The Last Pulcinella: watching Massimo Ranieri fall between two stools

The film L’Ultimo Pulcinella was screened at the Istituto Italiano di Cultura in Paris on February 8, 2010 and was heartily welcomed by the very indulgent audience of Italo-philes. However, if this film is going to make it outside of the most uncritically sympathetic audiences it will need a lot of luck. The director, Maurizio Scaparro, was at the screening and he said in the introductory remarks that the film is based on a scenario by Roberto Rossellini, a script that was unfilmable because of the odd juxtaposition of plot elements, one day in Naples, next day in Paris. He was determined to see Massimo Ranieri in the lead role, and he eventually decided to adapt the story to modern circumstances. It is an interesting and fruitful exercise, however, the problems with the script are still quite evident, and may have even been exacerbated by the adaptation. What results is a film that is not really neo-realism, nor is it musical theater, but rather something lost in between.

MASSIMO RANIERI

The Last Pulcinella stars Massimo Ranieri, the renowned Italian singer and actor. His early fame in the 1960s was with pop songs in the style of San Remo, where he twice won the top prize. In the 1970s he started in a new direction with his album entitled ‘O Surdato Nammurato” a live recording of one of his theatrical performances of Neapolitan sketches. This album, with its cover photo of him dressed in the white pajama costume of Pulcinella, has become a classic and it established the future trajectory of his career. Today he is best known as an interpreter the classic Neapolitan repertoire, and he has come out with several more collections of Neapolitan standards, the latest one in 2009. Many of these songs are over one hundred years old and they have been interpreted over and over again by innumerable singers from the most talented to the ridiculous. His renditions are superb, as he uses his clear and sharp voice to bring out the bel canto qualities of these songs, while at the same time making them enjoyable for the modern ear. In this film Ranieri plays a custom made role, as Michelangelo, a Neapolitan actor who performs Pulcinella. His voice and abilities are as breathtaking as ever, but alas, the years have erased Michelangelo’s youthful good looks. This does not stop him, though, and he continues to evolve and when he arrives in working class Paris in search of his missing son, he wants to bring the theatrical traditions to a new generation of performers. Ranieri’s Pulcinella performances in the film are wonderful. His ability to become the Commedia dell’Arte character has been perfected over a long career and this shows. Unfortunately, it is not enough to make the film palatable.

One glaring problem is the lack of veracity. There are plot twists and little conflict-resolutions throughout that conveniently fall from the sky without rhyme or reason. All of the points of tension: Michelangelo’s son’s escape from Naples, the suspicions of the elderly actress toward the immigrant neighbors, and especially the belligerence of the police force and the glimpses of police brutality, are dangled for a moment in front of our eyes, then blithely forgotten. The discovery of an empty theater just waiting for the protagonist to arrive, and the impressive artistic talent of all the neighborhood characters who just happen to saunter in, are elements that would work fine in a Broadway musical, where the audience doesn’t really care about all the niceties of logic – just get to the music, but they are absolutely insulting to the intelligence of someone watching a film that is supposed to be “realism.” This story calls on Deus ex Machina contrivances so often that it hardly seems worth it for Deus ever to climb back into his Machina, God might as well just hang around on the set so that he’ll be right there for his cue. Or better yet, cut out all the stillborn subplots and concentrate on the performers. The plot would be tolerable if it led to music, for instance, something for the Colombina character (Margot Dufrene) to sing in explanation of her sudden infatuation with Francesco, played by a severely underutilized Domenico Balsamo. The story is a variation of the old “Hey, kids, let’s put on a show!” formula from 1940s Hollywood, and as such calls out pitifully for big finale performance, which never materializes. How about letting Francesco or one of the other young males share the Pulcinella character with Ranieri to demonstrate how this tradition will be passed on to the next generation. Massimo Ranieri, also at the screening, said that he saw a bit of Pulcinella in all of the immigrant youths. Unfortunately, this never comes across in the film.

