Love and Anarchy (1973)

Good God. Careful with Film d'amore e d'anarchia, ovvero stamattina alle 10 in via dei Fiori nella nota casa di tolleranza... (A film about love and anarchy, that is, this morning at 10 o'clock in Fiori Street, in the well-known whorehouse...; but more often, Love and Anarchy) - it's intense as hell.

It's also very good, and probably Lina Wertmüller's most gripping, gut-wrenching film. Stripping away all the bizarre humor that lightened and spiced up her later hits, Film d'amore e d'anarchia is a straight, sober look at one of Italy's most terrible periods: the rise of Fascism in the 1920s. We follow a few days in the life of the freckle-faced, wide-eyed country boy, Tonino (Giancarlo Giannini), who has come to the big city with plans to assassinate Mussolini. He's taken in by an anarchist prostitute, Salomè (Mariangela Melato). The whorehouse is a bawdy circus, full of sex jokes and impromptu guitar singing. Tonino, visibly out of his depth, is taken in by the prostitutes, who protect him and bicker over him and mock him. Eventually, he falls in love with the equally young Tripolina (Lina Polito).

But, even amidst this atmosphere of fun and frolic, the clock is ticking. The long shadow of Fascism looms, and things become increasingly edgy as the date of the assassination approaches. This slow crescendo of tension builds and builds, creating a sense of terrible foreboding.

A number of films have shown the quotidian nightmare of Fascist Italy: Una giornata particolare explored the day Mussolini and Hitler met in Rome, as seen via two "outsiders", played by Marcello Mastroianni and Sofia Loren, stranded in a deserted suburban apartment building. Roma città aperta and General della Rovere explored wartime, occupied Italy. Film d'amore e d'anarchia fits neatly into this subgenre, in that - like Una giornata particolare, we experience the city under Fascist rule: and it's alien, ugly, oppressive. We see extensive shots of Mussolini's planned communities, such as EUR, with their enormous, repressive architecture. The streets are all empty. Everyone seems unfriendly and on edge.

Also, like Roma città aperta and General della Rovere, Fascist power seems unconquerable, terrifying. The feeling of initial resistance followed by deep fear ("I'm shitting myself," Tonino repeatedly quails. "You can't imagine how scared I am.") followed by absolute desperation is perfectly captured in these films. Indeed, we spent much of the film anxious and upset, almost unable to watch it to the (inevitable) sorry conclusion. This isn't the post-war world of C'eravamo tanto amati, where the partisan fight - having been won - is suddenly seen as nostalgic and noble. Instead, this is narrow, terrifying insecurity. Indeed, that feeling of pervasive terror lingers - we still feel it now, having just finished the film, and we're reminded of another Antonio, the relatively luckier resistance fighter played by Nino Manfredi in C'eravamo tanto amati, who has a great few lines about it:

Listen, Luciana: when you've risked your life with someone, you remained attached to them. It's as if time doesn't pass, and that person could still save you. As if we're not out of danger yet.

Highly recommended. Follow with the lightest chaser you can find - something like this or maybe this or maybe just a glass of water and a nap.

Dramma della gelosia (1970)

First thing's first: we loved Dramma della gelosia (tutti i particolari in cronaca) (Jealousy drama (with all the details), though its international title was The Pizza Triangle). It was everything we loved about Ettore Scola's other masterpiece, C'eravamo tanto amati, coupled with the zany, sexualized, politicized, over-the-top commedia all'italiana story akin to our favorite Lina Wertmuller movies. In other words, the perfect 1970s Italian film.

The story begins with the fidgety, disheveled Oreste (an amazing Marcello Mastroianni) being asked by the police and lawyers how it exactly happened. Aided by a sad-looking Nello (Giancarlo Giannini), Oreste, Nello and an older man reenact the accidental murder of Adelaide (Monica Vitti) - Oreste and Nello's former lover. There's a bittersweet pageantry to watching everything slow down and seeing the absurdity of this very human drama unfold.

