Tonno spiaggiato
If a girl you love has left you and you can't win her back in any way, but she, after a long time, hugs you again at her grandmother's funeral and then apologizes and dumps you again, what can you do to get another hug? Easy. You kill another relative of hers and show up at the funeral. "Tonno spiaggiato" (Beached Tuna) was born from a booming laugh at this idiotic idea while Frank Matano and I were flying over Greenland. "The film is practically made," we told ourselves, as soon as we returned to Italy, we'll write it in three days. Instead, three years passed. But now, finally, the film is here. And it contains all our passion for animated sitcoms, for black humor, for superstitious mysticism, for surreal situations and for shamelessly grotesque ones; there's a bit of autobiography (for example, Aunt Nanna, but in a less moderate version, was my aunt and lived in an apartment above mine) and there's also all our allergy to neck rashes for political correctness, for oppressive didacticism, for ostentations of goodness and "poetic" thoughtfulness. "Tonno spiaggiato" could be defined as a "black comedy" but in reality, it is a comedy that awkwardly aspires to be a tragedy. It wasn't easy to tune in with satisfaction (Frank in front and me behind the camera) to the wavering movements of our thoughts. And to reconcile them, trying not to lose the thread of the discourse. Inside there's a bit of Batman, a drop of Buster Keaton, a spoonful of Rick & Morty, a slice of Hellzapoppin' and a dusting of The Simpsons... Throughout the film, the editing style changes, the atmospheres change, but the colors change little. In fact, Davide Manca's precious cinematography (skillfully supported by Gaspare De Pascali's set design and Sabrina Beretta's costumes) used a palette of only 10/12 shades, facilitating my direction in blending such different narrative registers. Now, with the game done, I can say that "Tonno spiaggiato" faithfully followed the mental paths concocted by Frank and me. If we manage to share them with many, we will be pleased. And we will be reassured. It would indeed be a moral slap for that alarmist who, unjustifiably, provided us with the coordinates of a well-known psychiatrist.