What are you still doing here?

In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t written in a while but I got a plausible excuse.

I just moved here, where you’ll find my thoughts, what I do, some humor and really nice pictures of me – which is pretty weird because I’m not that photogenic in the first place.

Anyhow, take very good care of yourself!


Five weapons of mass destruction according to Turkish law.

A Turkish court has ruled that swimming goggles used by protesters during this year’s mass street demonstrations in Gezi park were “weapons”.

“They had not gone to the Gezi Park to swim, since there is no swimming pool there,” newspapers quoted the court ruling as saying. Dispenser, your ultimate supplier of inside information, has the list of new weapons of mass destruction according to the Turkish law.


Goggles, of course. Recep Erdogan has just closed down swimming pools around the country for their links with terrorist cell Breaststroke Brigade, a notable insurrectional group that wants to eliminate all the countries that are not touched by the water.


flip flops

Flip-flops. Other than ugly, the Turkish Government considers the infamous plastic unisex sandal as a very serious threat to national security for the intense and pungent  smell they emanate especially  during the hot season.


anziani che guardano i lavoriOld people by construction sites. Nothing is worse that unleashed Turkish grandpas staring and commenting around new building sites around Istanbul: according to the Turkish Government, Al Quaeda is recruiting seniors to mine the very fundament of Western buildings  rather than sending airplanes to destroy them afterwards.


Books. The Turkish Government has raised to 4 the terrorist threat for the huge quantity of books circulating in the country. Heavy, filled with subordinate clauses, they can either be thrown at or put to flames endangering the survival of honest citizens around the country. Worst case scenario, they can be read in public squares. In that case, the Prime Minister will be immediately relocated to a secret location.


assgunillusionmk1Beans. This evil plant seed, if consumed in large quantities, can have a mortal effect on unaware citizens. According to Turkish history books, Hiroshima and Nagasaki were the result of a bean indigestion and, if we have learned something from the past, we should ban them forever.

The Journey of F. Fellini



“There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only an infinite passion for life”.

Federico Fellini

For the 20th anniversary of Federico Fellini’s death, I found in the very far corner of my drawer “The Journey of G. Mastorna”, the script for the movie Fellini never made.

It’s a short pamphlet, filled with drawings and oniric visions, and it tells the story of Mastorna, a viola player, that becomes the victim of an airplane crash and starts his journey in the afterlife.

Mastorna doesn’t know he is dead and he wonders around this strange town alone, meeting dwarves and prostitutes, cardinals and clowns, unable to understand what is happening behind the thick wall of fog that envelopes the town.

In each movie Fellini had ever made, from I Vitelloni to La Voce della Luna, you can find a piece of Mastorna here and there, a glimpse of the story that never came to light as a perpetual and recurring presence in every shot Fellini had filmed in his lifetime. It is so present that you can tell who Mastorna is and you can follow his path throughout La Dolce Vita and 8 ½, Amarcord and Roma.


Federico Fellini (left) and Marcello Mastroianni (right)
courtesy of CineCittà 2

There’s a film, I mean the idea, the feeling, the suspicion of a film I have been carrying in my mind for fifteen years and has still not allowed me to get close enough to, trusted me enough, for me to understand what it wants. At the end of every film I make, there it is again, apparently claiming that now it’s his turn; it stays with me for some time, studies me a little, and then disappears. I’m relieved every time it goes away: it’s too serious, committed, uncompromising, not like me at all, who knows which of us would be willing to change. Now that I think about it I’ve never done so much as a sketch for this film, a scrawl; clearly when he makes up his mind he’ll tell me in a different way.

Sometimes I even get the idea that it isn’t a film at all, but something else which I’m not yet able to understand, and then it frightens me a little, but I’m immediately comforted by the idea that probably, for me, the film is a pilot, in the sense that it is some sort of bizarre spiritual guide, ushering in other stories, other imaginings; and, in point of fact, when it goes away, unfailingly it leaves me with the film I’m going to make next.

If you wish to take a journey in Fellini’s mind, you can find the Mastorna script in your local bookstore as it has recently been translated in English. Then, take a stroll at the Barbican in London on November 22nd for a tribute to Nino Rota, the pianist that composed all the film scores for Fellini’s movies.

The banality of evil


I’ve always wondered how it was possible for anyone to be living next to a Nazi. Erich Priebke, the former SS captain that never spent a single day in a prison, lived in Rome until his death last week. He was 100 years of age.

Imagine how it is like to come home to your family, at night, and find him on the door step waving at you, like any other grandpa in Italy. The only difference is that he killed in cold blood 335 civilians while sipping fine cognac in one single day.

On March 1944 he pulled the trigger of his firearm. Again and again for 335 times. He aimed at people’s head with the pure intent of killing them despite their age or gender. “Ten Italians for each German SS killed” was the order.

Now that he passed away, it seems nobody wants to have anything to do with his body. Germany is suddenly deaf. Italy and the Vatican refuse to have him buried under their soil. Argentina, where Priebke spent 50 years of his life before being extradited to Italy, said the casket is not welcome in the country.

Somebody suggested to disperse his ashes in the Ardeatine caves, where he ordered and executed the slaughter. Some others brought up the solution adopted for another SS chief, Adolf Eichmann, and spread the ashes in the ocean to prevent any pilgrimage to his tombstone.

I would suggest the third way: organize him a Jewish funeral and bury him in Israel. He mocked us with his unrepentant smirk for 100 long years – now it’s our turn to have fun.

Giuseppe Verdi would twerk better than Miley Cyrus

Giuseppe Verdi, the great Italian composer, was born 200 years ago today in a little town called Le Roncole, not far from my hometown.

There are many stories about him: the Maestro was turned down when he applied to study music at the Milan Conservatory, for example. And for many years it’s been said his second opera was such a fiasco the public booed him and the cast.

Despite being a grouchy old man with glacial eyes under his topper, Verdi keeps on living in the collective imaginary as one of the best composers of all time. And if he was still alive, he would have been the greatest rock star of our generation.

Blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: