A blog formerly known as Bookishness / By Charles Matthews

"Dazzled by so many and such marvelous inventions, the people of Macondo ... became indignant over the living images that the prosperous merchant Bruno Crespi projected in the theater with the lion-head ticket windows, for a character who had died and was buried in one film and for whose misfortune tears had been shed would reappear alive and transformed into an Arab in the next one. The audience, who had paid two cents apiece to share the difficulties of the actors, would not tolerate that outlandish fraud and they broke up the seats. The mayor, at the urging of Bruno Crespi, explained in a proclamation that the cinema was a machine of illusions that did not merit the emotional outbursts of the audience. With that discouraging explanation many ... decided not to return to the movies, considering that they already had too many troubles of their own to weep over the acted-out misfortunes of imaginary beings."
--Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude

Saturday, September 28, 2024

Amanda (Carolina Cavalli, 2022)

Benedetta Porcaroli in Amanda

Cast: Benedetta Porcaroli, Galatéa Bellugi, Giovanna Mezzogiorno, Michele Bravi, Monica Nappo, Margherita Missoni. Screenplay: Carolina Cavalli. Cinematography: Lorenzo Levrini. Production design: Martino Bonanomi. Film editing: Babak Jalali. Music: Nicolò Contessa. 

If comedy has to have a point other than to make you laugh, Carolina Cavalli's droll Amanda seems to assert that only a misfit can help another misfit fit. Amanda (Benedetta Porcaroli) is certainly a misfit, a twentysomething who clomps around in clodhoppers, usually wearing a vest made of crocheted granny squares, sullenly looking for a friend. She has some awkward encounters with awkward men, but finally she finds something of a soulmate in the similarly alienated Rebecca (Galatéa Bellugi), who has closeted herself in her bedroom, seeing only her somewhat sinister therapist. Eventually, Amanda makes her way through the door and both of them blossom oddly. Amanda is like one of Wes Anderson's less twee movies, not so encumbered with style for style's sake and capable of making you laugh out loud if you just go with it.   

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