All language subtitles for for.lucio.2021.1080p.web.h264-skyfire

Beppe Caschetto and Rai Cinema
present

an IBC Movie production
in collaboration with Avventurosa

with the support of
Regione Emilia-Romagna

with the support of
Regione Lazio

Regional Fund for Cinema
and Audiovisuals

in collaboration with

a film by Pietro Marcello

FOR LUCIO

Dear Tobia,

you were with Lucio for many years.

Were you always his manager?

No, I began in 1966

when he came into the restaurant Cesari.

And said to me,
"Tobia, I need to talk to you

because I need a manager.

Because I'm not happy
with the one I have..."

I said, "I've never been a manager".

"I trust you."

And then he said...

He left.

He was wearing a bike helmet.

I hadn't even recognized him.

Then he came back and said,

"Tobia, I forgot to tell you something.

I'm broke".

My first concert was in Gallipoli.

I remember that

at the entrance it said,

"man", and a price
"woman", another price.

There were lots of people dancing

so I went to get the money.

Panic.

I went to this guy,

one of the organizers, and told him,

"Listen. Let's count the money".

"I have no money."

"But the venue is full.

How can you say that?

You signed a contract,

I set off from Bologna,

for you to tell me,

'Good morning'? I don't think so.

We need to fix that."

So, what did I do?

I quickly stole
his and his friend's Rolexes.

Both their watches.

And then I told him,

"Tomorrow I'll be at Hotel Plaza
in Taranto."

Another Carnival party.

"If you bring the money,

I'll give back the Rolexes.
Otherwise, I'll keep them."

I'm happy to have had this night
as my debut with Lucio.

And so she was left alone
in the room

The room overlooking the port

Her only clothes what she had on

And the days shorter and shorter

And though she didn't know
his name

Or what country he was from

She awaited me like a gift of love
From that first month on

Lucio told me to go to his house.

I rang the bell and his mother
opened the door.

Lucio hadn't arrived yet,

or wasn't there,
I don't remember anymore.

His mother asked me,
"So you're Tobia, the manager?

Of what? My son's manager?

Manager of what?

He must find a job, and he must study.

He needs to stop acting like a clown.
You understand?"

As the old adage says,
'There is only one mother'.

It's true.

I remember that time with great delight.

- What is happening?
- It's a mother with a problem.

- A problem?
- Her son has a beard.

I'm so sorry. Do you want me
to make it disappear?

- I wish.
- You'd be happy?

- The happiest.
- Only the beard?

- Does he have long hair, too?
- He does.

Long hair, too!

Maybe you need a barber
rather than a magician.

I'd love that.

Look, we have a fantastic singer
we'll soon introduce,

who has a beard and long hair
and yet, he's liked by many.

- What's your name, madam?
- Dalla.

Dalla? But...

- Our singer is Dalla, too.
- So strange.

- Where are you from?
- Bologna.

He's from Bologna, too!
Where do you live?

Does he have a beard?

- He does.
- Then, it's him.

It's him!

Of course!

Lucio Dalla, here he is!

Come here, Lucio.

You don't want your son to have a beard?

But it's so nice.

She was the first who gave a beard to me.

Oh, it was you?

You could act in a film
based on the Bible.

Or on the Risorgimento.

- He vaguely resembles... who?
- Garibaldi.

Anyone from the Risorgimento era.

He sings well, though, madam.

- I like it.
- You do?

That's bad...

You must be happy, right?

- Is that good for you?
- Very good.

Alright, do you want to dedicate
a nice song to her?

It's not exactly fitting.
It's called "When I was a soldier".

Your mother is not exactly a soldier.

It fits well with today's theme: silence.

Madam, you will be escorted...

Lucio was called by Zecchino d'Oro

to sing a song.

And he brought his mother.

He always used to invite his mother,

but she'd never go because,

and I think she was right,

she'd say, "I don't want to embarrass
him while he's working.

There will be other occasions".

And that was an occasion

because it wasn't a concert,
just one song.

That was the first time
I saw Lucio with his mother

at the Antoniano.

And I remember a detail.

She slipped.

It was also shown on TV.

And then, the camera panned away
and she was helped up.

Everything went well.

It was a lovely night.

