All roads lead to Piazza Vittorio: Transnational

SDF 5 (2+3) pp. 197–209 Intellect Limited 2011
Studies in Documentary Film
Volume 5 Numbers 2 and 3
© 2011 Intellect Ltd Article. English language. doi: 10.1386/sdf.5.2-3.197_1
ABIGAIL KEATING
University College Cork
All roads lead to Piazza
Vittorio: Transnational
spaces in Agostino
Ferrente’s documusical
ABSTRACT
KEYWORDS
This article begins by tracing a period in recent Italian history (2001–06) characterized by deep geopolitical paradox: an era that was shaped, on the one hand, by
strict governmental reform of Italian immigration policy and, on the other, by the
country’s significant influx of ‘non-national’ settlement. On the backdrop of such a
tumultuous environment, wherein the construct of ‘nation’ is evidently manifold,
I consider Agostino Ferrente’s L’orchestra di Piazza Vittorio (2006) – a documusical that recounts the establishment and progress of an international orchestra in
Rome’s most ethnically diverse neighbourhood – in terms of both existing sociopolitical and constructed filmic spaces. Utilizing Hess and Zimmermann’s notion of the
‘transnational documentary’ as a firm starting point, I examine Ferrente’s representative negotiation as that between the documentation of a Leftist initiative and the
film-maker’s ‘othering’ of the project’s immigrant musicians, through the tenacity
of the concept of nationality and the ‘eternal’ city of Rome. Specifically, I argue that
this enables us to excogitate the ‘transnational documentary’ not through postnational ideology, but rather within a nation in which national identity is still inherently – albeit fluidly – a part.
transnational
documentary
documusical
Italy, 2001–06
immigration
national identity
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1. See the film’s trailer:
http://www.youtube.
com/watch?v=nDZ3ZNR6Vk
2. See http://www.
youtube.com/
watch?hl=en&v=
41oUa2j3WeY&gl=US
Transnationalization will define the twenty-first century.
(Hess and Zimmermann 1997)
L’ORCHESTRA DI PIAZZA VITTORIO IN CONTEXT: ITALY, 2001–06
L’orchestra di Piazza Vittorio (2006), helmed by Italian film-maker, producer and
artistic director Agostino Ferrente, recounts the establishment and progress of
an international orchestra over the course of five years, from 2001 to 2006.
Prior to this venture, Ferrente had been part of Ipotesi Cinema, a film-making
workshop directed and coordinated by Ermanno Olmi, and had garnered
attention both nationally and internationally with (among others) his short film
Opinioni di un pirla/A Dickhead’s Opinions (1994) and documentary Intervista
a mia madre/Interview with My Mother (1999, co-directed with Giovanni
Piperno) – both of which picked up awards at the Torino International Festival
of Young Cinema. Set in Rome’s most ethnically diverse neighbourhood – the
Esquilino – L’orchestra di Piazza Vittorio traces the involvement of Ferrente and
musician Mario Tronco (of the Italian pop-jazz group, La Piccola Orchestra
Avion Travel) in the Associazione Apollo 11, a collective of film-makers,
musicians and intellectuals whose aim is to encourage the city of Rome to
purchase the local Apollo theatre, which is under threat of becoming a
privatized bingo hall. In the collective’s intention the theatre would become a
celebratory outlet for the showcasing of music and film as culturally varied as
the surrounding Piazza Vittorio. Within the particularly tense political climate
concerning Italy’s shifting policies on immigration, Tronco and Ferrente (along
with the help of fellow Apollo 11 members) set out to launch an orchestra
comprising musicians from the Esquilino area to exhibit the sense of community
among Piazza Vittorio’s immigrant population. While initially proving more
difficult than expected, progress is made through an announcement at an
anti-government demonstration and through word-of-mouth on the streets of
Rome and beyond. After the theatre is bought by the city, and having secured
a concert at the ‘Romaeuropa Festival’ of 2002, the group is left with a looming
deadline by which it needs to have achieved its goal.
