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THERE IS STILL TOMORROW.

Nov 4, 2023 | MOVIES, WOMEN, MOVIES, WOMEN

There is still tomorrow which sees the directorial debut of Paola Cortellesi is the film that won the Audience Award, Special Jury Prize and Mention as Best First Work at the Rome Film Festival.

Paola Cortellesi doesn’t need to be introduced, I always remember one of her gags in which she ironically listed all the things she has done, which are really so many and very different from each other, but which have the same feature in common: they are all done well.

I thank Elisa and her proposal: we went to the movies together fearing that we would have to use tissues to wipe tears and instead we mostly surprised ourselves.

The Friends.
In the movie: Delia and Marisa.

Emotion, however, was not lacking.

I, for one, was moved by the portrayal of a mother’s love for her daughter, who is played by Romana Maggiora Vergano in the film.

A love above all things, a love for which nothing is impossible, a pure and unwavering love.

Fragility and strength in a maelstrom of endurance and determination in which the ability to carry the crushing weight of a long interminable series of verbal and physical injustices and bullying, is catalyzed in the resolute will to seek a better destiny for Marcella.

Mother and daughter.

A crushed mother and a model daughter who does not understand Delia’s submission.

Succumbing and resisting at the same time, in a dance that is broken melody, is rock, is hip hop rap, is retro.

Marcella does not understand, but she will.

Marcella will look at her mother Delia and see the affirmation of a seemingly simple but extremely important gesture as a right, as a beginning.

Every change has a beginning.

There is still tomorrow represents “the music that changes” in a literal sense: I cannot fail to mention the repertoire songs from the soundtrack:
Aprite le finestre Fiorella Bini
Nessuno Naked Music
Perdoniamoci Achille Togliani
A bocca chiusa Daniele Silvestri
M’innamoro davvero Fabio Concato
La notte dei miracoli Lucio Dalla
Calvin The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion
B.O.B. – Bombs Over Baghdad Outkast
The little things Big Gigantic featuring Angela McCluskey
Swinging on the right side Lorenzo Maffia and Alessandro La Corte
Tu sei il mio grande amor Lorenzo Maffia, Alessandro La Corte and Enrico Rispoli.

Surprising, isn’t it?

Surprising as what you don’t expect from There is still tomorrow: the ending.

Indeed, in my heart I hoped that Delia’s project would not be the obvious one, but at the same time I would not have guessed an epilogue like the one with which Paola Cortellesi invites everyone to a beautiful reflection.

Light yet explosive, simple yet disruptive, just like Delia, just like Paola.

Yes because Delia is Paola, she is Marcella, and she is our grandmother.

Delia is so many lives of giving up, Delia is so many years of suffering.

Like nothing at all.

I WAS BORN ON THE DAY OF THE PIAZZA FONTANA MASSACRE

Dec 17, 2022 | WHO CARES

I was born on the day of the Piazza Fontana massacre, and I defy even those who are not superstitious not to see ominous signs in it.

I was born at home, on the kitchen table, like a fresh loaf of bread in the early morning.

When my mother shaked my father telling “it’s time,” he just turned on the other side and went on sleeping.

How could I blame him? I was coming to dawn as importunate as an alarm clock.

I was born in Cilavegna and I am one of the last people to be able to say this: as of January 1970 it was no longer possible to use a midwife, and it became mandatory to give birth in a hospital. Since there were no hospitals in Cilavegna, from that date on, new babies saw the light elsewhere.

I was born in Lomellina, land of fog and mosquitoes, but my father is of Venetian descent and my great-grandmother on my mother’s side was German. I am basically a mixture.

I was born into a simple family, Ihad simple things and a happy childhood.

My maternal grandmother, who looked after me from the time my mother resumed her job as a clerk, had swollen knees from all her mondina days, and, unable to move nimbly, entertained me by telling stories.

The result was that, before I began to walk, I spoke perfectly without the classic infantile mispronunciations, and I knew nursery rhymes, prayers and numbers.

Words were my first games, my first friends, my first nourishment.

Nevertheless, the kindergarten debut was quite traumatic: my shyness was relentless.

I had not yet understood the pleasure of chatting and socializing, a concept I largely recovered after the middle ages of adolescence.

But let us proceed step by step: for the nuns who conducted the kindergarten, my interaction defect was not a noteworthy aspect, quite the contrary. Rather, the problem was created by my inability to fall asleep after lunch.

Standing still in my cot, I would silently weave the bangs of the rough plaid under which I was supposed to fall asleep instead.