His mother would make him the clothes

and the purses he used.

She'd make a lot of things,

and, to Lucio, she was very important.
Family first.

His father died when he was six.

All his affection went to his mother.

His mother would always
stand by him even though...

initially, she changed
her mind later on,

initially she was like
any other mother at that time.

They were obsessed with finding
a stable job for their children.

But that wasn't a stable job.

The director of this program

decided to compare some of the candidates

who came for the audition,

and who weren't always well-prepared,

with personalities
who have had a great success

which is still current and valid.

One of them is Lucio Dalla.

Hello.

I'm very glad to have you as our guest.

Because you're one of the few people

with a very solid musical background.

You have a top-notch jazz background.

Yes, I started out as a clarinet player.

Initially as an amateur
and then as a professional.

Where did you use to play?

My first band was based in Bologna,

it was called the Reno Jazz Gang.

Then, I moved to Rome

and played with the Second Roman
New Orleans for two years,

as a clarinettist.

I didn't sing back then.
It wasn't in my plans.

I see. How come you left
the jazz scene?

A big reason was that
it wasn't economically viable.

I literally needed to eat.

I was 17 or 18 in a city
that wasn't my hometown.

I would often starve
and sleep on the streets.

I think I was a predecessor
of the hippie culture

because I had no place to sleep.

But the main reason

was that I had already noticed,
and lately even more so,

that there was a large gap
between the music I used to make

and the recipient of my music:
the audience.

After all, jazz is a biologically
unknown language.

It's a type of music that we
can only perceive intellectually.

We can love it,
but we can't understand it.

- We can't make it ours.
- We can't transfer it.

Jazz is the technical background

that I use to express myself

and make music
that is not underground

and that deals with issues
that are Mediterranean,

- almost folkloric.
- I see.

Day after day

Sun after sun

I've never reckoned

How far I've walked

When I look around

I don't realize

Whether I'm in Rome

Or a foreigner, I am here

I watch the river and the city

I watch the water,
and watch within me

Everything is rushing forward

but where does it go?

The river, the ocean,
then I don't know

Roads and alleys,
then I don't know

One always leaves
but never arrives

Never

I followed a shadow

But it was my own

Like a challenge

It was always ahead of me

On the long journey

The faces I saw

I now realize

All look like me

Lucio always did what he felt like doing.

And I must say, he was right.

Because when I started

there were many people
who didn't believe in him.

Many would say,
"What do you think you're doing,

following Lucio and all that..."

And yet...

Tobia won.

Lucio tried everything.

He wanted to do everything.

And this is good.

We all endured poverty,

but he would ease that for everyone.

Even when he was broke.

What do you want from life?

Honestly, I don't know yet.

I mean, I do, but it's hard to explain.

I want many things. I want tranquillity.

I want to live problem-free.

I want to get along with everyone

but at the same time,
I don't want all those things.

How can you achieve all this?

Surely, not by living how I'm living now.

With some effort, I think.

Is your job hindering
the fulfilment of your dreams?

Yes, absolutely.

But it also gives me great things,

like contact with people
which is the best part.

Being able to talk to a stranger,

someone who comes to me
and asks, "How are you?"

To initiate a conversation,
it's important to me.

If you weren't a singer,
what would you be?

A house painter.

Why?

Just 'cause. Colours fascinate me.

White, in particular.

With which famous personality
would you switch lives?

With no one.

Because...

There's no one...

I think what disturbs me
is that there are people

who follow celebrities...

I'd rather swap my life with...

With you, for instance.

Who is Lucio Dalla?

I am.

He was one of the few artists
who also knew how to live life.

It's such a peculiar thing.

He knew everything.

If I'd mention anything,
he'd already know about it.

And then he'd let you finish,

to make you feel like
you were sharing the big news.

But he already knew everything.

It was impressive.

He was so talented.

At that time...

pretty faces were predominant
in the music industry.

Morandi, Mal.

Lucio, on the other hand, debuted

when singer-songwriters were big.

When that generation

stopped caring about
the singers' handsomeness,

or the catchy songs.

But what the singers said,
their words.

Since we're many, this evening,

I'd like to do something that
seems like the right thing to do.

Let's sing together.

Let's sing together

a song that is quite easy,
it's called "Ithaca".

