With the usual delay in the temporal dissonance between theatrical release and on television (pay per view), I saw last night, "Il Divo," Sorrentino acclaimed film.
I must say that I enjoyed the film photography, coloristic tones to turn hot in the representation of the court Andreotti, cold and vice versa and sometimes bruising, in its domestic dimension, the surreal scene of the kiss, the contrast between dreams and the sweaty peasant Riina and impenetrable and aseptic "zu" Julius, the final scene, his face mottled and almost petrified accused Andreotti in Palermo, and a few other things.
the remainder of the film is, in my opinion, an unresolved attempt to place the figure of Andreotti in an intermediate representation between "comics" (such as those stories to Italy Enzo Biagi) and raucous comedy of his associates at Evans portrayed as an imbecile but true to the organic Sbardella more whale sharks in the considerable size of the EPA, to Cirino Pomicino, weaver of alliances and recovery of votes but also a bit 'court jester.
The very attempt to represent the loneliness of power Andreotti, knowing more or less painful price paid (in particular the abandonment of Aldo Moro to his fate condemned by the RB), resulting in effects in a predictable allegory of power and icy cold that feeds small rituals (prayer in the church guarded by light, walking in little steps with his hands in his hands behind his back, the lights out obsessively going from room to room of the house of Andreotti, aspirin and painkillers for the city's eternal headache, as the worm of conscience tormented).
It manages a portrait in which Andreotti, rather than the Beelzebub of such publications, the Fox, the keeper of a thousand secrets unparalleled in its archives, it seems a caricature of Oreste Lionello when imitates Andreotti.
It is a shame because Servillo puts all his art to the service is also very good and Sorrentino Anna Bonaiuto in the guise of his wife Livia.
most successful, paradoxically, it is the minor characters, from the crude and peasant Riina, the host of repentant criminals foul and hideous, mocking up the incredible (I confess that I enjoyed), Giancarlo Caselli, represented before entering the scene of the interrogation of Balduccio Di Maggio, and vaporizes a cloud of hairspray on her hair white and swollen (I saw that hair in a visit to Bari, the Committee audiences when the toll was at CSM and I was the secretary of the Judicial Council, and it was a very beautiful and great hair).
But is this enough just to say that "Il Divo" is a landmark film, a test page, a movie worthy of golden palms, bears, david, cubs, Oscar '?
No, frankly, I think little, too little.
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