I did not feel that I was creating a disturbance, but that was one of my first errors of judgment: I still have clear memories of the reprimand from Sister Antonia, who among the sisters was the better and quieter one.

Thereafter rather than the bangs I took to interweaving my attempts at intentionality with my grandfather’s big heart. He would work night shifts and in the morning, exhausted, instead of going to rest. he would accommodate my requests, effectively endorsing the intent to skip kindergarten.

A tumor took him away when I was only five years old leaving me a huge void and an unfulfilled desire in return.

He used to tell me “as soon as I retire I will teach you German.”

During the war he was used as an interpreter after a German officer, striking him, heard him reply in his own language.

I thought I would learn easily, that I would listen happily as with Grandma’s stories, but instead he could tell me no more.

When elementary school time came, there was no school on Thursdays, but by then I didn’t care much.

Some people still called us remiges: lined up in rows of two, hand in hand, with our overcoats over our black aprons from which sprouted the big blue bow knotted under the white collar.

It began on the first of October when the desks were still desks, and the folders contained a checkbook and a ruled notebook, small ones, with the blotting paper for the ink of fountain pens: witnesses to a writing that no longer exists.

… TO BE CONTINUED.

Pic by Massimo

HOUSE OF GUCCI

Mar 13, 2022 | FASHION, MOVIES, MUSIC

The Gucci family has repeatedly dissociated itself from the portrait that the film portrays, and I will not go into the merits, but now I can finally say that Lady Gaga in the House of Gucci is truly credible, for the vision I had of it.

So, taking up the talk on Patrizia Reggiani, apparently Lady Germanotta’s decision not to meet her did not affect the interpretation, despite Reggiani being annoyed.

Obviously I observed clothes, accessories, and outfits in general, with particular interest both for Gucci pieces and for 80s looks, and I have to say that I enjoyed the work of costume designer Yanti Yates.

Very scrupulous work, starting from months of study in the archives of the Gucci maison.

In an interview with the New York Times, available in full on Instagram, Yanti Yates stated that Lady Gaga was hugely involved, not least because she is a complete clotheshorse and looks marvelous in everything. She was hugely focused on how her character might appear at a particular moment, and had very strong views on aspects like hair and makeup.

But also difficult work, again according to the statements made during the interview: I would create initial selections, and then she would select from there.

Gaga selected.

It also seems that there have been days when for her it was “not today.”

Moreover, the same Gucci website reports as an iconic statement from Yanti Yates: “Lady Gaga told me that in this movie she wanted to dress like her Italian mom. To create her looks, I was able to draw on both her personal and historical Gucci archives.”

Like her Italian mom.

How good does this sentence sound?

At the same time, however, I have this doubt that is spinning in my head, so help me understand if my perception is deceiving me since, actually, in the early 70s despite I wasn’t really in the world from longer (also now I am not, but this is a other story).

Unfortunately I could not find the image of the scene in which Maurizio Gucci introduces Patrizia to his father Rodolfo, but more or less the same goes for the floral dress in this picture.

Obviously I’m nobody to question the reconstruction, which in all other situations I have admired, and I stress it well, but the idea of this dress leaves me perplexed. I’m wrong, right?

I leave you this roundup of outfits.

In addition to the clothes, House of Gucci offers the vision of a fantastic series of precious “vintage” cars.

In particular, I really loved the way director Ridley Scott frames the arrivals at Rodolfo Gucci’s home: focused on the entrance. From the outside to the outside.

This shot occurs more than once in the movie, with different cars arriving in front of that entrance.

For me it was a sort of “story within history,” almost a symbol to mark the time.

In the picture below, with the same principle, in contrast we are witnessing a departure.

Which is also a beginning: the beginning of a strategy for Maurizio being back in the company.

For the rest, I refer you to the review by Matavitatau, me, a bit like Cruella, I really enjoyed the non-original soundtrack.

As for the floral dresses, I felt a sort of temporal disorientation that in some cases conquered me, in others it left me a kind of question mark.

For example, I liked the choice for George Michael’s Faith as soundtrack of the wedding scene: despite the anachronistic incongruity, it gave me a joyfulness that counterbalanced the void created by the absence of Maurizio’s family.

On the contrary, I was perplexed listening to Ritornerai by Bruno Lauzi as the background to the scene in which Aldo Gucci goes with Maurizio and Patrizia to the estate where their historic breeding is located. The song is wonderful, ça va sans dire, and the meaning is centered on returning to the origins, but for my personal perception it is as if something screeches.

