Giuseppe Gagliardi
1992

The first season of 1992 can be condensed into one single, embarrassing scene. Don't worry, this isn’t a spoiler: we're talking about three or four completely irrelevant minutes from a narrative standpoint. We are in the fifth episode, and the advertiser Leonardo Notte (Stefano Accorsi) consults with Giovanni Rana (Giovanni Rana) to create a new ad for the famous tortellini. Who should play the charming spokesperson for Italian cuisine in the commercial? A real conundrum. “Simple,” says the real-life Rana, “I'll do it myself. They’re my tortellini, why should I be afraid of a camera?” Cut to a stack of packages at the center of the table. All Giovanni Rana products, of course. This subtly "metacinematic" cameo, which seems a bit like an unintentional parody of some memorable scenes from The Truman Show (among the most disturbing, moreover, of Peter Weir's great film), is emblematic of the entire fiction. Here's a preview: 1992 is a series so rhetorical and implausible that it loses all credibility. The content, the technical aspects, and the packaging of the whole verge on the garish. And the same historical events, which in a script of this kind cannot just be a mere backdrop, unfortunately, fade into the background.

It is useful, to better understand the scale of this almost total flop, to reference other recent Italian serial products, all produced by Sky and similar at least in production style. Just think about Romanzo Criminale and especially Gomorra to realize how 1992 is the black sheep of the situation: so either the two series branded Stefano Sollima are noteworthy exceptions, or the creators of the fiction based on Mani Pulite have flopped. The truth, as always, lies in the middle. Because among the Sky-made TV series, in addition to the gangster/noir Romanzo Criminale and Gomorra of course, there is also the Italian version of In Treatment (2013). And while the original U.S. version was widely acclaimed, the adaptation proved rather mediocre. In Treatment and 1992 have few elements in common, yet not insignificant ones: Guido Caprino and the young Irene Casagrande, respectively the Lega Nord deputy Pietro Bosco and Notte's daughter in 1992, are already part of the psychological/dramatic fiction cast. Among the various weaknesses was precisely Caprino's performance. The conclusion? Even 1992 suffers tremendously from unconvincing performances. As if that weren't enough, the characters are mostly banal, flat, ever-identical caricatures. The authors overstated things: the individual, gestural, and expressive traits of the protagonists of the ten episodes are exaggerated with results that are even comical. There’s something tragic in the personal stories, the intertwining of destinies, and the resurfacing of the past. But this traumatic and deep element, even when well defined, takes a back seat because fundamentally Accorsi and his brigade make you laugh more than cry. They are not just "already seen"; they are caricatures of stereotypes. Leonardo Notte wants to be a bit like the Jordan Belfort of the Milano da bere (without Di Caprio's charm), an irresponsible father and a cold womanizer. It's not surprising that Accorsi contributed to the script (“from an idea by,” the promo says): in every episode, there’s always a bit of seemingly gratuitous and random sex with the once Freccia as the protagonist. Accorsi views life only in two ways, with a wicked sarcastic grin or a puzzled look. Predictably, Caprino fails as Pietro, a makeshift politician with a violent past; Alessandro Roja (the Dandi of Romanzo Criminale), here police officer Rocco Venturi, neither shines nor falters. A necessary observation regarding these two: there is a strong impression that the actors have not managed to leave behind their previous roles. No harm for Roja, who is still decent as an ironic bon vivant. The same cannot be said for Caprino, who, just like in In Treatment, wipes away a good part of his character's complexity with grotesque and approximate facial expressions. Tea Falco in the role of Beatrice Mainaghi, a drug-addicted daughter of a wealthy family involved in the Tangentopoli scandals, is unworthy of comment. Constantly slurring words and simulating the expression of a lobotomized person for a good part of the series is not synonymous with realism; rather, it represents the excess, the unnecessary “going beyond” mentioned above. Decidedly kitsch. More successful among the protagonists is Veronica Castello (a good Miriam Leone), an unscrupulous showgirl with many ambiguities and contradictions. In a climate of widespread mediocrity, paradoxically, rather marginal figures stand out: among others, a paranoid and fascinating Antonio Di Pietro (Antonio Gerardi, also seen in Romanzo Criminale) and an icy Marcello Dell’Utri (Fabrizio Contri). Gianfelice Imparato is also positive as the chameleon-like Christian Democratic honorable Gaetano Nobile, nemesis of Pietro Bosco/Caprino. But it’s really not enough. The dialogues are predictable, stereotypical, filled with rhetoric. Sometimes bordering on non-sense, as in the hot scene (again!) between Leonardo Notte and some escorts – fourth episode.

The same concept applies to the technical department. Here we limit ourselves to a hint: the editing, intentionally tight, at times becomes needlessly frenetic. Even during scenes with a strong emotional impact, you can notice cuts without apparent logic that end up significantly breaking the pathos, greatly attenuating the drama of the narrative. And to say that some photography cues are interesting, despite most of the shots being made with a handheld camera. A pity.

The enthusiastic tones of those who, on the eve of the premiere, had hailed the new Sky product as a miracle should be scaled back. Perhaps dazzled by the impressive advertising campaign, several outlets had issued grandiose reviews: “bold and uncomfortable TV series,” “the missing link between Romanzo Criminale and Gomorra.” The comparison with the two Sollima series, particularly the former, is understandable and justified. 1992, however, has nothing bold about it. Even less than Romanzo Criminale, which, though not a masterpiece, ultimately presented a bitter Italy in the hands of strange lobbies and deviant secret services. Here Tangentopoli becomes a (tragic) comic farce from which the rot remains outside. Or rather, in depth. Let’s be clear, the ten episodes are still watchable. But 1992 remains pure entertainment. Herein lies the problem mentioned above: the self-proclamation of the implausible, which takes place here, turns the historical context into a spectacle. And so the interest is no longer in the moral contents, the fidelity to the events that actually happened, or the truly existent characters – who feel like plastic –, but in something else. It cannot be, as seen, the quality of performance or the psychological depth of the subjects at play. A kitsch short circuit. What remains? Not much. And surely there won’t be few who follow 1992 to the end solely and exclusively for the (many) nude scenes with Miriam Leone. The director Giuseppe Gagliardi's work lacks the “view from below,” the ability to express drama and empathy in a more genuine way. The ability to palpably convey the sordid and the disgusting. Where to find all this? For example, in Gomorra. But that’s another story.

originally written for: http://vitaasociale.altervista.org/1992-secondo-stefano/