Parky at the Pictures (DVD 13/6/2019)

Fittingly, the emphasis is firmly on screen heritage in Marco Tullio Giordana's Wild Blood (2008), which recalls the ill-fated careers of Osvaldo Valenti and Luisa Ferida, who shone briefly during the war years before being executed by the Partisans on 30 April 1945. Largely dismissed by the critics, this is as much an allegory on the Berlusconian manipulation of the media for political purposes as it is a memoir of fascist tyranny. Indeed, the eagerness of the freedom fighters to dispatch celebrities they envied as much as feared has its own contemporary resonance. But such is the acuity of Giancarlo Basili's production design and Roberto Forza's lush cinematography that the viewer is wholly transported back to the make-believe era of white telephone elegance that was so brutally disrupted by the intrusion of pitiless reality. 

Defiantly playing stars seduced by their own status, Luca Zingaretti and Monica Bellucci excel as the Turkish-born, coke-addicted ham who specialised in playing larger-than-life villains and the extra-turned-diva who was awarded the Volpi Cup at the Venice Film Festival. With his balding exuberance and her reticent glamour, they made an unusual twosome and Giordana might have been advised to stick to their turbulent relationship rather than invent an aristocratic producer (played by Alessio Boni) to rival Valenti in his bid both to win Ferida's heart and pygmalionise her. This contrivance works as a dramatic device, as Boni seeks to save the pair after they surrender to the resistance in Milan and the narrative intercuts between their agonising wait for post-Liberation justice and their Cinecittà heyday. But it also bowdlerises the story and muddies the waters in relation to Ferida's Trilby-like liaison with Mussolini's film chief Attilio Cardi (Luigi Diberti) and Valenti's activities during the Republic of Salò as a member of the 10th Flotilla MAS and as an associate of collaborationist monster Pietro Koch (Paolo Bonanni). 

Despite mocking their movies, Giordana seems keen to rehabilitate the stellar couple and aver that they had nothing to do with the atrocities committed at the notorious Villa Triste. But the bogus ménage subplot merely sentimentalises their self-obsession and demonises their killers. Nevertheless, this is still a fascinating and meticulous reconstruction of a time of complex motives and occasionally misconstrued actions whose scars have yet fully to heal. 

The attempt to eradicate the artistic scene that thrived under Il Duce is examined by Gianni Borgna in the dazzling documentary Città Aperta, which raids the Luce archives to provide a hectic cultural chronicle of the Eternal City between 1945-68. Borgna clearly sees this as a golden age, when indigenous writers, painters, musicians and film-makers reclaimed the moral and creative high ground from their fascist forebears. However, he also laments the incursion of foreign influences and seems to equate the Hollywood on the Tiber phase of the 1950s with the Barbarian invasions that laid low an earlier Roman empire. 

With rare footage of such authors as Alberto Moravia, Elsa Morante and Carlo Emilio Gadda, artists like Renato Guttuso, Corrado Cagli and Antonello Trombadori, and directors including Federico Fellini, Luchino Visconti and Pier Paolo Pasolini, this is a fact-packed survey that reveals how neo-realism, the economic miracle and la dolce vita shaped Italy's intellectual and aesthetic life as much as the rise of newspapers, television and new technology. Referencing religion, science, philosophy and populism, this is a compelling snapshot that begs for similar studies to be made of the world's other key cultural centres over the same period.

Until recently, Ida Dalser had merely been a footnote in the career of Benito Mussolini. However, rumours of a disavowed marriage have recast her as a tragic heroine and veteran Italian director Marco Bellocchio depicts her as the Duce's Duse in Vincere, an operatic saga of immense ingenuity, poignancy and power that ranks alongside Paolo Sorrentino's Il Divo (2008) is a masterclass in stylised political melodrama. 