The rest of the film makes us retrace the steps - via Rashomon-like courthouse interjections - of when Adelaide the florist and Oreste the bricklayer met, fell in love, and then met Nello the pizza chef, and fell in love with him too. This love triangle, and the three's extremes of ultimatums, aborted polyamory, attempted suicides and - yes - lots of jealousy and hurt feelings, make up the rest of this strange, touching film. In the vein of Ettore Scola's other PPCCed film, there is a heavy air of surreality (lots of fourth-wall breaking) coupled with compassionate humanism. It all seems so silly and forgivable in hindsight. Also, as per C'eravamo tanto amati and Lina Wertmuller's films, the Italian Left is a prominent supporting character, and the downtrodden, working class Oreste and Nello even meet after getting beat up by the police at a march. Like the bourgeois "padrone" in C'eravamo…, the rich Roman is again portrayed as fat, dull-eyed and very ignorant (played here by the hulking Hércules Cortés).

What was interesting about this film - and called to mind Giancarlo Giannini's later golden years in skeezy picaresque tales like Pasqualino Settebellezze and Mi manda Picone - was its high levels of "zozzeria" - that is, scumminess. The setting is Rome, but the city looks disgusting, and the characters frequent dumps, housing projects and ugly highways. Oreste is hounded by an enormous fly, and his entrances are signaled by loud buzzing. He twitches, his hair is greasy and his clothes are mismatched. In one of the most hilarious scenes, Adelaide attempts to list his pros and cons; when she gets to the cons, she admits, "And you're not very hygienic. Remember that one night? You even made a sound." Oreste and Adelaide meet when he falls asleep on a pile of paper and debris. They frolic on a polluted beach, have a picnic at the dump.

The script successfully juggles tenderness with a sharp wit; we found ourselves laughing often, even if it was so sad. And some of the lines were great! Example: when Adelaide first spots Oreste snoozing on a trash heap at a Communist fair (they have those, I guess?), she hops off the swings and goes to wake him with a kiss. They're both a little drunk and unsteady, and when he wakes, he looks at her, thinks for a bit, and says, "You lost a bet." What a first line! Or a wonderful scene when Adelaide seeks the aid of a therapist: "So what's the diagnosis? I'm traumatized, I've had a shock? It's a neurological disorder? Or am I a whore?" The therapist cuts in quickly: "Let's not get into scientific jargon!"

The most impressive of the cast was Marcello Mastroianni, who was playing heavily against type. We wouldn't have believed that Mastroianni would have been able to shed his dashing, Everyman persona to become someone as decrepit and bizarre (and Roman) as Oreste. The details of his performance - the tic around his eyes; his stubbed, broken fingernails; the general air of decay and hobo-ness - was amazing. In fact, we were so amazed that we had to check if he won anything for this; and he did! Best Actor at Cannes!

Giancarlo Giannini, our other favorite, was also playing heavily against type. Whereas he usually occupied the role of the wild-eyed, unhinged and in love laborer (see Wertmuller's Mimi metallurgico ferrito nell'onore), here he was young, upbeat and oddly tween heartthrob-esque. He was also playing a Tuscan, and the accent was awesome.

Monica Vitti's best moments were definitely the swings between carefree, joyous hedonism and the wracks of self-doubt. In fact, the latter almost seemed satirical of typical soap opera femininity (as was much of this film's treatment of sexual mores and gender norms in general). Yet, as with the writing and everything else, even when things bordered on satirical, they never lacked sympathy.

Highly recommended.

Travolti da un insolito destino nell'azzurro mare d'agosto (1974)

Travolti da un insolito destino nell'azzurro mare d'agosto (literally, Swept away by an unusual destiny in the blue sea of August or, more often just, Swept Away) is, in some ways, the classic "holiday from our lives" story. Just like the preceding PPCCed film, Una giornata particolare, Swept Away follows the initial clashing and eventual romance between a decidedly odd couple. A recent Hollywoodified remake was attempted by Guy Ritchie, with Madonna and Giancarlo Giannini's son, Adriano, in the leading roles - by most accounts, it was a terrible film that managed to suck all of the substance out of the original.


The film's palette is full of bright blues, earthy tones and white. Makes you want to fly to the Mediterranean RIGHT NOW!