I'm going to explain it to you.

You need to relate, not to Ulysses,

the hero that we study in school,

but you need to relate to his sailors.

Who, for once, are the heroes
and protagonists.

They oppose Ulysses, almost politically.

Ulysses is seen as a thief, a swindler.

They tell him, "You travel the world,

find princesses in every port.

But there's nothing for us.

You sleep in beds, we never sleep.

Your son is the king's son
and won't starve if you die.

If we die, as we always do,
killed by arrows, drowned,

or transformed into pigs,

our children will starve to death.
So, stop acting like a tourist,

and take us home.

This is the meaning
of this collective song.

Captain, your noble destiny

Radiates from your eyes

But you never think of the sailor

Who has neither bread nor wine

Captain, you have always found

Damsels in every port

Yet you never consider
the man at the oars

Whose wife thinks he's lost at sea

Ithaca Ithaca Ithaca

That is my only home

Ithaca Ithaca Ithaca

I want to go back home

From the sea

From the sea

From the sea

I would have never believed,
if I had thought about it,

that I'd end up
with someone like Lucio.

You know, he was...

I saw the legend in him,

when he was nobody.

With all the hardship he endured,

he was an exceptional man
because he was self-made.

We interrupt this broadcast

To announce that

On this night of calm

And peace and love

The body of a man
has been discovered

Dead

A truly

Unusual

Exceptional thing because

It had been twenty years

In our pleasant world

Ours

Since a man had died

Without his body being found

Our teams

Of TV reporters

Fanned out

In a part of the region
of Piemonte

At the foot of the mountain,
naturally

They interviewed

The farmer

The shepherd

The labourer...

In short

The man who found the body

Please excuse in advance

How emotional he is

This freak event
has really rattled the man

However

Our reporter

Whom we thank for having... cut short

His holiday

His Christmas with the family

Pumpkin pie still on his fork,
he rushed here

To interview him

"The body was hidden by branches
covered by stones, covered in dirt"

"The body was hidden by branches
covered by stones, covered in dirt"

"It was hidden by branches
covered by stones, covered in dirt"

"It was hidden by branches
covered by stones, covered in dirt"

"The eyes!"

The eyes

The eyes

I didn't see the eyes

They were hidden by branches

They were black with dirt
They were green like the forest

His hair

His hair

No, I couldn't see his hair

His hair was red with blood

Covered in mud and dust

Like feathers from plucked birds

The mouth

I couldn't see the mouth

It was filled with dirt

And covered with branches and stones

And the lip was split. No

The mouth was silent

Lucio had a dear friend whom, sadly,

I need to mention.

He was always
with Renzo Cremonini.

A very delightful person.

Crucial in Lucio's life.

He was his producer, along with others.

You know how it is in the music world.

One makes a song and becomes
producer of that song.

I must say something
very important about Cremonini.

I don't know if many people know this.

He's the one who introduced
Roversi to Lucio.

If the mountains were all sowed
with grain

If packs of horses
returned to the plains

Flying through the flowers
and the grasses

As I told my tales of love
I would still be just twenty

As the geese fly on

But the snow is falling on my hands

And my horse is far away by now

Night and fog are in its eyes

My weapon lies across my knees

My bow and arrow unused

As the geese fly on

Where the river meets the sea

The water is a race of light

Flood me with a single smile

If the mountains are all forest

And the streets whipped by tempests
I will stop my flight

I can tell the tale of my past life

And will be able to wait for you

As the geese fly on

Roversi wasn't a socialite.

He'd stay home
and would send the lyrics.

I think he didn't want to be involved
in the music industry.

He was...

I can describe him like the type...

His life was his brain.
I've always said that.

He had everything in there.

He'd articulate beautifully.

As long as you didn't talk
about money to him.

You'd suggest some lyrics to him,

"This song here, what if we wrote
lyrics everyone can understand?

You know, we could..."

Ambiguity in lyrics?

Roversi wouldn't fall for that.

You'd ask him for some lyrics,
he'd write them,

and that was that.

Then it was up to you, through music,

to turn it into a masterpiece.

He's left a strong impression on me.

However,

we weren't very close.

Being close to Roversi wasn't easy

because he was a taciturn man,

he kept to himself,
he didn't want to disturb anyone.

