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dontmesswithnoheroin · 4 years

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ok so im binging 3% because it’s a great Brazilian series and honestly you should watch it too, and there is this beautiful credit song (s04e05 credit scene) which i immediately want to add to my playlist on spotify and so i search for “3% ost” and “3% soundtrack” on spotify and google, but nothing sensible really shows up in the search and this is where my troubles begin. for the past hour i’ve been looking for this song and now i’m just too deep to stop, but im also tired...

the english cc captions i always use on netflix sometimes will give you the title of the song, and this is indeed the case here. however! they simply gave the wrong title. the song:

is groovy and all, and bless the artist’s heart, but it is a remix which only samples the original song that i am looking for. great. i take a minute here to question netflix and their quality standard for captions, then decide i can not simply stop here, the song is good, i want to listen to it on loop until i can’t stand it anymore and nothing’s gonna stop me.

i figure im probably searching in the wrong language. i look up the word soundtrack in Portugese (trilha sonora according to google translate???) and look up spotify playlists “tres por cento trihla sonora”. success! there are many good fan made ones, it seems. so i dive in. the best part about this whole experience is that i realize that Brazilian music slaps my dudes. they always write come to Brazil, but tbh no please Brazil come to Europe. i will pay money for this. anyway, so i decide im gonna find the song by listening to excerpts of the songs on the playlists. although i come across many bops, i dont not recognize my beloved song. i did save the playlist though:

ok so then i remember Portugese captions also exist. i search after the lyrics and finally - FINALLY - i have the song.

Último Desejo by Noel Rosa

i search it, play it and... it sounds like an old ass song and nothing like the one im looking for. ok it’s a cover. no worries. i go on spotify again and search for ultimo desejo

and of course - of course

it’s one of those songs. the one that has hundreds of covers. and so i go through like the first 20. and man is it an experience. but i find it! i finally get the right fucking song:

I say to myself, now finally you can listen to the whole song. and so i do. the beginning is as i remember it from the series. the scene right before credits is quite gloomy, and so the song has this nostalgic, sad vibe... except for when it transforms the mood completely into upbeat, dance song. im surprised, but i only remember the part they used in the series, which didnt (obviously) express the whole range of the song. in any case, it won me over in the end and landed in my favorites.

satisfied, i came back to the series and played it. the credits played again. and. well. you know what happened.

i got the wrong song. i listened to so many that i forgot how the original sounded like. back to the drawing board.

well, not really. im hella distracted all the time and instead of trying an app to find the tune, i decided to listen to all songs called Ultimo Desejo on spotify. and also look up the lyrics, their english meaning (it’s a love song i think?) and other Brazilian music. anyway, my dive into Ultimo Desejo was the real introduction to how varied and amazing Brazilian music can be. here are some of my personal favorites:

although i must say, they get better after the wall of what seems to be the Portugese Witcher audiobooks:

including but not limited to pearls such as these two:

anyway so after i got sucked out of the hyperfixation again, i ran the song through a tune search app and it had no matches, of course. so i used googles music search and that one disappointed me too. seems like the only way for me to enjoy this song will be rewatching the credits again and again. which you know, is not so bad. but if you are Brazilian and can help me and tell me what song they used, you will be saving my life and sanity. also, I love u.

#i dont know how to tag this #i had to share my journey #brazil #tres por cento #3% netflix #help me find the song

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cheffox134 · 3 years

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Anydesk Command

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dustedmagazine · 5 years

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Chris Gantry — Nashlantis (Drag City)

Nashlantis by Chris Gantry

“Well, there were corridors to pass through/and trials to overcome/in the Music City jungle/with a guitar for a gun,” Chris Gantry begins in a gravelly voice against a backdrop of acoustic strumming and blues-slanting electric. That’s the opening salvo to Nashlantis, the Nashville songwriter’s first album of new material since the 1970s, and while some of the details are grim, the title, “Life Well Lived,” and a certain lift in the chorus, suggests that Gantry has no regrets about any of it.

