Rosi is fascinated—though not, it seems, overly perturbed—by the anxious bustle of life in a tectonic war zone. He regularly drops in on an emergency-call center, where workers patiently respond to all manner of residents’ queries, some as trivial as a child’s prank call, others as harrowing as a cry for help from a woman suffering domestic abuse. Most typically, though, we hear panicked concerns about earthquakes, which occur with alarming frequency. (Or perhaps not so alarming: in surely the film’s most unrepentantly Italian moment, a woman laments that a tremor struck while she was cooking a ragù.) On such inherently unstable ground, the composure of each individual shot feels all the more deliberate. This has often been Rosi’s way; he offers a contemplative ballast, a decisive counterweight to conditions of agitation and flux. In “Sacro GRA” (2013), he held steady on different locations along a heavily trafficked highway that encircles Rome. He set his camera more freely adrift in the Oscar-nominated “Fire at Sea” (2016), though every movement carried immense gravity and purpose. The film’s focus was Lampedusa, a small island that has become a major port of call for migrants from Asia, Africa, and the Middle East, and you could sense Rosi’s determination to capture an overwhelming crisis without himself becoming unmoored.