Original subtitles

Gregorio Napoli is a well-known Sicilian film critic.

Gregorio, how did you feel in 1975

the distant 1975,

when you found out about Pier Paolo Pasolini's death?

It was Sunday, 2 November 1975,

and I had spent the holiday in one of my seaside homes.

Back in Palermo, I lay down for a nap.

Then my daughter who was only five at the time,

woke me and said: "Daddy, Pier Paolo Pasolini is dead.

The newspaper has been calling for two hours."

I called the newspaper,

ordered space for the obituary

and learned about the terrible details.

The simple news that Pasolini had died

obviously didn't give enough information

on his death and murder, on such a dramatic ending.

The word "hope" has been erased from my vocabulary.

A quarter century has gone by since Pasolini's death.

Since then a lot has been forgotten.

But who really was Pasolini?

Pier Paolo Pasolini was a multifaceted intellectual.

A writer, poet, journalist...

An advocate, we could say, of a philosophy

that protested against the bourgeoisie of the time.

- Go on. - Silence.

Castagna, surely with all the filmmakers you've met,

you must have a nice collection of anecdotes.

Collection of what? Listen to him!

- I tell him to talk... - It means stories.

Anecdotes are personal stories, do you understand?

- So what do I talk about? - About Pasolini.

I remember one scene we did with Pasolini in a "wheelbarrel"...

- In a what? - Sorry... wheelbarrow.

Castagna, our home viewers

are surely wondering:

"Who knows how many anecdotes in the past 35 years

this great man of cinema, known as Enzo Castagna,

must have to tell?" So do you have a lot?

Yes, tons. I remember one scene with Pasolini...

...that to set up the shot... - What film was it?

"The Canterbury Tales".

He got inside a "wheelbarrel"... I mean wheelbarrow...

along with the camera and lay down.

He was filming behind the prison.

Pasolini came to Sicily many times in his life

but few people know

he filmed scenes from "Canterbury Tales" in Palermo.

Who is Pasolini to today's youth?

Let's ask Saverio D'Amico, a talented youth of Sicilian cinema

and valuable collaborator

for Enzo Castagna's entertainment agency.

Saverio, what do you remember about Pier Paolo Pasolini?

I remember what I've read

and what I've learned about Pasolini,

that he was one of the greatest filmmakers

and also that he batted...

...for the other team, as they say...

I say it that way so I don't have to use the word.

What do you mean?

I mean that he was...

He was a faggot,

a transsexual.

And that anyway...

Within the film industry and also outside of it,

he was very good but had "a wandering eye", as I call it,

meaning that when he saw a boy he liked,

he tried his hardest

to set up an "encounter" with that person.

Open up, you nasty faggot!

You useless crap!

Either give me what you owe me

or I'll kick you and all this rubbish out.

We've already had one death.

But he was even sicker than him!

Look what I let in here, this whole building is sick now!

This is a warning, you faggot!

Saverio, you previously mentioned Pasolini's diversity.

You probably know that in Palermo, a derogatory word

to say homosexual is "arruso".

Saverio, don't you think there's a difference

between an "arruso" and a filmmaker?

Well, arruso...

in the Italian language

can be translated as "faggot"...

An arruso is one thing.

It's a little... actually it's completely dialect.

In Palermo when we call someone an "arruso"...

It's dialect from Palermo.

But people would normally say "you're a fag".

But the diversity between fag and filmmaker is

that a filmmaker is a filmmaker and a fag is a fag.

But this guy, this Pasolini,

was both things.

He was a good filmmaker and a good fag.

Sorry that I laugh but...

It's a culture that...

...that I don't like.

Everyone has their own opinion and what mine is...

is that diversity...

It's a shame because he was a good director.

He loses points because he was a fag.

"Arruso".

What does this mysterious crude and harsh word mean?

My love, I've never been so happy.

A piece of shit like me doesn't deserve such happiness.

You've brightened up my life.

Silence, don't speak like that.

It hurts me.

You are an angel.

The man you see is Paolo Alaimo.

He's fifty years old.

- Alaimo. - Yes?

In the neighbourhood you live in and hang out in,

people have said for 30 years that you were Pasolini's lover.

- Is that true? - No.

Alaimo, tell me the truth.