L’orchestra di Piazza Vittorio as ‘documentary’ is not unproblematic, as it
places a number of scenes of mimed musical performances within a film of
chiefly original content; it has therefore been marketed as a ‘documusical’
and claims to be the first of its kind in Italy.1 Unusually, given its low-budget
production and the subject on which it focuses, the film (and project itself)
has enjoyed much success, with screenings at such international events as
the Locarno Film Festival and the Tribeca Film Festival, as well as receiving
such awards as Best Director at the Sulmona Cinema Festival in 2006, and the
Nastro D’Argento (Italian Cinema Journalists Union) for best documentary and
Globo D’Oro Award (Foreign Press) in 2007. Recognition was also achieved
through concerts and CD/DVD sales, as well as through Nanni Moretti’s wellknown endorsement of the film: most significantly with his launching of a
‘cineconcerto’ (film-concert) at his Cinema Nuovo Sacher in Rome.2
The film opens with a scene in which an Indian man is being taught the
appropriate Italian terminology and etiquette for asking a girl out on a date: it
takes place in Rome in 2006. We later learn that this man is Mohammed Bilal,
a key member of the orchestra to whom a substantial amount of filmic time
is devoted – usually in an effort to underline the ‘humorous’ way in which he
has adapted to his new city. The present-day scene is short lived, and the first
of the film’s mimed musical performances follows, before Ferrente’s camera
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All roads lead to Piazza Vittorio
and voice transport us back to Autumn 2001, initiating with the words: ‘They
say all roads lead to Rome’. 2001 was the year that saw the centre-right, Silvio
Berlusconi-led coalition back into government. Therefore, it is essential to
emphasize the political environment in which L’orchestra di Piazza Vittorio (as
both film and orchestra) begins and evolves.
Berlusconi’s Casa delle Libertà alliance attained victory through a highly
personalized and skilful campaign during which Berlusconi made a public
vow to the Italian nation through a so-called contratto con gli Italiani (contract
with the Italian people).3 Following election, tackling issues of immigration
was rather urgent on the agenda: as Geddes explains, ‘[i]n contrast to the
Berlusconi I government in 1994, immigration was immediately identified as a
priority for the new government’ (2008: 359). This era is most notably marked
by the governmental reform of Italian immigration law, most significantly in
the shape of the Bossi–Fini Act of 2002, a law comprising strict and controversial policy.4 Indeed, the years in question indicate a particularly turbulent
moment in the history of Italian attitudes towards immigration and sociocultural integration. However, the establishment of the Bossi–Fini Act was typified by deeply fragmented domestic processes – by ongoing governmental,
oppositional and public debate (such as the involvement of church and business groups) – in Italy.5 European geopolitics too played a significant role in
‘diluting’ the act,6 as Italian border controls were inevitably affected by Italy’s
entry into the Schengen area,7 and the country’s subsequent adherence to the
rules of the agreement, implemented since 1997. At the same time, however,
the period in which L’orchestra di Piazza Vittorio takes place was characterized by additional geopolitical paradox: while anti-immigration rhetoric was
inarguably present, Geddes’s informative review of this era highlights that
the centre-right government, between 2001 and 2006, ‘preside[d] over record
levels of immigration and the most generous regularization in Italian – if not
European – history’ (2008: 349).8
TRANSNATIONAL SPACES
Ferrente’s documusical thus unfolds against the backdrop of these momentous
paradoxes: a moment in Italy’s recent history characterized by both evolution
and regression, change and immobility, where the sociopolitical (and geopolitical) construct of ‘nation’ is evidently manifold. It is the aim of this article,
however, to exemplify the existence of Italy’s sociocultural fluidity and the simultaneous persistence of the nation (most specifically, through my analyses of the
film’s emphasis on nationality and of the ‘eternal’ city of Rome) within the director’s own filmic spaces. I argue that Ferrente’s cinematic ‘negotiation’ occurs
between the documenting of a politically and ideologically progressive initiative – the ‘multicultural’ orchestra – and what I contend to ultimately amount to
a representative ‘othering’ of the non-Italian musicians of which it is comprised.
In turn, and rather than denouncing L’orchestra di Piazza Vittorio as idealistically and ineffectively postnational, I maintain that Ferrente’s film can provide
a better understanding of the concept of transnational cinema, and particularly
the transnational documentary, within a contemporary Italian context.9
A particularly pertinent contribution to the debate on transnational
cinema attends to the relationship between the concept itself and global
commerce, and aims to ‘reclaim the term transnational in order to radicalize
it’ (Hess and Zimmermann 1997: no page). In their article ‘Transnational
Documentaries: A Manifesto’, Hess and Zimmermann urge the usefulness
3. Berlusconi’s Casa
delle Libertà alliance
comprised his own
Forza Italia, the northbased and populist
Lega Nord, the Unione
dei Democratici
Cristiani (UDC) and the
‘post-fascist’ party,
Alleanza Nazionale.
4. For a thorough account
of both the Turco–
Napolitano Act of 1998
and the Bossi–Fini Act
of 2002, see Zincone
(2006).
5. It is worthy to draw
attention to the uneven
political opinion on
immigration within
this Berlusconi-led
coalition. While
Gianfranco Fini’s
Alleanza Nazionale
could be seen as the
more ‘opportunistic’
party in terms of its
electorate-influenced
policies, the Umberto
Bossi-led Lega Nord’s
stance is widely
regarded as antiimmigration. Having
conveyed controversial
and highly racist
reactions to issues
of immigration,
the Lega was then
governmentally
coalesced with a
Christian Democratic
party (UDC) who,
similar to its European
affiliates, possessed
the belief of turning
‘strangers into friends’
(Bale 2008: 324).
