Il_Paolo

Birba, I think sooner or later we will have to marry, you and me. I haven't seen the film, but from how you bring it to life, it must be a small masterpiece of "minor" cinema, when there was still the COURAGE in Italy to produce films of that kind, and not just to use their scripts for trivial - albeit enjoyable - TV series. The struggle between kids and "grown-ups" - as you wonderfully summarize - is one of the leitmotifs of human history: from Kronos eating his children, through father pardone of the Taviani Brothers, and reaching the relationships between Eva Henger and her daughter in "Torno a vivere da solo" by J. Calà (coming soon to theaters), intergenerational conflict fascinates and unsettles, a burdensome and obligatory stop in life: after all, from Plato with Parmenides, parricide is a fundamental pivot of autonomy. Fraternally Yours (not Paternally) Il_Paolo

...it goes without saying; "starry" sky. The system bug is mine (actually, I've got it). Correctively Yours, Il_Paolo

You are a master, I couldn’t say otherwise. It must be said that these blondes with light eyes seem to have common flaws (construction flaws? programming flaws? Now you're making me doubt) because I had a similar experience - even if I'm not your fake - as well. The one I met, aesthetically impeccable, for example, struggled to follow my conversations, never laughed at my jokes (because she didn’t understand them: I had to re-explain or force a polite smile), didn’t know - but ça va sans dire - either cinema or minor music (but oddly appreciated Almodovar, perhaps due to a system bug) and above all one evening, under a starry sky, accused me of being left-wing just because I was "envious of Berlusconi." Years later, with certain friends, we bring up these stories where the comedy of the event dilutes, and not insignificantly, the melancholy for the passing time and the mesmerizing suspicion that appearances can be deceiving. Chapeau, Rivoli! ST, IL_Paolo

@Cacchione: let's hope Saturday evening is the night we expect. @Popoloitaliano: I know that the Ferri are two brothers. By sr I meant senior in the sense of older, not in the sense of father. I think, in fact, that Giacomo - the Torino player - is older than Riccardo - the Inter player and stopper of the national team in the '90 World Cup - although I'm not sure. "Miracle Balde" I promise you, even though it's an advertisement rather than a TV series: chef Tony is a character you don't forget, just like the knife maker who lives in the forests of Wisconsin searching for the perfect blade. The problem, if anything, is that that show talks about a "minor" America, while my reviews - with some motivated exceptions - deal with "minor" Italy. But I'll see what to do. Thank you all for your comments.

Great, even though the Mats never really told me much. But I don't want to reopen unnecessary controversies about their relationship with Husker Du, etc. It would be nice to have more bands like them. Instead, if I'm not being indiscreet, I'm interested to know when you took that photo with the late Jason. Sadly Yours, Il_Paolo

Thank you Grasshopper, clear and exhaustive. Giusy Ferreri is nothing but an epitome of contemporaneity, we must accept her as she is. Sic transit gloria esselungi, and also mundi. Mundanely Yours, Il_Paolo

I apologize to VG for taking advantage of this page, but I must respond to the comments of the two users above: my remark was a joke, but to a certain extent. In the sense that, if you think about it, the good Salvatore Satta speaks to us about a Sardinia that no longer exists (well, better him than Niffoi, who probably talks about places that exist only in his head, thus embellishing reality) - regardless of the fact that this book should not be interpreted, as the reviewer wisely warns us, as a regionalist work - while Enzo Satta - a renowned architect and collaborator of the Aga Khan, would tell us about the Sardinia, at least the coastal one, as it has become. Personally, this summer I spent several weeks there, especially in the Porto Cervo area, appreciating its entrepreneurial dynamism and the fusion between nature (the blue sea, the beaches) and modernity (the residences, the Billionaire, the splendid yachts that crossed the waters of S. Bonifacio), in a perfect blend of tradition and modernity that Salvatore Satta, who died too many years ago, certainly did not envision. I don’t think I need to add too much about Melissa Satta; she is certainly a modern and fashionable girl, who differs significantly from the women it seems to discuss in this book, who are very subordinate to their husbands if I understand correctly (I can't quite see Satta as being too subordinate to Vieri, at least in the figurative sense of the term). The issue, regardless of which of these three Sattas one prefers (but the first is not related to the latter two), in my opinion, lies precisely in understanding the common thread that links the evolution of the species, in Sardinia as in the rest of Italy, between the years of Satta Sr. and those of the two Satta Jr. It seems to me a development quite in line with the evolution of the rest of Italy (by the way, from Pamela Prati to Valeria Marini, passing through Canalis, Palmas, Satta Jr., one would need to rewrite a history of the debt that the so-called "minor" Italian spectacle owes to the aforementioned island), which would confirm, at least from this perspective, that the traditional isolationism of that land has not been able to resist the seductions of the continent, or at least to its invasion. After all, Garibaldi had started by going to Caprera. If he ever reads this, I would like to know what Francesco Cossiga thinks, with his usual clarity. Yours lucidly, Il_Paolo

Review, yours, that arrives twenty years ahead of its time, without the right historical perspective and the exact interpretative key to grasp Giusy's impact on the Italic pop scene (her name would be Giuseppina; it could also be shortened to Pina like my Latin and Greek teacher back in the day. Pina Ferreri didn't sound too bad. Perhaps Jo Ferreri could have worked better). It’s easy, then, to mock the fact that she worked as a cashier at Esselunga or that she imitates this or that singer, or that she is, again, a commercial phenomenon. I like the piece (perfectly calibrated to its summery and nostalgic sadness) and I’m sure that in a few years, riding the wave of vintage, it will do even better than now. She undoubtedly has a beautiful voice, although hearing her second song makes me feel she's already moved to the "self-mockery" stage - that is, self-imitating. We shall see. I ask Mr. Grasshoper - whom I follow and appreciate even if I don’t share his criticisms on the spread of music in supermarkets - for some insight on this Laura Nyro, who I’ve never heard mentioned in my life but whom I assume is good (I hope not too heavy). Respectfully yours, Il_Paolo

Interesting observation. Who knows if there is a connection between yesterday's Sardinia and today's: from Salvatore Satta to Enzo Satta and his daughter Melissa (not related to the former) a common thread must be found.

Always keeping in mind that there is no knowledge without love, and there is no love without knowledge. Neobiblically Yours, Il_Paolo