Michele Placido
Romanzo Criminale

I don't know why, but I ended up with this scruffy beard. I get up every day, stagger to the bathroom and, undecided, I think about it, razor in hand, whether to cut it or not. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, and today I have quite a handful of hair. People usually, when we jump on the useless topic as if it were really important, never believe that I am my age: they would give me 5, even 6 years less. Of years, I mean. But maybe with this little beard... I now enjoy seeking inspiration by scratching my throat and then down to the Adam's apple. Maybe tomorrow I'll cut it and return, with baby-smooth skin, to the World Cup of 2006 or perhaps even earlier. But if I think about it, it's not necessary to pick up a seven-bladed razor and 18 euros to play M.J. Fox and jump back in time. Just recalling a movie is enough.

The first date in an important story has something adrenaline-pumping about it: you feel awkward, out of place, and tense. "Shall we go to the movies?" She thinks about it, but not for long. Maybe she really liked me, and I, foolishly, realized it almost too late. Then, with her big hazel eyes, she gives me a nod with a vigorous turn of the neck. You browse the newspaper in search of a movie, and your blood freezes: you need the darkness, a room full of people laughing and getting emotional, and you find choices like "Harry Potter and a pointless name that interests no one," "Kill Bill Vol. 1," "Pokemon," and a B-movie shoot-em-up. The other one, instead, I really wanted to see; though certainly not on the first date. In the end, we go anyway. With each death, I felt smaller: I counted them for a while, but then I lost count. It seemed like "Commando" with Schwarzenegger, and I didn't know whether to turn to her with an excuse or run away. Then she started laughing and, leaning close to my ear between one shot and another, said, "You know, I never thought you'd be so romantic."

ROMANZO CRIMINALE

Romanzo Criminale tells us about the Banda della Magliana. Placido attempts to reconstruct a difficult and tangled story impossible to verify in its entirety, full of ifs and maybes. A story that is still worth telling. Crime in Rome obviously existed even before the late '70s, but it was quite small: divided into micro areas, into districts, beyond which it was impossible to go. To unite the city under a single organization, it took a bit of terror and cold blood to eliminate those who did not share the methods. What seemed like a huge square, an unattainable dream, soon becomes too small for the Banda, which, year after year, expands its boundaries from prostitution to gambling, to drug trafficking, making contacts with other mafia associations and P2. Crime and politics intertwine like ivy, dangerously attempting to explain the most uncomfortable and dark moments of Italian history during the years of lead. Now you go up and then you go down.

The film is particularly appealing because in the complex whirlwind of events in a rapid, almost frenetic succession, it manages not to fall into the trap of producing just a sterile documentary. On the contrary, with reflective, dramatically slow, passionate moments, full of pathos, it knows how to build and narrate parallel stories to the Banda della Magliana that first brush against it and then strike it, contributing to its downfall. Because what Placido described was a wild group: without a true leader, with different heads, it was more vulnerable to betrayal, double-dealing, greed, self-pity, and revenge. A dynamic plot that until the epilogue enhances the acting skills of the protagonists. The roles assigned to Rossi Stuart, Santamaria, and Favino are carefully weighed. The trio (the Cold, the Dandy, and Libano) rewards with a performance very close to perfection for the intensity and emotional transport they manage to convey along with supporting actors of absolute caliber (Mouglalis, Trinca, and Scamarcio). I was not completely convinced by Accorsi. I don't know, maybe it's me who can't shake off the opinion I have of him. An overrated actor trapped with his neurotic way of acting, with sudden outbursts and screams, embodying the typical thirty-something in crisis. Perfect for films like "Santa Maradona" and "L'ultimo Bacio." No, in the inspector's role, I would have cast someone else.

Maybe 150’ is excessive. Actually, it is. For the events it deals with, "Romanzo Criminale" is certainly as dense as a jar of jam put in the fridge, but I am convinced that with about twenty minutes less, it would have been even better.

A beer at the bar for me, a juice for her, and I find myself talking about the film, apologizing for the choice until I become not only pathetic but even annoying. Then we move on to the usual nonsense of circumstance, and she looks me straight in the eyes. Always. I like it. The silences arrive, those long silences full of embarrassment when the useless topics, one by one, run out and fall like dominoes onto our glasses on the wooden table. A knowing smile, before a kiss that tastes of malt and pear juice.