“The Ranucci case? A screenwriter’s nightmare. This summer of 2026 feels like a grotesque film,” says Pietro Valsecchi

There’s a love affair, there are stolen paintings, and there’s even a duel with the Spaniards. Is this the plot of an action film? Almost: it’s the Italian summer blockbuster of 2026, which you won’t see at the cinema but will read about in the newspapers. “It sounds like an Italian-style B-movie,” Pietro Valsecchi, one of Italy’s leading television and film producers, tells Il Foglio. He also suggests a storyline to portray a country where, in just a month and a half of summer, practically everything has happened. A brief recap for those who’ve been distracted: whilst Nolan’s "Odyssey" and the new "Spider-Man" dominate the box office, outside the cinemas—without air-conditioning—a wheeler-dealer with a few convictions to his name – Valter Lavitola – admits to having masterminded a terrorist attack outside the home of his friend – the presenter of "Report", Sigfrido Ranucci – with the aim of getting him a higher security detail and (perhaps) even helping him win the election. The restaurant industry (the hugely popular Cefalù Bistrot) gets involved in the case, followed by the political sphere, which seizes the opportunity to demand that the journalist in question be suspended from presenting his programme. Meanwhile, tens of thousands of migrants swim to Ceuta, a Spanish exclave. Italy reinstates border controls with Spain, and Madrid, out of spite, does the same. On 15 August, Ceuta faces the prospect of a second wave of migrants, who are stopped just before departure by Moroccan law enforcement. On the other hand, on the same day, thieves break into a museum in Messina and steal priceless paintings by Antonello da Messina, later abandoning some of them on the street.

"Ceuta is no laughing matter; this is a serious issue. It’s a different story with the bomb at Ranucci," comments Valsecchi. "A screenwriter wouldn’t know how to bring this story to a close. It’s so utterly beyond any kind of human reasoning that it really does seem like the work of science. We’re dealing with an Italian-style spy story, decidedly grotesque,” he continues. “The Ranucci story is very unsettling. It’s an extraordinary thriller.” Would he produce a film about the ‘love bomb’? “As Francesco Rosi says, stories need to settle over time, and then they need to be revisited, re-read and rewritten. This story isn’t even halfway there, because many facts have yet to come to light.” It’s too early, then, to bring to the screen a case that already contains a narrative within itself. “We need to understand who the mastermind is. But ultimately, the film must still have an ending, even if it’s open-ended. And at this stage, we don’t even know where to start writing.” 

Valsecchi, however, puts forward an idea. Complete with a title: "La grande calda estate". A film in three acts and three scams which, according to the producer, "could be a suggestion for those who are short of ideas". The first episode is called "L'imbroglio. L'ondata". A rumour begins to circulate on Moroccan social media that the border with Spain will be easy to cross. Thousands of young people head for Ceuta, and the Spanish are caught off guard. “In a matter of hours, a rumour turns into an international crisis. In Madrid, suspicions arise that Morocco is exerting pressure on Spain behind the mobilisation. There is no definitive proof, but the mechanism is clear: simply set a story in motion and let others turn it into reality.” A few weeks later, a second wave is announced for the 15th of August. This time, Spain is prepared. Vans, riot police, ambulances, journalists. Everyone waits for dawn, convinced that thousands of people are about to arrive. The sun rises,” explains Valsecchi. Then, in the distance, a small white sail appears. “Immediately afterwards, another, then yet another. For a moment, everyone thinks it’s beginning. They start firing into the air; the little sails advance. They are small sailing boats, with a group of youngsters taking part in a sailing lesson. Ahead of them, on the coast, an entire military apparatus stands by, awaiting an invasion that never comes. The second hoax succeeded where the first had failed: setting an entire nation in motion without anyone actually moving.”

We come to the second episode: "Ci vorrebbe un amico". The second plot begins with a bomb attack on Sigfrido Ranucci. "Everyone is looking for the enemy: the Mafia, organised crime, the powers that be affected by his investigations. Then the investigation leads to Valter Lavitola. Not an adversary, but a friend. And this is where the story takes a different turn. Why would Lavitola have created a threat surrounding Ranucci? Perhaps to protect him, perhaps to boost his profile, perhaps to turn him into an even stronger figure and make himself indispensable by his side. Or perhaps we’ll never know,” says the producer. “The mechanism is unsettling: creating the danger, warning of the danger, suggesting leads and staying close to the victim whilst the search for the culprit continues. But when Lavitola’s name emerges, everything is turned on its head. The attack that had strengthened Ranucci begins to undermine his authority and is immediately exploited by those who want to target him and Report. The deception is complete: someone perhaps wanted to create a hero and ended up creating a suspect. Only one question remains,” he continues: “Was Lavitola’s spaghetti really that good? You can’t trust a friend.” 

Episode three, the final con: "Chi li ha visti?". It all begins with a theft. "An Antonello da Messina goes missing and a question immediately arises: who would steal a work they could never sell or exhibit? The heist seems too precise to be a coincidence. Someone knew the timings, access points and vulnerabilities. Perhaps there is an inside man, perhaps a client. The investigation thus delves into the black market for art, where a masterpiece is not bought to be resold but to be possessed in secret, like a relic. The more the painting is sought, the more theories emerge: organised crime, middlemen, collectors, and extremely powerful men willing to pay for something that no one will ever be allowed to see. In the end – says Valsecchi – a trail emerges leading to a fixer who takes the painting out of Italy and towards Morocco. We follow him to an isolated villa. A crate is opened. Inside is the Antonello. The painting has reached its destination. But the final twist remains: was the theft really commissioned by that man, or is he too merely the last link in a chain that knows nothing of the true architect behind the scheme? Meanwhile, throughout this whole affair, a true masterpiece has vanished: here too, at whose hands?”. The mystery is there, the thriller too, the spaghetti’s cooking. All that’s missing is the cast.