Sergej Prokofiev
Pierino e il lupo

I remember a few decades ago, when I still wore a blue apron with a red bow to go to school, during my afternoons free of commitments (almost all of them), I loved listening to Andersen's fairy tales, or those revised by Disney through wonderful 45 rpm records admirably published by Fratelli Fabbri. Those were a few intense minutes capable of enchanting the young memories of children of that era, children not yet overwhelmed by the relentless wave of technology. At that time, very few chosen ones owned the infamous Commodore 64 or its younger brother Vic-20, which required many minutes of waiting to load and display on the home television, except when occupied by telenovelas or football matches, the latest video game. The first PC to enter my home was an "Olivetti Prodest" in basic language, while I had squandered several pocket money at the cafe (400 lira on weekdays and 1000 lira on Sunday thanks to my late grandfather) trying to finish "Ghost 'n Goblins" or "Double Dragon" (not to mention Dragon's Lair).

One day, my father suggested I listen to a different fairy tale. Different in quotes as I grew up listening to classical music. So he suggested I listen to something unusual, a blend of fairy tale and classical music, and I found myself holding a 33 rpm on which was depicted, in a naïve-like style, a landscape featuring a small house surrounded by a fence, a tree, a small pond, and a forest serving as a frame. "Sergei Prokofiev - Peter and the Wolf" narrated by Eduardo De Filippo (and what a narration!). I didn't know the composer. Years later, I would discover that he had scored Eisenstein's films and that the marvelous "Dance of the Knights" from the "Romeo and Juliet" suite was featured in the soundtrack of a perfume ad called "Egoiste", where dozens of models leaned out of windows, shouting the epithet that christened the product, a supposed Adonis who responded by placing the bottle on the edge of a balcony railing. I knew the narrator very well. He had made me roll with laughter with the emission of a "pernacchio" at Duke Alfonso Maria of Sant'Agata dè Fornari.

Since the red plastic record player was out of order, I took advantage, with due care, of my father's turntable, setting the reader to 33 rpm and carefully placing in the designated space the hockey disc valid for the operation of 45s. I never thought anyone had such an idea. Something exceptional was taking over my faculties. With perfectly matched instruments replacing the movements, voices, sounds, actions of the characters in this absolutely extraordinary tale. The protagonist, Peter, was musically represented by a pleasing sequence of strings where you could imagine a lively child jumping carefree in a flowery meadow. Next came the Bird, cheerful, nimble, animated by a flute, the Cat, sly, lazy, depicted by a clarinet, the Duck, happy in its pond, perhaps a bit naive, interpreted by an oboe, Peter’s Grandfather, grumpy, stern, supported by the bassoon, the Hunters represented by trumpets, and their powerful guns (perhaps sawed-off) by the kettledrums. The co-protagonist closes the loop: the Wolf, scored by the horns. I don't hide that listening to it terrified me, almost feeling its breath on my neck. Its stealthy walk, imperceptible among the underbrush, the fierce impromptu raid tearing through the scene. It is hard to describe the magic unleashed by this work. The musical sequences accompanying the characters, the scenes are simply perfect, cleverly and masterfully evoking the images that flow also thanks to a special narration.

I find it useless to narrate the story. I invite those who have never done so to listen. There’s no hiding the sweet nostalgia that permeates this review, back when an ice cream cost 500 lira (in banknotes), when RAI was not yet “Mediasettizzata” (Loris Mazzetti docet), when photos were waved to revive them, and when fun was had with little or nothing, and it seemed there was enough time to discover those apparently insignificant factors that truly taught you how to live. What wonderful times!

Dear parents, have your children listen to this work, hoping they don’t prefer it to the PlayStation or Nintendo Wii or the fierce exchange of ignoble texts on the phone. Gift a veil of simple magic to your results and, if you have time, listen to it yourselves as well.