The host says: “The next short to be screened will be Caramella by Valerio” and he looks down at the sheet, a theatrical pause… “Narcisi.” The lights go out. Darkness in the room. The sound of the projector covers the chatter that had risen during the break between shorts. Homar’s voice starts speaking, my heart begins beating faster and faster.
It’s always like this, every time.
And it beats and beats and beats and beats until Massimino says “I’ve always danced and I’ll always dance, even inside the factory.” The factory lights go out and we too are left in darkness in the room. Joselito’s hand begins playing his French waltz. My heart slows down, now everything is ok.
Every time, that’s how it goes.
Caramella at its first festival outside the Marche, speaking Marchigiano dialect among experimental and animated shorts. And me wondering: “How can it be here? How is this even possible?”
That’s how our adventure begins.
I still remember Caterina Carone telling me to send it out, to get it circulating. And me answering “Really?” and her with fire in her eyes insisting.
The positively stunned face of Lorenzo Raponi when we edited the finale.
The email from Premiere saying they were interested in distributing the short after the tip from Tiziano Morelli.
This is a short that makes improbable things happen: finding a perfect location on the first try with an email. Having Joselito enthusiastically agree to join this project, driving an hour and a half just to be on set. Making me drive three hours to go to Bracciano and receive an award among shorts of great caliber.
Caramella certainly stood out for its simplicity, for being an odd child between comedy and drama where everyone loses. We definitely left something with everyone who was at the screening. And I think that’s beautiful and right, especially at a historical moment when the world is going up in flames.
Until the next “what the hell are you saying! what the hell are you doing!”
Valerio
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