Edoardo de Angelis
Indivisibili

I like to arrive early, but I especially like to arrive early at the Eliseo. I like sitting down with those three, four people who populate the room, snapping my fingers to experience that underwater effect that I only feel when I have agents five meters behind me (almost never), feeling everything dry, and starting to lower my voice. As soon as I sit down, I forget everything, starting an endless series of ah-ahn, ah-ahn in response to Marti, who poor thing keeps talking but who knows what she's saying, my love. When the trailers start, it's the end, goodbye.

This time it was the turn of a brilliant trailer, all wrong, I just remember the face of Anthony Hopkins (one of the three, not the Chianti one but the slightly offended one), a voiceover that seemed like it was about to announce XXX, a sequence of nonsensical scenes, and how can I not stick my soul to the screen?

But we were there to see the new work by De Angelis. Not knowing what to expect from the new story by Nicola Guaglianone, who breaks the artistic partnership with Mainetti after the successful They Call Me Jeeg (and Basette and Tiger Boy) to write the screenplay for this Indivisibles, directed by the aforementioned Edoardo De Angelis.
But I won't touch anything from the sentence above, even if with those "partnership" and "successful" it seems stolen from an article in Leggo.

A shoreline at dawn, a Christ abandoned in the damp sand, sea music, a languid walk, a clear filter photograph, and the sensation that we'll be afraid to bring out pride again, otherwise, we are exaggerating. Indivisibles, as the title suggests, tells the story of Dasy and Viola, twin sisters conjoined at birth at the pelvis: a characteristic that outlines an intuitive symbiotic relationship between the two and makes them the true fortune (both economic and otherwise) of the disaster of a family they ended up in. A passion for singing that is hard to understand how authentic it is and to what extent, a single body that encloses two souls vying for head and heart. Dasy and Viola are the attraction of the village, protagonists of kitsch triumph parties with their Neapolitan catchphrases, appearing shrouded in a mystical aura for the more vulgar part of the populace. Until the mechanism, as often happens, cracks.

If we want to speak in reference, since the person writing this already struggles to conjugate verbs while responding to complaints from these annoying people, Freaks, but also Garrone: the one from Reality in the poetics and the one from Gomorrah in the aesthetics, because although the genre destination is different, the path taken is very similar. It is not Italian cinema made in a foreign manner. It is not foreign school transplanted into Italian culture. It is Cinema, and it is Italian.

The story is told entirely in the Campanian dialect, with substantial help from subtitles in many parts, and sublimely accompanied by the music and words of Enzo Avitabile. Sisters Marianna and Angela Fontana offer an amazing performance, consumed in front of the camera with heavy authenticity, supported by undeniably touching and realistic dialogues, without crossing over into demagogic melodrama. The classic demagogic melodrama. Come on, we all have one at home.

Dasy and Viola are two sisters, two sides of a coin, two truths. We all are, and the strength of the film is in showcasing the face we all know, that of mediocrity, that of corruption, of the piggish man, of the breakdown, of superstition, of the hypocritical and corrupt church, the Gomorrha face, the Rum, and then flipping it and pouring the pear juice down your throat. Well, more or less, basically I liked it.