Il_Paolo

Look, Kemo, I know a bit about the terrunciello environment, and I have to tell you that in this film, as well as in others from that period - I honestly don’t know with how much awareness - the types of real suburbs were represented in a particularly effective way, I believe also thanks to the powerful spirit of observation, and let’s be honest, cynicism of characters like Abatantuono himself, or even Teocoli (all children of Apulian emigrants, or emigrants themselves). In Abatantuono's autobiography, which I read about ten years ago, this awareness is explicit; it’s a way of poking fun at oneself but also making fun of certain individuals who, within a few years, tried perfectly to ‘northernize’ themselves, even in their soccer customs, losing their roots without, fortunately for them, acquiring new ones. In this regard, I’ve been told that in the 1970s, a young woman moved to Milan with her husband, a railway worker, from a southern town, and when she returned home for the summer, she began to explain to her sisters, sisters-in-law, and neighbors the recipe for cotoletta alla milanese. She started the conversation with a sweet northern accent, all composed, but when it came to explaining how to bread it in the Milanese way, and the onlookers didn’t understand, she suddenly lost all her aplomb and returned to being who she was, explaining it in the local dialect. There are therefore multiple identities, multiple and complex traditions that should be respected and reconsidered even in times of new waves of migration like these. But the discourse is complex. Plurally Yours, Il_Paolo

I'm forced to explain why I don't like Monica Bellucci, as I wouldn't even share a popsicle with her: in some ways, she embodies the epitome of classic Mediterranean beauty, characterized by forms and almost perfect symmetries (note the perfect ogive of her face, the dark eye, the silky hair, the ample bosom, shapely leg without being overwhelmingly muscular, and so on). Yet, in my opinion, this lady, constructed almost in a laboratory, lacks any secondary character that allows her to be identified, to be concretely characterized as different from the model, as fallible and thus unique: too perfect, in short, for a popsicle. Furthermore, I find her completely devoid of sensuality (and therefore I don't envy Vincent Cassel), almost hieratic in her self-contemplation as beautiful, and absolutely stripped of that cunning, or that mystery, that makes you say "Ah, however!". To be concrete, I point out a certain number of Mediterranean women better than Bellucci (taking them from the famous, not from those I know or you know): 1. Young Laura Antonelli (the Malizia-Malena comparison says it all). 2. Young Monica Guerritore. 3. Young Silvana Mangano. 4. Young Gina Lollobrigida (even now, though, she intrigues me). 4. Young Victoria Abril. 5. Young and less young Isabelle Adjani. 6. Young Claudia Cardinale. 7. Young Maria Grazia Buccella. 8. Young Stefania Sandrelli and up to forty. 9. Young and less young Rossana Podestà. 10. Young and less young Giovanna Ralli. 11. Young Lea Massari. I hope I've been exhaustive and made you reflect on the distinction between greater and lesser aesthetics. Aesthetically Yours, Il_Paolo PS: Birba, keep it up.

Extremely interesting proposal, I follow HC (meant as music) with a certain interest, when I’m not involved in lesser arts. I ask you, if you have the time and desire, whether their proposal is closer to Blind Idiot God or Rodan or similar, transcending the narrow boundaries of a genre that can sometimes be a bit restrictive due to its own aesthetic/ethical canon (although I am convinced that HC is more of an attitude than a genre).

I already have "the late Poletti" on my conscience, I wouldn't want to also have "the future Rikardo" weighing on me (by the way, that's the nickname he chose referencing the famous English economist and philosopher). So, Rikardo: I forgive you for the harsh words aimed at me, and I'll pretend they were never said (but yesterday I fell ill, I have a slight fever... ask the witch to lift the curses, or to discharge them); you commit to changing your homepage and replacing your photo with something more appealing (maybe the photo of Contemplation). Kindly Yours, Il_Paolo PS: I want to emphasize again, also to respond to Vì, that I am not a fake: the comments above unequivocally prove that I am not laRock (who supports Inter) and, most importantly - which reassures me since lately, things had crossed the line - Lavalìn (who does not support anyone), so I am free from two identities. Muitosaudismo has disappeared, but it is not me, as I am here, and I am not others who have vanished since I would still be here the same way. So, I am I, and you are you. I know how many "I"s there are (one, except when I see myself in the mirror, in which case there are two, but in the end, always one), while you are many, but still fewer than me.

