Forget those boring, pretentious artists – at the Lido, they know how to party too

I have finally seen the other side of Italian cinema. Not the usual one to which the national audiovisual sector has accustomed us – that contrite, sorrowful image paraded in public, at press conferences and on the stage of the David di Donatello Awards, where actors and actresses with distraught faces and broken voices take a stand on some humanitarian or civil cause, or even just against cuts to culture. On this occasion, however, I observed the faces of our cinema laughing, joking and dancing—despite fascism, despite Gaza. I was at the Lido for the various parties celebrating the Italian films presented at the Venice Film Festival, and I found a light-heartedness, a cheerfulness, a general joie de vivre and a penchant for alcohol that is almost never seen in Italian films – usually written out of the script or cut during editing to make way for the usual social commentary, the protest, or – worse than anything else – poetry. There are plenty of Italian films this year, and therefore plenty of parties too: it all kicks off with the party for Nanni Moretti’s film, “Succederà questa notte” (which is also the hope of everyone attending the parties), where I head with a very specific aim in mind: the sweets. Moretti’s sweet tooth is well known and expectations are high: despite the Venetian heat, I am expecting giant jars of Nutella to spread thickly onto huge slices of bread, trolleys full of Sacher Torte, and generously portioned Mont Blancs without any hollow spaces underneath. Instead, there are just a few slices of a dubious cheesecake, and mostly fruit skewers. There is no open bar; guests receive only one complimentary drink – a sign that the producer may have invested heavily in Bruce Springsteen, given that half the film is a concert. The average age is comparable to a Capalbio gathering, yet everyone is dancing, Moretti is in high spirits, and, upon close inspection, Louis Garrel bears a striking resemblance to Fabio De Luigi. The second event is the party for the film Serpenti. The venue is vast, complete with a swimming pool and a cordoned-off VIP area (with Alessandro Borghi, Pietro Castellitto and the D’Innocenzo brothers inside), where a burly bouncer stops anyone without an identification wristband from entering; but if you turn left, there are neither barriers nor bouncers – you can walk straight in and everyone mingles freely without this ridiculous distinction between ‘first-class’ and ‘second-class’ guests. The crowd is chatting, dancing and drinking; contrary to expectations, there is no evidence of drug use in the restrooms; instead, the shadows suggest that some guests are engaging in sexual encounters—confirming Moretti’s prediction that ‘it’ll happen tonight’. The following evening I stop by the Campari Lounge for a drink, and only by the second round do I realise that I have unwittingly ended up at the party for the film The Echo Chamber, I realise this when I see Luca Marinelli and his wife getting cosy – but what strikes me isn’t their displays of affection so much as the fact that they’re both using the same wet-look gel in their hair, very wet indeed; perhaps it isn’t gel at all, but the water from the chap upstairs who’s been watering the geraniums, and they’re standing underneath it? I’ll leave the verdict on the films to the jury, but there’s no doubt that here at the Lido, our cinema has shown it knows how to party better than the international scene: I wasn’t invited to the party for the film “Hombre al agua” with Ricky Martin, but everyone tells me, “Go and say you’re Saverio Raimondo – they’ll let you in for sure!” I go, shoulders back and chest out: “Good evening, I’m Saverio Raimondo”. The reply: “Good evening, you’re not on the guest list, please leave”. My shoulders slump and my chest sinks in, but I don’t lose my smile: the party is so exclusive that, in fact, there’s no one inside – a funeral-like gathering, so much for “livin’ la vida loca”!