Nanni Loy
Mi manda Picone

A pearl-colored loafer on the right foot, a somewhat overly worn desert boot on the left, a makeshift suit, and a dangling cigarette between the lips. That's how Salvatore Cannavacciuolo (Giancarlo Giannini) presents himself, a unit counted among the experts in the art of getting by in the atrium of the Naples courthouse, in an unlikely information office. With her hair tied up, a pronounced maternal tendency, charm to spare, and again a cigarette this time caressed, Luciella married Picone (Lina Sastri) presents herself in a moment of slight agitation as she tries to reach a workers' committee meeting on time while simultaneously watching over her three not-yet-independent children. Behind an apparently calm rally, a worker advances, visible only from behind, who enflames (quite literally) the morning by dousing himself in gasoline in protest, thus mimicking one of those bonfires lit with makeshift brush in front of a guitar on a beach at night. A conveniently timely ambulance picks up the supposed charred man and disappears among the tentacles of Neapolitan vehicle traffic.

Here begins, in a Naples still enjoyable but in advanced decay, the raucous and mysterious story of "Mi manda Picone," yet another Neapolitan film by the late Sardinian director, a pioneer of Italian candid camera. Addò stà Picone? Addò 'ann purtat'? Ma è muort'?, are the questions Luciella poses to the shabby Salvatore in his “business” for only a thousand lire. At the hospital no one knows anything, at the morgue only deaths by gunfire, charred remains are out of the question unless they were shot first for safety. At Italsider, where he worked, someone knew him from the press, no actually, from the blast furnace, or rather, the other one... and among a package of pasta, some slices of mortadella, and a sandwich with two layers of filling, the mysterious agenda of the missing Picone appears.

It is thus discovered that Salvatore himself is among his debtors and will, therefore, be forced to collect outstanding debts, accompanied by Luciella, the poor wife of the disappeared, oblivious to everything. "Mi manda Picone" will become the vocal key to some doors but also the lock on some dark chambers better avoided. Thus, in a grotesque and subtly unsettling manner, the hidden life of the incinerated worker is unveiled, among bribes, mobsters, extortion, prostitutes, and other illicit activities unfortunately belonging to the daily life of the southern capital, even if they appear in this film narrated with a pinch of irony and a clever tendency toward the tragicomic. Among not very recommendable butcher shops, hidden undergrounds for the manufacture of explosives, rigged racecourses, and sewer tunnels for better negotiation outcomes (places I wouldn't be surprised to find actually exist), it is revealed that the suit worn by Picone at the time of the fiery scene had an asbestos lining. Embè? Che fin' ha fatt' Picone?

Excellent work by Nanni Loy, assisted by a brilliant Giancarlo Giannini and a beautiful/talented Lina Sastri among the protagonists. Outstanding friendly appearances by Leo Gullotta, Carlo Croccolo, Aldo Giuffrè, and Marzio Honorato, as well as a passionate Clelia Rondinella in the role of the provocative Teresa, enrich this vibrant comedy suitable for every kind of audience with matchlessly executable nuances.