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Rating: Hello guys/girls, I had gotten a bit tired lately of searching for the "minor" Italian cinema of the past, so I thought I would gift you with a review of something more recent. For this purpose, I chose Leonardo Pieraccioni and what, according to your trusty reviewer, is his best film, "I Love You in Every Language in the World" ('05).
So follow me in this new, unprecedented, and hopefully exciting venture, made courageously for You and, most importantly, with You.
Who knows what Paolina thinks, and what she desires when she says she loves her teacher, Gilberto, in every language in the world: is she truly seeking the man of her life, or behind the love for an apparently mature man, who in his own way carries an authoritative image, does she desire the affection of a paternal figure, a surrogate for the real lost father? And what is the professor looking for in Margherita, Paolina's mother who he met almost by chance, perhaps a feminine figure dedicated to others, sensitive towards animals, towards others, and towards himself, a safe harbor after the storms of his failed marriage? Because Gilberto's wife was cheating on him, seeking sex everywhere, under all conditions, almost wanting to forget the peace of the hearth, of the family, in search of any adventure that would redeem her from decades of boredom reserved in the domestic and undone bed? The same can be said for his sex-addicted colleague, Anselmi, searching for fetishes more than affections. And what does Paolina's mom seek in the professor, a redemption of lost loves also for her, a father for her little daughter and a teacher of life, or a subject to govern, tenderly save as she usually does with animals? And, Massimo, Paolina's father, does he believe that becoming a friar redeems the lack of love for his daughter with the abstract fury of love for an unknowable god, shunning the world and its transience? Not to mention Cateno, Gilberto's mentally disabled brother, who perhaps seeks and finds love in his personal, poetic, nocturnal, and improbable world, but does not know how to show anyone the path to follow him.
Under the guise of a Christmas comedy, that occasionally elicits some laughter, this film deals, I believe unintentionally (but, after all, how many of our actions have outcomes different from those intended?), with universal feelings, presenting a gallery of characters, who without a perspective, without a system that holds and guides them towards a goal, escape from classifications, reject the very idea of masks and type, remaining unresolved, and pushing the viewer to question, even after the end of the film, their bizarre and implicit destinies, their fates, and the outcome of their personal quest for happiness.
Which they might find, or perhaps not, because not all films end with the word "end" on the screen.
I know Pieraccioni is a rather unwelcome figure to those who love cinema, probably to many readers of Deb, likely for good reason: the initial ease of his comedies, the persistent reference to a rustic but cloying Tuscan culture, the cunning and complacent use of easy and improbable beauties to support his modest acting trials have not enhanced his fame and reputation; though it must be recognized that he has intercepted the tastes of the average audience, who, in simplicity that I do not feel like criticizing and of which I am myself a part, seeks leisure, escape by entering a Christmas cinema, especially if aware that often, Christmas is a day like any other, with the aggravating factor of leaving us alone with our whims, without the forced distraction of work (excluding waiters, restaurateurs, toll collectors, and transportation staff).
For once, however, I believe it should be recognized that Pieraccioni merited making a beautiful film, delicate and able to touch the deep strings of feelings, precisely because it does not describe love linearly (possible or impossible, exotic or not), but rather a set of loves that the director himself admitted are doomed to failure, to non-achievement, to frustration. In this mosaic, the characters described fit well, and all in all even the performances of the usual group, from Panariello to Papaleo, passing through a less agitated Ceccherini, even if always on the edge of normality.
Among all the characters outlined by writers and director, my almost namesake Paolina (a talented and fresh Giulia E. Gorietti) stands out, a rare adolescent figure able to endear herself even while acting spoiled: more than the literary offspring of a Russian-born writer, she seems the more modest protagonist of an old piece by The Police, a watercolor of many young people who do not quite know what to do and where to go, and still do not imagine that adolescence, with its uncertainties, is merely the dress rehearsal for what some insist on calling "maturity."
Maturely Yours,
Il_Paolo
PS: dear all, I must unfortunately announce that this is my last review of the season, at least concerning "minor" cinema. A musical review aimed at temporarily closing my "mission" should follow in a few days. But - as you all know - every bad news is followed by good one, namely that from now until the end of the summer season, I intend to open a cycle of thematic reviews - "Il_Paolo: Summer for You" - dedicated to music and cinema of typically summery setting and spirit. This is to guide you to rediscover unknown arts, music, and images ideal for aqua gym in the summer village, for a calippo at the municipal pool, an unavoidable camogli at the highway rest stop, a Wienerschnitzel in the refuges, and, of course, to leave you less alone in the sun. Sure to do you a favor, I warmly greet you. SV, Il_Paolo
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