I would often see him

in one of Via Marconi's
side streets in Bologna,

waiting for the bus.

I'd stop and ask him,

"Roberto, are you going anywhere?
Do you want me to drive you?"

He would always turn me down.

He was always with his wife.

He was a person...

Just talking about him now, I feel like...

There are no longer

any men like him.

Roberto Roversi, you were born
in Bologna in 1923.

Compared to the city
of your childhood,

what has changed
in present-day Bologna?

Surely many things,
but what do you think

is the most striking change?

The Bologna of my childhood

was a rural town,

at the head of a rural culture
and society.

Now, this society has gone.

It was rapidly destroyed

in a terrifying cultural genocide
in the 1950s,

and it hasn't been replaced

with anything equally
whole and stimulating.

The Bologna of my childhood

had sounds, smells, noises
typical of the countryside.

There were scents.
You could track the business seasons

through the scents in the air.

The hemp season,

the grape harvest,

the time when the people

would store the castellata,

which was an established
amount of grapes, in the cellar

stored in a special barrel
that was carried by oxen

from the countryside to the city.

Now, that bond

with the territory,
with the smells, is gone.

Bologna has become
a regular, post-industrial city.

Or better, a downright
industrial city of our times.

Tobia, who was Roversi for Lucio?

Roversi was everything.

Thanks to his collaboration with Roversi,

Lucio learned to write songs.

Dear Roberto,
it's 4 am and I've finished the album.

You taught me everything:

to be respectful
and strong at the same time.

Roversi was a fine intellectual.

He was incorruptible.

He had his beliefs.

Right or wrong,
it's not up to me to judge.

I admired him for this.

For his positions.

And because he didn't do
things for money.

The Mille Miglia

was the greatest open-road race
of all times.

It took place in Italy
between 1927 and 1957.

The Mille Miglia was born
to demonstrate the legitimacy of cars.

It became
the major advertising medium

in a transformation process

that rapidly changed
the country's reality.

Rural Italy was painfully losing
its social and cultural identity.

The last cars left

Before the glow of dawn

The air full of dust
and burning rubber from the tires

All of Italy is awake

In Bologna, Arcangeli is in the lead

In Rome, it's Nuvolari

Arcangeli has engine problems

And behind the barriers
the crowd goes wild

The Alfas are in first
and second place in Rome.

In Terni they refuel

Varzi leaves Nuvola in second place

The dust is so thick in the air

You can barely make out the ferocious race

Over Radicofani it looks like lightning

In the halls of an ancient castle

Three hundred curves
and death seems near

With the stench of fuel
and burning tires

Clear the way.

On the second pass
of the road to Bologna

Varzi's Alfa is still ahead

But fierce Nuvolari
is gunning behind him

Flashing his lights
to get out of his way

Now Nuvola is savoring his win

With dazzling Varzi number two

Arcangeli and Campari both withdrew

All champions famous the world over

In Rome, the crowd awaits

while the battle for victory
is about to start.

That's Ingrid Bergman
waiting for Rossellini.

It was an epic race

The Mille Miglia of 1947

Over lush green Umbria

Gesu's ribcage filthy from love

It was the roughest

Most heart-pounding ever

Part symphony, part crucifixion

A wild adventure in rain and fear

A real massacre, an ancient rite

Houses and ruins, a wild tempest

Nuvolari, you're a black cloud

In a clear sky

Destroyer of the spring

As you swing your hammer
challenging fate

But if it's death you are after

It's not you who will die

Flying man of Mantova

White hot from the speed

Driving a Cisitalia 1100

Not caring if he lives or dies

You're a little Buster Keaton
racing for victory

Trees fell like dominoes
as the cars flew by

All Italy's blood pressure
through the roof

As the champions
entered the straightaway

Like a flash of lightning
too fast to see

Nuvolari, you are a white cloud now

Destroyer of the spring
in the pristine sky

Openly defying fate

But if it's death you're after

It's not you who will die

In an open car

Like a harpooned dolphin

The steering wheel
worn through the veneer

He flies through Bologna

Like a silent gale

The crowd holds its breath

Nuvolari and Carena
finish second in Brescia

Two minutes behind Biondetti
who takes first

Dirty as a dog

Speeding barefaced

Like an arrow
through the Po Valley

Tobia, what do you miss most
about Lucio?