6. This was responded
to unfavourably: as
Geddes points out,
there was ‘a distinct
Eurosceptic tinge to
the FI [Forza Italia]
and Lega’s “axis of the
north” ’, with Bossi,
leader of the Lega Nord,
comparing the EU to
a ‘Stalinist superstate’
(2008: 358).
7. The Schengen area
comprises 25 European
nations and primarily
operates like a single
state in terms of border
control.
8. For more specific
details, including exact
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figures, see Geddes
(2008).
9. While it is beyond the
scope of this article to
excogitate Ferrente’s
film within the broader
realm of (transnational)
European film-making,
it is useful to keep
in mind how the
cultural implications
of a moment in Italy’s
recent past – branded
by tumultuous
negotiations
between Leftist and
conservative dogmas,
‘Italianness’ and
‘Europeanness’, Self
and (non-European)
Other – can also
facilitate a broader
understanding of the
European geopolitical
‘centre’ in the face
of its ever-traversed
borders and of the
ensuing effects on its
filmic spaces.
10. The ‘solidarist’, as
Zincone describes,
‘aims to give
immigrants access
to the country
and rights, and is
particularly concerned
with protecting the
weakest categories
(undocumented
immigrants,
unaccompanied
minors, and women
who are victims of
human trafficking)’
(2006: 351).
of transnationalism in understanding the political and social dimensions
of a growing body of documentary films. In this regard, they outline the
following:
We use the term transnational as both a description of documentary
practice, and as a more utopian projection of the tact that political
documentary might take within the new world orders. These transnational documentaries displace the economic and psychic nation and the
national imaginary, rejecting a notion of the nation as an essentialist
given. These films supersede the opposition between the first and third
world, between the center and the periphery.
(1997: no page)
Their urging of a more radical understanding of transnationalism through
the documentary form – or, in this case, through one of its subgenres, the
documusical – is a particularly apt starting point from which to conceptualize Ferrente’s text. Indeed, L’orchestra di Piazza Vittorio initially pertains to
Hess and Zimmermann’s utopian counteraction of divides on the basis of
the political climate during which it takes place and of its raison d’être (the
establishment of an international orchestra): as they argue,‘[s]uch transnational documentaries […] explore how cultures, nations and identities are
constructed, how they evidence all sorts of contradictions, hybridities and
combustions and how new social spaces are always in volatile, contentious
development’ (1997: no page).
Stylistically speaking, the film’s documentary agenda comprises a number
of traditional devices. For one, we are accompanied through the passage of
time by the direct address, ‘voice of God’ strategy. While the use of voiceover can often, to use Bruzzi’s words, signify ‘didactic single, white, male
tones’ (2000: 41), such severity is consistently neutralized by Ferrente’s gentle,
informative narration that arguably personifies the tone of Leftist solidarity
with which Apollo 11 has associated itself. Such an approach also lends to
the narrative a diaristic advancement, highlighted by both Ferrente’s chronological commentary on a project he is actively part of – in that he is visually
present on several occasions – and the use of intertitles that call our attention
to the film’s temporal progression. His camera is light and decidedly hand held
during many scenes of original footage, and the unpolished system of editing – for example, temporal ellipses, as well as the temporal placement of the
mimed musical performances – creates a rather casual filmic flow. Narratively,
we are presented with interview-like moments that are captured as Ferrente
and Tronco search for immigrant musicians on the streets of the Esquilino
and in the homes of potential orchestra members, arguably in an attempt
to humanize Rome’s immigrant community and to give a face and voice to
those who are thought of as mere statistics in a Berlusconi-led government.
Furthermore, Ferrente emphasizes Apollo 11’s Leftist stance through footage
of an anti-Bossi–Fini protest (at which a powerful speech is given underlining
the strength and worth of a multicultural and multi-ethnic society), brief footage of an anti-immigrant demonstration and shots of both racist and solidarist
graffiti on the city’s streets.10
Over a decade after Hess and Zimmermann’s manifesto, L’orchestra di
Piazza Vittorio invites a reconsideration of the notion of ‘transnational documentary’ within an Italian milieu. However, I argue that it is the film’s perceived
utopianism – made so by both the sociopolitical and cinematic tenacity of the
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nation and its tensions – that allows us to excogitate it under such a rubric. By
this, I refer to a number of instances of L’orchestra di Piazza Vittorio wherein
a supersedence of Self/Other division goes unaccomplished, and wherein the
nation is represented as an ‘essentialist given’ (Hess and Zimmermann 1997:
no page) – albeit, as I shall argue, not unproblematically. Ezra and Rowden’s
suggestion that ‘transnational cinema is most “at home” in the in-between
spaces of culture […] between the local and the global’ (2006: 4) points to the
existence of fixed spaces, yet also of traversed boundaries: a suggestion that
allows us to maintain the significance of the nation (or, even, of the local)
in cinema while viewing it from a more contemporary, ‘permeable’ perspective. While L’orchestra di Piazza Vittorio is at once both local and global, an
overly simplistic utilization of such a definition here would suggest that
the concept of the transnational can apply freely to the film on the basis of
anything from its distributive processes to its aesthetic tendencies. Instead,
I maintain that the transnationality of Ferrente’s text is equivalent to Italian
geopolitics of this era (2001–06), in that it specifically comes down to a question of space – both ideological and physical – rather than the film’s impact
and success on an international scale. To this end, Mette Hjort’s suggestion
of using the term ‘as a scalar concept allowing for the recognition of strong or
weak forms of transnationality’ and her argument of its ‘plurality’ are particularly useful (2010: 13),11 and indeed applicable to my core argument about
Ferrente’s work insomuch as transnational spaces within and of the film both
exist and are created: through the present-day realities of the Esquilino (and
the project’s cultural merging of both people and music) and Ferrente’s filmic
constructions, respectively.
