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Rating: You come out of the new D'Innocenzo brothers' film feeling like you've just stepped out of a tanning lamp. That's what the colors look like. Green, red, blue. Blazing.
The stubborn head of Elio Germano reflects all the blinding light that hits him from above during the day. In the evening, he cries and laughs. In the morning, he goes down the stairs and finds his anguish. The film rises and walks, runs and takes flight.
Midway through, I started to fear it would resolve with a 自殺, which would have made the Roman twins' filmography a kind of four-and-a-half-hour long Baustelle song, which is the total length of their films to date. I can say that maybe it doesn't go as it seems.
The ending goes as it seems, and Fabio and Damiano are aware of it. It's a send-off to all the idiots who go to the cinema thinking they're smart. To those who go to the cinema for the plot, for the twist, to those who go to the cinema to insert the piece into the designated spot reserved for them.
Letting oneself be surprised by the simplicity of a convoluted story told without reservations. And without discounts. No intellectualism, just heart and tenderness. Is America Latina a Latin that's more distant and foreign than America? Okay, but trust me, you're not smart for writing that on Letterboxd. Nor for thinking you're disappointed. The surprise, the D'Innocenzo brothers have given it to you: it's your own sad banality. Instead, cinema is brought into play. The piano phrases, the world burns.
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