Because the original Swept Away isn't just about two beautiful "opposites" attracting on a deserted island paradise. It's something complicated, provocative, erotically charged, funny, intelligent and insane. It manages to mix up 1970s Italian sociopolitics, regional racism, gender relations and human psychology into a tale that is at times outrageous, at times tender, and always very funny. The eventual love affair between the southern Communist Gennarino (Giancarlo Giannini) and the snobbish northern Raffaella (Mariangela Melato) isn't easy to relate to or understand, but it does make you laugh and even cry (a little!).

Somewhere in the glittering blue Mediterranean, there is a yacht full of rich, fashionable couples from Milan (Italy's industrial and business center). One of the Milanese women is Raffaella (Mariangela Melato), an entitled, snobbish princess-type who gets into energetic arguments with the other Milanese over those "awful Communists". There is a small group of poor, southern Italian workers on the yacht who tend to the northerners' whims - one of these meridionali is Gennarino (Giancarlo Giannini). Gennarino is a card-carrying member of the Communist Party and he grows increasingly infuriated to listen to Raffaella's talk. "It's like someone paid her to piss me off!" he hisses in private to one of his colleagues. And even worse: Raffaella steps all over him, complaining that his coffee is just reheated, his pasta is overcooked and his shirts are smelly and need to be changed when he serves her.


The bitchy and entitled Raffaella (Mariangela Melato).

One morning, when Raffaella demands that Gennarino take her out in the motorboat for a quick swim, the motor dies and they find themselves adrift in the wide, lonely sea. After several days, they land on a tiny, deserted island and Gennarino, finally fed up with Raffaella's bitchiness, explodes with rage, tells her off and stalks away. Since Gennarino is much better at coping in the harsh conditions, Raffaella eventually finds herself begging him to let her have some of his food. And Gennarino, taking advantage of his suddenly powerful position, abuses, blackmails and enslaves Raffaella. And thus begins their tumultuous, bizarre, slightly sadomasochistic affair.


One of the funniest moments: when Gennarino (Giancarlo Giannini) wakes up to find himself, ahem, adorned in flowers.

Much of the "romance" is really about power struggles. Just like the uncomfortable lovemaking scenes in Ang Lee's recent Lust, Caution, Gennarino and Raffaella's bedroom (okay, beach) is where all the power struggles are played out, often violently. It's not just about kinkiness or Stockholm syndrome, it's about the power struggles between the rich North and poverty-stricken South, the mainstream, "industrialist" Democrazia Cristiana Party and the opposition Communist Party, the master and servant, man and woman.


Aww!

That's not to say that the romance isn't also oddly touching. We knew about the film's themes before watching it, and we never imagined we'd find ourselves almost rooting for Gennarino and Raffaella. For example, there is a scene when a boat comes by the island and only Raffaella sees it. Rather than calling to it, she - properly swept away by her new love for Gennarino - hides until it leaves. And we at the PPCC found this moment utterly romantic! "I didn't want this to end!" she sobs to him later. Indeed, while the spark was a somewhat perverted and sadomasochistic attraction, loaded with all those sociopolitical issues, their love eventually becomes remarkably sweet and simple. It's never saccharine though - the end makes sure of that, when the sociopolitics and reality come marching back.

This is a much-loved Italian classic, and the performances by Giancarlo Giannini and Mariangela Melato are fondly remembered by everyone we talk to - heck, the DVD cover calls this their best work EVER. Both Giannini and Melato have appealing, if unconventional, looks - a bit laconic hangdog for him and bumblebee doll for her - and yet in this film they are glamorous and glittering in a primal, sun-drenched way. We've always been a bit mystified by the glassy-eyed praise Giancarlo Giannini's beauty gets on YouTube comment pages. Adorable and lovably cute, yes, but sex god, uh...? And yet, after this film, we can see why people might go a bit crazy for him.