FERRENTE’S FLEETING OTHER
In response to the reality that Italy has transitioned from a country of emigration to one of immigration, a notable bulk of (mostly fiction) films dealing
with contemporary issues of immigration have presented themselves in the
last twenty years in particular.12 Yet, significance also lies in the fact that this
body of work has been, and continues to be, created predominantly by Italian
natives (or more specifically, by white Italian men).13 Regarding this, and in
comparison to immigration literature for instance, O’Healy points out that ‘a
decidedly Italian perspective [thus] marks the overall vision of the nation’s
changing demographic landscape that emerges in these films’ (2010: 4). She
continues, however, by adding that ‘several of the filmmakers in question
have made a perceptible effort to construct their stories through the subjectivity of the beleaguered migrant, and some of their films explicitly incorporate
a critique of contemporary immigration policies and xenophobic attitudes’
(2010: 4). While the film is at times (both diegetically and ideologically) critical
of contemporary Italian attitudes of xenophobia, the ‘hardships’ of L’orchestra
di Piazza Vittorio’s immigrant subjects are often, and somewhat awkwardly,
conveyed with a degree of humour. Several scenes of banal events, private
conversations and personal opinions are picked up by Ferrente’s camera and
quite clearly inserted and translated for the viewer’s amusement. The soundscape of L’orchestra di Piazza Vittorio pertaining to language is thus as hybrid as
the music that is being produced, and with language’s ‘inescapable drag-line
to a particular location’ (Ďurovičová 2010: 92), Ferrente’s multi-ethnic narrative is aurally maintained. The film’s light-hearted approach emerges from
the inclusion of such scenes as that of a private telephone conversation about
11. One cannot help but
consider the synonymic
fluidity with which the
term ‘transnational’
is repeatedly used
in our field to have a
neutralizing effect.
Hjort’s proposal is
thus particularly
useful as it attends to
this fact through the
conceptualization of
‘transnationalisms’,
while still attempting
to counteract the
existence of an
all-encompassing,
umbrella term.
12. For example, Gianni
Amelio’s Lamerica
(1994); Maurizio
Zaccaro’s L’articolo 2
(1994); Vincenzo Marra’s
Tornando a casa (2001);
Francesco Munzi’s
Saimir (2004); Vittorio
De Seta’s Lettere dal
Sahara (2006); Carmine
Amoroso’s Cover boy:
L’ultima rivoluzione
(2007).
13. As Capussotti notes,
‘with the exception of
diasporic filmmakers
such as Edmund
Budina, Mohamed
Soudani and Hedy
Krissane, the ties
between cinema and
migration in Italy have
been developed mainly
by “native” white
filmmakers’ (Capussotti
2009: 57).
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14. We also witness Rahis
Bharti’s arrival in Rome,
but are not shown in
any significant way his
adaption to the city.
an illegally purchased car, and a conversation between two of the orchestra
members on the history of Rome, where Romeo and Juliet are erroneously
mentioned as two of its most famous descendants. Another such moment
occurs when the organizers are ordering pizza for the musicians, where it is
blatantly highlighted that some members of the orchestra cannot have any
pork on theirs; this scene is then followed by a conversation about alcohol
between two of the men – in which it is said how hypocritical it is that one
of the two consumes it (yet does not eat pork). It is here that we see how
‘the politics of difference that emerge within [contemporary] transnational
flows’ are intrinsically present also in this film (Higbee and Lim 2010: 9).