Perhaps not one of the best by Vanzina, but a worthy remake, almost on par with the original "I soliti ignoti." It's nice that people can live together and get along even if they're from different areas, debunking certain stereotypes and the idea of "la moglie e buoi." Thus, it’s a cinema that knows how to be pedagogical and "oe castigat ridendo mores" according to the teachings of our classics. Now I’m going to say something that no one will believe, but it’s true: I don’t like Monica Bellucci.

Perhaps not one of the best by Vanzina, but a worthy remake, almost on par with the original "I soliti ignoti." It's nice that people can live together and get along even if they're from different areas, debunking certain stereotypes and the idea of "la moglie e buoi." Thus, it’s a cinema that knows how to be pedagogical and "oe castigat ridendo mores" according to the teachings of our classics. Now I’m going to say something that no one will believe, but it’s true: I don’t like Monica Bellucci.

Good job! THE PROBLEM IS THAT YOU'VE GIVEN ME SOME IDEAS: I'M ALMOST TEMPTED TO START REVIEWING A GOOD NUMBER OF SHOWS, BUT ONLY THE ONES I MENTION.

Whether you are a standout, and whether your reviews will have an extra touch after the summer, is beyond discussion. It's a pity they receive little commentary – but perhaps that's better for you. I believe we are roughly the same age, and I think that, like me, you will have discovered while looking at the MAME how in a humble program the dream of all those who were young in the '80s can be encapsulated today: to have all the video games of all time, with infinite credits, at your disposal and in your own home (but with a strong desire to return to that bar or that arcade, with your thousand lire that made five tokens at 200 each). You would also have noticed the tremendous temptation of the colors of detergents: the more vibrant they are, the more appealing and tempting – for a drink to the health of everyone – if it weren't for that unbearable and disturbing smell. Hats off, these are the reviews we need (others too, but some people are less prolific, perhaps justifiably so).

Congratulations. I will tell you that the genre has never attracted me, although years ago and even today, I can enjoy the prototype of this and other similar music: Rainbow Rising by Rainbow, particularly the epic "Stargazer." Of course, by reiterating those "expressive clichés," the music is somewhat affected.

Thank you very much to Lavalin for the insightful and balanced comment that elevates a somewhat stale debate: indeed, the fact that you don't like football seems conclusive about the fact that I cannot be you, unless you start to like football (impossible?) or I begin to tire of football—but not of what surrounds it (unlikely?)—and thus we won't end up confusing our ideas again. Anyway, if there weren't commentators like this, we would need to invent them (and I start to wonder who invented Lavalin, even if I risk getting confused and having identity crises). @Percy: Rikardo's comments are deliberately heavy, in order to draw attention to himself (the fact that he is narcissistic, while also insecure, is proven by the photo on his profile, where he demonstrates a lesser form than my beloved Contemplation). The beauty of Rikardo and the others who posted unruly and not entirely balanced comments below my review is that, in a somewhat paradoxical yet not entirely unexpected manner, they embody one of the characteristic traits of the average Italian, which explode in the stadium where individual identities blend into the collective: the hatred for the different and the need to build oneself an enemy—attributing deteriorating traits based on typical prae-judicia of every hermeneutical circle—to reinforce their own identity and their (false, or falsifiable) certainties. As long as it is limited to some friendly insults and Rikardo's evil eye, it's not a problem, but how many Rikardos roam the stadiums? Affectionately (if not even lovingly) Yours, Il_Paolo