DVD Bonus!: The Italian DVD of this film contains interviews with the director, Lina Wertmuller, and lead actress, Mariangela Melato. The Melato interview is a hoot - she proclaims that the remake was trash and that she was definitely "più bona" (hotter) than Madonna, and she tells how apparently the weather was frigid and, to stay warm, she and Giannini drank grappa in their morning cappuccinos and spent most of the shooting "rincoglioniti" (befuddled).

(P.S. The review entitled "Screwball Comedy, Italian Style" by Arriflex1 on the IMDb comments page for this film is more concise than ours and spot-on!)

Rewind City (2008) + Enel spot (2007)

Nothing like starting your day blubbering over a commercial.

We at the PPCC have a long-simmering plan to review a couple commercials, and here we are! Because, gosh, you can do a lot of damage in three hours - whereas, if you can tell your story in three minutes, it's all good! Both of the ads featured today share a "oh, wonderful humanity!" vibe.

First up, thanks to Sepia Mutiny's post today on a lovely French ad filmed in India about rewinding the precious moments in our lives. It's directed Ringan Ledwidge and stars some French people and a bunch of Mumbai extras. It's sweet and lovely.



Second, a 2007 ad for Italy's energy company, Enel, starring our beloved Giancarlo Giannini. Unfortunately, this one's in Italian and relies entirely on Giancarlo's narration of three magic(al) realist fables, our favorites being the people who eat genius food and get up to spout Shakespeare, and the nerdy PhD student who chases his flying papers around town and is reintroduced to humanity and life. Ooh, Giancarlo Giannini. How we love thee, let us count the ways.

Mi manda Picone (1984)

Aoh!

Mi manda Picone (literally, Picone Sent Me, though the US title was Where's Picone?) is a likable nugget of a film about a low-level hustler's Odyssey through the poor parts of Naples. It has that same surreal, tragicomic touch that characterized films like La dolce vita and Pasqualino Settebellezze, except it's much lighter fare. There are no deep philosophical points being made here, but the narrative is twisty and the characterizations are complex, so you feel like you've had a full meal of filmi goodness.

The film opens with the self-immolation of a disgruntled factory worker, the titular Picone (??? - we never see his face!). At a hearing on mafia corruption, in a massive courtroom where his wife, Luciella (the gorgeous Lina Sastri), and three children are watching, Picone demands to know why he was fired from the factory - then drenches himself in gasoline and lights a match, running out of the room. His distraught family chases after him, following him to the hospital where - mysteriously - he has disappeared. As Luciella searches for her husband, she begins to lose hope and believe that he is dead. Yet, when the hospital bureaucracy can't help her even locate the body ("All deaths in Naples under forty are gunshot wounds," the morgue attendant says), she hires the services of a bum, Salvatore (Giancarlo Giannini), who claims to know how to work the hairy Neopolitan "system" and find her husband.

With Luciella's blessing, Salvatore begins searching throughout the city for hints - and every hint makes the puzzle more complex. It seems Picone wasn't really working at the factory, and instead Salvatore finds himself on the receiving end of a load of money from one factory worker. From then on, Salvatore decides to ride the coattails of Picone's mysterious, nefarious activities, using Picone's old address book to go from person to person, declaring only, "Picone sent me." Since Salvatore (and we the audience) has no idea what Picone was actually doing, these episodes are surprising, incomprehensible and often very funny. Some people give Salvatore money. One guy gives him a slab of beef. Another punches him in the face.


Giancarlo Giannini and Lina Sastri.

Salvatore struggles to stay ahead of the game - even though he has no idea what the game is. He deceives Luciella too, keeping up the pretense of looking for Picone's corpse. And then, oddly and touchingly, a relationship develops between them. The film ends with yet more revelations and - it seems - an intimation of happy freedoms for Luciella, Salvatore and the kids.

The plot summary probably makes the film sound sleazy - hustlers, prostitutes, corpses and mafiosi feature heavily. But the film's main strength is in showing the humanity of this stratum of society: it's not about The Poor or The Underworld, it's about people struggling to get by. Salvatore, for example, is the stereotypical bum: he wears mismatched shoes, carries all his belongings in a plastic bag, sleeps in a squatter's flat and wolfs down the few meals he gets. And - thanks to Giancarlo Giannini's hangdog expressions and fragile, wiry demeanor - we sympathize with him and understand his decisions. When Luciella falls for him, it's not because he's helping her (as we know he's clearly not really, and Luciella's far too cynical not to second-guess his motives), it's because he's so endearingly quirky and vulnerable. Hustling or not, he's a good guy (and great with the kids, too! bonus!).


