What really makes this potentially melodramatic story so powerful is the incredibly intense and focused presence of little Kolya Spiridonov, who makes you believe Vanya's determination and grit every step of the way.

Like Vittorio De Sica, one of the great Italian neo-realists, Kravchuk populates his film with people, not paradigms; his characters are capable of good and evil, sometimes in equal measure.

It is about love, family, and the power of kindness to overcome the cruelty in the world.

There are shocking and heartbreaking moments scattered throughout The Italian, but [director] Kravchuk approaches them with a nonjudgmental, observational style that avoids most of the pitfalls of melodrama.

A throwback to neo-realist filmmaking . . . snowballs in emotion until later scenes are stomach-knotting in their tension. The film largely avoids sentiment with its muted score and shadowed close-ups.

An odd, beguiling little movie -- about two parts Dickens (with some Dickensian Chaplin thrown in) to one part Italian neorealist cinema.

With a riveting performance by young Kolya Spiridonov as the six year old Vanya, The Italian is a bitter sweet drama that captures the heartbreaking squalor of Russian orphans while highlighting the power of the spirit.

Cinematographer Aleksandr Burov captures a land of frost-coated fields, cracked plaster walls and weed-choked railways with a photojournalist's eye for the telling detail.