QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM TALLINN

Nineteen-year-old Attilio (Marco Adamo) has some very weighty dilemmas. He’s tasked by Vittorio (Pasquale Esposito), the local crime boss, with looking after Anastasia (Anastasiia Kaletchuk), a young prostitute. Then, when Attilia’s father is released from prison, Vittorio tells him that his father’s troubles are now his own. So, the young man begins thinking about his escape plan, and as he and Anastasia have fallen in love, he naturally wants to take her with him. She, however, believes this is where she belongs.

Ciao Bambino opens with Attilio’s philosophical voiceover that reads like pop-philosophy. Obvious ideas about division and freedom. Meanwhile, the black and white cinematography, coupled with what looks like choreographed balletic movements of the bodies diving off rocks, cutting through the water, seduces. Then, the otherworldly quality captivates, as if we have been transported to a nostalgic imagining of William Golding’s The Lord of the Flies, before all hell breaks loose. Striking, however, is the decidedly unnatural distortion to their mannerisms. It possesses the air of an aftershave advertisement. This betrays Pistone’s intentions that Ciao Bambino would not only be a philosophical exercise in narrative storytelling, but a piece of self-conscious art.

It’s clear from the start, Pistone wants us to fall in love with Ciao Bambino. It may be an echo of the yearning for fulfilment or escape we sense in Attilia’s soul. These opening scenes are important, because they also recall the aesthetic of black and white European cinema. The movements of the characters, the framing and composition once held a precision that was lost in the translation to colour. Ciao Bambino is a welcome return to the aesthetics of the past, whose visual language is likely to impress and captivate us more than Attilio’s philosophical chatter.

Part of Ciao Bambino’s vibe is Pistone and Ferone reaching out and connecting with their country’s cinematic heritage. It never sacrifices its own sense of self to pay homage, but one can sense the spirit of Italian cinema enveloping it. Attilio and Anastasia both recall those wandering, broken, damaged and troubled characters in Michelangelo Antonioni’s cinema, especially in the deserted place Attilio and Anastasia park up in and wait for business. This recalls Antonioni’s treatment of space in L’Avventura (1960), Red Desert (1964), where the characters and the spatial become extensions of one another.

Neither Attilio nor Anastasia are to be envied. Beneath the Neapolitan sun, they are prisoners trapped in Pistone and cinematographer Rosario Cammarota’s beautiful visual composition. Meanwhile, Pistone and his co-writer, Ivan Ferone, settle into the fateful realisation that Attilio and Anastasia are living and loving on borrowed time.

Ciao Bambino’s aesthetic might seduce, but it’s the type of film that still risks alienating its audience, at least on first viewing. It often feels superficial and, given Pistone’s artistic intentions, is vulnerable to accusations of being weighed down by its director’s indulgence. Then, there’s Attilio and Anastasia, who do not pander to our want for immediately warm and easily accessible and engaging characters. They might be sympathetic, but they are characters that pose a challenge. They keep a part of themselves to themselves, leaving us to hope they peel away their layers and share with us their vulnerability.

It may come across to some audiences as cold and distant, even offish, but there’s a larger point. Attilio and Anastasia are trying to escape the older generations that have trapped them. Both will say, “Increasingly, adults are making a mistake. They consider children to be free. Their idea is melancholic, romantic, for two reasons. First, they are the greatest enemies of freedom. Second, I have no idea.” It’s necessary to remember they’re both searching for answers that offers a reason and not an excuse.

Ciao Bambino inevitably flirts with tragedy, and metaphorically and philosophically, it speaks bluntly about the illusion of free will. A little attitude is what a film like this needs to allow the characters to genuinely reveal themselves. Pistone and Ferone infuse it with a subtle f*** you attitude. Blink and you might miss it, but it’s there beneath the surface. Attilio and Anastasia are two characters that don’t have time to worry about being liked, and nor should the film. A strength of Pistone’s feature debut is that it’s not weighted down by insecurities, instead it’s full of confidence amidst the uncertainty of Attilio and Anastasia’s coming of age.

With an almost gluttonous appetite to combine drama, philosophy and art, Pistone confidently brings the film through the treacherous, superficial and indulgent waters to find the perfect note to end on. He uses the philosophy to underpin his seductive tragedy that manages to simultaneously find existential despair and hope—central to its philosophy. Ciao Bambino is far from being a great movie, but its charm is undeniable, and like any great tragedy, it finds a way to pull on its audience’s heart strings.

Ciao Bambino just premiered in the First Feature Competition of the 28th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.