Salvatore's just trying to get by!


Luciella.

Naples, along with Sicily, tends to be defined by mafia and corruption, especially in the eyes of the international community. Indeed, the film has an overarching narrative about the Camorra - note, for example, where Picone sets himself on fire - yet this isn't the high-level mafia activities that most viewers are familiar with, where the crime is epic and international. In this film, we see the stereotypical "mafia mentality" at its lowest level. That is, within Italy, even everyday Neopolitans have a bit of a reputation for being hustlers. And this film - like Pasqualino Settebellezze - capitalizes on that stereotype for a picaresque odyssey; the main difference being that this film sympathizes whereas Pasqualino demonized. Subterfuge is a matter of course, with characters regularly misrepresenting themselves and schmoozing. Rather than lending the narrative a noir vibe, this nocturnal delirium of lies and deception turns much more circus-like. Perhaps if this film had been made in America, it would have become Raymond Chandler-esque. In Italy - in Naples - it becomes a bizarre game full of twists and turns and black humor in unexpected places.


The modern-day Dante emerging from his latest dip in the Inferno.

We watched this because we at the PPCC are inordinately fond of Giancarlo Giannini (hence the blog banner of the moment), and indeed, this film is a great show of Giannini's abilities - his exasperation and anxiety are pitch-perfect. Lina Sastri is wonderful as well, and the odd moments of sweetness between Giannini and Sastri in their quiet home are juxtaposed cleverly against the chaos outside. Indeed, this film's touch is delicate and quick, with humor, pathos and the absurd mixed in just the right portions.

Pasqualino Settebellezze (1975)

Giancarlo Giannini is FAB as the titular Pasqualino.

We would not advise Pasqualino Settebellezze for the weak of stomach. If you're in the mood for a satirical, tragicomic Italian story which takes place during the Holocaust, you would do better to watch Roberto Benigni's relatively inoffensive La vita è bella (Life is Beautiful). That is like Pasqualino lite. If, instead, you want to be provoked and shocked, then look no further.

That's not to say that Pasqualino Settebellezze is just a dressed up snuff film. Far from it. Hidden amid all that hideous wretchedness is a sharp intelligence; indeed, this is a film that will leave you thinking for a long time, and it will challenge a lot of your conventional notions about the right to survive. The watching of it, though, can be pretty painful.


Pasqualino is basically ruled by women, though he doesn't know it.


Pasqua and his friend, Francesco (Piero di Iorio).

The picaresque story follows Pasqualino Frafuso (Giancarlo Giannini), a young Neopolitan in wartorn Italy. Pasqualino has seven sisters, all of them notoriously ugly, and he is a small-time thug and dandy. His nickname is Settebellezze (seven beauties), a play on his sisters and his schmoozy womanizing. The movie does everything in its power to destroy your sympathy for Pasquale: he is misogynistic, violent, idiotic and probably insane. When he catches his older sister working as a prostitute, he confronts her pimp and, accidentally, shoots him. His small-time mafia boss tells him that, to augment his reputation as a tough guy, he should do something really crazy with the body. Pasquale decides to cut it up and mail the pieces to various cities in Italy. He then spends the following years in an insane asylum, and escapes only by means of joining the Italian army. On his way to the Russian front, he deserts and wanders the German countryside. Eventually, he is caught and thrown into a concentration camp where, as a means to survive, he attempts to seduce the Nazi commander, a truly terrifying woman billed only as Commandant (Shirley Stoler).


AAAARGHHHH.