Dalser (Giovanna Mezzogiorno) first encountered Mussolini (Filippo Timi) in Trent in 1907, when he was a socialist agitator enraging a public meeting by claiming that God doesn't exist. They met again in Milan, seven years later, when he expediently kissed her in the street while fleeing from troops after a demonstration and she later slipped her address into his hand during a mêlée outside her beauty salon. That night, they became lovers and, in 1915, she bore him a son, Benito Albino Mussolini. She also sold everything she owned to bankroll Il Popolo d'Italia, the newspaper that denoted the future dictator's shift from left-wing pacifism to the militarism and irredentism that would form the cornerstones of his political philosophy.

However, following his service in the Great War and steady rise to power at the head of the Fascist Party, Mussolini disowned the boy and denied ever having married Dalser. Indeed, such was his desire to protect his reputation as a family man with former waitress Rachele Guidi (Michela Cescon) that he placed Dalser under virtual house arrest with her sister Adelina (Francesca Picozza) and her husband Riccardo Paicher (Fausto Russo Alesi) before consigning her to the asylum at Pergine Valsugana and entrusting their son to the custody of henchman Giulio Bernardi (Paolo Pierobon). 

Despite countless letters to the political and religious authorities to be reunited with her child, Dalser failed to elicit a sympathetic hearing outside Dr Cappelletti (Corrado Invernizzi), the psychiatrist whose suggestion of toning down her protests she disregarded, and the anonymous nun who allowed her to make a desperate bid for freedom following the signing of the Lateran Treaty between Mussolini and Pope Pius XI. She died on the Venetian island of San Clemente, while Benito Albino (who had joined the navy after college) perished five years later in the sanatorium of Mombello, at the age of just 26.

With Mezzogiorno exuding betrayed adoration and distorted intelligence and Timi impressing as both the ambitious firebrand and his disoriented adult son, this would be a remarkable story. But Bellocchio imbues it with cinematic brilliance by borrowing from contemporary film styles to reinforce the sense of period and the magnitude of the melodrama. He anotates archive material from the silent era with on-screen captions, while also presenting Mussolini exclusively in newsreel footage after Dalser sees him for the last time in a hospital ward after he was wounded by a grenade. In conjunction with production designer Marco Dentici and cinematographer Daniele Cipri, Bellocchio also recreates the glossy calligraphist look that would characterise much Italian cinema into the 1940s and this mood of unrepentant classicism is emphasised by Carlo Crivelli's symphonic score, which sweeps from effusions of arch grandiosity to moments of affecting intimacy. 

The action is similarly strewn with exceptional set-pieces, such as Mussolini causing a riot in a cinema by heckling a newsreel as the pianist belts out his bellicose accompaniment and Dalser climbing the grille of Pergine's enormous arched window's to toss hopeless missives into the snowy night. But Bellocchio never loses sight of the human drama and his exploitation of the confined spaces that Dalser inhabits as both a secret mistress and a detested inconvenience contrasts tellingly with the vast crowds and vulgar monuments used to characterise Mussolini's hucksterish opportunism, voracity for power and dread of mediocrity.

Cinema has a long tradition of subdividing epic narratives in order to make them less of a marathon ordeal for movie-goers. As long ago as 1924, Fritz Lang agreed to Die Nibelungen being released as `Siegfried' and `Kriemhild's Revenge', while numerous Soviet and Japanese films were presented in episodic form in the middle of the decade. The most notable example is Masaki Kobayash's The Human Condition (1959-61), whose 10-hour running time required it to be broken down into `No Greater Love', `Road to Eternity' and `A Soldier's Prayer'. 

Nanni Moretti is one of Europe's most courageous auteurs. Whether he's experimenting with the feature format (as in Dear Diary, 1993) or exploring his own emotions (as in The Son's Room, 2001), Moretti is always prepared to take chances in order to denounce banality, vulgarity, and cliché. He's very much on the offensive again in The Caiman (2006). But for all the political fury of this scathing satire, this is also a fond tribute to the journeymen film-makers who devote themselves to cinema with as much fervour as their more feted arthouse counterparts.

