Endemol
Grande Fratello

Have you ever seen large clusters of idiots all at once? I've had this opportunity several times, I must say. Materially, as an example, you can encounter a sizable delegation of the worst that the human race can create at Termini station on Friday or Saturday morning when groups of clowns called "emos" or idiots referred to as "truzzi," dazed and blasphemous, gather to reach the battlefield of Piazza del Popolo. Morons all dressed the same and made up to make you want to vomit, with such a brazen air that it brings resounding slaps to your hands. Burnt-out youth that one day could become CEOs, department heads, or even state representatives in the Chamber or Senate. How delightful!

Apart from these brainless types, the worst possible television has, for the past two decades, selected the least idiotic from a multitude of excellent representatives of nothingness, to place them in a house open to the eyes of many Italian and European viewers. The elements of "Grande Fratello". This kind of format, which then generated at least a dozen similar programs that adorn the schedules of Italian networks, unfortunately achieves a following that in my opinion is aberrant and at the same time worrying. I wonder, still without an answer, how one can spend so much time watching these brainless people who fight, cry, have sex, cheat, and laze around for quite some time and moreover get well paid? How can one follow such a horrible program?

Starting with the identifying symbol: an eye whose pupil takes on the appearance of a lens. I imagine how many millions that misunderstood genius of a designer pocketed for having "created" it (?). I hope he at least had the decency to light a candle the size of the Pantheon to the brilliant Soviet director Dziga Vertov, who had invented HIS Cine-eye Carl Zeiss during the times of "The Man with a Movie Camera" at least 80 years earlier.

I must admit, however, that out of unhealthy curiosity I followed a few snippets of the first two or three episodes of the first season to understand the reason for that undeniable success that it would later garner over time. It was enough for me to see two perfect strangers join carnally, swearing eternal love after just two days, to understand what kind of people would frequent the immobile with a thousand loopholes. It was enough for me to see pseudo-nymphs crying their eyes out, as if they were condemned to the stake or eternal celibacy, just because they felt too watched or devoid of air. Question: if you feel watched or crushed by some strange form of agoraphobia, what the hell are you doing there?

It's wonderful to see people like Augusto De Megni, a former billionaire now a millionaire in euros, a former hostage of the Anonima Sequestri, participate in place of an element devoid of requirements and overwhelmingly win the juicy final prize before going on to lead TV programs. In the face of those who can't make ends meet. What joy to see already very fortunate noble titles participate, freak out over a pack of cigarettes or get caught with insults, only to then host programs on TV. In the face of those who take odd jobs to try to make ends meet. What delight to see people getting paid for their promiscuity, pairing up with even different partners, swearing, ranting and doing whatever else during a time slot frequented mostly by children. In the face of education and setting an example. What satisfaction to know that GF won the Telegatti award as a cultural program! In the face of those who take ten years to graduate only to find themselves out of work because there is no place for them in Italy.

As a coup de grâce, they are further foisted upon us for a few years in the worst TV programs in the country to talk about their incredibly fascinating life experiences, the betrayals they've committed and endured, the fights with Vittorio Sgarbi, the billions burned because they got a big head, and the nights in discotheques. Or like the Sicilian pizza maker, Salvo Veneziano, shamefully scraping the bottom of the barrel to collect some small change, promoting an advertisement in which some old-fashioned fool, by calling a premium number, would have the chance, through a draw (!), to win a dinner with him! C-C-C-Ccccoooooooooooooooosa? But how we have fallen low. Now we are at the tenth year of this pathetic parade of troglodytes who, among cries, curses, burps, farts, betrayals, and various obscenities, inexorably damage our already burnt-out youth.

Long live "Striscia la Notizia" for unmasking them and the Gialappa's Band that mocks them under the "Unstoppable Decline of Western Civilization" the tenants and the ignoble potential contestants who don’t even know what Achilles' heel is or the President of the Republic. And to think that these could govern us one day. Poor us.

Was I rhetorical? Who cares. At least a review of this filth is a novelty.