Giorgio Gaber
Dialogo Tra Un Impegnato E Un Non So

There's always a subtle thrill in reviewing a work by Giorgio Gaber. And it's never easy to distinguish, in these cases, between sensation and objectivity. These aren't just clichés: it's reality. Just as many only know the socially conscious Gaber of the early seventies, few are familiar with the light-hearted Gaber of the mid-sixties, the one who played in Milanese cabarets and trendy venues (Santa Tecla, now an institution) and had fun with his close friend Enzo Jannacci, humming "Porta Romana" or "La ballata del Cerutti".

In 1970, he invented the character of Mr. G, and staged, at the Strehler Theater in Milan, a sort of Profane Genesis: Mr. G is the man on the street, a minor bourgeois trying to make sense of society, people, and politics, capable of self-critique and engaging with the audience through jokes and monologues. What, over time, would be called song-theater. This Mr. G would create no small problems for Gaber and Luporini, the lyricist for all of Gaber's theatrical shows: sometimes they play it safe and say "Pretend to be healthy," other times they claim "Even for today we won't fly." However, when they speak of "Polli d'allevamento," they provoke the fierce anger of the entire Italian leftist political system and are labeled as despicable opportunists. Surely, the highest point (and unattainable even for Gaber himself) of Mr. G is a solemn masterpiece of 1972, "Dialogo tra un impegnato e un non so".

Spoken parts, sharp and effective monologues link up with ferocious and angry songs, a true predetermined attack on the Italian State and the punctual radicalism of a certain boastful and self-inflated politics. The dialogues between Gaber, or Mr. G, and a left-wing extremist (Gaber himself) open the show in a completely surprising manner; the real revolution, according to Gaber & Luporini, is being able to 'devour an idea.' An essential concept, to understand what Gaber thought of politics: effective examples in this regard are the deliberately cuckolded husband, the obviously racist anti-racist, and that final phrase, capable of shaking fifty years of communist politics, "I wanted to attend a demonstration, the class struggle comrades, so many beautiful things, that I have in my head but not yet in my skin." Some comedic relief to lighten the heavy atmosphere, "Lo shampoo" is very funny, but even this, on closer inspection, is dark and sad. And then there's "L'ingranaggio," supported by the monologue "Il pelo." The hair, nothing more than money; a happy man declares himself as such when he possesses nothing, but envy and the hunger for success lead him to do anything (even self-erase) to have at least one hair. And when someone claims to have ten, he must have ten. And so on. The metaphor is clear and direct because "it's not that I don't want to or don't have the courage, it's just that I'm already inside the gear".

The jab at the Italian left comes shortly after, and it is no coincidence: a leaf on an eye, it would be enough to move it, but the left-wing intellectual doesn't have the strength. And in the end, he blurts out: "Alright, at worst I'll lose the eye." The social immobility of that prideful left, capable only in words of defending the weakest, and then, in practice, capable only of admiring themselves in a pristine mirror, is the greatest and most fierce invective Gaber could carve. The worker who believed in certain political values now finds himself disoriented: where are the politicians I voted for? There they are, making themselves look good, modern Narcissuses, yet they can't even move a leaf from their eyes. And the left, the real one, the one that is in Parliament, not only decided to repudiate Gaber but, even worse, continued to remain static and dormant. The first act of the show ends with Gaber's most famous and celebrated anthem, "La libertà," and freedom, mind you, is not having an opinion (another jab at the left), freedom is participation.

The second act begins again with an invective. This time it's about bandages, or rather, the mythical country of Bendopoli. Obscured vision, very little perception of reality, no self-esteem: does it ring a bell? Yes, politics, but perhaps a little more: the obscuring refusal of society (and therefore men) to face reality head-on: better not to see where the problems, the flaws, the errors of man are, no, it's better to hide behind a bandage and pretend everything is fine. The somber "Il mestiere del padre" tells of a divorced couple grappling with raising a child in a cruel and profoundly unjust world, and Gaber's strong indignation towards the bourgeoisie shines through: "Bourgeois are all pigs, the bigger they are, the filthier they get". Here they don't mince words; they go straight to the heart of the problem, without metaphors or circumlocution. A comedic interlude, this time it's the memorable "Oh Madonnina dei dolori" in which Gaber, with cheeky wit, dares to even question the paternity of Jesus (we must remember we are in the full seventies, a step away from the years of lead and the advent of Pope Wojtyla to the papal throne, in short, it was a time of great and profound changes). The monologue dedicated to Nixon is hilarious: Nixon is portrayed as a man who doesn't care about what happens around him. He goes to bed thinking about peace but falls asleep, at lunch with his wife he thinks about Italy, Germany, and Japan but in the end, he's full and bloated, he goes to the bathroom to take care of his bodily needs, he thinks about Vietnam, the dead Americans and thinks: "What a crap!".

Gaber's gaze is once again lucid, and ahead of its time by at least four years, the years, that is, between this piece and the Watergate scandal in which the American President Nixon was implicated. The show closes with the debatable "Gli operai," debatable because it's a bit heavy and mean-spirited towards the working world, although the ending seems to disprove accusations and criticism. When Gaber says goodbye, the background music of "La libertà" is heard, but nothing has slipped away, not even the smallest details, not even the pieces I deliberately excluded (I chose the most effective ones, and still the ones that struck me the most).

"Dialogo tra un impegnato e un non so" almost 35 years later does not lose even an ounce of its lucid malice. A miracle, yes, this is a miracle.