Maddalena... zero in condotta
Maddalena... zero in condottai is... well...
Let's put it this way : I'm sure at the time (1940 means before Stalingrad, and before Ravensbrück, mostly, and definitely before Paris) it was an absolute jewel of a comedic masterpiece. But think ye if you will, it has everything! It has cheesecake (in the shape of shapely young things doing gymnastics, meaning up and down to order! one two three! ONE two THREE!)ii, it has confused personalities and confusion of persons, it's just... and there's weddings, you know ? And also every single -- but I do mean every single -- amorous ouvertureiii of whatever kind -- whatever kind whatsoever -- is absolutely and without exception witnessed (by the exact "representative" witnesses, also), catalogued, recorded... not a gob of spit passes back or forth without a chorus singing its perihelion. And even so, all that expensive context and "outside conditions" present yet still they can be barely roused. As a wise man observed somewhere there's reasons the war was inevitable. These'd be those reasons.
Today the film's limitedly interesting in case you wish to see Vittorio De Sicaiv, or perhaps a babyfat-ladden Carla del Poggio that will be. She's fifteen here, and it is undisputable as it is factual that a decade of famine and military rape worked absolute wonders upon her body.v But besides that... I mean what do you even want, it's cinema, pay a dime stay an hour. Enough like that.———
- 1940, by Vittorio De Sica, with Vittorio De Sica, Vera Bergman, Carla Del Poggio. [↩]
- They even insured against censorship by mixing a funny in the mass-sex-orgy-delabration scene -- one male continues the count while the other momentarily takes a drink, wink wink. [↩]
- This sentence'd have discussed "private activty" or "internal life", but as you perhaps suspect the two are readily reduced and immediately yoked to the desperate needs of female accuplation -- there's not enough life or activity to go around, and so the cunt factory gets priority, what do you mean there could conceivably exist such a thing as internal life outside of sniffing after a petticoat ?! Maybe in a different world. Maybe with greater abundance of manhood such luxuries could be entertained. As it is though... [↩]
- Just in case you're ready to think Guglielmo Barnabò is De Sica : no, he isn't ; though I admit both him and Giuseppe Varni make much better roles than the lovestruck Hartman. I mean he's okay, I guess... let's just say on the strength of this one performance I'd have never expected there's anything worth the mention in that brainbox ; in any case I'd have never guessed this derpy youth'll end up a dominant force in the period-dominant cinema. Such is the limitation upon oracles, you know ? [↩]
- That they unfortunately also ruined her mind... well, it's the nature of anal children, you know ? The better they get, the better they get at being terrible, useless and dumb.
It's always wiser to lovingly embrace your rapist, dear chitlins. It works out much better, in any case. [↩]