Gantry spent his prime in a Nashville rebel country scene around talents like Kris Kristofferson, Shel Silverstein (yes, the Where the Sidewalk Ends, guy) and Mickey Newbury. When he was 25, Glen Campbell took his “Dreams of the Ordinary Housewife” to #3 on the country charts, and a year later, he played alongside Tim Hardin at Woodstock. Kris Kristofferson wrote “The Pilgrim: Chapter 33” about him, and after he appeared once on the Johnny Cash show to sing “Alleghany,” the Man in Black himself invited him in to his studio to record House of Cash, an album so ornery and difficult that it was only finally released in 2017. (For more background, I heartily recommend this Perfect Sound Forever interview from 2018.) But where some would see a life of squandered opportunities and wasted potential, Gantry celebrates the bumps that made him who he is. In a chorus that tilts suddenly, upliftingly towards a major key, he assures us, “I refused to be a victim and bleed out like a sieve/I was bound to ride the ghost train of a life well lived.”

These songs are beautifully written and understated. Lines that rumble casually, like late night conversation, turn out to contain sharp observations, startling bits of metaphor and rhythms that conform to the melody in a wholly organic way. Those melodies, too, are insidiously good. You might not even notice them at first, given Gantry’s raspy spoke-sung delivery, but he can and does lift off from that into mordant, tuneful flights, a little vibrato enlivening the sustained notes. As a singer, I’d liken him to Michael Chapman, gruff and wintery most of the time, but capable of lovely lyrical intervals.

The songs, almost all of them, consider mortality and memory, and Gantry at 75-ish has lots to look back on. The best, though, remembers not the songwriter’s own life, but that of a friend, Vince Matthews. Matthews was an outlaw’s outlaw, the talented composer of hits for Gordon Lightfoot, Hank Williams Jr., Waylon Jennings, Crystal Gale and Gene Watson, who ended up broke with only one unreleased album to his name when he died in 2003. (Delmore Recordings finally put out his wildly unconventional concept album, Kingston Springs Suite, in 2015.) Gantry’s “Vince” gets at both the tragedy and the beauty of his friend’s life trajectory, in lines like “I’ve seen ya freezing without no coat, while your tongue chewed up from taking pills and the songs you wrote, your dreams were shiny like a diamond cape and you never let ‘em go even when you were about to break.” And, he obviously sees the parallels, as anyone would, between this “wild horse songwriter” and himself, though he is still around to play his songs and his friend is not. Sings Gantry in the song’s most affecting moment, “And so I’ll see ya, most likely soon, ah-ah-ah, we’ll both get hammered and throw snowballs at the moon.”

Nashlantis is rather beautifully put together by Jerry DeCicca of Black Swans, who has established an impressive side career in resuscitating the work of forgotten country and blues singers, and was recorded in Nashville by Rob Galbraith. Arrangements are reticent but not quite minimal, with some very nice work on electric guitar and Moog by Don Cento, spare but effective drumming from Ryan Jewell and cello by Marina Peterson, especially nice on the closer “I Cry Quietly.” Bill Callahan sings in creaky unison with Gantry on “Box of Crayons,” while Edith Frost twines in heady harmonies for “Say Sorry Later.” Yet good as all these additional elements are, what you remember is Gantry, rasp voiced and clear-eyed, beaten up and busted, but warmed always by the best of what he’s experienced. A life well lived, indeed.

Jennifer Kelly

#chris gantry #nashlantis #drag city #jennifer kelly #albumreview #dusted magazine #outlaw country #vince matthews #kris kristofferson #johnny cash

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dreamers-queen · 5 years

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Ok, dunque: ho ascoltato anch'io la canzone più chiacchierata delle ultime 24 ore e, in tutta onestà...non so bene cosa pensare.

Al primo ascolto sono esplosa in una risata isterica, il che non è esattamente l’effetto che mi aspettavo mi facesse, proprio no. Sono rimasta sorpresa, mi è sembrata pure brutta come canzone, mi sembrava uno scherzo.

Al secondo è affiorata una strana tristezza, ho pensato che - per quanto interessante - quel tipo di sonorità (che a me piace, beninteso) fosse “sbagliato”, e che lo fosse intenzionalmente, come fosse un tentativo di mascherare la profonda nostalgia, il dolore vivissimo che esprime il testo, sotto un ritmo “grintoso”, leggero, da summer hit.

