Over the course of her over 60-year career, the mysterious Claudia Cardinale captivated audiences with her amazing presence on television.
Cardinale took the frequently traumatized way to celebrity, not intending to become one of the best performers of the golden period.
She claims that “cinema saved my life,” having outlasted the now-deceased Hollywood heavyweights with whom she had a screen share and continuing to thrive at the age of 86.
To find out more about this actress and her current endeavors, continue reading!
Being a legendary actress, Claudia Cardinale will always be remembered for her contributions to Italian and foreign cinema. Throughout her career, she was able to portray a wide range of complex and memorable roles thanks to her talent, beauty, and versatility.
At eighteen, the Italian actor, who was born in Tunisia, was pursuing her education to become a teacher. The young woman with shiny hair and French accent was enthralled with the pomp of an Italian film festival when she emerged from the crowd and won the title of Most Beautiful Italian Girl in Tunisia.
“I was assisting my mother and Italian government representatives in setting up an Italian film festival in Tunisia. I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I couldn’t help but stare at the females on stage. I was called the Most Beautiful Girl in Tunisia after someone shoved me out onto the platform, the girl claimed.
The young lady had numerous offers from producers after winning a trip to the Venice film festival, which she saw as a portentous adventure.
Cardinale said in an interview that he initially declined the offers because “it’s like a man.” If you respond positively to him when he approaches, he will eventually move on. He will long to have you if you say no.
She turned down most of the offers because she was expecting a child.
She was unable to turn down one producer, though. The young Cardinale caught the eye of renowned Italian producer Franco Cristaldi, who is recognized for his work on feature films from the 1950s through the 1990s, and he signed her to an 18-year contract.
A personal contract was also in place; after their marriage, Cristaldi completely controlled her, molding her into an Italian Brigitte Bardot and deciding on her social life, weight, and movie choices.
Cristaldi insisted that her pregnancy remain a secret.
It was revealed that her son was her younger brother.
Cardinale had a few small parts in Italian movies under Cristaldi’s direction, and because of her roles, she was known as “Italy’s sweetheart.”
Her breakthrough performance came in the romantic comedy Three Strangers in Rome in 1958. Seven months into her pregnancy—which, at Cristaldi’s insistence, she kept a secret—Cardinale fell into a depressive state and contemplated suicide, appealing with her management to end the arrangement.
Rather, Cristaldi sent her to London to avoid media attention, fabricating a story about her absence to acquire English for a part.
Her baby Patrick was born in 1975, and she claimed that the father of the kid, an unnamed male, had raped her. Her son Patrick’s identity remained concealed until he reached nineteen.
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‘Violent truth’
The graphic details of Cardinale’s pregnancy were revealed to Italian writer Enzo Biagi in 2017, when she confided in him, saying, “A man I didn’t know, much older than me, forced me to go up to car and raped me.” It was horrific, but the most lovely thing is that the violence gave birth to my amazing Patrick. In actuality, I chose not to have an abortion even though it was a really difficult scenario for a single mother.”
“That man came back and demanded that I have an abortion when he found out that I was pregnant,” she went on. I didn’t consider getting rid of my creature for even a second!
“With him I was practically an employee, a subordinate who was paid a month for the four films I made a year: I didn’t even call him by name, but by surname,” Cardinale claimed of Cristaldi, who ruled her life. I felt enslaved, and my parents were enraged.He was the one with me since I wasn’t in love. In summary, Cristaldi was undoubtedly a fantastic producer, but it’s best to ignore his personal life.
Her career was unaffected by her toxic marriage to Cristaldi, which she ended in 1975.
The natural beauty immediately established herself as one of Italy’s top actors after starring alongside Omar Sharif in the French-Tunisian film Goha. After that, she landed major parts in Rocco and his Brothers (1960) and The Leopard (1963), costarring with Burt Lancaster, which won an Oscar. She also acted in Marcello Mastroianni’s film 8½. Award-winning director Martin Scorsese lists both of the movies in which she portrayed an apparently unachievable object of desire as two of his top 12.
‘Italian Brigitte Bardot’
Gaining traction in Hollywood, she starred alongside David Nivens in The Pink Panther and then shared the screen with legends like John Wayne and Rita Hayworth in 1964’s Circus World.
