It’s not just Ranucci. Here are the new trailblazers of journalism

It is the comeback, in the digital age, of the Italian provinces. The same provinces that, back in the 1960s, would await the Cantagiro, with crowds gathering round Gianni Morandi almost more out of a desire to touch him than to hear "In ginocchio da te" once more. In certain towns, residents eagerly awaited summer in order to break the routine with live appearances by the stars of music films. If you consult the Wikipedia entry dedicated to the event conceived by Ezio Radaelli, the image that appears is a colour photograph of Rita Pavone in Catania in ’67. She was escorted by the police to make her way safely through the crowd, which, in its amorous frenzy, would have even torn a corner off her dress, but fans had to make do with a light touch of the fingertips or an autograph – the humble precursor to the selfie.

More than sixty years on, the crowd seems just as euphoric, even if, at first glance, grey-haired or bald heads predominate; there is often a security detail, though without uniforms; the type of star is entirely different: he cannot sing, he does not dance, yet his performance is still called a ‘show’ and tickets can be bought via the TicketOne network. On the stage where Ranieri and Caselli once performed, journalists now take to the stage with microphones or wireless headsets. They sit down, speak, and even walk about whilst images scroll across a giant screen and a polite interviewer – who, when present, is chosen depending on the venue – prompts questions, answers and soliloquies. The overall atmosphere resembles a book launch, although the books now serve as a bonus at the end of the event, when it is already dark in September. The cicadas have stopped chirping, but while the last mosquitoes of the season bite at arms and calves, attendees can purchase a copy for the customary book-signing session, complete with a selfie and a handshake from the author. It is the moment at weddings when the favours are handed out after the toast and the cutting of the cake; but just as the sugared almonds often remain untouched inside the tulle, so too will that book remain on the coffee table in the living room and perhaps never be read (which is why, from 2024 until this summer, almost no one had noticed the most intimate passages recounted in La scelta by Sigfrido Ranucci).

It is the comeback of the smallest of provincial towns. Names are popping up – to name but a few at random – that not all of us would be able to pinpoint straight away on a map. Calcinato, Tricase, Sant’Omero, Seriate, Vittoria, Casalfiumanese, Cetona, Gravellona, Seriate. And then there are the provincial capitals such as Terni, Varese, Salerno, Pescara, Reggio Calabria, Palermo and Bologna; there’s Milan and there’s Rome – ‘my Garbatella’: these are some of the stops already completed or announced, running right through to spring 2027, on Ranucci’s Diario di un trapezista tour. Journalists have been taking to town squares and theatres for some time now, including Marco Travaglio, Andrea Scanzi, Giuseppe Cruciani and Roberto Saviano. In June, Gad Lerner, Attilio Bolzoni and Maurizio Mannoni also set foot in the Madonie; Corrado Augias, the venerable doyen, presents Il mio Novecento with a soprano and pianist: Florence, Naples and Parma are the next dates. No one, however, has been as popular this summer as Sigfrido, who could rightly lay claim to supremacy on the smaller stages, having already achieved prominence for his investigative reporting and journalistic awards, for the much-lamented ‘character assassination’ and for the hearts he has stolen – if presenter Milena Gabanelli has not told a lie. The experts at Guinness World Records are ready to certify any such accolades.