Ed è arrivato l’effetto che aspettavo, il cuore spezzato.

Al terzo ascolto (l’ultimo per ora, ma ne seguiranno altri perché, nel frattempo, comincio ad abituarmici) ho pensato che non mi sembrava più così brutta, anzi.

Ora: parlare delle sonorità delle canzone non fa per me, non ho abbastanza cultura in materia di musica, quindi evito.

E per quanto riguarda l’esegesi del testo...beh, non credo si presti a molte interpretazioni. Ho letto tutti i post pubblicati in merito da ieri sera a questa parte, e mi è dispiaciuto molto che sia stato sovente liquidato come un testo “banale”, “un argomento noioso”, mi è dispiaciuto leggere “non dovrebbe parlarne più”, “dovrebbe andare avanti”, “è ora che gli passi” e simili. Che la canzone possa non piacere è legittimo, ma credo ci voglia un pizzico in più di sensibilità, di rispetto per i sentimenti e la “convalescenza emotiva” di qualcuno che - ricordiamolo - è una persona vera, non un personaggio di finzione di cui si può criticare la caratterizzazione. Se gli ci vorranno dieci anni e cento canzoni per “guarire”, non dovrà renderne conto a noi. E sarebbe giusto da parte nostra essere comprensivi, anziché giudicare. Ma ripeto: questo non significa che la canzone debba piacere per forza. Può non piacere anche se se ne rispetta il senso. Rambling over, ciao.

Ok, now: I listened to the most discussed song of the last 24 hours here and, in all honesty...I don’t know what to think.

When I first listened to it, I burst into an hysterical laughter that was absolutely not the effect I was expecting it to have on me, really not. I was surprised, I thought it was an ugly song, it felt like a joke.

The second time, a strange sadness emerged, and I thought that - albeit interesting - that kind of sound (that I like, don’t get me wrong) was “wrong”, intentionally so, like if it was a way to hide the deep nostalgia, the intense pain the lyrics express so well, under a “gritty”, lighthearted, summer hit-like rhytm.

And that’s when the effect I was expecting actually came, the broken heart.

The third time (the last, for now, but more will come because meanwhile I got used to it) I thought it wasn’t that much of an ugly song, quite the opposite.

Now: discussing the sound is really not my job, I don’t have enough musical culture to do it properly, so I won’t do it at all.

And, about the exegesis of the lyrics...well, I don’t think there are many possible ways to interpret it. I read all the posts about this published since last night, and I was deeply hurt and disappointed to see it being quickly called “trite”, “a boring topic”, I was hurt and disappointed to read “he shouldn’t talk about this anymore”, “he should move on”, “it’s time for him to get over it” and stuff like this. It’s perfectly fine to not like the song, but I think we need a bit more sensibility and respect for the feelings and the “emotional recovery time” of someone that - I want to remind it to us all - is a real person, not a fictional character whose characterization can be criticized. If he needs ten years and a hundred songs to “heal”, that’s not something he must be accountable for to us (man, I hope I translated this one correctly...what I mean is that he owes us NO justifications or apologies for his feelings). The right thing we should be doing is to be understanding, not to judge. I repeat: this doesn’t mean you have to love the song no matter what. It’s possible to dislike it even if you respect its meaning. Rambling over, bye.

#e con questo mi attirerò molteplici antipatie e critiche #ma il mood di oggi è: sticazzi #ercole #ermal meta #toh pure le tag #facciamoci del male

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randomnotesonrandomness · 3 years

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Nota del traduttore

Translator’s note

English below

Ho ricevuto in regalo tutto i libri di Mary Ruefle dal suo editor, più o meno tre anni fa. È stato amore a prima vista. Una montagna di libri vicini vicini in borsa, poesia e prosa. Non un amore canonico, passionale, no, ma una cosa fatta di strane affinità elettive e un costante senso di smarrimento che non trovavo sgradevole, forse perché mi piace perdermi.

La scrittura di Ruefle può provocare uno strano timore reverenziale – il misto di paura e fascino che forse proverei davanti a un marziano – però a volte ti fa scoppiare a ridere. O almeno a me capita spesso. E soprattutto ti fa perdere l’orientamento. A un certo punto non capisci più dove sei e segui solo le immagini come i sassolini e le briciole di Hansel e Gretel. È affascinante se leggi e basta, un po’ una fregatura se devi tradurre.

