Vermiglio looks like a beautiful place. Located toward the northern reaches of Italy, this comune is surrounded by deep woods and a branch of the Alps commonly referred to by its tallest peaks, Adamello and Presanella. There aren’t many residents on hand — the population comes in at around 1,800 — but the area’s historical importance belies its size. Vermiglio was strategic during World War I because of its proximity to the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

The township of Vermiglio is seen to astonishing effect in Maura Delpero’s new film of the same name. Working with ace cinematographer Mikhail Krichman — some viewers may remember his work on Andrey Zvyagintsev’s “The Return” (2003) — Ms. Delpero captures the grandeur of the surrounding landscape without capitulating to the picturesque. The characters seen hiking through its byroads are rendered miniscule, being all too aware of their place in the grander scheme of things. The director’s compositional know-how, austere and appreciative, reiterates as much.

Is this God’s country? The people of Vermiglio and, in particular, the family at the center of Ms. Delpero’s picture, think so. Prayer is a constant, as are trips to the local church. Ada (Rachele Potrich), the middle-daughter of the local schoolmaster Cesare (Tommaso Ragno) and his wife Adele (Roberta Rovelli), is particularly cognizant of God’s presence and, it seems, God’s fury. Ada has invented a peculiar list of atonements in recompense for her wandering spirit and unruly desires. Ms. Potrich inhabits the role with a deep-seated ferocity.

Then again, all of the actors on hand — whether it be the veteran Mr. Ragno or a first-timer like Ms. Potrich — are excellent. So much so that the nature of the film medium is rendered, if not moot, then transparent. Like any credible work of art, “Vermiglio” creates and sustains its own reality. Ms. Delpero has made a film cut through with high regard: for the characters, yes, but also for the audience. This is an understated and absorbing achievement. Even the harshest movie-goer will be chastened by its probity.

Ms. Delpero places us in Vermiglio toward the end of World War II. This sleepy outpost is host to two soldiers who have deserted their unit. The older men in the village give one of the soldiers a pass — he is, after all, kin to Cesare and Adele — but not so Pietro (Giuseepe De Domenico), a Sicilian by birth and a man of few words. Cesare and Adele are Christian enough to invite the men into their home for meals, but they must otherwise spend their days huddled in the barn.

Out of sight doesn’t guarantee out of mind, and the family’s eldest daughter Lucia (Martina Scrinzi) soon becomes preoccupied with Pietro. One glance leads to another, hands are held, and soon the couple is exchanging vows — partly out of love; mostly out of necessity. Lucia is with child. 

Cesare and Adele resign themselves to this less than ideal situation; besides, they have to attend to their other six children, some of whom are very young. When news of the war’s end reaches Vermiglio, its blessings are mixed. Peace is welcome, but Pietro must now travel to Sicily to attend to his aged mother. Lucia is some way along in her pregnancy. The timing could be better.

“Vermiglio” is a film of profound emotional gravity, an exegesis on family, faith, and circumstance that spares no one and yet doesn’t capitulate to despair. The triumvirate of sisters at the core of the film — Ada, Lucia, and the precocious Flavia (Anna Thaler) — are the hub by which the quiddities of each character, particularly Cesare, are given focus and humanity. 

Ms. Delpero has written and directed the rare film that has the fullness and cadence of a novel, a narrative whose turns and complications gain in resonance as events accumulate. Hers is a gift worth championing.