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Rating: Marco leaves "the lights on in all the rooms" and films our boredom, our miseries, films the unacceptable, the reflection that mirrors ourselves where we do not recognize because we never wanted to look at reality. And reality, for the vast majority of the time, is miserable.
The short circuit is definitive: it is obscene to capture the "dead" times of existence because most existences are Dead. It's the same as Plato's cave; you try to awaken those who are sleeping, who want to continue sleeping, even helping themselves with sleeping pills, like Pallenberg.
Communication is disintegrated, by telling themselves illusions, the interlocutors travel in parallel and do not meet, but as Ferreri did, if you bend the tracks until they join, the psychic derailment of refusal happens. It might not be pleasant when someone makes you see your own shit.
And here Ferreri's relentless honesty is a sure thing: it is not comforting, there is no deception, and without deception, you clash with humanity. The polka-dot gun (not the zebra), used more than anything to see if it works, is a tool for playful action, free from constraints and indoctrination; the action disappears in the thoughtlessness of the act. One acquires the freedom of the eternal of our soul by seeking a leap (actually pulling the trigger) towards another shell that can contain the new energy acquired, abandoning the limits of a carnal shell.
The protagonist emphatically cooks the rituals of human flesh to sterilize and consciously exorcize them. Glauco says goodbye to everyone, "it was nice, but it's not that anymore"... He says goodbye, with all his actions in the kitchen, flirting with the maid Sabina, the very sensual Annie Girardot, who on the phone says the keyword "fatalmente," projecting tauromachies, opening that drawer full of little jokes, grimacing the end in the mirror, thus flowing all the deceits to which he has been subjected by the ego and bids them farewell.
He bids farewell to the house before leaving, reviewing all his vanities, taking with him a necklace for the definitive representation of a past that never existed and is only considered as "it was, but it never was...", he bids farewell to his ghost.
The last remnants of shadows and mirrors melt like mist in the sun at the request of chocolate mousse by the "pearl of Labuan." The destination of the sailboat decrees the end of the dream, it's time to navigate the astral journey: "But where is this boat going?"
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By happypippo1
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