Steno
Banana Joe

Hello guys, it would be interesting - for those who have the time - to conduct research on how we Italians perceive South America, with all the exoticism it carries with it: if I were the hypothetical advisor of an imaginary thesis, I would assign the student the title "From Paolo Conte to Lola Ponce: you realize that South America is here", then launching the author towards a well-deserved 110/110 with honors and an academic [Perugina] kiss.

Obviously, I would like to dedicate a separate chapter of the thesis to cinema, previewing, with you and for you, what I would love to read in this hypothetical essay about "Banana Joe" ('82) by Stefano Vanzina, known as Steno, a work essential to the economy of my discourse.

A film without too many pretensions, but perhaps deeper than it seems, "Banana Joe" tells us the story of a gentle giant (played by a perfectly in-shape Bud Spencer) who, in a fantastical Brazil, works as a banana transporter, the main local wealth, in perfect harmony with the native population, who adore him for his generosity and simplicity. This little Eden - though poor - is disturbed by the arrival of a gang aiming to massively commercialize bananas, disrupting Banana Joe's small trade and that of the local population. But Banana does not agree, so, amidst fistfights and various adventures (bureaucratic, romantic, military), he manages to prevent the advent of these industrialists, leading a small but peaceful rebellion in the name of social equity.

The story, as I mentioned earlier, follows the usual David vs. Goliath cliché, and is well supported by a varied subject, benefiting not only from the scenic presence of our Bud but also from the participation of seasoned character actors (from the excellent Gianfranco Barra to Mario Scarpetta and Enzo Garinei, passing through the agitated Giorgio Bracardi). Professional direction by Steno and a delightful soundtrack spiced with salsa and calypso by the De Angelis brothers: unforgettable, in particular, is the opening credits song, the true backbone of the film’s entire musical commentary.

The most interesting aspect of the work at hand concerns, however, the previously mentioned perception of South America by Steno and the film's authors: on one hand, it may appear sketch-like - certainly concealing the real poverty and genuine hardships of the continent - but, on the other, it does not appear devoid of a certain poetic touch, especially when depicting the lightness of the small village's inhabitants, their purity and charm; which, in my humble opinion, do not stem from a simplistic (and somewhat racist) conception of the "noble savage," but from the awareness that, in a context of true poverty and daily confrontation with death, Man never ceases to be human, preserving his sentiments, aspirations, and passions, as well as his desire for independence and autonomy.

In this sense, Joe's journey from the chaos of his village to the city is, at the same time, the depiction of the individual's encounter with the powers seeking to subjugate him, to suppress the almost childlike individualism of which our protagonist is a healthy carrier, in his innate naivety: resistant to bureaucracy, the militia, the tyranny of the powerful, poetic in dealings with the fairer sex, Joe is a humble bearer of humanism in a world tending toward degradation and corruption, as well as the last bastion of the "weak" against those who seek to dominate. Unreal and unachievable, you might say, but, in its underlying tenderness, particularly epic.

Perhaps it is for this reason that a film like "Banana Joe", upon its release, appealed equally to children and adults: it carries with it the iconoclasm, the destructive fury, of the child who does not want to be confined in an enclosed space and does not want to suffer the unjustified orders of others; at the same time, it reminds dads and moms that they were, at some point, as free as Banana, recalling imaginary revolutions, perhaps never started and likely suppressed by mortgages to be paid, or lulled into the placid routine of a commuter train, while possibly dreaming of driving a truck, down in the Mato Grosso, transporting bananas to who knows where, protagonists of a tale by Marquez or Vargas Llosa, but also by any Sergio Bonelli, possibly in the role of Mister No.

Respectfully Yours,

Il_Paolo