A president at the end of his term faces final decisions: whether to sign a bill legalizing euthanasia and whether to pardon two killers - an abused woman and a man who murdered his sick wife, both claiming mercy as justification for their actions. Despite their weight though, these dilemmas feel schematic and artificial, and they are meant to. Sorrentino seems to have deliberately designed them to ridicule our attempts to impose order on human experience. On a personal level, the president is consumed by his late wife's memory - supposedly out of love, but really out of pride and resentment. He cannot forgive her adultery, and this fixation infects every aspect of his life. What looks like reflection is vanity; what sounds like grief is control. The title carries cruel irony. Grace means both pardon and inherent quality, yet both are exposed as false. Grace as pardon is absurd - who is anyone to decide on questions of life and death, or, as the film's central question asks, "who our days belong to"? Grace as inner serenity collapses too; it is always compromised by ego, hierarchy, and the need to be on top. Even the pope, who should embody divine grace, functions only as a figurehead, placing God atop human power structures. Sorrentino's grace here resembles Lanthimos' kinds of kindness - not kindness at all, but its abomination. The high-visit scene collapsing into rain is a perfect example: the moment screams of human vulnerability, yet the instinct to help the old man - to show grace - is withheld because social hierarchy dictates he will be humiliated. On the other hand, the recurring musical theme - a heartbeat threading through chaos - constantly reminds us of the human factor beneath appearances of order and serenity. Despite its brilliance and visual poetry, unlike Sorrentino's previous film Parthenope, here the effect comes only after consideration, reflecting the difference between them. In Parthenope, grace exists in perception, while here it is a performative ritual. Recognition of the idea brings intellectual pleasure but deprives the viewer of Grace of immediate emotional resonance.

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