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Rating: AUTHENTIC DISGUST.
Yes, that's what you'll feel when the curtain opens on the ItaGliano and SiciGliano world of Ciprì and Maresco. And just like in Marcello Miranda's "televendita", you will see "now it talks... and it's swearing...". But the swear is mute. There is madness, something lost long ago, defaced by the entrance of that "Signò Berluscone" whom the "old hag" Francesco Tirone describes as "a good man" and to whom dear Paviglianiti dedicates a solemn song, an unforgettable aria. There is reality from a time when reality was what you saw from your home window, and it is what you can find in "Pasta e patate" from 1989, which kicks off this collection of splendid and lucid homegrown madness and decay.
It's the boggy journey you expect, through this reality that we all today want so much to spy on, from the keyhole, new-age peeping Toms longing for something TRUE AND REAL. And our heroes seemed to already say "SUCA!". Pure iconoclasm and drifting characters, the legacy of a Raitre that out of necessity had to pull in the oars, placing our heroes now and then in some sketch on Blob, a few seconds, and that's how those of us who couldn't see all this live can finally devour the muck that Mr. B. wants at all costs to clean away from his neat face full of makeup. And he could, if only Franco and Daniele were still working together, and if he were a true Palermo native, become a mask, a name, one doesn't know if real or fake, thought out or not thought out, who licks breasts but doesn't want swearing, away with the mud, gentlemen! And let's open the dances with ostentatious greetings, fallacious interviews, insults outside (postolo-places-street), filtered only by the real color of a sad Italy, in ruins, in total disarray, that makes you laugh because it sounds like a scratched record ("Good evening, thank you, goodbye, thank you-good evening, goodbye"), aspiring suicides cinically hoping for trains on time, a real trainspotting at 30, "but aren't they few?", desecrations of sexual repression in Italy leading to the most base sexual perversion, without brakes, an equally desecrating proclamation of a ridiculous humanity (enjoy the shooting-shooting "The man" "the path of the man" "The condition of the man" and the final dance of "The dignity of man"). The summary of a whole existence (ours? that of the characters? it's not known... it's inferred) dedicated to degradation.
And along with this splendid first DVD, which takes us by the hand (or by the ass) up to 1992 (while waiting for the second volume that will take us up to 1994 and the "end" of the Cynical dream on television) we find an equally splendid booklet featuring contributions from writers such as Goffredo Fofi, former Raitre director Angelo Guglielmi (who, when interviewed, will give a calm and at the same time violent response on the present of Raitre) but also two beautiful conversations with our Ciprì and Maresco, and a nice overview of the life, death, and miracles of the fabulous and dirty Cynical characters, from the "totem" Miranda to the "buddha" Paviglianiti, not forgetting that "piece of shit" Pietro Giordano.
This true gem of filth is essential to understand something. What? that "...we are truly pathetic".
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