• Rating:
«You never reveal yourself». One, no one, and one hundred thousand Silvio Berlusconis, already glimpsed in the first part, emerge more clearly and multiply in the second, which does not nullify the premises, exploding in a kaleidoscope of somewhat surreal images, illuminating or farcical dialogues, and characters who define themselves more clearly, except, of course, the elusive protagonist.
We do not reach certain peaks of Sorrentino's filmography, but this creative effort is to be admired because it constantly dialogues with facts and figures of recent Italian history, taking huge risks and getting almost nothing wrong. The filmmaker moves with great finesse among the multiple personalities and the multiple worlds of Silvio. Everything is held together, albeit contradictorily, giving shape to a protean, tentacular figure, too big (and too low, if you will, abyssal) to be confronted with other characters. Silvio is not a character in this film, but at least four or five. The seller, a genius and alone, the partygoer who loves to sing popular songs, the unstoppable politician, the vain egocentric, the man who is almost gallant with scantily clad girls dancing in his villa, the eye that sees and captures everything, the husband disillusioned by a wife stuck in her ways, the bored and served billionaire. Among these different fiefs, invisible walls rise, guarded on horseback by a man in a white suit and hat.
This multiplicity is explored perfectly, but as we approach the end, the judgment emerges a bit too clearly. Veronica paints a dismal picture, which I don't believe coincides 100% with the director's, but it can't be too far from it either. Sorrentino does not judge, never. He sketches situations and highlights character traits, which then mingle, arriving at a puzzle that only the viewer can choose to interpret and in what way. The wife's words are heavy, but Silvio responds, nailing the contradictions, limits, and whims of the woman. He always has an answer, a different angle from which to view things. He never takes offense, but faced with a venomous wife, he then counterattacks. Calmly.
A strength lies in the gallery of characters, which is greatly enriched, with figures recalling the great loyalists of the Cav. From Doris to Confalonieri, from Apicella to Bongiorno. Each gives an interpretation or illuminates the gigantic central figure differently. Which here perhaps goes even beyond the real man, becoming a higher artistic version, as it should be. This is not an exact chronicle of B.'s life but a free reworking.
And Servillo lets himself go a little when he, with a casual phone call, sells a villa that doesn't exist to a woman he doesn't know. It is a typical bravura of the actor, who indeed in the heat changes his tone and picks up a bit of the Neapolitan inflection. His Silvio is perhaps too sparkling and light in his voice tone. This is consistent with the vision of a man who cannot be scratched, who never dies, who laughs at everything, overcoming it and shrugging it off, who goes to a new eighteen-year-old's party instead of appearing at the UN, who thinks more of the volcano in the garden than of earthquake-stricken Italy. A darker voice would have made the contrast even more jarring.
The population of little ants, the "them" of the title, is downplayed, consistent with the value Silvio can give them. They are nothing, there is no ferocity in Silvio's lust, only the playful taste of a man terrified of loneliness. A man who has everything, or almost everything, and wants the little he cannot have. A new government, a porcelain-skinned girl. It makes little difference, the important thing is to succeed, sell, sell oneself and then buy everything, not necessarily with money.
And in this, B. is both executioner and victim, almost naively, authentically. When he is bored, no temptation holds, not even the charms of the beautiful Kira. But then he starts again, always energetic and proactive, attentive to advice yet always able to go beyond, dismissing even Mike in two sentences. What is not portrayed is so much the decline, as much as the insoluble contradiction, and the inexhaustible power, even in the face of scandals. The drama cannot win because he always looks forward. What he says, what he pretends to ask, is law for the worms that crawl behind him. They are the true petty ones, those who think they are cleverer. Silvio is authentically monstrous.
A film that flows fast, makes you laugh, and continuously presents situations on the edge of the surreal, enhancing the farcical side, yet almost philosophically probing the "ontological" meaning of such a particular human being. An inspired and accurate writing accompanies images that do not reach the heights of the past but still add many elements to the narrative construction. In some passages, the surreal becomes powerful, like in the fake trailers of films with recommended and incapable actresses. But there is also austerity, in the sharp dialogues with Veronica, and in the final, very dark, of a Christ taken from a destroyed church, in L'Aquila, on the darkest night. And he, who activates the volcano in the garden.
7.5/10
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