Beatrix is a supernatural horror written by Cristiano Venturelli.
See how beautiful his site is: I liked the waves of the sea.
I have already told you about Cristiano in connection with another of his books: Echoes from the Unknown.
Cristiano is a very friendly and helpful person and with the enthusiasm of someone who loves what he writes he gave me the opportunity to read Beatrix too.
The author asks: what power can a gaze contain?
I leave it up to you to guess, curious to find out if for you having a power equals something positive or negative.
What if the powers were supernatural, if they were something that did not belong to human nature, would you fear them or would you be fascinated by them?
You know that I never fully reveal the surprising elements of each book, precisely to leave the discovery as it was surprising to me.
But I will tell you that Beatrix is a condensation of facets that unite opposite souls: mother, witch … diversity, magic but also suffering.
Let me ask you a question: if I say suffering, what is the first thing you think of?
But above all, we talked about The Children’s Train when I read the book Happiness trains by Giovanni Rinaldi.
I became fond of Giovanni Rinaldi’s research work and his subsequent There was me on that train too and with words I travelled through the stories of many children, many families, many people who today still witness the beauty of solidarity through eyes that have seen the train of life run and through words that have much to teach us.
A discovery, a gift, which has brought us the privilege of the direct testimony of Americo Marino.
Americo, not Amerigo, I am not mistaken: the real name of the man we knew as the protagonist of Einaudi or The Children’s train Netflix, played by Christian Cervone and Stefano Accorsi is Americo.
And if in some interviews Viola Ardone recognised Derna, Pachiochia or Maddalena as real characters, officially Americo remains a fictional character, despite the fact that significant elements such as his shoes, to name one, come from his direct testimony.
This is why I could not miss seeing The Children’s train Netflix directed by Cristina Comencini and produced by Palomar.
The film was presented at the Rome Film Festival and has the support of the Emilia Romagna Region and Film Commission Torino Piemonte.
I sincerely hoped for a different epilogue with regard to the personal story of Americo, a person of rare sensitivity to whom I have grown fond of.
A thank you in the credits, a reference, a name, even coffee was mentioned.
How would you react if, we can say the whole world, given that The Children’s train has been translated into twenty-five languages, knew elements of your story, then declined in a different way?
Would you still be happy or would you suffer?
Have you seen The Children’s train Netflix?
If, like me, you are left with the thought of those children travelling to the unknown and how they found the affection of families who welcomed them as children, I think this video will move you, it is not fiction:
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.
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.
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.”
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?
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.
Hi I'm Claudia and this is KCDC.
OPINIONI