AA.VV.
Sanremo 2006 - 56° Festival della Canzone Italiana

Gemma, your review of such a misdeed is wonderful, but since I have too many opinions for a post, I'll just write my own review too. Knowing the verdict.

So:
Povia, the illustrious winner of the well-deserved festival, is the manifesto of this event. A hunchback with the body and gaze of a pedophile who spies on cooing pigeons and sings to us that he adores them because they are the superior race, but in the end, even he can't stand them. Damn, this is art, such beautiful and sublime art that it surpasses the only remotely catchy song of the festival (Simone Cristicchi) and enchants the entire populace (that scared 30% of viewers, of which I was also painfully a part) of the Sanremo televoters. Not to mention the very educated jury evidently passionate about Battisti and De André. Logical. After the zoophile Povia come the evergreen Nomadi. The singer acts like a Peace&Love Tibetan monk and calmly shames us at something as pointless as Sanremo, the theme of war. Complete with images of Tien A Men (or however it's spelled), as if I went to the Festival Bar and sang about Berlusconi. Meh. Poor and truly masterful Augusto must have turned in his grave at the first note. Following, the young and "beautiful," not to say horribly stunning and sultry Anna Tatangelo, with a candid mature voice and a thong proudly displayed under a miniskirt, with a splendid song from our favorite mobster (the national D'Alessio) and the man who has managed to degenerate more and more from Battisti to embarrassing clichés and rhetoric (Mogol, who probably just signs off on certain songs now). Other winners included a young man whose name I don't know, with big teeth, elementary guitar riffs, and a voice like a poor man's Vasco-Cremonini. Great losers include the jester Cristicchi (the only non-vomitable song of the festival) for the young, the increasingly Christian Democrat and national-populist Michele Zarrillo (with a song so stupid and predictable it could be used as a chastity belt), those great jokesters and sentimentalists Zero Assoluto (whose name SIMPLY says it all), the certainly cocaine-addicted Dolcenera, with a duck-like mouth dedicated to certain oral exams that surely... well let's leave it at that, who managed to raspily and Zaniccally reveal to us that life is extraordinary and that's it I think. Among the competitions intertwined the sad destinies of all the other "artists," whom I will now mention: Noa (with a wonderful voice) and her little friend along with a quartet, who dedicated themselves to very degrading De André pop vocalizations, a very depressed and theatrical Oxa, a certainly alcoholic and clichéd Grignani, that big face from Parioli Di Risio, the Ragazzi Di Scampia and Gigi Finizio with "La Musica è Speranza" (typical Neapolitan syrupy song from fake outskirts written by the increasingly magnificent D'Alessio and Mogol), with those kids who didn't even know how to move and that little foolish one who even tried to rap with the face of a constipated person trying to crap, Nikki Nicolai, who if she brushed her teeth wouldn't be bad, with a very stupid song she thought was very poetic, Britti who should have just played and many others I don't remember now. Anyway, everything has a limit.

Panariello should do those silly little Bagaglino-solo-lottery programs like he did a few years ago, as the festival, Ilary would have wasted less time behind the child's screams, Victoria I would bang (one of the few good things about the festival) without mincing words (obviously within equal merit and various bigotries), poor directing, terrible scenography and authors.

The guests: Travolta gets bored and disappears, to then grant us a final hint of dance, which has given a nice slap to our TV, Jesse James who granted us two seconds of song and a clean angelic billionaire's face (who would do better by fattening up his butt in the mansion he has rather than singing that crap), Verdone was fabulous (with a marginal and personally hated Muccino) and good company. Two words for the newly commended Ligurians: Pausini&Eros. But between Dalla, De André&co., should we remember Liguria for these two sugary idiots who exported Italian pop? What a great achievement! Let's even give an award to the mafia and the creator of spaghetti then!

An honor from the increasingly senile Ciampi also for Baccini, blind and with a wonderful voice, but who after two songs could also leave space for the competition because he had the Zarrillo effect. Finally, some nice music with the ever energetic and emotional Cocciante (who might be a little too pretentious, but has good reason).

For the rest, the usual speeches, usual clichés, Panariello failing miserably at imitating Clouseau in the commercials, Cena hero of big & small catechists and Christian Rap fans, tear-jerking applause for the great Guerrero, a sterile appeal for the release of Tommaso, usual questions to the guests with usual answers from the guests, and a big party for senile grandmothers, senile adolescents (like me), fans of Casini, occidentals of Pera, Berlusconi populists, and friendly followers of Azeglio Ciampi, more logically for fans of Ruini, of young miniskirt-clad singers (see Tatangelo), for Dirisiane and Zero Assolutiste teens, and for the families of the participants. A feel-good, fake-patriotic, and bigoted show dedicated to all of beautiful Italy and our sympathetic voting mass and to all those who will cleverly re-vote for the Great Smurf on April 9th.

In short, great beauty.

And I even watched it hoping for some young revelation. Meh.