Credit: Shutterstock
Celebrated for her performance as a sex worker in the 1968 American-Italian production Once Upon a Time in the West, Cardinale shared the screen with legendary actors Charles Bronson, Jason Robards, and Henry Fonda.
However, viewers relished witnessing Cardinale, also known as the Italian Brigitte Bardot, alongside her friend and adversary, the genuine Bardot, in 1971’s The Legend of Frenchie King. What distinguished her from Bardot? “I always thought it was more erotic to leave some room to imagination, hinting at things rather than showing everything,” she claimed, denying ever having shown up nude in a movie.
Hollywood work was lucrative but also demanding. Cardinale stated that she wished to leave the patriarchal Hollywood system in a Life article that called her “the most admired international film star since Sophia Loren.” Cardinale made the statement, “If I have to give up the money, I give it up,” in reference to the lesser pay in Europe. I want to avoid seeming cliche.
‘You cannot stop time’
Cardinale stated that even if her career has slowed down, she is content to have left the sexualized spotlight behind.
My childhood desire was to travel the world. And I succeeded in doing it. I never changed my appearance, and I never was nude. It really doesn’t appeal to me. Since time cannot be stopped, I prefer to be who I am,” Cardinale remarked.
In 1975, Cardinale wed Italian director Pasquale Squitieri, with whom he remained until his passing in 2017. Claudia is the couple’s lone daughter.
Cardinale responded to reports in 2022 that she had been hospitalized against her will. She claimed to be in good health and to be living adjacent to her family in France. I also want to wish a pleasant summer to all.
As the goodwill ambassador for the Defense of Women’s Rights at UNESCO, Cardinale is actively working with the organization these days.
Claudia Cardinale led a life that was both successful and terrible. We hope she stays well and that her tale will continue to motivate other women, as it is truly admirable. What is your preferred Cardinale movie?
My Mom Promised Me Our Childhood Home — Then Gave It to My Brother’s Wife and Called It ‘A Gift for the Real Daughter’
The house was supposed to be mine. Mom had promised it since I was little. But at my SIL’s birthday party, she handed the deed to her instead. “It’s time this house belonged to a real daughter,” she announced to the room. I felt my world collapse.
Growing up, I was always Mom’s favorite. She never tried to hide it, and honestly, neither did I. While Mark would be outside playing with neighborhood kids, I’d be helping Mom bake cookies or listening to her stories about her own childhood.
Cookies on a baking tray | Source: Pexels
“One day, this house will be yours, Sarah,” she’d say, running her hand along the worn kitchen counter. “Every scratch and dent has a story. And when I’m gone, you’ll be the keeper of those stories.”
It was never anything fancy. Just a creaky two-bedroom with warped floors, bad plumbing, and a roof that sighed in heavy rain. But it was my childhood home.
And she made sure I knew that when she passed or moved on, it would be mine.
A house | Source: Shutterstock
“What about Mark?” I asked once when I was about twelve.
Mom just laughed. “Your brother? He’ll be fine. Besides, he never appreciated this place the way you do.”
Mark never seemed to care much about the house anyway. As a teenager, he was already talking about moving to the city.
Meanwhile, I would daydream about which room would be my office and what color I’d paint the living room walls someday.
A person painting a wall | Source: Pexels
After high school, I moved out for college, then found a decent job in marketing.
As life got busy with deadlines, friends, dating disasters, and trying my best to build some savings, the promise of the house faded into the background of my mind. It became something I rarely thought about as I navigated my late twenties and early thirties.
Then, when I was thirty-three, everything changed. My grandmother passed away, leaving Mom with a decent inheritance. Not wealthy-overnight money, but enough to make some comfortable changes.
A will document | Source: Unsplash
Mom called me one Sunday afternoon. “I’m moving, sweetie. Using some of Mom’s money to get a luxury apartment closer to the senior center. All my friends are there now.”
“The house?” I asked, feeling that childhood promise stirring in my memory.
“It’s yours, sweetie. Fix it up how you like. Consider it my early gift to you. You’ve earned it.” Her voice was warm with pride. “I’m not selling it. I’m not renting it. It’s yours now.”