The Last Pulcinella needs to decide what it is: a story about the problems of multiethnic youths in the housing projects of the modern European metropolis, or a celebration of the blending of traditional European (here Neapolitan) art and the arts of the newcomers. I think it is clear that given the talent of Ranieri and all the young actors, the second option is the one that holds the most promise, and the scene in which Ranieri performs a classic song to African accompaniment should erase any doubts. And incidentally, there was no need to come all the way to Paris North to find racial intolerance, police brutality and frustrated, unemployed African youths with talent – they could have found all that by the truckloads right back home in Naples. Perhaps it is too late to save the film, but it is never too late for the stage. Could this someday make a successful stage musical? It is one that I would love to see.

How did Minina Tora become Abusadora, la Muchacha Loca?

Yes, that’s the question. If you have the answer tell me. All I can do is look at the evidence in this

Jean Diarra

complicated case of musical cross-pollination (some would say theft). The fact is, that technology has brought us to the situation where anyone can sample and remix anyone else’s work, change the words and the names, broadcast it around the world and claim credit. In many ways, this is unethical, and in other ways, it’s just the way it’s always been. Decide for yourself as you ponder the strange case of the Senegalese song of mourning that became a merengue sensation. Along the way it has been remixed by dozens of dj’s, and its language misidentified as Russian, Italian, Portuguese, South African and anything else people can thing of.

Tora Tora

The song began life as Minina Tora, or Tora Tora. It is a traditional Senegalese song. According to several blogs, the song is sung by people who are mourning the death of a loved one. That’s pretty bizarre, but it is the only explanation I have seen. I guess it was sung just a bit out of context. That was the first dubious connection.

Minina tora, i tora tora tora simama simawo ika tora tora

Ayo! Ayo! né né Minina tora Djankabi né na tora eh! Ayo né Né

Here is the recording by Etnorchestra, an Italian group with a Senegalese singer, Jean Diarra, born and raised in Dakar. The song is featured on the album Tribal Samba from 2005 (record label Level 49). The song is quite different from the other reggae songs on the album, which is further evidence of a folk origin. The song was an immediate success, and according to the record label’s website, the song was included in the Caterpillar White Album compilation in November, 2005 put out by Italian state radio RaiDue. This is the vocal that has been sampled over and over again, with or without credit:

Ininna Tora

Very early on, the song entered the house, i.e., the electro house disco scene. Stylus Robb made a mix of the song, now called Ininna Tora. It used Diarra’s voice over a deracinated tektonic euro-pop soundtrack. There is a link to Stylus Robb on Jean Diarra’s myspace page, so I presume that this was all legit. But even if this was not a rip-off, this was where the disconnect began.The DJ Nick Corline, who works the “fabulous” disco circuit from Verona to Ibiza to Cali, Colombia, got his hands on it. His remix was a big improvement, and it was this version that would have legs. Nick Corline’s June 2008 remix of “Stylus Robb – Innina Tora,” was then taken up by other remixers and dj’s with little regard for proper crediting. There are no credits for Etnorchestra or at the very least, the singer Jean Diarra on any of the online samples, videos and mp3s of Nick Corline’s mix. Corline’s myspace page claims that his remix was the ninth most downloaded house song of 2008. The remixes multiplied, now crediting Nick Corline, each throwing in a few more electronic bells and whistles, adding nothing to the artistry, but giving more people the opportunity to jump on the bandwagon and take as much credit as traffic would allow. However, Corline’s remix had just the right mix of vocal and dance track, and it got played at the all the “fabulous” discos along the Mediterranean and across the ocean in Brazil in the next few years. The piece is now Innina Tora, all sexy and fashionable, its Etnorchestra origins getting vaguer all the time.

Abusadora

Next, the song put down roots in Latin America. It acquired Spanish lyrics. A Puerto Rican duo named Yaga and Mackie known for their reggaeton sound, put out an album in 2008 called Los Makiavelikos. It included a version called “Abusadora.” It is the Stylus Robb – Nick Corline remix with Spanish lyrics. sung in an electronic vocal that preserves a bit of the distinctive quality of Jean Diarra’s original Senegalese. To give it a gloss of originality, it throws in a verse in the Caribbean rap style first made popular by El General in Panama a generation ago, and a few standard issue reggaeton touches for good measure.

