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L' étrouche
Rossella Falk told me: "What a nice little face you have but why are you pointing down your chin I can't see your eyes"
"Well..." I told her "My hat is falling down my head"
She was acting this afternoon, I was there among the public with my colleagues of my acting school. The show was Bergman's "The Silence", she has been a wonderful Charlotte, so touching.
Well curtains went down and we got the idea to come and talk a little with her into her fitting room. And we talked, I talked to Rossella Falk, ladies and Gentleman, the one who has been directed by Visconti and who was one of the closest friends of Callas.

Well...what a strange week has been.

On Monday I was weak and sad and depressed. On Tuesday I had to perform a very difficult poem by Giacomo Leopardi, and I did it all wrong. Then mummy called me and told me my father was risking a nervous breakdown because of some cortisone he took for his pain in the back who gave him a strange collateral effect of depression. And I got angry as hell for I was risking a nervous breakdown too! So Wednesday  has been a real mess, beside Teach has some relaxing exercises in program and a friend of mine found a lot of kind words for me., right in time to settle down my Thursday.

While Friday has been a real mess.
There has been the première of "my" (I was director's little helper) documentary "If you'll remember us we won't be dead in vain", about partisans, World War II, Germans and English soldiers while the front line was crossing Chianti area. Peculiarly, we focused on a German massacre: 7 people died, among them three women, two kids 3 and 1 years old, a boy 16 years old and a man 33 years old. Now, the cause of that massacre isn't certain. Two are the opposite version: 1. a reprisal after a fight against the partisans or 2. the Germans, arrived in the village from 2 hours, knew that into the area people were giving shelter to English soldiers.
My father, who's the one who did the research for that is his job, can prove that both the hypothesis may be the right one or the wrong one.

But the little village has his politic. It is, as every little village into the "little village" we call Italy, torn in two, left and right. We use to think about fascism belonging to the right wing, but I'm sure (being me a free soul and proud to be one, as my father truly is) that you're fascist every time you try to force someone to support your opinion. And that's why the member of the left wing who watched the documentary (simply moving, really) with us, attacked my father  very roughly for not having mentioned the hypothesis the left wing supports (who got the administration now of the village and occasionally financed the documentary). Now not counting that my father was sure to have mentioned both the hypothesis (we'll watch again the whole material), it has been now clear to all of us that that man needed this documentary only to fight the right wing into the village, and he didn't give a damn of the cruel story and of the dead man and women and kids involved. He only cared about his dirt politics and that drove my father nut. But as I told you before, my father's nerves are not so still in this very moment. You can guess all the rest.

Well, today seem to be really another day. I came back to Bologna, they gave "Intermezzo" on telly (what a sort of strange miracle), tonight I dreamed I was shooting a movie starring Leslie Howard (:-)) and now Rossella Falk. Hope that all means "good omen".

[I know I'm late but...happy Thanksgiving day to everyone]

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I wonder what my neighbours think of me...I'm lucky enough to have only young people, they're four into the apartment close to mine and for all I know they're all kids under my age attempting university.
But our wall is real thin. I bet they can hear all my phonetic exercises of Syl-La-Ba-Tion as I can hear them commenting football matches. it's not my fault, I must do it loud, teach says I must figure out an imaginary can in front of me, and I should try to be able to put it down with my voice...
well...I'm building myself quite a reputation in the neighbourhood...
(not counting the fact that when I get bored I start to sing...)
Anyway, this is my present for you:


ich bin von kopf bis fuss...
(Time for me to start learning German...)

Next week I'll cut my hair as Bette Davis, I will!


After 3 hours:
well, I must admit there's some kid up there into the apartment over my head who's worse than me- her father must be a pianist. I remember he gave her a little keyboard as Xmas present (with which she used to WAKE ME UP really EARLY in the morning last January). Now he's trying to build her up a little singer.

What an artistic building, uh?

Current Mood: tired tired

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 ...that means troubles, I know .

...Never wanted to
what am I to do- can't help it...

Marlene, wish you were here!
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The first time I've watched it , there were too many people into my living room.
I was at home, sort of strange miracle for I'm never at home. My mother was talking to my father and I could not catch a few lines. Adding the fact that I don't think no one has ever subtitled it in Italian, for in '41 movies like those one were strictly forbidden by Mussolini, than again at the end of the war Hollywood invaded everything and there wasn't space for Brit movies, especially for those who remembered the first years of war.

That's why I felt I haven't see it properly. Even if some images, some words kept flashing backwards in my mind, so that yesterday I deeply needed to watch it again. Alone, into my own apartment. It was 1.00 am. I felt like a pregnant woman, needing to eat an ice cream in the middle of the night.

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    If you'll ever read this, I mean you, my beloved anglophone and francophone friends, please remember: you are lucky enough not to know anything about Maurizio Costanzo. The mustachious man, who happens to be a sort of boss into one of the main private channels we have in Italy, once was a little brilliant, then he married some kinda wo-Man, then again he became the artistic diretor (or something like that) of Channel Five and turned it into some all-reality-low-quality show.

    This evening for instance you could have seen in his own show what my utterly sharp tongue would not hesitate to define a runway of mediocrity. The main theme was soap operas made in Italy. I saw actors (if my acting teacher'd have caught me defining them as "actors", he'd have fired me immediately, I assure you) like Ettore Bassi (http://www.cinecitta.it/news/documenti/immagini/2006/08/pernondimenticarti_1.jpg), a mono-expressive actor which use this only-one-expression in every sort of situation, doesn't matter if he must play Saint Francis or if he has to run a program for kids. Or Paolo Calissano (http://www.emamanagement.it/CALISSANO%20PAOLO%203.jpg), a failed man, failed as can be a man not remembered for his great talent but for he has watch death in the eyes once because of drugs (I don't mean to be sarcastic about him, he just makes me sad. I hope he'll grow as an actor someday really).
    Brief, a tracking shot of soap actors. (I even had a laugh when big Maurizio has mistaken the definition of soap/telenovelas. Oh yes I did an exam on that subject and he was *totally wrong*).