The action centres on Silvio Orlando, a Roman indie producer, who clings to the illusion of domestic contentment with his onetime actress wife Margherita Buy, while also struggling to save his flagging exploitation studio. So, when his latest project crashes, Orlando agrees to shoot first-time scenarist Jasmine Trinca's crime thriller, unaware of the fact it's little more than a thinly veiled exposé of the media and political careers of Silvio Berlusconi.

Orlando's dealings with Polish backer Jerzy Stuhr and egotistical actor Michele Placido are highly amusing and there's also much fun to be had at the expense of the former Prime Minister. But there's also a cutting edge to the film-within-the-film's discussion of corruption, the abuse of power and the diminishment of Italian television. Moreover, Moretti himself contributes a chilling climactic cameo.

Yet, for all its prescience and ingenuity, this is a frustrating film. The political and personal aspects don't always fuse, with the ferocity of the polemic often clashing awkwardly with the more genial insights into the movie business and Orlando's crumbling marriage. But even a Moretti mis-step still makes for fascinating viewing.

In 1988, Christine Edzard issued her six-hour adaptation of Charles Dickens's Little Dorrit as `Nobody's Fault' and `Little Dorrit's Story', while a decade ago, Jean-François Richet's Mesrine was released as `Killer Instinct' and `Public Enemy Number One' and Steven Soderbergh's Che (both 2008) was divided into `The Argentine' and `Guerilla'. But, while Peter Jackson broke down The Hobbit (2012-14) into `An Unexpected Journey', `The Desolation of Smaug' and `The Battle of the Five Armies', most producers in recent times have been content to follow Bernardo Bertolucci's 1900 (1976) rule of simply numbering the parts. Among those to so do are Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill (2003-04), David Yates's Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (2010-11), Bill Condon's The Twilight Saga: Breaking Dawn (2011-12), Lars von Trier's Nymphomaniac (2013) and Francis Lawrence's The Hunger Games: Mockingjay (2014-15). 

Given the success of the more commercial ventures, it beggars belief that the decision has been taken to not to release Paolo Sorrentino's Loro in the two parts he intended, but as an abridged single feature that most people who have seen the original agree is a ruinous bowdlerisation. Having demonstrated a mastery of multi-episode drama with The Young Pope (2016), Sorrentino clearly felt he needed a broad canvas for this fantasy on the later life of Italian media tycoon-turned-politician Silvio Berlusconi. Thus, this follow-up to his scathing assault on Giulio Andreotti in Il Divo feels compromised and one can only hope that Curzon opt to make the original version available on disc later in the year. 

Following an opening sequence involving a sheep dropping dead in a chic villa from the combination of air-conditioning and daytime television, Taranto wheeler-dealer Sergio Morra (Riccardo Scamarcio) celebrates winning a school meals contract by having sex with prostitute Candida (Carolina Binda), whose tattoo of Silvio Berlusconi's face convinces him that the time has come to move up a league. Wife Tamara (Euridice Axen) is as ambitious as Sergio and has no problems with his cocaine-sniffing methods or his plan to use Candida to seduce talent spotter-cum-pimp Fabrizio Sala (Roberto De Francesco). However, when Sergio makes the acquaintance of Kira (Kasia Smutniak) at a decadent soirée, he is warned that she takes no prisoners in protecting her connection to Berlusconi and his inner sanctum. 

Meanwhile, ex-minister Santino Recchia (Fabrizio Bentivoglio) tells power broker Cupa Caiafa (Anna Bonaiuto) that Berlusconi is a spent force and has made too many enemies to reclaim the prime ministership. He asks for her support to back his bid to become the leader of the Centre-Right and she agrees. However, he makes a fatal mistake by trying to force his attentions on Tamara, while Sergio is colluding with Kira to take a bevy of beauties to Villa Morena in Sardinia, which is overlooked by the retreat that Berlusconi (Toni Servillo) shares with his wife of 26 years, Veronica Lario (Elena Sofia Ricci). Despite her insistence that she would never stoop to sleeping with somebody as low as Sergio, Kira climbs on top of him while chatting to Berlusconi on the phone. Shortly afterwards, his motorcade passes Sergio, as he walks his harem through the darkened Roman streets and they gaze in astonishment as a bin lorry swerves to avoid a giant rat and flips over to land upside down in the Forum. 