Look into your conscience.

Were you Pasolini's lover for a few days?

- I've never even met him. - Swear.

Never met him.

I swear to God. Always.

- Alaimo. - Yes?

Do you realize that because of this rumour about you and Pasolini,

people call you "arruso"?

They call me "arruso" because the word comes from another word.

So the word comes from another word.

So they...

people who... or should I say "those" people,

call me that word but they mean the other word.

The word comes from our local dialect.

Alaimo, are you an "arruso" or not?

So far I've never been one

and I'm still not one.

Because a well-hung person like me...

I'm very talented and wise.

- You're well what? - I've got a big dick.

What I mean is, I think it's...

The word "arruso" doesn't make sense

because I've got a big cock,

it's enormous.

And I can let people use my dick

because it's a massive tool.

- What is it? - A massive tool.

I've got it and it's big so why would I be an "arruso"?

I like women and I always have.

You're broke too?

I've got an idea.

I'll blow you and you blow me.

Alaimo, can't there be well-hung fags?

No, no way.

- There's no way? - No, because...

There's only one way of being a fag and that's it.

- As far as I'm concerned at least. - What way is that?

It only means one thing.

Don't you know what it is? It's when you take it up the ass.

But there are also people

who take it and give it.

I know from experience because I've been told.

- Wait. - I've heard...

You said: "I know from experience".

Meaning you've done it?

No, I've been told, people talk.

- You said "from experience". - Yes.

People talk and someone listens.

Then they take in what they hear.

They listen, people say it and that's how it works.

It's like a map.

Mr Napoli,

in your opinion,

what relationship did Pasolini have

with this beautiful land we call Sicily?

Gregorio!

- I have to lower my arm. - Right, say it again.

Mr Napoli,

can you tell our viewers

what relationship Pier Paolo Pasolini had

with our beautiful island, Sicily?

Pasolini's encounter...

You messed up, you stumbled.

Pier Paolo Pasolini's relationship with Sicily

is somewhat sporadic.

He came here to film "Assembly of Love"

and a few scenes

from one of his last films "The Canterbury Tales".

But I could also say

that his experience with the bright light of Sicily,

the beautiful sun in Sicily,

had a constant effect on his work, or at least...

This man was on Pasolini's set 30 years ago.

What's your name?

What?

Who?

Who?

Cirrincione? Your first name?

Fortunato? Your name is Fortunato?

Mr Cirrincione, you were on the set with Pasolini 30 years ago.

What film was it?

What?

He was a fag.

He said he wanted to screw me.

I answered: "No, you won't.

I'll do it to you."

- Who? - Him, the fag.

Who?

What?

Pasolini?

- Fag. - What did he want from you?

My ass.

Who?

Who?

The fag.

- Yours? - Yes, mine.

You're not doing that to me.

I do those things.

I'll do it to you. I'll screw your ass.

- You did it to him? - Yes.

- He wanted... - To screw me.

But you...

I don't take it, I give it.

- Because you're a man. - I'm a man.

I have... You're a fag!

What do you have?

What's that?

A dick for screwing.

- Cirrincione... - You're a fag!

Cirrincione, what happened in the end?

Nothing.

Then he just left.

- What's your name? - Cirrincione.

- Your first name. - Fortunato.

- Fortunato? - Yes.

- Thanks. - You're welcome.

Perhaps you might appreciate some poetry I wrote

and for which I apologize to our viewers beforehand.

It is an unpublished look back at that event

and I dedicate it to your interview. May I?

Of course.

Zavattini, to Luigi Chiarini

wept so bitterly in 1968.

On the boardwalk in front of the Venice Festival,

Pier Paolo had to give up hope for his "Gospel",

his eyes towards the heavens,

filled with tears of emotion.

Back then it was called criticism,

but should have been called repression.

And the professor, yes... Chiarini...

found relief in the suave ardour of Zavattini.

Ferreri was repudiating the uproar,

and sent a message to Pasolini on the opposite banks:

"You are welcome, you are free,

bring your "Teorema", on that side or here."

And back from the false protestors, came the great Marco,

shouting in a hoarse voice:

"Look out, blondie. I'm going to waste you!"

The word "hope" has been erased from my vocabulary.