carlo cimmino

SFASCIA, I proudly place myself on the list of the deluded-misleading, which seems a far more fascinating category for me than the "fine[gianfranco?]-intenders," which - put in these terms at this point - I would strongly advise anyone against. SCHIZOID, let’s say I didn’t have much to do on Sunday. About the theater... I think it’s much better to get drunk with an old Replacements record, yes. BARTLE, honor and glory to you! Reading your witty and wise comments is always far too little, my old friend. JACK, neither do I. But, all things considered, the beautiful thing is to send endless reviews and trust that they'll end up with the editor you find most annoying and want to spite (in all cases: blechtrommel! UHAUHAUHA...). STEFANONOVANTA, we eagerly await the written piece in question. APPESTATO, the same happened to me. And yet I wrote over ten thousand characters... [follows a curse in phrases typical of the port of Apollonia in old Cyrenaica]. ALEX, the partial association with the good old Dylan Dog fills me with pride: I was a more than decent reader for years (then I gave up, but I still don’t know why – maybe I’ll start reading it again, we’ll see). As for the sawed-off shotgun, don’t despair... DLF, yeah! CAPPIO, how do you see the "Tim" vs "Let it be" comparison? ENBAR!!! And with three exclamation marks, I’ve said it all. VOODOO, were you also at the concert? Goodness! BLECH, indeed, with this page DeBaser has truly hit the lowest point in its glorious history.

ALGOL, about Mick Jones, it's best not to exclude rather than admit that the blame is also ours (mine), that we create and cling to heroes we would always like to be perfect and infallible... but who are obviously human beings and often just "make mistakes." Anyway... you can already feel the nostalgia for Mou, right? Dear and truly much more of a hero than Mick Jones, SPASHACARROZZE, these Clesc are new and also washed with perlana. They are a kind of Arctic Monkeys... Revolutionary and migliochilometrico VOODOO, what a pleasure to read you again! I haven't seen "No Country for Old Men" yet, but his observation is certainly an incentive that will push me to undertake this viewing/mission. STEFANONOVANTA, amen. Dear BOB and SKELETRON, I hug you and greet you as too many moons separate us from our last meeting. Telespalla, having stated that it was not my interest to condemn or even just analyze the world of ultras in its entirety, that "nazifascisti" is certainly not referring to all football fans and supporters, nor to the Neapolitan fanbase as a whole, nor to those who frequent the stadiums. Skeletron seems to have understood better what I meant: the "contents" of Strummer-Jones's "Police on my back" have nothing to do with the "Poliziotto primo nemico" of these spoiled brats in the "Distinti" sector, frustrated representatives mostly of the middle class of our sick society who spend their days smoking marijuana and their nights at clubs drinking "rum and pear." They play at being tough guys and fighters against the police, imitating the gangsters of our cities and believing themselves to be "Scarface." They vacation in Amsterdam in winter and at the beach in summer and are angry because they are frustrated bastards, but at the same time they are scared, scared of remaining on the margins of this society which doesn’t reject them and actually welcomes them, but over which they would like to command and impose themselves. No Bob, things have changed, because these pseudo-punks a la amatriciana have no right to cheer against the police - which is, by the way, ridiculous, in the stadium, where you can practically do whatever the hell you want without facing any consequences, and in Naples, where the critique to law enforcement is that they are completely absent, inconsistent, nonexistent), they are not the Carlo Giuliani who really cause trouble and who get killed or beaten to a pulp by the police. On the contrary. They and the policemen serve the same cause and are generally victims of the same frustrations. They row in the same direction and, if Mick Jones has "failed" because rather than being immortalized as a rebel icon of punk history he preferred to be the manager of Mr. Kate Moss, it's also true that the messages the Clash tried to convey in their time did have content, but probably no one really believed in them, and today they come across too distorted and "revised," if it’s true that the pseudopunks I mentioned consider themselves even as continuators of the ideals of Joe Strummer and his companions.

I must disagree, dear Bartle. I find that, all in all, Kenshiro is quite cool even afterwards. I would just have cut the last chapters, those that follow the clash against Caio (Ribeiro Decosseau, to friends) and see good old Ken raising Raul's little one. But everything else works well for me. And then the TV series set on the island of death had a truly badass opening theme. And Ken looked even more badass, with his sunglasses and the traffic cop glove gifted by the yankee bounty hunter. Everything is truly wonderful.

Falko's death is terrible. In the end, he is one of the strongest of all and is killed by some random idiot. A real disappointment.

Angry women... and so on and so forth... but in the end, the woman, the woman, the woman, oh and the man?

Alright, Bartle. However, as a friend of mine who is devoted to the practice of Kung Fu and Karate used to say, Van Damme was a dancer compared to Steven Seagal who (I quote verbatim) WAS THE FIRST WESTERNER TO OPEN A KUNG FU SCHOOL IN CHINA. WATAH!!!

I metaphorically embrace Giola, to whom I send all my best wishes. At the same time, however, I declare myself in favor of executions.

It's true. In fact, the best he delivered was in the nineties, when, taking down various Atilla and Mr. Bison in succession, he gave us countless lessons in life and good manners. And he showed us that not everyone named Jean Claude is necessarily effeminate.

And what about Vandamme? Surely you haven't forgotten about him?

Beautiful movie, watched and rewatched hundreds of times and that always deeply engages me on an emotional level. Five full stars. Then there would be room for a further reflection on how this film is ultimately, and in many ways, propaganda and an emanation of the American dream. But at the moment I don't really feel like tackling this issue and, all things considered, even Woodstock and all that stuff about the hippies and the desire to change the world in the long run only played into the hands of the managerial spheres of the Western world...