As the rubbish flies through the air from the exploding truck, Sorrentino and editor Cristiano Travaglioli pull off an audacious match shot that shows cookies falling from the heavens, as Sergio and his bright young things party poolside in various states of undress under the influence of the so-called love drug, MDMA. While he enjoys the feast of gyrating flesh, Sergio is more interested in peering through his binoculars to see if he has piqued the interest of Signor Berlusconi. But he is busy dressing in a veiled bedlah in the hope of  getting a smile out of the less-than-amused Veronica. However, even his attempt to serenade her to the accompaniment of Mariano Apicella (Giovanni Esposito) fails to assuage her, as she is cross with her husband because of his liaison with Violetta Saba (Caroline Tillette) and warns him that she is tired of having her dignity diminished by his antics. 

Berlusconi bemoans his fate to confidante Paolo Spagnolo (Dario Cantarelli) and gives his grandson a valuable piece of advice about spin after treading in some poop on the terrace. However, he feels aggrieved when footballer Michel Martinez (Yann Gael) refuses his overtures to sign for AC Milan instead of rival Gianni Agnelli's Juventus and takes out his frustration on Recchia, when he comes to ask him to save his hide because he is being blackmailed by Tamara. Aware of his pact with Cupa, Berlusconi tells his onetime ally that he has pressed the self-destruct button and will spend his remaining days in the shade instead of the spotlight. 

Yet, he derives little satisfaction from exacting his revenge and is still trying to sweet talk Veronica on his yacht when he spots some of the girls from Villa Morena splashing around in the sea. Stranded on a jet ski, he confides in his wife that he needs a project to spark him back to life and she finally forgives him when they get caught in the rain and he has musician Fabio Concato perform their song while sheltering on a merry-go-round on the villa lawn. Feeling more positive, Berlusconi consults fellow billionaire Ennio Doris (also Toni Servillo), who tells him to launch his political comeback by finding six senators who willing to cross the floor and force a general election. Buoyed by the notion that altruism is the best form of selfishness, Berlusconi also agrees to refund some unhappy customers and thanks Doris for his cool-headed wisdom.

That night, Berlusconi calls a woman at random in the phone book and poses as a property salesman offering the harassed divorcée the chance to start afresh in a luxury condo to prove to himself that he still has the old snake oil skills. He then bounces back from being given a lecture by a seemingly incorruptible politician to convert the half dozen he needs to cause trouble in the senate. But, just as he seems to have swung the deal, transcripts of tapped phone calls are published and Veronica is furious with her husband for promising plum roles to a well-known actress. Moreover, Cupa vows to have nothing more to do with him, as she feels betrayed as a woman by his infidelities. 

Yet Berlusconi refuses to buckle, as his turncoat senators have toppled the government and he enjoys being the centre of attention when he croons for the patrons at a nightclub. Kira introduces him to Sergio and he presents Tamara with one of his famous butterfly necklaces while they dance and he reminds her that Recchia is still in love with him. Berlusconi asks Sergio to organise a party with the girls from the villa and he promises to see what he can do about arranging a safe seat in the European Parliament as a reward. During the bunga-bunga bash, however, Berlusconi is rebuffed by aspiring actress Stella (Alice Pagani), who informs him that his breath smells like her grandfather's and that there is something sordid about a 70 year-old man thinking he can make a 20 year-old girl do whatever he tells her. 

