It has been a while since Italian cinema has raised a major Terrible, But the country’s film industry firmly believes that it has a pairing between twin brothers Damiano and Fabio D’Inosenzo. Mateo Garron’s co-authorship of “Dogman”, the duo (billed onscreen by The D’Insenjo Brothers) created a splash and won an award at last year’s Berlinale for their sofomo feature, smooth, dark, suburban nightmare “Bad Story” . ” Its themes were pretty well dressed, but its dark glamorous styling was arresting enough to ensure a lot of gossip behind their captured third film “America Latin”.
Sadly, the propaganda is incomplete by this small, deceptive-study of the extreme middle-class crisis, which shows little progress in the brothers’ instincts for storytelling, while emphasizing their skill in creating moods and elegantly terrifying images. If anything, his thin, oblique mix of arch character studies, dream-like psychodrama and spindly mystery is less a connector than a “bad story”. “America Latin” can often look and feel scary, but a Ferrari is turning its wheels in the same way: it’s hard for international distributors to see a lot of hooks here once the premiere of the film’s Venice competition is over. This is the feeling that twins can still carry us.
Lest the misleading title of the film makes you think that these prominent Italian directors have taken refuge across the Atlantic, “America Latina” has found D’Insenzos back in the “bad story” landscape: the wetlands of Rome, on the outskirts of the featureless suburbs, their home. Latina, it turns out, is a distinct satellite town miles0 miles from the capital, and it is here that wealthy dentist Massimo (Elio Germano, returning after the “bad story”) builds a luxurious life built on hatred. Where “America” comes from is less clear. Perhaps it refers to the capitalist ideology – the American dream, the export – that Massimo and his beautiful nuclear family embodied with a pronounced Italian accent. Perhaps this is an indication of multiple American influences, from Pulp Noir to David Lynch, the latest in the Brotherhood. There are many “possibilities” in “America Latin”.
If Latina seems to be an irresistible setting, a series of car-view shots on opening credits finally proves the value of Massimo’s decision to settle there. A pretzel and exit of the Scaby Highways finally turns into the long driveway of his rather great home: an angular modernist beauty, all floating curves and sun-bleached terrazo, which still has an air of decay in it. The outer walls are cracked and marked weather; The small, fins-shaped swimming pool has become a citrus green. Nevertheless, Massimo is seen living a comfortable life with his maid wife Alessandra (Astrid Casali) and their two daughters (Carlotta Gamba and Federica Pal), wearing the same pale, playful attire as their mother’s little-mess.
If “The Shining” comes to mind momentarily, it’s probably no accident. For the pure bourgeoisie of Massimo, if a little frightening, the domestic idol is soon shattered by an unwelcome discovery – a young, unfamiliar girl (Sara Siyokka), strangled, beaten, and tied to a pillar, who makes a terrible, endless scream when she Undo her lips. Massimo doesn’t let her go or let anyone know – not even her family – trying to figure out how she got there when she tries to let him know about her presence. Her genial relationship with local drinking friend Simone (Maurizio Lastrico) takes a hard, cautious turn, though her suspicions will probably turn inward, as “America Latin” moves to obscure reality-vs.-illusion limbo: it’s the kind of movie where the protagonist. ” A Google search for “hallucinations”, if we’re not sure.
As the film creates a more vague ambiguity around the question of who, why and when, what happened, we become less interested in the precise answer, as they all clearly fall under the broad thematic pull of Massimo’s Midlife Envoy. Despite the German’s bold, promising performance, Massimo never emerged as a particularly attractive character. Rather, he is a lovely sculptural symbol of all the social ills that “America Latin” addresses only in the first place in sight.
There’s very little about the film that isn’t nicely sculpted, as it happens, from splinter editing to the Italian rock band Verdener’s swing score, its occasionally dazzling static. Before becoming a filmmaker, photographer, D’Inosenzos and photographer Paolo Carnera knew about making a picture that would stop you on your tracks, even if it stopped the movie on its tracks: You first pause on its beauty, and then what it suggests from afar বাইরে beyond that, again, that beauty again.