What has changed thirty years on from "Lamerica". Gianni Amelio speaks

Venice. If Valeria Golino – who stars alongside Alessandro Borghi in Gianni Amelio’s Nessun Dolore – tells us ironically that she doesn’t know who Roberto Vannacci is (“it’s not an act, I genuinely don’t know who he is; I don’t pay attention to that sort of talk; ‘crude language’ is the sort of content that can’t last forever”) – the director of the film, presented out of competition here at the 83rd Venice International Film Festival, certainly doesn’t mince his words when it comes to the general state of Italian politics. “With my films, I don’t send messages, but feelings to be embraced or rejected. It may well be that a politician, whatever their political affiliation, sees the film and either agrees with me or doesn’t. The important thing is that these issues are discussed.” Nessun Dolore, due for release on 24 September via 01 Distribution, produced by Kavac Film, Our and Bewater Films in association with Rai Cinema, is a complex work that tackles the darkness of grief and the social drama of reception; a story about immigration that comes thirty years after Lamerica, one of Gianni Amelio’s cult films, and Così Ridevano, which won the Golden Lion right here on the Lido.

In the film – which also features Valerio Mastandrea, Beïdja Yahiaoui, Ramzi Lafrindi and a special tribute to Carlo Cecchi, who recently passed away and was a close friend of Amelio’s – the narrative of individual grief intertwines with that of the collective experience of migrants, providing the Calabrian director with an opportunity to address the issue of remigration as well. “I can say that it’s a bad word; moreover, it’s a grammatically incorrect neologism, as it doesn’t appear in any book, but it will happen because, unfortunately, there are people in the world who will make it happen. It’s a term I would never have imagined when I made Lamerica thirty years ago. The difference between then and now is that in all emigration there is an element of happiness, because there is still the prospect of arriving in a better place than the one you left. You might be fleeing a war, a famine or starvation, and you know that you won’t find the same things in your new home. Nowadays, however, you know that either you’ll find yourself with a gun pointed at you or you’ll die before you get there – because you’ll perish in the Mediterranean, which has become a grave – and you end up realising that what you left behind might actually be better than what you find.” “Today’s world goes beyond the simple yet extremely complex issue of migration, because it is a world that is becoming – or has already become – definitively barbaric,” adds the director, who years ago adopted a young boy and became friends with his original family. “What is happening in our seas cannot be just our problem or that of other countries such as Spain; it must be regarded as a European problem. I doubt, however, that Europe actually exists. I do not see it, because on important issues such as these, it continues to be divided without finding solutions.”

Among the film’s other key elements are the books: sold by Dario (Borghi), given as gifts by Elsa (Golino), left behind by the burglars when they ransacked his home – preferring them to plates, glasses and cutlery – but, above all, they are read. Italy, according to figures from the AIE (Italian Publishers’ Association), is among the countries that read the least in Europe, we point out to Amelio. “Those figures are disconcerting; here, books are often used for other purposes. Some bookstalls in Prati, Rome, told me they’d closed down because they were dealing drugs by hiding them between the pages. I chose to live in that neighbourhood because I could find everything I needed right on my doorstep. There used to be two newsagents open all night selling newspapers and books; now, however, they only sell fans and souvenirs. I can understand the fans, given how hot it is, but not the rest – it’s just disheartening. The film features Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath (Borghi reads it in prison and gives it to an inmate who asks for it, ed.), Hesse’s *Narcissus and Goldmund*, and I would have liked to include *The Kiss of the Spider Woman* as well, which, according to the author (Manuel Puig), I was supposed to direct, but then the deal fell through and it was assigned to someone else (Héctor Babenco) for purely financial reasons. ‘I’ll say something rather trite,’ he concludes, ‘but the real problem is that in Italy people write more than they read.’ It is difficult to disagree with him.