Returning to the main room, Berlusconi almost dozes off as Kira cavorts on the dance floor with some of the younger women and he throws her a top to cover herself up. She feels old and foolish, as do Sergio and Tamara, who find themselves sitting alone on the floodlit carousel. A montage shows Bertlusconi posing for an official photograph with his cabinet. But he has scarcely got his feet back under his desk than the town of L'Aquila is hit by the 2009 earthquake and he comes to visit those in the tented village and uses the same dream-selling pitch he employed while posing as an estate agent on the phone in promising to build them new accommodation. 

However, the world is changing and Berlusconi is stung when he is ordered to follow a new code of conduct when meeting other world leaders. Moreover, Veronica returns from a trip to Cambodia to demand a divorce and she spits out home truths in a bitter exchange in which he chides her for turning a blind eye to his faults when it suited her and she was able to live in untroubled comfort. Retaining an air of civility, they trade insults and accusations with neither being willing to acknowledge their faults. 

Needing a friend, Berlusconi calls TV game show host Mike Bongiorno (Ugo Pagliai) and they reminisce about their days together on the cruise ships. Bongiorno urges Berlusconi to patch things up with Veronica and reminds him that he has always asked the impossible by seeking to become the most powerful man in Italy without making any enemies. Patting his pal on the shoulder, Berlusconi counters by lamenting that Bongiorno's head only contains memories, while his is full of ideas. As the film ends, a statue of the crucified Christ is winched out of the ruined church in L'Aquila, while the old woman Berlusconi had promised would be rehoused not only settles into her new apartment, but also finds a pair of dentures to replace the ones she had lost in the rubble. She smiles, while Berlusconi contemplates his next move, as quitting is simply not an option. 

With a title translating as `Them', this is as much a snapshot of a national mindset as it is a single portrait. Thus, while it contains echoes of Sorrentino's The Great Beauty (2013), this often feels as though Federico Fellini's La Dolce Vita (1960) has been recast in the mould of Pier Paolo Pasolini's Salò: The 120 Days of Sodom (1975), with the sins of the flesh being paraded in all their tawdry DeMillean glory before being denounced in the final reel. Much has changed in the way cinema can depict such scenes, however, and Sorrentino is certain to face a #MeToo backlash, even though he can justifiably protest that he is merely telling it as it objectifyingly was back in 2006. 

As with Il Divo and Nanni Moretti's broadside against Berlusconi, Il Caiman (2006), non-Italian audiences will sometimes struggle to appreciate the nuances. But everyone will recognise the tongue-in-cheek nature of the opening disclaimer that the characters bear no resemblance to actual persons, especially as its instantly debunked by a caption carrying Giorgio Manganelli's maxim `Everything is documented. Everything is arbitrary.' Moreover, buried beneath Maurizio Silvi's wickedly artificial make-up design, Toni Servillo looks and sounds too much like Berlusconi for him to be playing anybody else. 

Radiating charismatic ferocity and self-serving insincerity, he meets his match in onetime actress Veronica Lario, who is brilliantly portrayed by Elena Sofia Ricci as a woman who seeks to humiliate him by reading intellectual tomes that highlight his coarse shallowness, but who also can't decide whether to blame herself for not realising the truth about the man she married or him for deceiving her from the moment they met.

By contrast, Sorrentino and co-scenarist Umberto Contarello use the trio played by Riccardo Scamarcio, Euridice Axen and Kasia Smutniak to demonstrate the addictive and aphrodisiac properties of power. But they are denied the kind of humanising aspects that Berlusconi is gifted, as Sorrentino invests him with the kind of genial roguishness that Shakespeare bestowed upon Richard III. He is also allowed to be the victim of the same overwhelming sadness that envelopes the nation in the aftermath of the L'Aquila tragedy, as Sorrentino (with the magnificent support of production designer Stefania Cella and cinematographer Luca Bigazzi) rings down the curtain on the faux glamour that Fellini mock-celebrated in La Dolce Vita by showing a very different statue of Christ being suspended from the end of a crane winch.