To reach a wider audience, however, Sigfrido will have to work diligently: it will take a great deal to fill the Augusteo in Naples or the Sala Santa Cecilia at the Auditorium Parco della Musica in Rome, two of the seventeen dates scheduled for Saviano’s tour with "Quel che resta di me" between January and June (plus a stop in London in May). Yet Ranucci has worked to champion the provinces, whilst also contributing to the resurgence of the local and hyper-local press in this age of globalisation, where everything and everyone begins to look the same. During his tour of Sicily, the (metaphorical) manoeuvres of the ‘trapeze artist’ – which, for those writing about him from afar, rekindle Tornatore-esque images of the ‘Uomo delle stelle’ Joe Morelli, or of the Istituto Luce’s travelling cinemas – have mobilised reporters from regional publications. Their prose oscillates between the refined vibrancy and the gentle melody of Matilde Serao’s ‘Mosconi’ of yesteryear (‘at Princess XY’s ball, the following were present, etc.’): we thus learn that after ‘the throng of people’ in Vittoria’s municipal park, during a ‘tight and uncompromising’ exchange with a magistrate, Ranucci “chose the evocative tranquillity of Ragusa Ibla for his overnight stay” and his Sunday morning continued “through the alleyways of Ibla, with a stop outdoors for a traditional breakfast at the Biancomangiare café, right in the heart of Piazza Duomo. The moment of relaxation and conviviality was captured by the café’s staff, who proudly shared photos on social media of their distinguished guest seated at tables bathed in autumn sunshine. A poignant farewell to a land which, once again, has responded with great warmth to his commitment and civic witness”. There is no laying of a foundation stone and no ribbon-cutting, but if you transpose the account into the tone of the Fascist era—forget Cantagiro: it is a plunge into the atmosphere of southern villages from the time when He was there, which Luigi Zampa evoked in the film Gli anni ruggenti. Sigfrido would not appreciate the comparison; nor, he would add, would ‘my people’. To confirm this, one need only look at his appearance: the purity of the ‘white linen shirt’ that Tommaso Campanella yearned for in his utopian City of the Sun, but which Fabrizio De André boasted in a famous song that he did not possess. For Ranucci, it is his everyday and stage attire, for in his ‘performances’ he is the character himself: if he were to turn up in a striped or checked button-down shirt, even his most devoted fans—those who rise to applaud him the moment he enters, as if they were magistrates of the ANM—might waver in their certainty (‘is it him or isn’t it?’).

Clothes make the man. If Cesare Gabrielli, the world-famous hypnotist who mesmerised audiences across the Peninsula and even captivated Thomas Mann, had appeared on stage without his ever-present tailcoat, he would not have achieved the marvellous effects that earned him the title of ‘magical craftsman’ (copyright Gabriele d’Annunzio). Roland Barthes explained this concept in a witty lecture devoted to the world of professional wrestling, even though in Ranucci’s ring the antagonists – that is, the villains – are obviously either fought or evoked in absentia: like the treacherous Palantir when he revealed to (his) people that something called Big Data exists. As Barthes wrote, “it is not what they see that matters, but what they believe”, so the role of a certain wrestler is “to perform exactly the actions expected of him”. Because the ‘good guy’ in wrestling, just like the champion of social justice, “has above all the task of mimicking a purely moral concept: justice. The idea of retribution is essential to wrestling, and the crowd’s cry of ‘Hurt him!’ means, first and foremost, ‘Make him pay’”. This is akin to the “Report them all!!!” cries that pour in thick and fast against his fellow “newspapermen” beneath the Facebook posts of the luchador Sigfrido, Rey Mysterio, the Superman of the “straight-backed” profession – a long-standing orthopaedic metaphor that also echoes the “straight back” of wrestling jargon. Nor is there any shortage, in the subtitle of Diario di un trapezista, of that ill-conceived noun that has become a classic of ready-to-wear parlance: ‘Chronicles of a reporter’s resilience’. The figure of the ‘upright man’ stands out, from his heels to the top of his head and higher still to the flat cap of the ‘Report’ correspondent, Paolo Mondani, who never bows his head, not even when his speculative investigation into the ‘dark leads’ regarding the Mafia massacres hits a wall of reasonable denials.

It is the result of what the television critic Aldo Grasso described, whilst discussing Massimo Giletti in Corriere della Sera, as “a constant self-portrayal: the courageous reporter, the man who does not bow to pressure, the one who ‘goes to see for himself’, who ‘sets the record straight’, who ‘stands tall’. In short, his demeanour has become the content”. Gone are the days when, first and foremost, the reporter’s narrative voice was struck from the notebook; now “the display of courage ends up resembling narcissism more than fortitude. The presenter enters the news story, occupies it, interprets it”. The ultimate paradox: he himself “becomes the main character in every story he is supposed to tell”.

