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Rating: Nerolio. Drama in three subjective or highly daring acts. Black oil.
Act I: Iron and sun. Humanity.
A Poet admires what the Mediterranean triangle offers from the common windows of a second-class carriage. Sea, illegal constructions, oranges, thorns. Inside the welcoming public lounge of the railways, there is or passes some young man, some military person, some lover. The Poet settles in a hotel imposed on him more by the last name he bears than by the possibility of going there. It's a place that feels constricting to him. He prefers to abandon these bourgeois-flavored amenities to embrace those common experiences he so loves. He prefers them. Some boys play soccer on a makeshift field on the outskirts. He wants to feel their flesh, their smells, he wants to chew their life. He wants them. They are his.
Act II: Sea and rain. Flesh.
The Poet suffers in his house. His latest film work has been scourged by the poisoned arrows of critics and censorship. Better a great white shark terrorizing a quiet corner of America. A student needs the Poet and tries to curry favor with him using less than credible methods. The Poet is not stupid, and if someone enters his cage, they must deal with him. He wants flesh to kiss, to lick, to violate, but gently. He will have it. He wants to forget and meditate. Love does not exist. The sea grows thanks to the rain, and there he is admiring the spectacle.
Intermezzo with accordion and a flask of wine
Act III: Spaghetti and dust. Death.
The Poet wants to annul himself. And he decides to do so in his own way. He drives his car through the illuminated and deserted streets of a big city. He picks up a handsome young man from the squalor of a station bar. He wants to make him an actor, he wants to make him famous, he wants to make him his own. The young man accepts but is hungry. He is satisfied in a trattoria where the Poet is a welcome guest. To become an actor, however, one must "pay a small fee." The young man considers it but believes he doesn't have the guts. The Poet wants to probe him but is rejected. He gets angry, rants, attacks. The Poet has strength, possesses excellent reflexes, and a fairly toned body. However, he is stopped by a wooden stick that strikes him multiple times. The young man is alone. Strange. The Poet mingles with his blood and lies in the dust of a God-forsaken soccer field. It will be talked about for decades and is still talked about.
Aurelio Grimaldi produces a semi-personal reinterpretation of the not easily comprehensible and declaimable sexual sphere of Pier Paolo Pasolini. The result is a difficult demonstration of courage. The film was, as obviously predictable, lambasted by family members and Pasolini admirers, almost completely ostracized by cinema distribution circuits, and no less stabbed by criticism. However, it must also be said that in this work the other side of Pasolini is shown, the darker, more internal one, not exactly hidden but certainly the most intense and difficult to tell. Moreover, Grimaldi is a great admirer of Pasolini, and this is guaranteed by the other portrait in "Un mondo d'amore" and the remake of "Mamma Roma" with "Rosa Funzeca". Beautiful cinematography by Maurizio Calvesi with a ruthless black and white that strikes in every sequence, and the sparse but essential music of Maria Soldatini does not go unnoticed. Very beautiful and poetic the transition scene between two episodes of the solitary accordion player. A pity for the too many words of a more vulgar than demotic matrix that fill the second episode.
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