In the week the Italian Film Festival opens at the Riverside Studios in London, Disney releases its multi-award-winning wartime drama, Malena, writes David Parkinson.

Set in the picturesquely fictional town of Castelcuta in Sicily, Giuseppe Tornatore's two-toned rites-of-passage picture glossifies the realism of Vittorio De Sica's Bicycle Thieves, idealises the nostalgia of Fellini's Amarcord and bittersweetens the sentiment of his own Cinema Paradiso - while still revelling in a gallery of Italianate caricatures.

As the teenager besotted with the beauty who passes from widow to whore against the changing fortunes of the Second World War, the debuting Giuseppe Sulfaro manages a naivete that tempers his fertive imaginings (cue the monochrome movie pastiches). But the film belongs to Monica Bellucci, who, without saying much, succeeds in suggesting the allure, vulnerability, brassiness and courage of the much-wronged outsider, who is lusted after and gossiped about by the locals as if she wasn't there.

Tornatore doesn't always pull off the difficult transitions from whimsy to tragedy, but Ennio Morricone's score and Lajos Koltai's photography paper over some of the cracks.

Running from today until April 1, the Italian Film Festival showcases 20 new features, as well as presenting short tributes to veteran director Mario Monicelli and animator Ursula Ferraro.

Giuseppe Tornatore also had a hand in the production of Robert Ando's The Manuscript of the Prince. Flashing back to Palermo in the 1950s, it chronicles the relationship between impoverished aristocrat Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa (Michel Bouquet) and two eager acolytes - the ennobled Guido Lanza (Giorgio Lupano), whom he makes his heir, and Marco Pace (Paolo Briguglia), the sullen student to whom he entrusts his most prized possession, the manuscript for his novel, The Leopard (which was filmed after its posthumous publication by Luchino Visconti). Shot in glossy heritage style, yet coolly spectating on Lampedusa's callous toying with the emotions and intellect of his would-be protg, this is a film to intrigue rather than involve.

Another Sicilian-based film to explore the contrasting personalities of impassioned young men is Lucio Gaudino's First Light of Dawn. Returning home after years away to look after the younger wheelchair-bound brother left alone by the Mafia murder of their shopkeeping parents, Gianmarco Tognazzi soon finds a combination of guilt, duty and local pride inducing him to abandon his jet-setting lifestyle. Determined to extoll the beauty of the island and the spirit of its people, Gaudino, nevertheless, struggles to induce empathy with either the conflicted Tognazzi or the sulkily immature Francesco Giuffrida. The performances are undeniably sincere, but the siblings' rapprochement is unconvincing.

A refusal to surrender to the intimidatory tactics of the Mafia also informs The One Hundred Steps. Based on the true-life resistance of underground radio activist Peppino Impastato, (whose own uncle was a made man), Marco Tullio Giordana's film has the raw authenticity of Ricky Tognazzi's La Scorta (another factual feature about a judge's attempts to stamp out Sicilian corruption). However, Luigi Lo Cascio's anti-heroic non-conformity is out of kilter with the almost hagiographic manner in which his deeds are depicted. Moreover, his father's relentless attempts to lure him back into the fold frequently flirt with godfatheresque clich. It's heartfelt and undeniably affirmative but it never truly inspires.

Finally, on a lighter note, Silvio Soldini's Bread and Tulips is a delightful mid-life rebellion comedy, set against the glorious vistas of Venice. Accidentally abandoned by her lowbrow family on a cut-price coach tour, Licia Maglietta decides to treat herself to an adventure and finds professional fulfilment in an elderly anarchist's flower shop and unexpected romance with Icelandic waiter, Bruno Ganz. The all-round geniality is reinforced by the amiably bungling performance of Antonio Catania, as the inepct private eye hired by Maglietta's incrementally desperate husband. But there's also a sharp socio-political subtext, which sets it apart from the less abrasive Shirley Valentine.