More prominently, however, the filmic attention devoted to Mohammad Bilal
(an Indian harmonium and castanets player) is interesting in this regard as,
unlike the other members of the orchestra, we are allowed to witness both his
arrival in Rome and, in rather substantial portions, his subsequent adjustment
to the new culture that surrounds him.14 As already noted, it is Bilal’s Italian
language lesson that opens the film, and we are introduced to him as a man
who endeavours to attain romantic success with the opposite sex. This serves
as a crucial, and subjective, introduction as it paves the way for scenes of a
similar nature over the course of the film. The woman present in the opening
scene warns Bilal that he should be less demanding in his approach to obtaining a date, and it is therefore conveyed – albeit with humorous intentions –
that, aside from issues of language and constraints of expression in a foreign
tongue, etiquette ‘needs’ to be taught. Further emphasis is placed on Bilal’s
‘primitive’ attitude towards women as Ferrente has included moments where
he – on three separate occasions – delightedly watches pictures of a naked
woman on television, has his photograph taken with two young women on
the street and excitedly enjoys the view of a lingerie-wearing mannequin in a
shop window. Bilal’s tendency to scrutinize the female form – both real and
artificial – is markedly depicted: Ferrente’s camera even picks up on the reaction of a seemingly shocked female shop attendant who looks on from behind
the mannequin. In his review of the film, Favero comments, ‘besides reproducing a Peter Sellars’ stereotype of the Indian man, [this] undermines the
attempt to create a common platform on which to build an equal dialogue
between Italians and their contemporary “others”’ (Favero 2009: 349).
Unlike Bilal, Houcine Ataa (a Tunisian vocalist) is romantically involved
with someone, and it is during his first scene in the film that we are also exposed
to his ‘woman troubles’. While Houcine sits on the balcony of his apartment in
Rome, busying himself with what looks like the restoration of a chair, Ferrente’s
camera sits fluidly and over-indulgently in the middle of a domestic argument.
His Italian girlfriend expresses distrust when she questions his whereabouts
the night before, while an untroubled Houcine carries on devoting attention
to his chair, answering the questions calmly and unashamedly. The premise
of Houcine’s self-assurance is further enhanced by the insertion of scenes of
him grooming himself and being served at the table by his girlfriend. While
these scenes are of banal, everyday events, the onscreen accentuation of the
couple’s domestic non-bliss, similar to the ‘impossibility’ of Bilal’s love-life,
somewhat weakens the film’s message of postnational celebration: instead,
both men are quite literally shown as the significant ‘others’ of Italian women.
Therefore, with both the ‘humorous’ highlighting of cultural distinctions and
the inclusion of the problematics of sexual politics, Ferrente’s solidaristic
stance on new cultural mergings – an attitude that is supposedly in contrast
to the dogmas of the sociopolitical era in which it is conceived – is defied.
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Rather than representatively underpinning the aim of Apollo 11’s project with
proof of the new immigrants’ contribution to Italian society, they are more
often than not depicted as peripheral, ethnically and culturally ‘different’ and
in contrast to the Italian natives by whom they are surrounded.
Although the era in which the documusical transpires presided over a
historically significant growth in and regularization of the ‘non-national’ population (Geddes 2008), it is my contention that immigration is represented as a
decidedly fleeting phenomenon throughout. This is conveyed either through
the film’s highlighting of a lack of sociocultural integration or through an
underlining of the immigrants’ detachment from Italian (geographical) space.
For one, our first encounter with Raúl Scebba (a percussionist from Argentina)
takes place in the rented garage in which he resides, and Ferrente’s inclusion
of Raúl’s continuous living arrangement recalls the notion of ‘ageographical’ residence where, to use Augé’s (1995) seminal theory, a ‘non-place’ has
provided him with a home. Personal freedom of movement and options of
traditional settlement are represented as limited also during the brief scenes
where we encounter Bilal’s residency issues, and as it is made clear that
Apollo 11 provides the finances needed to renew his visa. The most significant
sense of geographical impermanence, however, is induced by one of the film’s
many segments of extra-diegetic musical performance. These interludes break
from the narrative of original content and comprise mimed performances by
members of the orchestra. The scene in question occurs midway through the
film when Houcine and Ziad Trabelsi (an oud player from Tunisia) ‘perform’
a song by the sea in Ostia. It is shot on Super 8, which provides the grainy
texture, and the atmosphere is one of romantic yearning due to the scene’s
location, the ‘performed’ music and the golden aesthetics of both Ferrente’s
technical choice and the sunset that shadows the mise-en-scène. While such a
scene is not unusual given Ferrente’s directorial merging of narrated, observational and subjective documentary with audio-visual constructions, it merits
further examination in light of its geographical location. The presence of the
(Tyrrhenian) sea immediately calls our attention to both the aesthetic and
metaphorical fluidity of the space, but more generally, it calls to mind the
cultural significance of the Mediterranean in relation to the history of Italian
borders and mobility. Moreover, within the context of immigration in contemporary Italian cinema, one must take into account how frequently the sea has
served as a backdrop to representations of the immigrant experience. Similar
to that of Southern Italian emigration in the past, ‘the Mediterranean becomes,
once again, a privileged space where a dialogue with the other is still possible’
(Lerner 2010: 1). With regard to this contemporary cinematic phenomenon,
O’Healy, on the other hand, observes that:
The many recent Italian films that highlight trans-Mediterranean crossings and displacements generally avoid taking a clear position on the
political implications of unregulated migration; rather, they gesture in
various implicit or explicit ways to a conflict between the need to safeguard the wellbeing of citizens and the prospect of welcoming foreigners indiscriminately within the nation’s borders.
