Andrea Salerno
Radio Moro

The car door opens. There's just enough time to settle into the faux leather seat before you hear the door closing with a sharp noise. The engine and the radio start almost simultaneously. It's raining outside and maybe you can even feel a strange chill. The red Renault 4 drives through the busy city streets. After some incomprehensible phonemes, a harp strum announces the GR1 edition. Extraordinary. Aldo Moro has been kidnapped by an armed commando. The escort annihilated. The attack has been claimed by the Red Brigades.

The macabre farce begins.

The car continues to drive at a moderate speed, calmly. The rain keeps hitting the enameled bodywork. You can only see one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gearstick, just next to it. The temperature difference fogs up the windshield, and it needs to be cleared with a handkerchief. From the front, you can't catch a glimpse of the driver. Never. It's like watching "Duel" again. From the rear, the raindrops nestled on the rear window are constantly chasing each other. You can't see what's in the trunk. Maybe nothing.

The radio keeps providing updates on the dramatic event. The BR's announcements. The terrorists, in a phone call, demanded the publication of the photo taken of the statesman. The government enacts anti-terrorism decrees and exemplary restrictive measures. A necessary cigarette is lit. The ashtray is positioned just above the glossy black spherical gear knob. It's convenient for dropping the still-hot ash. The rear-view mirror, just above the ashtray, becomes enveloped by the smoke.

The President's letters reach the news agencies. Written in his own hand. Noo, nah. They're not his, no way. They were "definitely" written under dictation, under pressure. No, I know him too well. In a normal condition, he would never have written such absurdities. Moro is conditioned, forced, drugged, misled, pressured. The macabre farce continues. Piano Victor or Piano Mike? The radio crackles more news while another cigarette warms up the interior.

From the United States, President Carter offers condolences to the escort's families and solidarity to Andreotti (Ah, ah, ah!). The rain keeps falling and the car keeps driving. Announcements and letters arrive as the police discover a Brigatist hideout on Via Gradoli (Ah, ah, ah!). Half the army, with divers and helicopters, comb the bottom of the frozen Lake of the Duchess because the President might have committed suicide (Ah, ah, ah!). While the farce continues to prevail, another cigarette is necessary. The firmness line and the intercession of the Holy Father. No exchange of political prisoners, let's not joke.

The radio announces that communiqué number 9 has reached the newsrooms. The BR has executed the sentence. The car stops and the radio remains off. Valerio Morucci makes the last call to the family. Fifty-five days have passed in a morning. The farce is over. Only the first act, though. The curtain is still open.

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An interesting and original documentary conceived by Andrea Salerno and directed by Igor Skofic. Watched under particular conditions, perhaps alone and if it's raining outside even better, it manages to recreate the anguish that for almost two months tormented the ears of Italians and the consciences of parliamentarians. The atmosphere is heavy, aided by the footage limited to the interior of an R4. A Rear Window on those dramatic years and those overcast days. In the extras, it is possible to revisit the footage broadcast by RAI during the pivotal phases of the kidnapping. TG1 was hosted by Bruno Vespa, and Paolo Frajese went on location.