A living room | Source: Midjourney
I nearly dropped the phone. After all these years, she had remembered. Kept her promise.
“Are you serious?” I whispered.
“Dead serious. I’ve already talked to my lawyer. We just need to meet him to sign the paperwork to transfer it properly. But you can move in whenever you want.”
I had been saving for years to buy a place of my own. I wasn’t married, didn’t have kids, and had no co-signer. But I had enough for a small down payment and had been working full-time since I graduated.
A person working on their laptop | Source: Pexels
My studio apartment was fine, but the thought of having a home was overwhelming.
So, instead of putting that money toward a house of my own, I used it to repair hers. Now mine, supposedly.
The first weekend, I scrubbed every inch of that house, clearing out cobwebs and dust from corners Mom couldn’t reach anymore. I made lists of everything that needed fixing, including the leaky roof, the temperamental plumbing, and the electrical system that would dim during thunderstorms.
A worn-down utility room | Source: Midjourney
“Take your time with it,” Mom said when she visited that first month, touching the peeling wallpaper in the hallway. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
But I was determined. I redid the roof that summer, hiring professionals but helping where I could to save money. Fixed the plumbing when winter came. Updated the electrical system in the spring. Replaced the ancient appliances one by one as my paychecks allowed.
New appliances in a kitchen | Source: Pexels
Slowly, over two years, I poured in my savings, weekends, and heart. I painted walls, refinished floors, and planted a small garden in the backyard. Sometimes Mark would stop by, usually to borrow something, and whistle at the changes.
“Place looks great, sis,” he’d say, but never offered to help.
A man smiling | Source: Midjourney
Mom came by less and less as she settled into her new life. She had joined clubs, made new friends, and seemed happier than I’d seen her in years. I was happy for her, and happy in my home with all its memories and new improvements.
Soon, my house felt like the place I’d always dreamed of. I thought everything was perfect until Amanda’s birthday party changed everything.
My brother’s wife, Amanda, was hosting her 30th birthday at their townhouse.
A birthday cake | Source: Pexels
She was the kind of person who never even lifted a finger to help others unless she had something to gain. She never visited Mom, never offered to help with anything, and only called when she wanted something.
“You coming to Amanda’s birthday thing?” Mark had asked over the phone a week earlier.
“Do I have to?” I groaned.
“Mom really wants you there. Says she has some big announcement.”
A man talking to his sister on the phone | Source: Midjourney
Curious about Mom’s announcement, I showed up with a generic gift and a forced smile.
Mom arrived fashionably late, looking elegant in a new blue dress. She hugged Amanda like they were best friends, though I couldn’t remember the last time they’d spent any time together.
Halfway through the evening, Mom clinked her glass for attention. She was smiling, holding an envelope I hadn’t noticed before.
An envelope in a woman’s hand | Source: Pexels
“This family has given me so much,” she began, “but this year, I wanted to give something back. Something special.”
My stomach tightened. Something about her tone made me uneasy.
She handed the envelope to Amanda, who blinked dramatically and opened it in front of everyone.
“What is it?” someone called out.
Amanda’s eyes widened. “It’s… it’s a deed. To a house.” Her voice cracked with fake emotion.
It was a deed.
To the house.
My house.
Signed over.
A person signing a document | Source: Pexels
Everyone clapped. Amanda pretended to cry, dabbing at her eyes carefully to avoid smudging her makeup.
I just stood there, frozen, my mind refusing to process what was happening.
And then Mom turned to me and said, loud enough for the whole room to hear, “It’s time that house belonged to a real daughter.”
I couldn’t believe what was happening. How could Mom do this to me? I remember she said something about talking to the lawyer, but then she never had the time to visit the lawyer with me.
A lawyer sitting in his office | Source: Pexels
And… I didn’t force her because I didn’t mind if the house was still in her name.
After all, she was my mom, and I never thought she’d do something like this.
Once the guests got busy with food, I pulled Mom aside into the hallway.
“What did you do?” I hissed, trying to keep my voice down.
She just shrugged, like she was returning a borrowed sweater, not taking away my home.