(2010: 17)
While it is fair to say that, in contemporary times, the majority of incoming
immigrants do not arrive via the crossing of water; Ferrente’s inclusion of
this short scene induces the broader theme of traversed space and of Italy’s
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15. At the time of writing,
the orchestra’s newly
unveiled website
did not feature this
blurb anymore.
See instead http://
www.ocf.berkeley.
edu/~iisa/movies_old/
piazzavittorio.html
‘watery’ boundary. Rather than using such a scene to enhance his subjects’
settlement in to their adopted home, in which they have been on terra firma
for a substantial amount of time, Houcine and Ziad instead enact the ‘instability’ of their current arrangements: they purposefully look yonder towards
the horizon with their hands blocking out the sun for a clear view, evoking
the existence of a place beyond the one in the diegesis of the film. Ferrente’s
chosen landscape and the men’s gestures thus divert the attention from the
musical performance to an atmosphere of change and temporariness, reminding us of the existence of the sea by which Italy (and Europe’s free movement
area) is surrounded, of the (non-European) homeland and of recent Italian
immigration reform and the governmental desire for short-term settlement –
or, in this case, the personal desire for short-term settlement.
THE ETERNAL (CINEMATIC) CITY
This sense of ephemerality when depicting the film’s immigrant settlers is
cemented throughout, by explicit references to (non-Italian) nationality, and
by the tenacity of a (geographical) space from which Ferrente’s subjects are
markedly portrayed as detached. Most obviously, with regard to the former,
the nationalities of potential musicians are stated on several occasions during
the group’s quest and, on the streets of Rome, Tronco and colleagues seem
to approach anyone of a dark or ‘ethnic’ physical appearance in trying to find
orchestra members. In effect, the journey becomes much more about the
ratio of nationalities than the harmoniousness of the music to be produced.
Additionally, we witness the desperate lengths the group goes to in obtaining the desired ‘mixture’, as musicians residing outside of the Esquilino and
even outside of Rome – such as Corsica – are imported. In their manifesto,
Hess and Zimmermann sensibly point out their unwillingness to ‘completely
abandon the concept of the national and the regional for a universalist fantasy
of global citizens who forfeit their identities for a Disney World representation of cultural difference’ (1997: no page). Yet, in the wake of L’orchestra di
Piazza Vittorio’s release – and in a move away from Hess and Zimmermann’s
proposal of a shedding of corporatist limitations – the film’s website description has extended the film’s emphasis on non-Italian nationality,15 which in
turn problematically suggests that the diversity of the orchestra has become
somewhat of a commodity (note: the ‘New Yorker’ is one of Italian descent):
if you want to see a Cuban practice yoga, an Indian on a white Vespa at
the Coliseum without a helmet so as not to muss his hair, an Ecuadorian
with pangs of love, a macho Arab wearing light pink, a man from
Caserta sing in Hindi, an Argentinean who gets evicted from his garage,
an Indian sitar player convinced he’s Uto Ughi, a New Yorker playing
tables, a Senegalese girot who marries one of his students. [sic]
In the film, during the closing credits, this prominence transpires climactically through a titled shot of each member of the orchestra, presented not
with name and instrument, but rather with name and nationality. The organizers (Tronco, Ferrente and others), on the other hand, are presented with the
names of the Italian towns in which they grew up.
While the withholding of the nationalities of Apollo 11 members could
arguably be interpreted as a reference to the regional differences that defy the
existence of a unified Italian community and identity, I maintain that their
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All roads lead to Piazza Vittorio
nationalities are simply offered here as ‘obvious’ facts. I am inclined towards
such a conclusion on account of: the Italian nation being invariably referred to
as a unified and not a fragmentary entity when the subject of its immigrants is
spoken about during the film; the film’s own all-encompassing advertisement
as ‘Italy’s first documusical’; and the fact that the city of Rome is never offered
in regional contrast to the Italians’ hometowns, nor are the xenophobic sociopolitical attitudes of the era ever depicted as Rome-specific – instead, these are
clearly offered as a national state of affairs. With that said, the city in which
the film occurs is firmly established, as the title of L’orchestra di Piazza Vittorio
immediately positions both the orchestra and the documusical in a very specific
and culturally stratified geographical space. This is subsequently complemented, at the beginning of the film, by Ferrente’s brief historical synopsis
of the area, where, to note but one of the facts presented, he calls our attention to the unforgettable scene in Vittorio De Sica’s Ladri di biciclette/Bicycle
Thieves (1948) that takes place in Piazza Vittorio. Ferrente’s construction of
the simultaneity of past and present Rome is further accentuated through the
production of the film on video and Super 8. While this adds to the informality
of many of the film’s scenes, the aesthetic juxtaposition of video and Super 8
goes beyond the mere indication of the film-maker’s experimental playfulness
with past and contemporary technology. Ferrente’s recounting of the history
of the area is a pertinent example in this regard, as the slow-moving, gritty
visuals we are offered allude less to a rapidly changing and contemporary city
than to an urban space struggling to ‘catch up’ with its own contents.
