Hurry up to see, or review, on RaiPlay this documentary by Giorgio Verdelli entirely dedicated, without ever useless hagiographies but with balanced passion and due respect, to a giant of Italian and world song, author of wonderful melodies and lyrics full of cinema.
Patrice Lecontewhich compares it to Mastroiannisays that “talent does not deceive”. Andrea Camilleri it enhances “the elegance of intelligence”.
Paolo Jannacci who remembers when dad Enzo used to fuck him saying: “Hello, is the poet here? I’m the genius”.
Jovanotti goes crazy on “the newspapers that flutter”, Roberto Benigni who calls him Prince, and Isabella Rossellini that says one of the most beautiful and right things: that he, Paolo Contedoes not strive, does not want to be, it simply is.
Nothing in Paolo Conte is pose, narcistic affectation, piaciona staging. Paolo Conte is Paolo Conte.
Paolo Conte, with his musical style “Mental confusion fin de siècle”.
Paolo Conte who was a lawyer, who at first did not want to sing his songs, and who explains to Monica Vitti And Gianni Minà that however, even when he began to sing, he considers his records as a sample for the use and consumption of others.
And yet, no one sings Conte like Paolo Conte. With those grimaces, with that warm, sensual voice, full of careless contempt.
Self Paolo Conte you know little or not at all, hurry up and look Paolo Conte, away with me. If, on the other hand, you already know him, and you know what a giant he is, run to enjoy his music, his words, his reflections, throw away with the usual, disenchanted softness, with that gruff and sweet reserve, and the passion for the word. , and puzzles, and those many wonderful worlds that are inside his head and that he has told the world with his songs.
To talk about him, of Paolo Conte there are many others. Francesco De Gregori, for one. Then Vinicio Capossela, Caterina Caselli, Stefano Bollani, Pupi Avati, Renzo Arbore, Jane Birkin, Luca Zingaretti and Luisa Ranieri. And others.
Every now and then the film, the cinema, is slightly out of place, but who cares. Because there is enough cinema in Conte’s songs.
Because there is Paolo Conte who speaks, who sings, who plays. Which is told in a long interview. Which is told, song after song, performance after performance, repertoire after repertoire.
Conte’s world, made up of boxers, cyclists, adventurers, fatal women, of cold and rain, and of the heat of Mocambo, of cigarettes and coffee and bitters, of distant exoticism and provincial intimacy, of ancient and very modern that come together . As in “Azzurro”.
A beautiful world, more and more beautiful, all the more ugly and shabby and fake it becomes what we see, every day, off the screen.