Il_Paolo

Sorry Mien, I wonder why I thought I had already done it.

Mien, you move me. In your description, you seem like Zarathustra, when at the end of time he wanders around with the last Pope, or perhaps Don Quixote, who continues his battle while no one believes him or follows him. Fortunately, neither you nor I find ourselves in those conditions, because there is always someone who follows us and shows us that they virtually care. After all, this review is mediocre: but isn't medietas the true essence of existence? Have you ever noticed - surely you have - that true and absolute geniuses have not had, in the medium term, descendants; they have become extinct, as if the world cannot tolerate perfection: where are the descendants of Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Raphael, but also of a Truman Capote, a Dostoevsky, etc., the same Fellini. Sometimes, too, I think that the spread of homosexuality in the world of art, aside from various factors that I will set aside for now, may be the result of a non-random design of the Spirit, which forbids these individuals from reproducing, allowing the human race to evolve in medietas.

Or rather: who knows if words can describe my astonishment a bit... for this review (which postulates quite a few things in common).

And then, dear Geruzzu, I must raise a "method" dispute with you: the real Il_Paolo rarely deals with contemporaries like Pezzali or with subjects that are well fixed in the memories of users. The concept of minor status - as I wrote in another post - implies time, the erosion of art, oblivion, and the consequent obligation for recovery, revision, and relaunch. Pezzali doesn’t need relaunches, for now. In years, who knows. You are wrong to search for the minor with the eyes of the hic et nunc; one must put on presbyopic glasses - that is, those who see poorly up close but very well from afar - for this. In any case, I appreciate you, but study more instead of grooming your mustache and chest if you want to be my Sancho Panza.

Speechless!

Thank you, Mien, for the critiques. To Lavalìn and Muito, I acknowledge they are right and I regret having let them down: indeed, Pieraccioni is what I call a "diversion" from my mission, not being a "minor" in the absolute sense, since the judgment of "minority" presupposes time, history, and decay, oblivion and forgetfulness (but I provoke you: how will you treat it in twenty years? And your children, with your splendid DNA, how will they regard Pieraccioni in 2020 - 2030?). I must tell you, though, what inspired this review: the other day I was at the bar during lunch break, biting into my sandwich with tomatoes and mozzarella, and I got distracted watching a twenty-something courting a peer. The proxemics, the movements, the grimaces, the way she crossed her legs without the young man noticing sparked decadent thoughts about the volatility and fleetingness of feelings, the differences between them, and a certain incommunicability. Almost like a heterosexual Aschenbach, I envied their youth (not that I'm old, but) and the potential I saw in it, while also recognizing the mortality of the young girl's passion, perhaps destined to dissipate with a gust of wind. In someone like Aschenbach, these thoughts would lead straight to the grave, while in someone like Il_Paolo they lead to writing this review. SV, Il_Paolo

Hello guys, just a few days away and I witness a creeping revolution. I haven't read all the posts but - while praising Calogero's attempt - it's clear that this isn't about me: first of all, because if I had wanted to create a southern alter ego, an arancino instead of a camogli, I would have called it Calogeruzzu or something similar, knowing Italy well enough. Then I would have created a well-exposed fake, not a marzipan parody. The undeniable proof that I didn't write this review connects to Lavalin's masterful post (we are the result of a twin parthenogenesis), where Alberto Stasi is mentioned. Well, in the review, the real Il_Paolo wouldn't have forgotten that Pezzali is from Pavia, and would have written THIS PHRASE: "But is it the average man who dreams of being Max Pezzali, or Max Pezzali who dreams of being the average man? Hard to say, but it's unsettling that, in a recent case of sad crime news, two teenage twins dreamed of being the queens of Celebrità, just as Max Pezzali dreamed of marrying the namesake queen of the venue." None of this is found in this review, pseudopaulian, but in the inauthentic summary. SV, Il_Paolo

I went to see it at the cinema because events like this are meant to be experienced with others, in proper multiplexes, stuffing ourselves with the gummy candies sold by the designated vendors at the entrance. Well, I have to say it disappointed me because it doesn't differ much – a sign of the times – from the recent films with Nicholas Cage (in fact, the last one, I believe "National Treasure: Book of Secrets," is even better than Jones IV). A superficial spectacle on the theme of Eldorado (which is dear to me, by the way), that, in summary, was a myth through which the clever natives tricked the greedy conquistadors to get them lost in the forest. But I must admit I feel a fondness for the return of Jones's ex flame (aging well, kudos to her). I think rebooting this series in 2008 was more of a tribute to adults, while the film is not very effective for the young: after all, in the '80s, everyone was crazy about the young Harrison (I was more into the corresponding adventure film series with Richard Chamberlain), and nobody wanted action movies, you know... with Robert Mitchum or Gregory Peck overweight with age.

Excuse me, is Altman the one from "Popeye" with Robin Williams?? That movie didn't convince me much, so I didn't delve into the films of this director. Let me know if he's done something more beautiful and interesting, as I feel the need to broaden my interests to foreign cinema as well. Bye and thanks, Il_Paolo

I adore it; you could say it's a film - and a character - that has marked my existence. Hrundy W. Bakshi is an absolute alien, who penetrates the bourgeois home as a guest, but with his mere presence becomes an "agent of Chaos." Thank you, Peter (and Blake)!