Le poesie me le ero lette in un sorso appena avevo avuto i libri in mano. La sensazione di perdersi c'era, ma in quella forma me l'aspettavo, e mi dava chiavi di ritmo ma non soluzioni sensate per tradurre.

Ho deciso quindi di lavorare su pezzi a caso, uno sui colori e uno con una struttura più convenzionale – se mai Ruefle si può definire convenzionale – per capire cosa poteva farmi da sassolino oltre alle immagini. Perché io le immagini le vedevo bene, e le sentivo, ma dovevo stare nella griglia della scrittura, che non è mai colloquiale, ma sempre precisa e algida e severa nella forma - d’altronde in America la sua prosa è venduta nel settore poesia, oltre a essere insegnata in tantissimi master di scrittura creativa - ma poi in parecchi punti fa ridere o rimanere a bocca aperta. Tipo, quando scrive di menopausa, ‘Quando impazzisci non hai la minima propensione a leggere quello che Foucault ha scritto a proposito di cultura e pazzia’. Oppure “Una cosa è certa: non vorrei essere un albero di Natale.” O quando parla di teste rimpicciolite chiedendosi, sinceramente stupita, come mai la gente non ci pensa spesso.

Dopo la prima stesura di qualche frammento non ero soddisfatta. Allora mi sono messa a guardare i video di lei su YouTube. Dice cose serissime con un’espressione impassibile – la classica deadpan, letteralmente faccia morta – ma anche furba e allerta, sembra una volpe, e poi qua e là inserisce delle battute rimanendo seria seria, magari con l’aggiunta di un piccolo sorriso. A un certo punto durante una conferenza dice: ‘Gli artisti sono solo persone che non hanno dimenticato come si disegna, e per disegnare intendo creare. Ma non fatevi ingannare, hanno dimenticato moltissime altre cose. A volte si dimenticano che non hanno più otto anni. Ecco perché gli artisti sono per natura molesti.” E poi in un’altra conferenza dice che bisogna tornare bambini per ritrovare quel tipo di immaginazione, e che il buon senso e la razionalità non vanno molto d’accordo. “L’immaginazione ha vita propria e autonoma, l’immaginazione non è una cosa con cui giochi, è l’immaginazione che gioca con te. Ha il potere di creare e distruggere, di formare e deformare.”

Poi ho guardato alcuni dei suoi lavori di cancellatura, le erasures, perché Ruefle è anche un'artista di talento. E mi è venuto in mente che era tutto un lavoro per sopprimere la comprensione e creare qualcosa di nuovo a partire dalle parole pure.

E così finalmente ho capito, come in una sorta di epifania, che dovevo sospendere la logica. Esattamente come nella poesia. Anche perché non potevo farle cento domande su cinquanta pagine (via lettera poi, perché non ha il computer, scrive tutto a macchina). Nella sezione Contact del suo sito si legge: “Sorpresa! Non posseggo un computer. L'unico modo per contattarmi è scrivere alla mia casa editrice, Wave Press, oppure incontrare per strada qualcuno che conosco di persona.” Quando ho visto quella frase sul suo sito, praticamente dopo aver letto tre poesie, mi è venuta in mente la parola sassy, simpatica sfacciata e poi ho pensato, è matta. E poi ho pensato, non vedo l'ora di conoscerla.

Comunque a quel punto non so bene cosa sia successo, quando ho abbandonato la comprensione per il dubbio, ed è stato un po’ come entrare in uno stato di trance e lasciarsi guidare – forse anche commettendo errori ignobili, ma era il rischio da correre. Un po’ come succede con gli allucinogeni. E in effetti ho capito che leggere e tradurre la prosa-poesia di Ruefle è un'esperienza sinestesica, in cui senti colori e annusi parole e tocchi suoni.

