Ferzan Ozpetek
Un giorno perfetto

If "Un giorno perfetto" were a sound, it wouldn't be the violent roar of thunder, or a cry in the night, or the fleeting noise of a car speeding through the mute night. If "Un giorno perfetto" were a sound, it would rather be the incessant and constant pouring of a storm, relentless, heedless of the drenched city, an almost silent background in a moonless night. 

And it is precisely with a storm that the film opens, the sound of violent drops falling on the asphalt, on the roofs, on the parked cars, an unease accompanied by the innocent and unaware breathing of a mere 9-year-old child, an innocent victim of the series of uncontrollable events that, metaphorically, seem to interrupt his childhood serenity. A silent yet violently intense curtain-raiser, which anticipates two equally silent but anxiously intense hours, a sequence of images and stories and characters intertwining, painting a restless picture that hides a latent explosiveness, just waiting for the fuse to be lit for the final eruption.

The protagonist of the story is the 24 perfect hours during which the plot unfolds, a well-studied chessboard where, like unaware pawns, the characters move in a silence that doesn’t hinder the narrative. We know nothing about each of them, why the absent looks, or the nervously smoked cigarette on the balcony, what connects them to each other; we manage to catch glimpses of the past exclusively between lines, almost by accident. Despite this anonymity, it’s easy to grasp the enormous shortcomings that chip away at the strong personalities.

Emma, portrayed by a heavily made-up and passionate Isabella Ferrari, has a failed marriage with Antonio behind her, and is slowly rediscovering the desire to live despite financial problems and children to raise, bringing with her the excessive baggage of a flamboyant past close to the world of entertainment; however, Antonio has not overcome the separation, instead, he lives a profound mental crisis obsessed with the hope of reclaiming his former life; a bewildered Valerio Mastandrea masterfully embodies the obsessive, sometimes violent and sick confusion of his character. Besides their shattered family, other characters move who belong to the affluent Rome, but who, despite economic well-being, find no harmony in their relationships.

A film profoundly different from Ferzan Ozpetek’s previous works, this time inspired by Mazzucco’s eponymous novel; an important shift towards Italian essence, which serves as a cumbersome backdrop to the characters' lives with its call centers, election campaigns, and compromises, the so evident gap between high and low bourgeoisie. Unlike the previous films "La finestra di fronte" and "Saturno contro", those rare moments of simple joy are absent, where colors, smells, and flavors played a leading role; this time the protagonists do not sit around a table to cook or dine together, a fundamental element of Ozpetek's works.

However, the signature of the Turkish director is not missing, who didn’t want to forgo the presence of veteran Serra Yilmaz, ever-present in her compatriot's works. Her appearance is significant because it represents the only moment of serenity for Emma, who indulges in the simple pleasure of a cream and chocolate ice cream (sold to her by Serra herself), a treat that might seem trivial at first glance, but which hosts her for a few minutes in a calm, carefree, and almost childlike dimension, before the abrupt return to reality that will forever change her life. The intensity of the film is stunning, the aggressive and sudden ending gives it a bitter and pungent aftertaste that is hard to forget.