If this applies to Giletti, it applies even more so to Sigfrido Superman: Maria Rosaria Boccia casts him in the role of a superhero, both on the cover and in 67 references within the text, in "Guai a chi lo tocca": Io, Sigfrido e le tempeste, a book for which she, in turn, draws on Ranucci’s earlier autobiography, “which had recounted the fascination exerted on him, right from childhood, by the Man of Steel’s costume”; but he is a hero who lives with his own frailties, the author notes, despite having no intention whatsoever ‘of handing over the cape’ – his role as presenter of *Report* – ‘without a fight’. ‘Woe betide’ anyone, however, ‘who touches him’: for those who attend the trapeze artist’s shows, you’re either with him or against him. On one side or the other. Good and bad: it is no coincidence that his new book will be titled Il Bianco e il Nero. It is an either/or situation, the epitome of polarisation from which every shade of grey is excluded, even though it is an intriguing colour, both in life and in judicial investigations such as the one into the ‘love bomb’ planted on the orders of his friend Valter Lavitola on 16 October 2025 beneath Sigfrido’s home. It seems he was putting chestnuts on the fire in the kitchen. Jungian synchronicities.

Every cloud has a silver lining. Ranucci’s tour enriches the offering for fans of the genre, who may well have already booked a seat for Travaglio’s recital: "Cornuti e contenti", with the first performance on 3 November in Genoa. There is, however, no certainty regarding Scanzi’s full tour schedule; he let rip the other day on his YouTube channel: “Tell us when the hell the vote is, because I need to know exactly when to organise my next theatre tour. I’ve just been approached for two dates abroad…”. At least for his sake, those in power had better get a move on.

The fact is that journalistic forays into the theatre world ruffle a few feathers amongst those in the trade, even amongst those accustomed to sold-out shows such as Maurizio Battista: “I don’t understand why they’re called ‘shows’. Here is the definition of the word in the Treccani dictionary: ‘A performance of theatrical, operatic, cinematic or other artistic works; in a broader sense, any artistic performance taking place before an audience of spectators who have gathered specifically for that purpose’. Can you tell me where the artistic element is? Diario di un trapezista is something else entirely; it’s news. Perhaps these are things the presenter has already written or presented on TV, and there isn’t even the thrill of witnessing a debate”. The Roman comedian concludes philosophically: “Everyone is free to make money by occupying the spaces they want, and the theatre is a place open to all, from Aristophanes to Maurizio Battista. However, for me – and for the Treccani encyclopaedia – these gentlemen in the ‘entertainment’ category remain somewhat out of place, even if they consider themselves great showmen’. (Interesting fact: Ranucci’s theatre manager is Fabio Censi, the same man who looked after Battista’s interests; Battista has reported him for an alleged fraud amounting to around two million, on which the courts are yet to rule).

Similar views are held by Roberto Parodi, who has 732,000 followers on Facebook and 486,000 on Instagram, and describes himself as “moderately conservative with occasional forays into anarchy”. On stage, he plays the role of the ‘total entertainer’, but his career has been multifaceted: engineer, former executive at major foreign banks, overland motorcyclist, TV presenter, writer and social commentator. On social media, he enjoys poking fun at Milan’s ‘radical chic’ scene and ideological conformism: “But mine,” explains Parodi, “is a sort of stand-up comedy in which I share anecdotes from daily life and autobiographical stories with the aim of making those who pay to watch me laugh and think. I don’t think Ranucci’s act can be called a show, and I wonder how he can criticise anyone who disagrees with him without saying a word against the friend who planted the bomb on him. I just want to give him two style tips: wear a pair of looser trousers and put on a jacket, because jeans that tight and a white shirt don’t flatter his physique. He reminds me of the typical Italian of a certain age, the average divorcee who tries to play the charmer in a nightclub. Someone should suggest to him not only how to choose his friends, but also the name of a tailor’. Marvel costumes are out of the question.