Ovviamente gliel'ho scritto. Cioè in pratica mi sono immaginata un sacco di soluzioni di cose non solo difficili da tradurre (tipo giochi di parole di cui ho cambiato proprio il testo) ma a volte del tutto incomprensibili senza chiederle il permesso, senza la certezza che fossero giuste, come buttarsi in mare e nuotare di notte. E alla seconda lettera (gentilmente stampata e spedita con francobollo dal suo editor e poi via mail la risposta fotografata se no ci mettevamo due anni tra poste italiane e greche), quando le ho chiesto il significato di una parola contenuta in un brano già di per sé a dir poco astratto, ashling (che i vocabolari danno come sogno o visione in una rara accezione irlandese) lei mi ha risposto: 'Oddio pensavo a ash, a cenere ma non ricordo dove ho trovato quella parola, o se l'ho inventata, ma che bello questo significato irlandese del sogno che hai scovato! Comunque usa l'immaginazione e inventati qualcosa che dia l'idea di sogno, oppure di cenere ma anche di albero, e fai che sembri piccolo, minuscolo... Magari tipo ashtray??'

Per un altro brano intero dove c'era un gioco di parole praticamente intraducibile mi ha scritto: “Oh sì che guaio. Vuoi che lo riscrivo? Anzi, riscrivilo tu! Cambia anche il titolo!” In fondo a una delle lettere ha scritto: “Bellissima questa cosa che le lettere ci mettono settimane ad arrivare fino a te. Non ho mai messo piede su un'isola greca. È solida o spugnosa?” Eh. Bella domanda. Però mi ha fatto capire che dovevo vedere l'isola – e il mio modo di tradurre lei – toccandola con i piedi, annusandola con le mani, immaginando tutto con i sensi ribaltati.

Dopo varie riscritture, ho fatto un po' di prove di lettura con alcuni amici, chiedendo di chiudere gli occhi e ascoltare senza sforzarsi di capire e mi hanno detto che funzionava, che cadevano in quello stato di trance e vedevano le immagini. Ho amici adorabili ma non compiacenti, quindi forse non finirò nell'inferno dei traduttori. E se anche fosse, probabilmente sarebbe una storia in stile Ruefle.

xxxxxx

I received all of Mary Ruefle's books from her editor at Wave about three years ago, and it was love at first sight. A mountain of beautiful books sitting close together in my bag, poetry and prose. It was not a canonical, passionate love, no, more like a feeling of deep closeness made of elective affinities and a constant, but not unpleasant – maybe because I like getting lost - sensation of being confused and out of my depth. A complex kind of love. Ruefle's writing can be a source of strange awe - the mix of fear and fascination that perhaps I'd feel in front of a Martian - and make you lose your bearings. At some point you don't understand anything anymore and just follow images, like Hansel and Gretel's pebbles and crumbs. It's fascinating if you just read it, but it's a bit of a bummer if you have to translate it.

I had read all of her poetry as soon as I had the books in my hand. The feeling of being lost was definitely the same, but perhaps I kind of expected it in that form. The poems gave me keys to the rhythm, but not reasonable enough solutions.

So I decided to translate some fragments at random, one about colors and one with a more conventional structure - if ever Ruefle's writing can be called conventional - to understand what else, besides images, could be my pebbles. Because I did see the images quite vividly, and I felt them, but I had to keep playing within the writing grid, which is never colloquial but always precise and aloof in its form – after all in the US her prose is sold in the poetry section, and it's being taught in many creative writing MFA - but it is often very funny. Like, talking about menopause, "When you go crazy, you don’t have the slightest inclination to read anything Foucault ever wrote about culture and madness”.

Or "One thing is certain: I wouldn't want to be a Christmas tree." Or when she talks about shrunken heads wondering with genuine surprise why people don't think about them very often.