    20 minutes to the end, the Puppini Sisters arrive. And the paths has soon changed!
    Now, if you were there, with me in front of the tv, you can now easily guess what I mean for "class". They just sang Crazy in Love and Spooky, but the way they move, the way they act, the way they stare, the way they show themselves was thousand levels higher than everyone who was in the room tonight. Just to give you a rough idea, while the Puppini were working having fun (especially Kate, I saw her full of energy tonight) it's clear to the odience that all the others don't know the meaning of being humble, they give you the idea that they're sure to be some kinda great stars if you know what I mean (one of them compared a couple of them to "Gerard Depardieu" and "Robert de Niro" in Novecento by Bertolucci), maybe only Sara Ricci  gives the idea of being little less concentrated on herself. Anyway her acting is bad, and there's nothing to do about it.
...when you just need to see the Puppinis taking a bow to be ipnothized by them. I guess, the girls got potential. I bet Kate and Marcella and Stephanie, even though they are musicians and not actresses, could be able to act much better then a good lot of those who were on stage tonight, mostly gifted by a mono-expressive face and voice. I watch 'em singing. And I know you can tell a good actor from the gesture, the staring, the voice and the energy . Very well they got it all, for they worked hard to be where they are now. They were the only *real* artists on that stage.

That's what I call the Puppini Touch.

(In conclusion, please watch this: http://it.youtube.com/watch?v=CsCgEWKDz88- Thanks alice!!!)
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I really don't understand why I feel so angry in those days. I'm a quiet girl, usually. And I love the rain, it has always made me feel relaxed. And I still love it. So... what the devil is going on?
Or maybe that's Marta's story that make me feel so bad. I'm scared of meningitis. That's one of the four great illnesses which really scares me. That's for I've always had weak health. I never cared much about that really. But I must admit I got sick several times in a season, so that lots of my teachers thought it couldn't be possible I was ill so many times. Now for instance I got cold and tendinitis. But if I had to care about that, I'd have left all my ambitions and I'd have become a full time housewife! However, Marta's condition is getting a little better, she's no more in danger of death. On Thursday morning, her mother was thinking on how to dress her at the funeral. You can't figure out how painful is to watch a couple of parents talking like that. And her father, who's a great doctor, well he was explaining with complicate terms what the doctors were doing to his daughter. None understood, I guess that's his own way to try to feel a little better. Anyway, Thursday has passed.
About my anger, I really don't know, maybe I'm too pressed. But I can't help it, I *must* graduate in July, I still got lots of things to do. Adding the cold and the tendinitis and a quite unreadable book to study (REMEDIATION, I could make here a loooong cruel digression about Italian translators...)...I still don't know if I'll be present this afternoon to my acting course, if I catch the rain one more time I'll be finally in bed. But I ain't got an umbrella...
To tell you how I'm nervous, Wednesday night while we were all sleeping and depressed for what has happened to Marta, the old man who's living into the apartment which is under our feet called on the phone. Oh, he's got a fervid imagination. Once he imagined we had a clandestine laundry (which was in fact, the sound caused by my rommate's printer). This time he went: "I say, miss, what the hell are you doing up there, i want to sleep, you are messing about into the room which is over mine I KNOW...". Into that room there was my rommate sleeping, she was sleeping since 22.00 pm and it was 23.50 that moment.
I didn't lose my nerve, I told you I'm a quiet girl. I just told him: "Look here, mister, if your imagination is so fervid, please be kind and keep your fancies to yourself, it has been a hard day, we're tired, we are sleeping and we don't want to be disturbed in the middle of the night by nonsense calling like that. So please come back to bed and try to sleep" and I hang down the phone. I've never answered him like this. I know it was just the proper answer he needed but...am I growing up such a sharp tongue?

Anyway, we had the Puppini Sisters on pay-tv this morning. But I can't watch the show for I ain't got any tv.
And this doesn't relax my nerves at all!

Current Mood: angry angry

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Boo! How did you celebrate Halloween?
Sick, angry, fevered and in bed (damned cold plus tendinitis!) :-(

Well, after all tomorrow is another day, isn't it?

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This poor dog is part of a "work of art" made by Mr Guillermo Habacuc. The work of art consist of: A DOG DESTINED TO DIE OF HUNGER IN FRONT OF A CROWD OF CURIOS PEOPLE EXPERT OF PSEUDO-ART. (the walls around are covered up with writing made by cutting the boxes of dog food).

Please note, ladies and gentlemen, that this *brilliant* idea has been the cause of the fact that Habacuc has been called to attend the Biennial of Central America in 2008, representing his own country.

(if something *like that* would represent my country, I IMMEDIATELY would have changed nationality)

Anyway there's a petition against this *work* which is utterly inhuman and cruel and it has NOTHING to do with art.

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Meningitis. I saw a girl, she was one year younger than me, she died when she was 16 and I was 17. She called herself Martina, just like me. I didn't know her much, but I'll nver forget her sudden death.

And now seem to me quite the same situation:

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L'étrouche, the ostrich. Why?

Simply because I've always wondered about putting an ostrich replacing the MGM lion.

Can you figure it out...?

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