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Rating: In the end, two seats became available. Three hours before the start of the performance, the phone rings, presenting me with an intriguing dilemma: central box or last rows of the stalls. I choose the box with a privileged view. I think to myself that maybe I'm still in time. So, with a trembling voice, I call that woman I so desired to surprise with a "special effect" and ask her if she's still free, if she hasn't made any commitments. With a questioning voice, she says yes, that I can come to pick her up. I skip the primping and head out munching on peanuts. Meanwhile, she has time to get ready, and as usual, when she approaches the car, I find her: radiant.
This evening, I think, I will have to surrender to the spells of two splendid women, actually three: my partner, Lina Sastri, and Filumena Marturano. A beautiful creature, Filumena: a strong, rough-edged woman, steeped in a love given but never reciprocated. The fire that warmed and illuminated the hearts of four unsuspecting men burns in the grandeur of the figure born in 1946 from the prolific pen of Eduardo de Filippo. There have been many Filumenas in the history of theater, from the first for whom the play was written, Titina de Filippo, to Regina Bianchi, from the unforgettable Pupella Maggio to the film adaptation with Sofia Loren in "Marriage Italian Style." Today, fighting for her children, for their right to have a surname and a future, and to express a mother's unconditional love, there is Lina Sastri. An artist with a capital A, who took her first steps with Eduardo, Lina creates a void around herself, bolstered by a role that fits her like a glove and a craft that allows her to measure both the irony and the drama of this universal mother.
The faithful portrayal, the measured direction, and some underwhelming actors allow me to occasionally take breaks to glance at the person sitting next to me. I am certain she loved this play very much, I read empathy and involvement for Filumena's trials in her eyes. Every woman can find herself in Filumena. Every woman knows what it means to sacrifice a lot, if not everything, for her children. I look at her and smile. It doesn't matter, I tell myself, if tonight she won't have eyes for me. I step aside and let them, Filumena and my woman, talk to each other, confirm each other in gestures and words, one, in imperceptible blinks, the other. When the show ends, the eternally held back and then revealed tears of Filumena are the tears of all women who know they've done Good. At the show's conclusion, the tears of Filumena are also the tears of the woman to whom I gave the joy of an evening in exchange for the love of a lifetime: my mother.
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