After the first draft I was not at all satisfied. So I started watching her videos on YouTube. She says very serious things with an impassive expression - the classic deadpan, an expression that I always liked - but also crafty and mischievous at times. Then here and there she just comes out with a joke while remaining very serious, maybe with a tiny smile. In one lecture she says: "Artists are just people who have not forgotten how to draw, by which I mean create. But don’t be taken in; they have forgotten a great many other things. Sometimes they forget they are no longer eight years old. This is why artists are of a troublesome nature.” And then in another conference she says that we need to become children again to rediscover that kind of imagination, and that common sense and rationality do not go very well with it. "The imagination has its own independent life, the imagination is not something you play with, it is the imagination that plays with you. It has the power to create and destroy, to form and deform. " Then I looked at some of her erasures, because Ruefle is also a talented artist. And it occurred to me that it was a way to suppress understanding and create something new from pure words. So I finally realized, like an epiphany, that I had to suspend logic. Exactly like with poetry. Also because I couldn't ask her 100 questions in 50 pages (and send them by letter, because she doesn't have a computer, she works only with her typewriter). In the Contact section of her website, she writes: "Surprise! I do not actually own a computer. The only way to contact me is by contacting my press, Wave Books, or by running into someone I know personally on the street." When I checked her website, immediately after reading three poems, I heard the word sassy in my mind, and I thought, She is crazy. I can't wait to meet her, she must be adorable. I don't really know what happened next when I gave up understanding, and it was a bit like entering into a trance state and letting myself be guided - perhaps even making ignoble mistakes, but that was the risk I had to run. A bit like what happens with hallucinogens. And in fact, I realized that reading and translating Ruefle's prose-poetry is a synaesthetic experience, in which you hear colours and smell words and touch sounds. Obviously, I tried – tried – to explain all this to her. In other words, I came up with a lot of solutions for things that were not only difficult to translate (such as puns I had to change the whole text for) but sometimes completely incomprehensible, and this without asking permission, without the certainty that they were right, like jumping in the sea and have a swim at night. And at the second letter (kindly printed, stamped and sent by her wonderful editor who also scanned and sent me her answer otherwise it would have taken years – Greece is paradise, but speed is not its forte), when I asked her the meaning of a word contained in a piece which is already abstract, to say the least, ashling (according to one of the many dictionaries I consulted it is a dream or a vision in a rare Irish meaning) she answered: 'Oh 'God I was thinking of ash, but I don't remember where I found that word, or if I invented it, but how beautiful this Irish meaning of the dream you found! Anyway use your imagination and come up with something that gives the idea of a dream, or ash but also a tree, and make it look small, tiny...? Maybe like an ashtray??' For another whole piece where there was a pun that was practically untranslatable, and she wrote, "Oh yes, that's a problem. Do you want me to rewrite it? In fact, you should rewrite it! Change the title too!" At the bottom of one of the letters, she wrote, "Isn't it beautiful this thing that letters take weeks to get to you. I've never set foot on a Greek island. Is it solid or spongy?" Ha. Good question. It made me realize, though, that I needed to see the island - and my way of translating her - touching it with my feet, smelling it with my hands, imagining everything with my senses turned upside down. After

several rewritings, I did some tests with friends, asking them to close their eyes and listen without trying to understand. They told me it worked, they could see the images and get into a kind of trance too. I have lovely friends and I know for sure that they are not complacent, so maybe I won't end up in translators' hell. And if that were the case, it would probably be a Ruefle style story.

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sciogli-lingua · 7 years

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Recent Italian Movies (2000-2017)

I was asked to make this post a while back, I’m sorry it took so long. A couple of things before we start:

By clicking on each movie’s title, you’ll be redirected to the trailer (with English subtitles when I could find them).

I checked, and all movies featured on this list have their own Wikipedia page if you’re looking for further information.

Hit me up if you want some help in finding places where you can watch these online.

I had to leave out many nice films, and I’ve surely forgotten some: feel free to add more!

I cento passi (2000) -- the true story of Sicilian political activist Peppino Impastato, killed by the mafia in 1978 for his overt opposition to the latter. Drama, biopic.

Io non ho paura (2003) -- ten-year-old Michele, living in southern Italy in the 1970′s, discovers a hole in the ground where a boy is kept prisoner. Based on a famous novel by Niccolò Ammaniti. Drama, thriller.

Le conseguenze dell’amore (2004) -- a middle-aged loner’s life will change completely when he falls in love with a barmaid.

Notte prima degli esami (2006) -- Technically speaking not the best movie on this list, but still a must-see if you want to understand what the dreaded high school finals (a.k.a. la maturità) mean for Italian students. Comedy.

