy’s heated political climate. Still, the series does not always balance nuance with spectacle; noting historical liberties, particularly in the portrayal of certain real-life figures and events. For instance, Enver Hoxha’s presence is simplified, and broad strokes sometimes overshadow the complexities of Mussolini’s socialist and liberal opponents.
Nevertheless, Mussolini: Son of the Century stands out as a cautionary tale. By dedicating considerable screen time to Mussolini’s political cunning—exploiting economic anxieties and resentments in a destabilized society—the show underscores how quickly populist strongmen can undermine democratic frameworks. This theme resonates powerfully in our own era, as the resurgence of far-right ideologies underscores the fragility of democratic norms. Whether manifested through hyperbolic visual flourishes or reflective dialogue, Son of the Century forces us to confront how extremist ideologies find their foothold when desperation runs high.
Production values remain consistently strong. The cinematography alternates between somber sepia palettes and sudden bursts of saturated color, conjuring an atmosphere that mirrors Mussolini’s rapid ascent. Tom Rowlands of The Chemical Brothers contributes a driving, industrial-meets-electronic score reminiscent of Peaky Blinders, which, when aligned with key moments, evokes the fervor that propelled Mussolini to power. At times, however, this contemporary flourish can overshadow subtler character beats, leaving the quieter tensions underexplored.
Ultimately, Mussolini: Son of the Century succeeds by inciting debate, a hallmark of any effective historical drama. In depicting how a would-be savior manipulates social unrest, it highlights our collective susceptibility to charismatic populists. Although the series sometimes favors style over substance and risks momentarily flirting with the glorification of its titular figure, these shortcomings do not negate its underlying power. Anchored by Marinelli’s commanding performance, it provides an unsettling lens on a dark historical chapter, urging us to look beyond the surface of Mussolini’s bluster.
Whether the series leaves you captivated or confounded, its warning is strikingly relevant: beware those who promise salvation with a clenched fist, for desperation and spectacle can merge dangerously in any era. Viewers prepared to brave its visual and thematic intensity will discover a bold reminder of how easily democratic structures can be undone—and how chillingly modern such a saga can feel.