Abusadora, loca, loca, loca. se descontrola cuando este ritmo toca.

A dj Morpheus remix:

Muchacha Loca

Another Spanish language remix is Muchacha Loca, signed Los Tiburones. The African voice has given way to a Caribbean one, but still very distinctive. The tektronic sound is still there, and the keyboard bridge from Stylus Robb’s version has been redone in a very clumsy way. Still, there is a new tropical touch.

Here is Neon from Los Tiburones introducing it: “a new song” (2008):

the full Tiburones version…

muchacha loca, vive la vida loca, cuando ella baila sexy, eso me devora.

More remixes by the likes of DJ Luisdonaldo, DJ Vampiro, and on and on it goes.

Merengue!

The completed transformation. Toby Love, with Ricky Martin style trumpets recalling “La Vida Loca,” and a very fast dancehall merengue tempo. Electronic vocal, orchestra, very well executed by the crooner turned merenguero.

Cuando ella baila sexy, eso me provoca.

Algo está quemando, he says. Yeah, you’re right, Toby, something is burning, I think it’s the Berne Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works. But that’s not Toby’s fault. It is quite possible that no copyright laws were actually broken along the way. The fact is, our ability to disseminate information has long ago made copyright laws inadequate and anachronistic. There should be a way to guarantee the preservation of information regarding the origins of work, and if possible, a means of distributing profits equitably if someone’s work is used to make money further down the chain. In my opinion, new laws should also protect the right of free duplication for personal use and for blogs like this. The more publicity that art receives, the larger the following and anyway, there is no way to hold back the ocean, so you might as well give it space.

In the meantime, I am not overly concerned, except maybe for the people of Senegal, who might feel a bit exploited, given that their song of mourning has now become a sweaty dance hit about a voluptuous tease who shakes her booty in front of all the guys. Other than that, I’ll just listen: there’s room enough in this world for Jean Diarra’s great original and Toby Love’s slick, hot and sticky Muchacha Loca and (some of) the stuff in-between.

No One’s Son: the full impact of Post Traumatic Stress in Ostojic and Matisic’s film, Niciji sin

No one’s Son, (Niciji sin, in Croatian) is a powerful film that breaks new ground telling an old story. It is about the memory of war, and the bitter reality of post-war society. It was directed by Arsen Ostojic, with a screenplay by Mase Matisic, based on his play.

The director uses a dynamic, ticking clock style for his narrative that was perfected by masters like Hitchcock and Tarantino. Lately it has become a trademark of some very high quality films that have come out of Serbia: films like Klopka, directed by Srdan Golubovic and The Fourth Man, directed by Dejan Zecevic. Now perhaps it has become something of a regional style, with this Croatian film achieving the same level of excellence. It is a great change from the usual Croatian fare of nostalgic escapism to the land of Tito or to some Dalmatian village, on the one hand, or the nihilistic, gratuitous violence of films about skinheads and mafiosi on the other. Though at first it may look like the latter, the story quickly moves far deeper into the psychology of the characters, as the enigmatic and twisted story unravels.

It begins with a home video clip of a headbanger rock band rehearsing in the year preceding war. This is cut off abruptly by images of a soldier running away from exploding bombs. This soldier is the singer from that rock group, Ivan, played by Alen Liveric. He is next seen in the post-war present, a drunk veteran with manic eyes, singing a particularly hated Chetnik (Serbian warrior) song in a Croatian bar – an extremely provocative act. He refuses to stop, and the police are called in to take the cursing, abusive drunk to jail to sober up. Little by little the action reveals that he is in a wheelchair, that his father is a politician, that there is a dead body on the floor in his parent’s home, and that his parents drag the body out into the rain and bury it in the forest.

Then for the next hour, the story unfolds, shedding layer after layer of deception, revealing more and more of the animosity and greed that have poisoned even the best of intentions. The tension builds immediately, pushed on by the incessant droning soundtrack that has been used before so effectively in those Serbian films. It is compounded by the multiple lies that keep the story elements constantly out of sync: even the prostitutes are frauds. The tension doesn’t let up until the very last scene, when Ivan’s son opens a mysterious door, and the viewer wonders whether he will be spared the horror of war or be confronted by it in the most traumatic way.

