At Corti al Castello in Moresco, we got caught in the rain. The screening was moved to a small theater, almost on the fly, and for a moment I feared it could ruin everything. But no. There were some audio issues, but in the end, being all squeezed together in that small room was actually pleasant.

Sitting among so many people, watching Caramella on the screen was, once again, emotional. My wife was squeezing my sweaty hand when the short started. The sudden silence. Sergio’s voice: “Jose can you come down for a second.” The total darkness falling over the room, capturing the audience’s attention. Then the laughter, the surprised expressions, and finally that immediate applause that grabbed my attention.

There was also room for some hilarious moments off-screen: the messages from Francesco Trasatti, struck by the presence of the mayor of Fermo in the audience, shocked to see him in such a rude and brazen role. A part so far from who he really is. We had a good laugh about it. Calcinaro’s stunned face was unforgettable.

And that’s what I carry with me: the laughter it draws out, the sudden void that Caramella manages to create, the final dance, and the feeling that this little film, born almost by accident, still has its own strength and a clear voice.

And then that pat on the back from Gianluca Grazini, actor and co-author of Gli Elefanti, after the screening, with his compliments for Caramella. That sentence of his — “Caramella speaks about something truly deep and complex, congratulations” — I’ll carry it inside me forever.

Sometimes you just need to freely say what you think. I’m happy.