The twists and turns of this story all contribute to establishing the main theme: Pasqualino will do anything to survive. And the movie continuously questions whether it is, actually, always better to survive. Just before entering the insane asylum, Pasqualino's lawyer tells him, "It's either dignity or life!" Pasqualino hesitates, but chooses an undignified life. And then he is confronted with yet more choices - culminating in the final scenes in the concentration camp - where his survival relies on a continual abandoning of everything he holds dear. Just in case we might still sympathize with Pasqualino - these are impossible moral situations, after all, that he's facing - the director Lina Wertmuller throws in some scenes where Pasqualino is shown to just be an awful person. This alienation sort of works; Giancarlo Giannini's acting is genuine enough that we still felt bad for him, even though he was scummy.

What's furthermore odd about the film is how funny it is, often in the most unexpected places. Pasqualino's pitiful attempts at flirting with the Nazi commander got several laughs, even as we cringed for him at the same time. Indeed, the vibe of the film is just that: black comedy, purified. You laugh, and, even as you laugh, you feel uncomfortable. This is not necessarily a bad thing; at the end of it, we must say that we really enjoyed it.


A rare, pretty shot of Naples.

Now, some people have argued that this film is inherently misogynistic. As far as we can tell, the evidence is this: Pasqualino is a horrible misogynist, and almost every single woman in the film is portrayed as corrupt, horrible, and otherwise unsavory. We at the PPCC, always keen to dissect movies with a gendered scalpel, would argue that the film was far from misogynistic. First of all, Lina Wertmuller, the director, is clearly making a satire here about the Neopolitan man and his fragile macho-centric ego. Just note how dependent Pasqualino is on women - as a means of attaining honor (defending his prostitute sister), as a means of establishing his identity (his womanizing reputation in Naples), and, ultimately, as the key to his survival (the seduction of the scary Nazi woman). All along, Pasqualino's exploitation of women is undermined; e.g. the alienating scene in the insane asylum where he molests a patient. That is, as he exploits them, he condemns himself. Many scenes also show Pasqualino literally being jostled by a crowd of women. Even the sex scene with the scary Nazi woman - which, be warned, is like OMG MY EYES THEY'RE BURNING - minimizes and weakens Pasqualino. Rather than the virile man exercising his powers, he is rendered pitifully servile. The camera work diminishes him further; she is huge and looming, he cowers before her. Ugh, it really is awful.

Anyway, in light of Pasqualino's dependence, the woman are empowered. Sure, they are horrible - the Nazi woman in particular - but they are definitely in control. And surely feminism and female empowerment doesn't always assume that, once empowered, a woman is never villainous. Indeed it was refreshing to see a woman in the role of fearsome villain, and never is she portrayed in the standard witch/crone way, cackling and ultimately fragile in a crusty, wartish way. Instead she is a strong, commanding, brute presence.


Excellent composition.

In terms of filmmaking, Wertmuller seems particular keen on extre-eme close-ups. Our copy of the film was also worn out, so it was all rather ugly. But was the ugliness intentional? The story was pretty ugly, after all. We didn't particularly care for the cinematography, except in a few scenes (Pasqualino's confrontation with the pimp, his run from the police, the trial), so we can't give the film very high marks for aesthetics. That said, there were some interesting visual themes - the use of mirrors, especially. In the initial Naples setting, Pasqualino is shown to be obsessively narcissistic, constantly checking himself in the mirror. He weilds his power in the mirror, too, in the scene where he shouts down his prostitute sister. When he returns after the war to find a Naples invigorated and corrupted by the victorious American forces, the camera does everything in its power to delay showing us Pasqualino's face. There's a wonderful moment when, as his mother and fiancee (both now prostitutes) are encouraging him to forget the past and rejoice in being alive, we cannot see his face in the mirror. It is as if he has lost himself completely in his ordeal, and the man that survived has nothing left inside of him: honor, dignity, morality, identity. His mother encourages him, "Pasqua', you look great. It's finished now. Don't think about those horrible things anymore. Pasqua', you're alive. Alive!" Slowly, the camera pans around to reveal his face (in extreme close-up). We see that his hair is a bit grey, he looks tired. And he says, "Si. Son' viv'." Yes. I'm alive.


Note how we can't see Pasqualino's face in the mirror.

Watch a rare English-dubbed version of the entire film on Google Video.