One of the things that make this film special is the ingenious screenplay. The setting incorporates the cynicism of modern nationalistic politics with the insidious chronic infections of wartime hatreds and pre-war communist era corruption. There’s room for all kinds of villains here, Serbian and Croatian, who spread their evil with malicious vigor. Post Traumatic Stress is not only for war veterans, it is for the society as a whole, but the PSTD of the story’s protagonist, who has returned from a Serbian POW camp without legs, is especially gripping. Mate Matisic is one of the most successful playwrights in Croatia, and the depth of his writing is very evident in this work.

Arsen Ostojic

It took me over a year to see this film, so now I look forward to going even further back in time to 2004 to see Ostojic’s other film, Ta divna Splitska noc, A Wonderful Night in Split, which was written by the director. It seems that Arsen Ostojic enjoys upending the clichés of Croatian cinema, so if the title of this film makes one expect the usual bucolic escapism, this should not be taken for granted. People who have seen it have spoken of its innovative style and ironic, engaging storyline focusing on the dark side of the city’s nightlife. Unfortunately, it hasn’t been seen much outside of festivals. Hopefully, No one’s son will spark interest in this director’s work and give him the opportunity to display his talents for a wider audience.

Strella, by Panos Koutras, one of the stars of Cheries-Cheris

Cheries-Cheris, Paris, 2009

Strella, (Also called, “A Woman’s Way,”) is a delightful film by Greek cult director Panos Koutras. How do you top “The Attack of the Giant Moussaka,” his 1999 film about a giant slab of casserole that suddenly threatens the city of Athens? This problem may have been weighing on the director’s mind for much of the last decade heavier than greasy béchamel and eggplant could ever weigh on his stomach. He first went with a surrealistic melodrama with a wicked mother and a burning Acropolis, (“Real Life,” from 2004) but didn’t really hit his stride until now with this much more believable, yet still unusual story. He knew he had to forego the Moussaka’s bargain basement Almodovar kitsch, but it took him and his co-writer Panajotis Evangelidis this long to really master the element that makes the Spanish director’s films work: the subversive gay plot.

Strella is about a pre-op trans who meets a man just out of prison after doing 15 years for a crime of passion. Their relationship starts out very steamy, but hits a few obstacles as they come to terms with their respective pasts, and with Strella’s complicated social life. The film includes many “non-professional” actors in their first movie roles, most notably Mina Orfanou who plays the title role. Mina is first among a whole bevy of trans in this film, ranging from the young twinks to the older grande dames of the night, all natural actors who give the film great authenticity. In contrast to all of the wigs and hormone treatment, is the macho actor Yannis Kokiasmenos who gives a very sensual and sexy performance as Yiorgos, the older man whose release from prison not only means freedom, but also separation from his cellmate. To say that Yiorgos is emotionally torn by this new and uncomfortable situation is an understatement, considering the secrets he must come to terms with during the length of the film.

One of the most interesting and gratifying thing about this story is how well the problems are resolved by the end. Before this, the only gay themed Greek movie I had seen was the depressing story of murder and intrigue “Blackmail Boy” (2002). I somehow managed to miss Katakouzinos’ “Angel” from the 1970s, but I guess I’ll save that one for some suicidal rainy day. For now, I will savor the good feelings that I am left with from “Strella.”

Strella premiered at the Berlinale earlier this year, and in France at the Gay Film Festival Cheries-Cheris that took place in November, 2009 at the Forum des Images. Hopefully, it will soon have a commercial run in Paris so that those who missed it the first time around will get a chance to see it.

Oh, sorry, did the mention of moussaka make you hungry? Here is a small taste of that earlier film:

Cado dalle Nubi: Waiting for Checco to drop into town

Cado Dalle Nubi, the first feature length film by Gennaro Nunziante, has just opened in Italy and is already sure to be a big hit.

