1994. On the set of Piccoli horrori enrico ghezzi exclaims: I will make a film!, Marco Melani glosses in the same shot: It can be done, but it can also not be done.
2019. More than 500 cassettes shot by egh in the last thirty years are acquired, digitized, reviewed. An archive is constituted. It is handled by a handful of painters, philosophers, psychics, scientists of sound and nature, young flowers, editing hares, nail charmers, some bandits awaiting for judgment, neither the depraved nor the computer scientists are missing. They meet and say: It can be done.
But it’s not enough. An editorial staff must be put together to complete it.
Producers who had shown an interest put their hands in their hair. (enrico laughs)
– Why open an editorial to complete the editing of a film? they ask.
– Because we were never interested in doing without living, without loving.
– Best wishes, they say.
We propose a crazy economy, an economy of madness.
We ask those who believe, we ask around, we move the waters.
After all it is quite unique to open, today, a free crossing space, which uses the form of television schedule to give shape to a film.
Well, is said by several voices.
It adds: Cinema will die at noon.
WHO ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT? YES, BUT WHO ARE YOU?
Swinging between unity (broken and shattered) and the innumerable, we took the opportunity to cross destinies and become Corpus Faber of the assault to the Ghezzi Archive (excellent pretext). An assemblage that has become Editorial team, band/gang, orchestra, which has gathered accomplices in an irregular way with an oblique wandering among insular geographies: Paternò, Rome, Naples, Domodossola, Perugia, Turin, Stresa for now. Conveying on punctual targets without wristwatches. All moved by the intermittent pulsations of malastradafilm and its magnificent obsession with the archive. A research lasting at least 5000 years, which becomes more or less intense depending on the lunar attraction. Here, the shipwreck has brought a container loaded with betacam, Hi8, DVCAM, VHS, U-matic… Flesh, blood and vibrant synapses, to be consumed preferably by the last days of humanity. Zomia weaves textures, bridges the distances. Starting with the one with the man with the movie camera that says: It’s (not) a movie. A thing with all possible means, with practically no means. H12 fuels the boat and the Asilo often becomes the hut.