Elio Petri
Indagine Su Un Cittadino Al Di Sopra Di Ogni Sospetto

I know that you know that I know. But also... you know that I know that you know. Official "unsuspectability": "Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law," the sorcerer-mason apprentice Crowley only causes harm.

The mystification of a seemingly political film, injected with ideologies that meet in their fraudulent diversity, with a subversively healing power, whipped by sales in the market of an apparent "democratic" slavery, is the filter to make digest the drift of the probabilities that led us to the delirium of omnipotence where a decision-making pumped by frequenting only a nonexistent free will has further distanced us from our inner God, where ego and vanity have taken the place of sanity and command homicidal amenities, where a psychic arrogance judges under a demonic chapel.

Elio Petri's camera, not to mention with Morricone's music, moves under the aegis of sacred geometry and Masonic symbolism, assisted by an authentic Pyrrhic victory (Ugo), blessed by the presence of Max Brod's ghost, revived broker in uncovering once again the obscenity of servility to self-deception that his vegetarian friend Franz "Jackdaw" (Kafka) didn't want to divulge.

The superficial sop of these obviousnesses about command is served, and the monstrous invisible part of the cannibal power of will, which the film in its substance communicates, remains accessible only to those who are consciously inside and active in the eternal battle between good and evil. This is indeed the demonstration of a Plutocratic-Marxist Matrix of a suffocating divide et impera compared to that globalist American of Mr. Smith's all things considered simpletons, and of a Keanu Reeves who does not solve the problem always fighting in a context of duality.

Petri chronicles the misdeeds not by playing the boomerang of a opposition of the parties, also induced by hidden indexed constraints. The finesse in understanding the mindset altered by glories, successes, and earthly honors, is brazen and blasphemous in the film's finale where the commissioner in his "double dream" is brought back to the fold by re-signing the blank contract, and in the farewell with the chief of police and his court Volonté says, "...there is an enemy at large who knows the facts and will use them against power, against God!" and the chief responds "That's an open account". There lies the essence of the film, it’s not about class struggles, here it’s a war of damnations.

The multitude lined up for a position as Satan's waiter, and an Antonio Pace fighting there aware that the battle is psychic. Demonstration of his angelic strength (curly hair in tow) we glimpse during the interrogation in the state police dungeons (all in lowercase), where he doesn’t grant the "doctor" a collusive absolution with living the lie of all, but cornering him by abandoning him to the law of cause and effect not consenting to the criminal misuse of nepotism of earthly power. Inquisition divinely questioned.

The film is ruthless, weak in its lucid impotent chronicle of a situation of continuous rape to our essence, where a pantagruelian tearing to "thirds" is continuous in its monotheistic guilting, where the energy of flesh and blood reigns supreme and is butchered with a coldness that paralyzes even the wave of horror which should unleash against the repeated abuse of our soul, but that turns into resignation in being swept away by all this filth of lost lives, smelling of sulfur, that continue to bury harmony, creating damned proselytism with blackmail and discrimination, but that dig themselves an endless pit for their unforgivable blasphemies.

Put your soul at Peace, this is not a denunciation film. Just as the pharmaceutical lobbies create phantasmal diseases to sell medicines, the inhumane philanthropic elite atrophies souls turning them into confidants and servants of the horned one, where everyone must “compulsorily” have a function and a price to be, on command, triggered in the "all against all" gleba-lized. The "spontaneous" confession of Panunzio, forcibly induced to appear before the fraudulent constituted Authority, says it all: I swear to tell the "truth" you impose me to say, the Kafkaesque Trial is always around the corner.

The regurgitation of salvation from Gian Maria "Doctor" remains impotent because he confuses the aberration of a lucidly psychopathic murder with a propitiatory sacrifice to a baptism of blood offered to the reflection of a resurrection of the flesh, flesh which, however, remains sexually incompetent. Augusta Terzi from beyond the grave tells him not to continue in pursuing Justice and to get back in line. It is therefore a deviated fanaticism passed off as mysticism, in perfect line with the Molochian banquets of the Catholic table. It starts from antithetical disturbances to the discomfort of Hamlet's denunciation where there is no moral basis in support of wanting to educate the masses "democratically".

The desire to be discovered reeks of redemption outside the monotheistic religious perspective, and there enters Kafka not as much with his novels as with his even more cryptic stories and "The Unmasking of a Deceiver", a title as ever in tune with the film, fits like a glove with the "ridiculous" attempt of the commissioner to pull himself out of the eye of the pyramid. Omniscient eye on the material reality that we see manifested in that scene where he cuts the tie over the toilet and realizes too late he is being watched from the bathroom window by a "worker" potential informer, who knows...

After all, those who accept the game of the Eye, which a priori sees all and knows all, are subject to the deception of the "time is money" account and the prolongation of bad accompaniment accustoms to such an extent that in the end, with a tug on the ear, everything returns to the files of the possession narrative. And the protagonist of Franz Kafka's tale says "Discovered! Giving him a light pat on the shoulder", to the parasitic whisperer, momentarily exposing the life scam and "next one", knowing the constant and gradual persistence of astral disruptors.
He makes it, the commissioner does not yet, and is brought back into line by a black magic that feeds on the suffering of the flesh where the octopus now grips you inexorably: "This whole building is a large tomb!"

And how do I present myself, individualist anarchist, is baptized the Peace, the only figure that does not play the slot machines of soul grinding, that fights the will of an immutability of the state of things: "The use of freedom threatens the established power from all sides". Then the usual inquisition, indexed in evolution, is underground in its simplicity of "perseverance", but still damn effective:
REPRESSION IS OUR VACCINE! REPRESSION IS CIVILIZATION!"

Forward people, confess your innocence... Baaa!