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Rating: Rome is the city of cats, basking under the Capital’s sun or straying among ancient stones.
Nico D'Alessandria (1941/2003, Rome) was a director practically unknown in his time, completely zero-budget, of negligible success.
Only recently has his remarkable "L'imperatore di Roma" been rediscovered and brought to DVD, the story of an unrepentant drug addict, Gerry Robertini, a paradigm of what heroin addiction was like in the years of the Garofano.
"L'imperatore di Roma" clearly refers to Pierpaolo Pasolini's "Accattone," narrating an Italy that the Bolognese director did not have time to witness. Gerry, as Pasolini did with Accattone, is loved by D'Alessandria. Without judging, without moralizing, without rehabilitating, without portraying him as a victim of society or justifying any of his misdeeds. Loved for what he is, drugs or not.
D'Alessandria takes in a real heroin addict alcoholic, Gerardo Sperandini, a charismatic figure, an unaware rebel of the stagnant Eighties. A lonely man, a cat, the master of the empty city.
The director follows the actions of this loser by filming them in black and white, initially without sound, then, seeing the possibility of a slightly more decent distribution, dubbing the lip movements with the same protagonists.
This is quite a significant flaw, but it must be taken into account that we are talking about a film made under constraints and difficulties; and this problem is abundantly overcome by D'Alessandria's unmatched ability to film the truth.
Yes, Gerry is a rascal, exploits his parents, refuses to get off drugs, rejects treatments, steals, drinks. A son of a bitch: "Io nun so ttu fjo, so er canaro bianco, detto fjo de na mignotta, er mejo killer de New York".
Thus we hear from the illuminated window of the Robertini house; while the poor father curses him for what Gerry does, he responds with an alternative world, where he is lord and master.
Gerry wanders aimlessly, has coffee with a prostitute, and talks about drugs, the good ones and those to avoid ("Aho, nun te fa mai de anfetamina"); listens to "The narrow way" by Pink Floyd in his room and laughs mimicking Gilmour's guitar riffs; makes love with a girl and then they curse each other.
He plays "Il veliero" by Battisti on a bar jukebox, flirts with some girls, and throws up; goes with his father for an interview at a support center and then escapes.
Calls his ex-girlfriend's house, with a child, because he misses them. In a sleepless night, he writes her a love letter. Undoubtedly he will have been a huge son of a b... with them, but at that moment he feels he needs to feel something real for someone.
He strips naked and wanders through Rome and gets locked up. "Professore, aiutami", "infermieri, slegatemi" he repeats ad nauseam. Withdrawal crisis but also a desire to be free, free like a cat.
The "Professore" (a young man rendered stupid by alcohol) releases him and Gerry becomes Gerry again; even more than the Gerry before.
The joyful delirium of Gerardo unfolds in one night and one morning: he wanders through Rome and feels like its master. He finds the ruins of a construction site and imagines that he is refounding the city. He finds some backpackers, and for him, they are his warriors resting before the Great Refoundation of the Empire. Then he's hungry. Gerry is a junkie who screws and eats; he is full of life. He gets on a tourist bus, finds a sandwich but is caught red-handed, stopped. His face is shoved in dog shit. Ecce homo.
There have been very few times when cinema has been able to represent stories connected to the world of heroin; never like in this poor, poor film yet rich in everything.
D'Alessandria's images perfectly capture a way of being, feeling, living of the period's drug addicts, those with the 70s behind them and the 80s that they have no desire to face. Gerry then is more intelligent and carefree than the average junkie: he cultivates a strong sense of humor (sometimes he comes up with jokes that are hysterically funny) and top-quality pride. Beautiful are the scenes where Gerry, imagining a crowd of devotees, shoots up "in view" and lies blissfully, the hole between the alleys of the general markets, spied on by the lens in the half-light, and especially the night of the Imperial Delirium.
All the flaws and limitations of "L'Imperatore di Roma" do not prevent it from being a cut above any film about drug addiction. It would have been great for Gerry to say Accattone's legendary line "Vojo morì coperto d'oro come li faraoni". He regrets nothing, takes nothing back. There is no room for rhetoric.
Accattone is back, long live Accattone!!!
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