Il delitto di Giovanni Episcopoi, in being an attempt at continuing the pre-war idiocy senselessly across the impassible trenchline is also an instructive example of why exactly the war was absolutely, inavoidably necessary : to permanently bury this sort of cacat strigator la cer, crap in the superlativeii. Because otherwise they just won't fucking yield, until and unless they're starved to death and mass buried in shallow limestone they'll carry right the fuck on pretending the world's like they say it is. 'Cuz "what's to stop 'em", rite ?
As the story goes in this insufferable retelling the limply homosexual "hero"iii marries a tavern wench in a dubious ceremony -- one where a group of men explicitly drew lots to establish who'll have to marry her such that they can all fuck her ("now that she's married she can fuck", see). The dubious leader of the group, some kind of nouveau lèpre / "talented" thus "upwardly mobile" pleb disappears for seven yearsiv, then inexplicably returns to lick the same vomit streaks he had left behind, in this case personified in a tavern wench seven years off the market. Don't ask why, there sure as fuck wasn't such a thing as a cunt quarantine so they produced nothing new for the using, per carita, so the answer'll have to follow the obvious vein of "because D'Anunzio was fucked in the head" and otherwise what we discussed introductorily : because the second world war was nothing short of historical necessity. Then the woman is ready to play the whore, so the "hero" backstabs the other man, magically, with a knife he's never much used and surely never practiced using in this manner. God'Annunzio just downloaded Braila into his brain on demand and on the spot just like that, what, problem ?! Try it sometime, by the way. See how lethally it works out for you, why not.
Anyways, high dramaz of nonsense, this crap should never have been filmed and the idiots involved in its making should never have been peopled. That's all.———
- 1947, by Alberto Lattuada with Aldo Fabrizi, Roldano Lupi, Yvonne Sanson. [↩]
- In Romanian that absolute superlative is marked down as "crying out to Heaven above", so outrageously crappy it is. [↩]
- And disturbingly ephebophilic at that, seeing how his mostly sublimated affect ends up anchored on his wife's child with an unknown man. [↩]
- To Argentina, no less, if the theory as to how that place became the shithole it is today needed any further butressing. [↩]