Apart from that, I could list one song more beautiful than the other, and I would like to propose them all: Here comes the rain again by Eurythmics, Heart of glass by Blondie, Ashes to ashes by the White Duke David Bowie, Blue Monday by New Order, Una notte speciale by Alice, Sono bugiarda by Caterina Caselli, but also Largo al factotum from Il Barbiere di Siviglia by Rossini, Madame Butterfly and much more.

As you choose which one you prefer to listen to first, here are some coffees.

And… the final blessing.

CENTOQUARANTADUE DOES THE ENCORE

Dec 19, 2021 | THE X-MAS CAROLS

I have already told you about the blog Centoquarantadue and how it is made up of two Souls: She, who wrote the story n. 3 of the Advent calendar, and He.

On this Sunday before Christmas Centoquarantadue does an encore and gives us the story by He.

I state that I already had my eyes to heart reading the presentation: I am He, who adores She. Writing together allows us to maintain a deep bond, despite the distance and other unspecified adversities.

Simply wonderful words.

And as if that weren’t enough, the story also moved me particularly because it awakened a memory linked to my Mom.

I don’t want to reveal anything but I advise you not to miss this Christmas Surprise:

There were just a few days before Christmas and, like every year, the delivery of the prize for kindness was held in the village: during the year, whoever wanted, could report one or more people who had distinguished themselves for acts of generosity, and at the end of the year , just before Christmas, the chosen ones were rewarded during an official ceremony attended by almost the whole country … go on here.

MOTHERS

May 15, 2021 | WOMEN

Americo wrote the story of his memories in the comments: so beautiful that it can’t just stay there with the risk that someone will lose him.

I report verbatim:

With pleasure I bring back my childhood memories.

In addition to my biological mother, I have had other mothers like Derna and her cousin who welcomed me in Ancona and raised me as their son, surrounded by all the attention.

In particular I want to remember Derna Scandali, the well-known trade unionist, who at era worked hard to organize the arrival and entrust it to the families of us little southerners in the smallest details.

She set in motion an exceptional organizational machine for the time that, despite the post-war poverty, solidarity with us was not lacking.

Derna and her cousin lived close by, she had an independent life and every day we found ourselves at the table all together, day and evening.

She also organized the colonies, she took us to the sea and we children had fun.

Thus the summer days passed.

But I also want to remember my mother.

I did everything to avoid staying in my country because I knew the poverty of the South well.

Seeing me sad and no longer eating for the regret of having left Ancona, she reluctantly let me go in order to know that I was happy and to have joy in my eyes, since she knew I was in good hands, even if she was pleased (rightly) to have me with her and to see me grow.

Today I feel guilty for this, just for not having given her the joy of seeing me grow up, at the same time, however, I think back to that child who in Ancona had everything, for me it was a world that I have always defined “with colors”.

I understood that only a mother’s great love for her child can make this happen.

I often wonder what I would have done in her place: probably the same, I would have let my son go too.

Unfortunately, these great women have all disappeared, but I cannot forget all the positive things they have done. Their memory is always alive in me.

And if today I am what I am, I owe it to them.

I would say that Americo’s words paint exactly the very essence of being a Mother.

Who knows how many times you too will have faced the consideration of how it is not so obvious that mother understood as the one who gives birth, coincides with mother understood as the one who has the ability to dispense love beyond herself.

There are too many stories of children abandoned or abused by their biological mothers. There are too many stories of children forced to grow up without receiving affection.

Americo, on the other hand, tells us about the demonstration of immense love from his true Mother, who accepted his “world of colors.”

And at the same time, simply showing himself for the person he is, testifies that those who welcomed him made it possible for him to continue growing in the best possible way.

The strong sense of family is therefore, if possible, even more enhanced for Americo, who is very fond of the memory of his parents.

For this, I can understand the bitterness in seeing one’s story told in some parts and then transposed into a completely different context, especially with very distant family references.

To recap: I became fond of the character described in the book by Viola Ardone thinking that it was fictional, only to discover instead that he really exists, that he really traveled on the train and which was truly welcomed and hosted by Derna.

And not only: thanks to Giovanni Rinaldi we got in touch and I had the opportunity to know the reality and to understand that one feels cheated knowing that starting from a basis of real facts, and in the absence of specifics or disclaimers, most people would think that everything else is true as well.

This is why I take the liberty of giving voice to the child Americo who has never cut off the tails of mice or picked up rags, and who as a child, as well as when he grows up, teaches us to want a colorful world made up of good people like them.