Stoopid

As for the awareness of things, I disagree. The most powerful transformations often occur in a state of unconsciousness. Instead, consciousness frequently leads you never to change. One must evaluate the object that the unconscious adores. If it's a deceitful political leader or a lowbrow cultural system, then there's little to be cheerful about. But in other cases, unconsciousness can be a good thing.

Ah, I’m coming back to fully quote comment 60 from Fallen, and while I’m at it, to re-vote the review.

One of the least inspired pages this site has ever produced. Lately, San Siro has been a stage for absolute vulgarity (the list could be endless; I would mention, for instance, the episode of the boos at Maldini's farewell), a hostage to a football that is increasingly turning into a cult of stupidity, money, and rhetoric. Let’s gloss over your senseless judgment on the supposed lack of pleasure of the 80,000 present (for which you should, as poetic justice, find yourself in the middle of a brawl on a rainy day), and let’s assume that they shelled out for their tickets just because they were drawn by the magical pipe of conformity: well, even then it would have been a great thing; I see a significant abyss between the conformity that leads to watching football and that which leads to rugby.

Moreover, Public Enemy is certainly also a very accurate documentary. The places, the events, even the resemblance between Dillinger and Depp, and I won’t continue to avoid spoiling it... Back in the days of Ali, someone complained that Will Smith was too over-the-top. When you then see the original footage of Cassius Clay, it’s hard to tell the film from reality.

There’s little to do, Mann stands halfway between Hollywood mechanisms (think famous actors, stories appealing to the general public, sometimes rather banal screenplays, a bit of rhetorical love stories), and a cinematographic approach of absolutely superior quality. This is why he often doesn’t convince.. My cinema, on the other hand, was packed, and almost everyone came for the blockbuster featuring Depp. For sure, many had been customers of the Pirates of the Caribbean. And there they find themselves in front of Spinotti’s phenomenal digital work, the acrobatics of handheld cameras (does anyone remember a shootout filmed better than the nighttime one in Enemy of the State?), in a film that says: look at me!! As for character development, it seems to me that classic blockbuster cinema always has to make it clear WHO the good guys are and WHO the bad guys are, WHAT the traits of one are, WHAT the traits of the other are, a bit like Big Brother, so to speak. Michael Mann instead says: look at me and don’t think about it, so that even Miami Vice (a film that is indecent in some respects) can become truly enjoyable (the mere speedboat aiming at the Miami skyline is worth the price of admission and the popcorn). I’ve had my say.

Epic film. Mann confirms himself as the best director of "classy blockbusters." Extraordinary (as usual) are all the action scenes, the flashes of gunfire in the night, the two sequences at the cinema, impressive is the fidelity of the reconstruction (just like in the other biopic, Ali). Less convincing (as usual) are the romantic developments and, at times, the screenplay, but in the face of such visual manna, one can overlook it.

Maybe it's because I come from a couple of big Peronis, but the review feels to me like a chapter from the Malavoglia written in Mandarin. The work, on the other hand, seems very little cryptic, even if open to numerous layers of interpretation. Anticipation is what characterizes a very high percentage of our lives; it is therefore terrible and unforgivable when it comes from ourselves. How many are the Godots that never arrived! Too many.

I think I might love you too.. Last night I was moments away from arguing with friends who praised the movie in question (beautiful!!), damn it!

Let me judge with a bit of healthy prejudice a film I'm never going to see. This film is the offspring of a clamorously compromising clause, which sees a vaguely talented director handed a colossal budget (which alone would be enough, if well invested, to give a nice boost to the gasping Italian Cinema, but as someone once said, investments don't bring votes, in other words, money). We were saying, a colossal budget. At this point, the film needs to work, that is, it has to sell, right? Well, then let’s skip the mental gymnastics and auteur cuts and play it safe: first, let’s evoke the suspicion that it’s a Nuovocinemaparadiso bis (and thus let’s quote it extensively so that the viewer won’t be disappointed). After that, let’s make room for cameos: in comes Bellucci (hot, and heavily googled, Monica Bellucci ass, breasts, nude, etc.), Gullotta (because he’s likable and appeals to fifty-somethings and gays), Frassica (a TV man, nice), Ficarra and Picone (no comment), and forgive me if I’m forgetting others. At this point, good Tornatore transforms into Tornaconto, blends everything, and bakes the meatloaf. Result: a film that changes nothing, releases some middle-of-the-road emotion that lasts only as long as a post-viewing cigarette, fattens producers and the director, and replaces the famous investments mentioned above, or if we want, a good ten other films that will always remain in the drawer, because overloaded with ideas but starved for funds. In short, all good.

I've read, I've read. So next year in Tunisia, avalanches of Italians and reality shows? Good good, civilization is moving forward.