'Salt of Life' at The Everyman Cinema in Hampstead

Valeria De Franciscis and Gianni Di Gregorio in Salt of Life. Picture Guardian online 

If you love Italy (Rome in particular) you'll love this film. It's a gentle, tragic and funny story of Gianni, a fifty-year-old man who after having been made redundant is being trampled on by all the women around him. His wife sleeps in a separate bedroom but is each morning brought coffee on a tray by Gianni. His mother (absolutely brilliantly acted by Valeria De Franciscis) calls him incessantly, always demanding attention, faking illness and generally being a strain on his resources, both mental and financial, yet has an observant mind and a sharp tongue, 'You retire at fifty now?'

Gianni's daughter is sweet but equally oblivious to her father's mounting unhappiness, while his beautiful young neighbour flirts with him unashamedly in order to receive dog-walking favours.

What Gianni really would like is a good lover, but in spite of seeing amorous goings-on all around him, Gianni just doesn't seem to be able to get some for himself, not even with the help of his old lawyer friend, Alfonso, nor his daughter's layabout boyfriend, Michelangelo. (What a name!)

There's little plot, and I would have wanted to see some development in Gianni's life, rather than a number of consequential amusing and rather sad scenes. Daughter, who's about to embark on her own Italian odyssey soon, thought the main character didn't really go on much of a journey. The Englishman said it was as if we'd just spent a week with an Italian family; it was as if we'd been on a holiday to Rome again. (I wish)

But just like spending time in Italy, the film brought home to me how differently we here in England (or Northern Europe) regard love and marriage. Although I felt sorry for the ageing, unloved Gianni, I couldn't exercise too much sympathy for an Italian man who seemed to think having a lover was his right, not something morally wrong.

But then I know I take these things far too seriously. 'It's only moving pictures,' as my old grandfather used to say when my grandmother was in tears over some TV series or other.

Rome and Italian women

There's something I have to get off my chest about Italy and then I'll shut up about my wonderful holiday. First, though, a few more pictures.


I can't even remember where this street was, let alone what the church (is it a church?) was called, but the street scene was again incredibly beautiful.





This is 'my square' where I enjoyed an early morning Cappuccino while my friends were still asleep, and several quick Espressos amidst hectic shopping and sight-seeing. It was also opposite a Carabinieri station where I could but admire the stylish uniforms the Italian policemen wore as they paraded in front of me.

This is the cafe, on a busy afternoon...

...and here it is on an early morning. (Spot the uniformed dish in the distance?)

The Tiber at night. My camera is too old for night photos, but I was pleased to at least get one out .

And now onto my rant...

Whenever we're abroad, we try not to read English newspapers or watch BBC, Sky or CNN, but instead peruse local TV and radio channels. I knew about Italian television, UK comedians have run sketches on the quiz shows with scantily glad women for years, and of course I'd been to Italy before. But I was still shocked to see on prime time telly, on RAI 1, the Miss Italy contest running on two consecutive nights. We watched until husband said he felt as if he was watching a soft porn programme with girls the age of his daughter being caressed by the TV camera, dressed only in the tiniest of bikinis. How Italian women allow this nonsense to go on, I wondered.

On the third night when we once again tuned in while getting ready to go out, there was a heated discussion on RAI 1 with a panel perched on a crescent shaped white leather sofa, including a girl wearing some clothes (phew) and a 'Miss Italy 2009' sash. As this was Italian TV, she was hardly allowed to speak, but did get a few words in. I pointed at the TV and said to husband, 'At last, they're discussing the ridiculousness of the beauty contest!'

'You're sure it's not an Italian parliamentary candidate election programme?' he replied dryly.

I laughed.

Although I can get by in restaurants, I don't actually speak any Italian. This was apparent as I could not have been more mistaken about the content of the panel discussion. While surfing the net, waiting for me to get ready the next morning, husband found an Italian newspaper translation. Apparently there had been a scandal at the Miss Italy contest: the female presenter had mistakenly crowned the wrong girl as 'Miss Moda', a sub-category (of which there appeared to be several) of the Miss Italy competition. A sash had for a few moments been placed on the wrong girl. And this is what the heated panel discussion had been all about.

I'm not a fully signed up member of the feminist tribe, but felt that surely Italian women must rise up against this? Not only does Berlusconi make complete fools out of women in Italian politics, nominating his European parliament members on the basis of their looks, brief research done on the interweb showed that Italy has one of the lowest numbers of women on company boards in Europe. I greatly admire their style and general natural gorgeousness, but it seems they have little or no political or economic power. What happens when they age, their husbands start spending more time with their mistresses and their children leave home? I know I'm generalising, but I thought this stuff was fought for, decades ago, by our mothers and grandmothers?

I'm not saying all the other European countries are equal, non-racist or non-sexist, and the recent events in the UK with the ousting of older female TV presenters in favour of young and pretty ones, and the disparities in male versus female salaries in the City or elsewhere show that Britain is anything but fine on the subject. But at least BBC One doesn't run Miss UK contest as its headlining programme and Brown seems to be able to keep his trouser snake from interfering in his choice of ministers.

Don't get me wrong, I still think women should be women and men men. And in Italy they certainly both look wonderful. But when the gentlemanly and feminine behaviour is hiding a serious social disparity between the sexes I must but agree with actress Anna Magnani and journalist Maria Laura Rodotà who are leading a backlash on the sexism on Italian television. Apparently Rodotà's open letter to Italian women a couple of days ago has had a huge response. Thank goodness sanity seems to be prevailing. Then perhaps I can just remember my Roman holiday for the good food, great shopping and certain 'half-past ten' (size ten and a half) shoes and not for the sexism on Italian TV.

Falling in love with Rome

I can't quite believe that this is my first trip to see the Eternal City. Just as well, younger and hungrier I would've never left this place. I'm back to the UK on Saturday and already dreading it. More posts to follow, now off to get ready for dinner at the famed Il Pagliaccio at Via dei Banchi Vecchi. I leave you with some pictures of my time here so far.

Our tempoary home here in Rome. Lovely newly decorated flat. Unfortunately it's been done by a man so no hairdrier (new cut in constant bed head state), no pictures, no dressing table, too few mirrors. You get the idea. But very central by Via di Ripetta.



A very Roman street scene. Boxes were removed a few moments later, but I loved the contrast between the rubbish, shiny scooter and ancient door.

We had lunch in this small family run taverna. Bread and wine to die for. Fiaschetteria Marini, near Via Veneto and walking distance from Galleria Borghese with its stunning collection of Renaissance and Baroque art.


OK, had to put this in too...to add to the millions of pictures just like it.

Another narrow Roman street, with light playing on the contours of the crescent.

Do I really have to return to dreary, cold, practical England?