“Amanda’s going to give me grandkids. You’ve made it clear you have no man, no plans, and no children. I want this house to go to someone who’s building a real family.”
An older woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
“But you promised—” My voice broke. “All that work I did—”
“They’ll appreciate it,” she cut me off. “They need a bigger place now that they’re starting a family.”
“Amanda’s pregnant?” I asked, the betrayal somehow cutting deeper.
“Not yet,” Mom admitted. “But they’re trying. And a nice house will give them space to grow.”
I left that night and never spoke to her again.
I moved out of the house within a week. Took nothing but my clothes and what little pride I had left.
An open suitcase | Source: Pexels
I used the last of my savings to rent a studio apartment. I had to start over.
Mom never reached out. Neither did Mark.
Five years passed.
Five years of rebuilding my life from scratch. New apartment. New routines. I changed jobs twice, finally landing a marketing director position I loved. I met Peter at a work conference, and we married after a year of dating. Nine months later, our daughter Amy was born.
“She has your smile,” Peter would say, watching me rock her to sleep.
A man standing in his bedroom | Source: Midjourney
We bought a small house in the suburbs, and the best part about it was that it was completely ours. No promises that could be broken.
One Saturday morning, I took Amy to the park near our new home. She was just learning to walk, tottering between playground equipment with fierce determination.
“Sarah?” a voice called out.
I turned to see Mrs. Johnson, our old next-door neighbor from my childhood home.
A woman standing in a park | Source: Midjourney
“It is you!” she exclaimed, hugging me. “And who is this beautiful little lady?”
“This is Amy, my daughter,” I said with a smile.
Mrs. Johnson’s face softened. “My goodness, you have a family now. I always knew you’d come out stronger than them.”
“Them?” I asked, confused.
She leaned in, lowering her voice. “Your mother and brother. Such a mess they’ve made.”
Turns out… Amanda had cheated on my brother.
With my mom’s new husband.
An older man | Source: Pexels
“New husband?” I repeated, stunned.
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Johnson nodded. “Your mother remarried about a year after… well, after everything happened with you. Some wealthier guy named Richard. Retired investment banker. And apparently, Amanda liked him too.”
The story spilled out. Mom had married Richard and moved into his house. Amanda and Mark had moved into my childhood home. Then, six months later, Amanda was caught having an affair with Richard.
“Amanda took everything,” Mrs. Johnson continued. “Filed for divorce from Mark, and because the house was in her name, she walked away with it. Sold it within a month to some developers. They tore it down last spring… building a duplex there now.”
A man working on a construction site | Source: Pexels
Now, Mom and Mark were living together in a small, rented apartment. Mrs. Johnson told me Mom had to sell most of her things to afford living there.
“And no grandkids,” I murmured.
“No grandkids,” she confirmed. “Such a shame. And all because she couldn’t see what was right in front of her.”
That night, after putting Amy to bed, I discussed everything with Peter and decided to call Mom.
A phone on a desk | Source: Pexels
Her voice cracked the second she heard mine.
“Sarah? Is that really you?”
“It’s me, Mom.”
She cried. Sobbed, really. Apologized over and over. Told me I was the only one who ever loved her without conditions. That she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.
“I have a daughter,” I said when she finally quieted. “Her name is Amy. She’s almost one.”
More tears from Mom. “A granddaughter? Oh, Sarah…”
I listened. I didn’t scream. I didn’t gloat.
When she asked if we could talk sometime or see each other, I said, “Family is family. I won’t let you starve. But you don’t get to use me anymore.”
I sent her a grocery delivery the next day. But I didn’t invite her over.
Grocery bags at the doorstep of a house | Source: Midjourney
Peter asked if I regretted calling. I shook my head.
“They’re still family,” I said, watching Amy sleep in her crib. “But that doesn’t mean I have to forget.”
***
Sometimes, I drive by where our old house used to stand. The duplex is almost finished now, and it’s nothing like the creaky home of my childhood. I don’t feel sad anymore. That house was never really mine, despite all the promises.
What’s mine is this life I’ve built. This family I cherish. This love that can’t be signed away on a deed or given to someone else.
And that’s worth more than any house could ever be.
A family holding hands | Source: Pexels
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