Permettete? Ettore Scola

Ha pedinato l’uomo, Ettore Scola. Imparando la lezione che veniva da Vittorio De Sica e Cesare Zavattini, su quella c’ha messo il suo occhio da disegnatore satirico passato per le mani di Marcello Marchesi e prima per il giudizio di Maccari al Marc’Aurelio. Ha fatto un cinema del dubbio, mischiando la tragedia al riso, sempre. Combinava buffo e fantasioso, alto e basso, riproponendo la realtà italiana: dal fascismo agli anni novanta.

Cinema Italia

Quando Diego Godin fa il Grande Sertão nell’area italiana e segna, in campo c’è una tale confusione che un sambodromo in confronto è una sala d’aspetto. I telecronisti sono fermi al morso di Luis Suarez, Chiellini sta facendo Sofialorén con la spalla al vento, nei tifosi italiani si prospetta la ripetizione della partita con la Costa Rica, film d’azione, una sola, la loro. Uruguay Uno, Itala Zero.

The inimitable fascination of the enchanter

He was the one at the end of the night who put the hat on the dawn. Gian Carlo Fusco never left a single night without his words. He stayed up late, drank and, above all, told stories. Always the centre of attention, he led the discussions and everyone was enthralled by him. A real talent. Narrator, spellbinder, showman. Fireworks, irony, an endless stream of anecdotes. Stories, stories, stories: a travelling show. He was born to tell stories, and to give of himself. The rest: life, body, feelings, work and money, were mere details, accessories — sometimes hindrances. He was a talking novel. A novel written in the sand, lost and found again, deleted and rewritten a million times. Each time a different tale. And yes, even the same one he could toss and mix as he liked. Cutting, stretching, changing and inventing, leaving it open-ended. Genius in action, helped by the night and the booze.