'Hammamet' or the loneliness of 'Number One'

It was the premiere of the film “Hammamet” by Gianni Amelio, which all the newspapers are talking about these days, bringing once again to the fore the figure of Bettino Craxi, discussed and controversial as you like, but certainly great, indeed grandiose in his tragic parable. The premiere of the film was given simultaneously in cinemas all over Italy last January 9th. I therefore felt obliged to rush to see the show. I did it as a reporter first and foremost, but also as a former socialist militant and former Craxian, or rather, as a convinced Craxian today more than yesterday, for what it's worth.  

I chose to go to Torre Annunziata in the old Cinema Politeama that still survives today despite the decline in spectators in the Cinemas of yesteryear. I preferred the eight o'clock show, because it seemed to me the most suitable to welcome people who, like me, allowed themselves an evening of cinema on a Friday during the week, after the binge of the Christmas holidays that - raging for a fortnight in a row - leave more or less in everyone waste and extra pounds.

A secret hope of mine, plausible and innocent, was to surely find many “faces of memory” that is, to meet old friends or simple acquaintances, once young militants like me in the Italian Socialist Party, the PSI. And in fact the Socialist Party during the Craxi years in Torre Annunziata recorded particular peaks of consensus, growing with the long socialist wave predicted by Craxi, but never actually materialized. At a national level, in fact, the Craxi PSI has never exceeded the ceiling of 15% of consensus. And its absolute peak was 14,3% in 1987, when Craxi was still reigning.

In the city of Torre Annunziata, on the other hand, there were peak percentages of socialist votes in the various electoral competitions that were absolutely uncommon in the rest of Italy, including Craxi's "Milan to drink". In Torre Annunziata, the electoral data of Craxi's PSI were all and always in double figures. Firmly planted and sailing around twenty percent, with peaks of consensus that reached around 25% and more, if memory serves. From this, political recognitions arose for the PSI of Torre Annunziata that led to the office of Mayor, in successive phases, at least five or six representatives of the PSI. And a plethora of councilors chosen from the growing tide of socialist city councilors. In short, an important booty for a city that in the meantime was sinking between the Camorra and unemployment. In short, one could have imagined a large presence of former socialist militants, at least those, at the premiere of Amelio's film Hammamet, which narrated the last months of the life of the greatest Italian socialist leader of all time.

So I arrived breathlessly at the Cinema Politeama box office right on time, fearing I wouldn't find a seat. I didn't see any queues and so I thought that for once everyone had settled in the room on time. I bought the ticket at the box office, had it torn off at the security and, before entering the room in the dark, I glanced, distracted but interested, at the small bar, already anticipating the drink I would consume during the interval. Then I immersed myself in the darkness of the large room, equipped with several hundred seats. As soon as my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, while the first images of the film were already scrolling on the screen - with Francesco Savino, an almost perfect photocopy of Bettino Craxi - I turned around to realize how many people were with me at the cinema. A prolonged and vain effort of mine. An effort repeated without success several times. Each time the brightness of the images of the film allowed me to sink my gaze into the suggestive half-light typical of movie theaters. But nothing. Nothing at all. In disbelief, I had to resign myself. I was the only and sole spectator.

Other than faces of memory, other than former Mayors and Assessors and Socialist Councilors. All, I repeat all, no exceptions, absent. Disappeared. Just as twenty years ago the Praetorians, the Capicorrente, the Capibastone, the Dwarves and the Dancers did, who chorally cheering lived as caudataries at the munificent court of King Bettino Craxi, then left alone to die in Hammamet among a few loyal followers and his family. Not as a “leader”, but as a “lader”. Perhaps the absentees were afraid of looking and seeing themselves in the mirror. One thing is certain: now Bettino is truly alone. The absentees have buried him forever, denying him even the right to memory.

Federico LIFederico