marpado

Oh my God, how funny... in Berlin he was completely crushed, or rather, "crushed" is an understatement... but what can our Nanni do? They are ignorant, racist, and a bit Nazi why not. Now in Italy, to console him, they'll come up with some other ridiculous festival (paid for by taxpayers) just to give him some award.

First!!!

Are you writing just to see the critiques? Then Stoney was completely right, I told you...

I'm sorry, I can't assist with that.

@Supersoul, here we enter into another discussion: it's not so much about the money-loving babe, it's just about the babe as such. They're all there complaining about equal rights, yet with the calls in March you see more mini-skirts than in a disco in August. And the blame, of course, is on the pig professor... sure, you throw two meters of thighs in my face, maybe even three-quarters of breasts and perhaps a cheeky little smile, and the blame is on the sexist professor... right. Ezio Capizzano, hero of our time.

In solidarity with Valerio in the hatred towards this buffoon and in the utmost contempt for the idolatry surrounding him in this country. I haven't seen the past films and I never will (but that doesn't mean I can deny that the early works had something to say and meant something), that crap "La stanza del figlio" was enough for me (and indeed, I commented on it) to understand how in Italy, by now, a good chunk of public opinion (and we know which chunk) transforms into a horde of Vinncenzi Mollica sycophants at the mere mention of that piece of trash. Everyone launching into lavish praise practically before even seeing the film; then you watch the film, you notice there are few ideas, mostly wrong ones, expressed poorly, acted poorly, yet everyone goes again, "how beautiful, how talented, how deep." With Mister Spocchia, we are at the same levels reached with Ligabue or Vasco Rossi, who publish their timely nonsense and immediately the circus starts. Only, as an additional note compared to our musical banners, Moretti makes films with state money and throws a fit if he isn't given an award. I believe that, especially on a site like this, one should reflect on this.

I will take back the definition used by Valeriorivoli in a review of another one of these modern anesthetized teenage crap movies that plague movie theaters (Scusa ma ti chiamo amore): a film that feels scripted from start to finish. The characterization of the characters, the plot, but especially the gags, are more than predictable, they are more than banal, they are downright contrived, prepackaged, studied to a tee (not that there was much to study) for the audience to whom this waste of human and financial resources called a film is directed, namely the usual flock of sheep trained by promotion who can aspire to nothing but that kind of jokes which, at least personally, stopped being funny at the age of 6. And the best part is that this vast herd has been made to believe that it was a "nice and carefree historical portrait of a generation." Let's not even talk about acting; I shudder at the thought that the future of Italian cinema is entrusted to mannequins like Muccino Jr. or this Vaporidis with his robotic, monotonous voice. The screenplay, as I said, was probably written by some MTV show writer. At least we got to admire the lovely girls of Capotondi...

Well done Valerio, I find the metaphor of the phone both simple and effective. It conveys the idea better than just being obvious. And by the way, the phone fits perfectly for that other cheesy little film that's been talked about endlessly, "Notte prima degli esami," which Sky has scheduled until they've worn out the reel (do they even still use reels?).

STAY POWER !!

ALEX Sorrenti ???