Yet, the camera is not confined to the Esquilino, as we travel with Tronco
and Ferrente, in typical road movie-style, around the city centre and to the
homes of potential orchestra members on the outskirts of the city: thus, the
presence of the film’s broader geographical location is anchored. This occurs
most significantly during a celebratory journey through snapshot Rome in a
scene where Ferrente is evidently showing Rahis Bharti (an Indian tabla player
who has arrived from Corsica) around his new locale. Unlike Loshitzky’s
observation that ‘European films concerning migration […] persistently
deconstruct iconic images of the classical European cities’ (2006: 746), the
gaze here becomes explicitly touristic as the splendour of the city momentarily replaces the dark aesthetics of the film’s many interior sequences. Hjort’s
suggestion that a more valuable form of cinematic transnationalism features
‘a resistance to globalization as cultural homogenization’ (2010: 15) is therefore applicable here, in that the city has been identified as aesthetically and
gloriously unchanging, devoid of any sense of late-capitalist urbanization and
of the multicultural narratives that unfold upon its streets. However, such a
central location is continually juxtaposed with the margins, in that the Roman
spaces in which the immigrants are primarily filmed can arguably be discerned
as peripheral: geographically, as in the case of the garage in which Raúl lives;
socioeconomically, as in the number of times where immigrant musicians are
shown busking their living through the black economy; or, physically, as in
the case of Bilal and Rahis who are depicted as ‘in transit’ during both the
airport and immigration office scenes – among several other examples. This
snapshot scene resonates even further in its display of an immigrant being
‘escorted’ around a clearly identified geographical and historical place with
which he is unfamiliar – the same man whose knowledge of Rome is discredited in the scene mentioned above in which he speaks of Romeo and Juliet.
However, this is not the only journey that takes place. Scenes of Vespa
mobility are in abundance, and therefore, in contrast to the aforementioned
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Abigail Keating
16. To use Rascaroli’s
words, ‘the core
of neorealism can
arguably be discerned
the project of
reconceptualising
national identity after
Fascism’ (2010: 348).
17. In his article on Italian
migration cinema,
Duncan has very
pertinently posed the
question: ‘If cinema is
to be conceptualized
as the cultural
crucible of Italian
national identity, [is it]
legitimate to ask if its
representations of the
migrant subject rework
and expand narratives
of national belonging?’
(2008: 196).
orchestra members whose movement is – and has clearly been represented
as – restricted, we see Tronco and Ferrente move fluidly through the city’s
streets. More importantly, however, these scenes instantly recall film-maker
Nanni Moretti’s memorable movement through the streets of Rome in Caro
diario/Dear Diary (1993) which, it is worth noting, was also accompanied
by an eclectic and culturally diverse soundtrack. Another similarity lies in
the fact that the diaristic traits of L’orchestra di Piazza Vittorio are heightened in the Vespa scenes as Ferrente’s presence – as driver of the vehicle – is assured. Yet, such a recycling of the iconic vision of a Vespa-driving
Moretti, accompanied by a camera with a similar awareness of its surroundings, seems to signify more than just homage. On this, Favero proposes that
these scenes ‘seem to suggest a positioning of [the film] within Italian film
history’ (2009: 348). Additionally, and similar again to Caro diario, an old
master of cinematic Rome is referred to on more than one occasion: most
prominently, with the film’s epilogue, ‘Tu sapessi cosa è Roma’/‘You can’t
imagine what Rome is’ (Pier Paolo Pasolini). The reference to De Sica has
initiated the group’s quest, Moretti accompanies it, and Pasolini has now
concluded it.