La ragazza del lago (2007) -- the peace of a little town in northern Italy is disrupted when the body of a young woman is found dead on the lakeshore. Thriller, drama.

Il divo (2008) -- the story of Giulio Andreotti, 7-times prime minister of Italy and a controversial figure. Drama, biopic. Great to get a glimpse of the complex world of Italian politics.

Gomorra (2008) -- five stories dealing with the Camorra (a criminal organization mostly based in the Naples area) and its relations with the population. Thriller, noir. Probably not the best one to watch if you want to practise Italian, as most lines are delivered in Neapolitan (and are thus incomprehensible to many Italian speakers as well).

Baarìa (2009) -- an autobiographic epic in three generations of the Sicilian village where film director Tornatore was born. There are two existing versions, one in Italian and the other in Sicilian. Drama, comedy. I love family sagas, and sobbed uncontrollably I can’t remember exactly at which point in the movie.

La prima cosa bella (2010) -- after years of estrangement, Bruno finally goes back to his hometown to visit his dying mother, Anna. Alternating present-day narration and flashbacks, the movie follows the life of a mother and her two children and their strong, albeit problematic, bond. Comedic drama, you might be crying bittersweet tears by the end.

Benvenuti al sud (2010) -- stereotypes from both northern and southern Italy meet in the delightful remake of the French movie Bienvenue chez les Ch'tis when Alberto, the manager of a postal service in northern Italy, is banished to Castellabate, obviously located in the South. Comedy.

Basilicata coast to coast (2010) -- a music group and a journalist cross the region of Basilicata by foot to attend a music festival. Comedy, adventure.

Habemus papam (2011) -- a cardinal is elected pope against his wishes, and needs the help of a therapist to overcome his terror. Half comedy, half drama.

Il capitale umano (2013) -- on Christmas Eve, a waiter cycling home from working at a prestigious private school's gala is hit by a car, whose driver flees, leaving the man close to death. Connected to the accident are two very different families. Drama, thriller.

La grande bellezza (2013) -- aging socialite Jep Gambardella tries to find some meaning beyond the lavish display of empty riches plaguing his Roman nights spent between parties. Drama, comedy, won an Oscar when it came out. Chances are you’ll either love it or sleep through it (personally, I liked it quite a lot).

Smetto quando voglio (2014) -- driven to despair by their precarious conditions, a group of underpaid (if paid at all) university researchers team up to produce a smart drug still not illegal in Italy to make a fast buck. The unlikely gang is surprisingly successful... Comedy, among the funniest I’ve seen recently.

Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot (2015) -- an unlikely (anti)hero rises in the slums of Rome when thief Enzo Ceccotti acquires superpowers by falling into the river Tiber. Sci-fi, action, drama. Superhero movies meet Italian cinema, and it works better than anyone was expecting. Language might be an issue, since everyone is purposefully Very Much from Rome.

Non essere cattivo (2015) -- a story of crime, drugs and attempted redemption in the outskirts of Rome. Action, drama. Luca Marinelli is one hell of an actor. Again, the language is more Roman than Italian.

La pazza gioia (2016) -- professed countess (and notorious motor-mouth) Beatrice and frail, quiet Donatella (who was “born sad”) flee the psychiatric institution that hosts them. The odd pair will embark on a journey together, looking for fun, love, and -- you guessed it -- some happiness. Comedy-drama, manages to be hilarious and deeply moving at the same time.

Fuocoammare (2016) -- a documentary capturing life on the Italian island of Lampedusa, a frontline in the European migrant crisis.

Perfetti sconosciuti (2016) -- seven friends know each other like the back of their hand... or do they? What would happen if, as a playful game around the dinner table, they decided to share with the others every text, call and e-mail they get on their phone? Could they turn out to be total strangers? Witty and thought-provoking comedy with a number of twists.

Fai bei sogni (2016) -- a boy struggles to come to terms with his mother’s death. Scenes from the protagonist’s childhood are intertwined with Others depicting his adult life. Drama. Ultimately, Valerio Mastandrea always manages to play someone with mommy issues somehow (he was also Bruno in La prima cosa bella). Drama.

#italian movies #recent #masterpost #italian #cinema #recommendations #movie list #request #mine #langblr #500 #1k

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