All all nothing nothing

Review by Marzia Gandolfi

Tuesday 11 December 2012

Cetto La Whatever after the ‘ascent in politics’ slips the descent together with his junta, disbanded and imprisoned in Calabrian prisons. Further north (east), Rodolfo Favaretto cultivates the dream of secession, longing for Austria and trafficking in illegal immigrants. Reported by one of his black laborers, believed dead and thrown into the sea, Rodolfo is arrested. Far from Italy, however, Frengo Stoppato flees from justice and from a cumbersome and devoted mother, who dreams of him as a housewife and blissful. Convinced by a mother’s phone call to abandon his new age refuge, Stoppato is convicted and imprisoned for possession and drug dealing. He will be an undersecretary, authoritative and maneuverable, to set them free and at the service of a Prime Minister of few words and immoderate appetite. Having entered (il)lawfully into Roman politics to guarantee votes and privileges to the party to which they belong in parliament, Cetto, Rodolfo and Frengo will end up compromising its power and balance.
The new comedy by Giulio Manfredonia played by Antonio Albanese, Antonio Albanese and Antonio Albanese is (never) funny. Because the (good) Brianza comedian this time goes out of his way to reiterate the redundant indecency of those who govern us without ever equaling the real referents. Limit already exhibited in Whatever, where the laughter was bilious and restrained, in short, a grimace that never turned into a smile. In fact there is nothing to laugh about, the reality that the grotesque characters of Albanese embody is creepy and always hovering between comedy and horror. Once again fiction is powerless in the face of the task of representing the crowded Italian political news yesterday Today and Tomorrow of ‘papi’ and ‘papi-girls’. In this round, however, already debased by the repetition of well-established masks in the eyes of the public between cinema and TV, things are worse. And the reason, at least the more tangible one, is to be found in reality, once again a step forward, once again more imaginative than an invention. Self Whatever it presented the characteristics of a (political) time that had already happened and expired, that one only wanted to forget, All all nothing nothing it has the character of a mocking anticipation, which reminds us that the worst is never really over and that the Cettos, the Rodolfos and the Francos, rescued from the prison, are returning. Laughter then does not conjure but conspires a new ‘descent into the field’, burnt by too much real and by a technical knockout that dismisses the technicians and resurfaces the caimans.
This being the case in Italy, the opulent moral misery of the three ‘politicians’, interpreted with drastic trade from Albanian, it is reduced to a helpless fashion show of masks and stage costumes that wear rustic ways and pharaonic worlds. If Manfredonia exaggerates in the way of her characters without ever really combining the comic with the tragic, Fandango consumes a demand that always remains the same, reducing the initial capital and tripartite Albanese’s vis comica, monotonous behind the disguises. Monstrous portraits that have the good sense to escape jail and the good taste to leave armchairs and Malpaese. Because comedians bare their teeth it’s for laughs Of And withnot to devour you like those aquatic reptiles that do not cross the lagoon but wallow in it, despising the truth, blatantly opposing the institutions and the Law, exhibiting themselves as a strong and omnipotent ego, making use of female bodies as instruments of enjoyment, refusing every limit, ignoring modesty and guilt.
Albanese (re) tries but in front of ‘knights’, cronies and courtiers he is without a doubt doomed to fail. He’s not a joke comedian. But like his immoral paradigm he should stop enjoying turning on the lights and decide to turn them off. In the way true divas did, in the way of Raffaella Carrà, who appears in black and white on Cetto’s screen, recalling a television frequented by show girls ‘discovered’ for their talent and linked by love to their choreographers.

Do you agree with Marzia Gandolfi?

Write to Marzia Gandolfi



All all nothing nothing