Therefore, within Ferrente’s spaces of contemporary cultural merging,
Rome is further distinguished through its cinematic history, in that it is simultaneously a city where the ghosts of the great Italian directors – of Neorealism
(the cinema of ‘nation building’),16 of modern Italian cinema – and the presence of contemporary Italian cinema’s most celebrated export distinctly
subsist. In the context of the cinematic traditions that are evoked, Ferrente’s
contemporary subject matter could be likened to ‘neorealism’s preference for
characters who are excluded from the dominant socioeconomic logic’, with
which Moretti, as Rascaroli suggests, is in harmony (Rascaroli 2003: 90) – an
observation that can also be extended to the Roman underclasses of Pasolini’s
cinema. Furthermore, and similar again to that of Ferrente’s forefathers,
the peripheral subject (or, ‘outsider’) remains so, and resolve comes only in
the idea that, after the closing credits, such social positions will continue.
However, whereas Ferrente pays (arguably simplistic) tribute to the city’s
cultural history and beauty, each of the three directors evoked (and referenced) by him problematized the notion of Rome as the great ‘eternal’ city
in their own unique and memorable ways: for example, in Ladri di biciclette,
Mamma Roma (Pasolini, 1962) and Caro diario, respectively. Nevertheless, the
eternal city has been problematized once more, and not through overt social
commentary or an aesthetic peripheralization of the city, but rather, indirectly,
through a distinct set of representative components. As a consequence of the
implications of significant authorial choice throughout L’orchestra di Piazza
Vittorio, any realization of a postnational community reflective of Apollo 11’s
progressive politics is instead replaced by a visual and ideological avowal of an
existing Self/Other dichotomy. With this, and further to Favero’s observation
(2009: 348), the journey through cinematic Rome denotes L’orchestra di Piazza
Vittorio’s placement not only within the landscape of Italian cinema but, more
specifically, within the landscape and history of an Italian cinematic space
typified by the sociopolitical tensions of its respective era. On the one hand,
Ferrente has, paradoxically, ‘eternalized’ the capital as a filmic space that was
and still is characterized by unease. Yet, owing to his contemporary multicultural subject matter, which obliquely reworks and expands the narratives of
(trans)national belonging,17 cinematic Rome resists its own homogenization
during Ferrente’s spatio-temporal evocations.
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All roads lead to Piazza Vittorio
CONCLUDING REMARKS
Unlike the transnational documentary outlined in Hess and Zimmermann’s
manifesto, Ferrente’s approach cannot be categorized as adversarial. As an
artistic initiative, the orchestra celebrates cultural difference through musical
union and, in turn, a new, international sound is born. Within the realms of
sociopolitical and cinematic space, on the other hand, the Italian nation proves
a decidedly more difficult instrument with which to harmonize, in that it persists
in contrast to its Other. While L’orchestra di Piazza Vittorio thus problematizes
the paradigm that is convincingly set forth by Hess and Zimmermann, its inclusion in such a debate (and indeed, within the broader debate on the concept of
transnational cinema) enables us to account for the momentous contradictions
of both the era in which it transpires and the spaces upon which it is directorially constructed, by providing – within an Italian cinematic context – ‘a means
of understanding production, consumption and representation of cultural identity (both individual and collective) in an increasingly interconnected, multicultural and polycentric world’ (Higbee and Lim 2010: 8). L’orchestra di Piazza
Vittorio indirectly challenges, and in doing so induces a better understanding
of, a space and time in which Italian national identity is still very much on
the agenda. The construct of the transnational consequently allows us to view
Ferrente’s filmic spaces beyond the local/global, national/postnational, Self/
Other binaries they paradoxically and consistently tend to thematically evoke.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENT
Sincere thanks to my research supervisor, Dr Laura Rascaroli for her reading
of and commenting on this article (and for the guidance that her own writings
on cinematic Rome have indirectly provided along the way).
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SUGGESTED CITATION
Keating, A. (2011), ‘All roads lead to Piazza Vittorio: Transnational spaces
in Agostino Ferrente’s documusical’, Studies in Documentary Film 5: 2+3,
pp. 197–209, doi: 10.1386/sdf.5.2-3.197_1
CONTRIBUTOR DETAILS
Abigail Keating is a Ph.D. candidate in Film Studies at University College Cork,
Ireland. Her doctoral thesis is entitled Locating the Transnational: Representations
and Aesthetics of the City in Contemporary European Cinema. Her publications
(past and forthcoming) include essays on transnational film, cinematic Dublin,
‘interactive’ home movies and Web 2.0, along with contributions to Intellect’s
Directory of World Cinema series. She is also co-founder and co-editor of the
inaugural issue of Alphaville: Journal of Film and Screen Media. She has worked
as a research assistant and video editor on the nationally funded project,
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All roads lead to Piazza Vittorio
Capturing the Nation: Irish Home Movies, 1930–1970, and teaches on the M.A.
in Film Studies at UCC. Her research interests include space, place and the
city in film; European cinema(s); the practice and aesthetics of digital media;
non-fiction; and Web 2.0.
Contact: Film Studies/Italian, Room 1.09, First Floor Block A West, O’ Rahilly
Building, University College Cork, Cork, Éire.
E-mail: [email protected]
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