A laugh will bury us
Alessandro Robecchi
Il Manifesto
The band that played on the Titanic, even with the water to the knees had at least his style. Inns of filthy rhymes sung by inebriated, while awful, contain something genuinely popular.
Just as the petty-petty Italy at the bell and gave birth between localism vulgar reproach so at least his literary characters, the Don Camilli, the Pepper, the cumenda, the "Theron," petty stuff but real gold in compared to the disgusting skit aired yesterday in the shadow of Deputies. "The pact of pajata, "write the news, and we wallow in what is called" soft information "that swell the news. Oxtail versus polenta, rigatoni and lambrusco, unwilling to seal the truce between the League and the fart GENERON Roman, including the boss of the middle finger el'Alemanno mayor of a small-small-big big city, with a vernacular Polverini governatice (we see, Annam ...) beside which Sora Lella seems to Rita Hayworth.
power disguised as common people, and he more crude and vulgar, and at the same time disgusting pretense of a meeting that duty, the two powers who hate and are forced to go hand in hand in order not to collapse the castle, do not end up in the head process, bring home the conflicting interests which are held up like precarious buildings, each resting on weak inadequacy of the other.
Calderoli with his mouth full, Polverini that take Bossi, La Russa and Gasparri Gasparri aggressive as usual, cross-dialect and gastro-territorial claims, in a huge drawing by Grosz that describes all the revulsion and disgust of a worn-out and full power, incapable of any challenge that is not vulgar and insulting. Weimar, by comparison, seems to Mickey Mouse. Too easy
the ironies about this cross between slum and Bagaglino, this intertwining of cultural poverty that reigns in the country, and crushes him. Movies of the fourth order vulgarity and absolute, as the jokes of the supreme leader and his wealth. The trap is well known: the color, the satirical note, the sneer that the laughter and tears punish or try to do so. But it is not - this time - to fall into a trap. Too easy and too little, and even impossible - it must be said - put in jest that power any more than himself. Around, behind, beside, a tired and impoverished country, was blocked by cracks, without modernity, even the most ferocious of the market, reduced to a plaything of dictators and ethnic business. Only infinite smallness and small theaters, which are not even funny, so much so that even the militants of the Democratic Party, with their folk songs mocking the pathetic scene of rigatoni and polenta, participate in the game, are part of the bleak picture, so to speak, as much as they drop their arms.
Without conflict, without hope, without opposing fronts that could shake the power to do itself well to: create his opposition from within, make his own satire, ridicule alone. With a mouth full of sauce and the bite in the crop, the burp easily, the joke instead of reasoning, falsehood instead of truth, the joke instead of the story and the whore instead of love. The pajata, polenta, er wine, laughter and ramshackle blood volume that covers the well sharpened knife and interests - Banks, appointments, seats - filthy, too. Ceremony exemplary of what a country should not, would never be. But it probably is. That's it. A previous, and who can, do not hesitate to safety.
link:
http://www.alessandrorobecchi.it/index.php/201010/editoriale-una-risata-ci-seppellira
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