Il Seduttore

Motto : "E i ragazzi erano nove, adesso sono otto.
A proposito di otto, sapete la differenza
che passa tra l'ora, il dottore e la famiglia?"
"No, naturalmente! Ce lo dica! Siamo ansiosi!"

"L'ora è di un'ora. Il dottore è d'ott'ore..."
"E la famiglia?"

"Sta bene, grazie!"

Il Seduttoreⁱ consists of Alberto Sordi airing his usual Cretinetti. Unlike in Il Vedovo (where he pretends to be a "businessman") here he pretends to be a "seductor" or whatever the fuck you call 1950s "PUA" weirdos. Very much in 1950s tradition (because yeah, Italian cinema is every bit as neoprotestantly retarded as the colonial sadnessⁱⁱ) this results in three women "of reproductive age" (in their unreliable estimation) locked together in a metal cage, to duke it out, while the "protagonist" runs away in an utter panic.

This, incidentally, is what the narcissist actually is ; not what you might imagine (on the grounds of utterly irresponsible depiction, because no, the mendacious atrocity of "covid pandemic" didn't spout in a vacuum, the "doctors" and "scientists" had been lying quite interestedly for many, many years now), but very much this. When the misfortunate retard tells his wife that he'd marry her again, and then divorce her and marry her again, and again and again he's not being anything but the most limpidly clear, absolutely forthcoming and perfectly honest.

The life of the narcissist is approximately an endless exercise in rubberbanding the past day, or three, or six hours. That's the fundamental problem with narcissism -- a complete and utter inability to reflect, to perceive beneath the surface, to classify and analyze (as a preparatory step to synthesizing, the ultimate and consummate human activity) leads to this endless, to this here correctly depicted relentless, ever-repeating nightmare whereby things are good on the surface... but don't last. So the misfortunate's stuck running away like the fabled mage's apprentice, away, away from the sudden demons, banshees and assorted apparitions now (inexplicably!) populating what used to be his garden ; and then in a new place attempt to recreate the surface qua surface which will again, "inexplicably" -- yet for him, absolutely and exactly inexplicably -- collapses, in the same ways, for the same entirely absent reasons that are right there in the sense air's right in front of your eyes : imperceptible, absolutely imperceptible. It's almost as if someone has it in for him, there's almost palpable an enmitous presence ruining his peace and undermining his life. It must be those damned capitalists.ⁱⁱⁱ

I suppose the item has documentary value, in this sense of "popularizing psychopathology through illustration". It's pretty fucking annoying to watch though, I'll tell you that.

1. 1954, by Franco Rossi, with a very credible actress (Lea Padovani) and the exact opposite of an actor -- Alberto Sordi.

   Yes, I'm aware, you'd unexaminedly incline to imagine he's acting. Why would you think so ? The man who never married, the man who was never seen with a woman -- and I don't mean "seen" seen, I mean seen seen, for fuck's sake! -- the man who never had anything in this world, this self-obviously, transparent monkey is still something you'd rather think of as "the man" ? Now why are you ideologically biased in quite so scandalous a manner ? Hm ? [↩]

2. I didn't review that "Guide for the Married Man" atrocity deliberately, it's so damned awful ; nor will I. On consideration I much prefer leaving this dangling reference to soiling my database. [↩]
3. "Motherfucker, why didn't I think of that!" [↩]