The comedy has Checco Zalone in the lead. Checco is the comedy persona of Luca Medici, who first gained fame for his delirious and always off color song parodies on the RAI show Zelig in 2007. The performances there created a cult following for him, and made this move to the big screen almost inevitable. However, this is broad comedy, all’italiana, and not to everyone’s taste. In addition, Cado dalle Nubi is Checco Zalone’s first film role and there was some doubt that he would be able to pull it off. Spinning out the character from three minute TV skits to a full length movie role is tricky business, and many a comedic career has been lost in the attempt.

The story is simple and done-before, but full of comedic potential. A naive and comically unsophisticated young man from Puglia, deep in the Italian south, goes to Milan in search of fame and fortune as a pop singer. Naturally, he confronts all kinds of situations that he barely understands, but manages to blithely sail through. The film plays with the many social demons of modern Italian society: snobbism, racial prejudice and homophobia, while at the same time, giving Checco the chance to play his shtick to the maximum.

Now, the question I must ask is, when will this comedy make it to Paris? Checco, sei grande, eh allora, quando cadi dalle nubi anche a Parigi?

Der Knochenmann – The Bone Man

More dead bodies from Austria. The Bone Man directed by Wolfgang Murnberger and based on the novel by Wolf Haas. Der Knochenmann (The Bone Man) is set in a town near the Slovak border, where the prejudices of East versus West, City versus Country and Man versus Woman all seem to find their justification. That sounds grim, and this is, after all, a thriller, but one with a wry ironic smirk on its face. Coming after last year’s gem, Revanche, it seems that the Austrians may have hit on

Brenner drowns his troubles as Berthi entertains a new conquest in the background

their perfect cinematic recipe: a pinch of lust, a teaspoon of Vienna versus the sticks, two cups of east-west human trafficking and a whole lot of the primordial evil lurking in man’s soul. A bit upside-down, a bit perverse, a bit Austrian. This is the third in a series of films about the hard-boiled private detective Brenner. First came Komm, süsser Tod, (2000), and then Silentium (2004) and now this, which many people are calling the best of the three.

There are some colorful characters that make it come alive: Berthi, (Simon Schwarz), Brenner’s foolish pal who doesn’t let his Vladimir Putin hangdog mug stop him from chasing every skirt that passes by, and then the restaurant owner’s son, Porsche Pauli (Christoph Luser) a whiny, fairly psychotic loser who manages to put everyone in danger. And some minor characters from across the border that add some ex-socialist charm: the dour waitress and the Slovak hood in a wheelchair, played by the veteran actor Ivan Shvedoff. This may not have the ethnographic depth of Revanche, but it does have a certain contemporary veracity that is very powerful and great fun to watch. Especially fun are the thick Austrian accents, notably on Brenner, Berthi and Birgit, all as thick and doughy as a Knodel dumpling – so avoid any dubbed versions of the film, and listen to some great vocal acting.

They have also given themselves an excellent script to work with. The screenplay was written by the novelist Wolf Haas, along with Murnberger and the two main actors Josef Hader (Brenner) and Birgit Minichmayr (Birgit). There are a few exaggerations that detract from the whole, though. I couldn’t help but wonder how a person could walk around for several hours after his finger has been chopped off, discussing every topic that comes up. I have the feeling that he would want to get to a hospital posthaste. And the great masked ball at the climax of the film was way over-the-top and totally unnecessary. The story builds to its own big scene through effective plot points, so it does not need the phony climax made out of costumes and props. The contrived festivities are a distraction and take us away from the real action happening one floor below. I would have much preferred a more subdued party in the restaurant that could distract the story’s characters without disorienting the viewer. And the ghoulish French title, “Bienvenu au Cadavres-les-Bains” (more or less: “Welcome to the Town of Dead Bodies”): this is a translation of a pun in the original German, in which the town’s name is transformed into “Leichenberg,” but it gives the wrong impression of a Halloweenish horror film. This is pure film noir, Twenty-first Century style.

Click on the trailer in the sidebar. It begins with some teaser shots from the first two films. In German.