Everything.

I miss the person I shared

forty-six years of my life with.

I had great fun.

Through him, I received, maybe

more than I deserved.

That's life.

Today, dear Stefano,
is a good day for me.

Because rarely, in our lives,

you and I have shared
a meal together.

- Never just the two of us.
- Never just the two of us.

I came here

because you're the only one
who can remember Lucio's past

even better than I can.

And this makes me very happy.

Because I've never said a thing
about "the spider".

- No, it's not that.
- Who nicknamed him "Spider"?

- I did.
- Why?

But he renamed me "Bonkers".

- I remember.
- Because, for Lucio,

if you do
ordinary things, you're crazy.

And so he called me "Bonkers".

- Why did you call him "Spider"?
- And I said,

"You're a spider".

Why?

Because he was small and hairy.

Did you find him handsome?

Well, that's not for me to say.

- He was normal.
- What do you mean "normal"?

- Thank you.
- Enjoy.

A nice chat and some pasta.

What do you mean "normal"? Was he?

You know, he was beautiful as a kid.

When he was 7 or 8, he was so cute.

He'd play in musicals,

- he'd sing.
- At La Ribalta.

He'd sing and had all the girls.

He'd dress up like a bullfighter.

I was younger, and my mother
would take me there.

When I was a child,
I was so jealous of his costumes.

He'd sing with the girls.

Then he got uglier over time.

So much so that his mother, Iole

would say, "Lucio,

"Lucio, I'll give you 500 liras
if you leave. You're too ugly".

- No!
- That's what she'd say.

The thing is, Stefano, we could say that

puberty betrayed him.

That's what.

That's true.

To me, Lucio was...

He wasn't ugly, he was interesting.

He got posher over time.

Initially, he was unstylish.

Wearing a beret.

Then, there followed a period
when he was bald and didn't care.

One day I saw him with hair,
and I thought it was fake,

I said, "Did you buy it at the shop?".

He said, "What? I went to Cesare Ragazzi.

It cost a fortune!"

The latest years, he got even posher
wearing a waistcoat.

All dressed up.

- Yes.
- He progressively...

He was...

However...

This is part of life.

One makes choices.

And...

He was a little posh.

Tobia...

you're making me laugh
because you're trying to act wise.

What I've learned,

in terms of life experience,
from my youth with Lucio

is to pay attention
to all the world's anomalies.

From things to people.

How can I put it...

A love for life in all its forms,
which is rare.

Without any prejudice
or initial inhibition.

He would...

How can I put it...
He'd let life flood him.

And what might look
like a passive approach

paradoxically,
turned into the ability to give back

through his songs
and the way he lived life...

- Right.
- Randomly.

Without making plans.

Somehow, Lucio was always
sucked into things.

But...

After all...

Lucio was trashy.

He just didn't know.

He didn't know he was trashy.

He was fascinated

by certain people.

- And knowing Lucio...
- It's what I'm saying.

- He was easily seduced.
- It was shocking.

Lucio was seduced,
and then became a seducer

but, initially, he was seduced
by life and by people.

And he wouldn't rank them.
There was no hierarchy.

The last of the lowlifes
would attract him

even more than the first
of the most fortunate.

However, he'd hardly
hang out with them.

- He'd hardly hang out with them.
- With whom?

With those people.

The lowlifes?

Well, I don't know how to call them.

He truly had a passion
for the odd ones, the nut jobs.

For unique individuals...

For you, too. You're not normal,
you know.

Is it true you're the son of artists?

No, it's not. Absolutely not.

My mother was a seamstress.

My father managed
a skeet shooting facility

and traded oil.

He was an artist as a shooter

and my mother as a seamstress.

Is it true you were
a child prodigy?

This is true. I was a child prodigy.

When I was 3,
I used to sing and dance.

I'd do magic tricks.

And I would play the part
of a child prodigy.

When I was 15,
I quit for obvious reasons

I was no longer a child
nor a prodigy.

What memories do you have
of your debut?

My memories are pleasant because

there was a delicious taste of failure.

I had fun.

You were, and are, my friend.
You remember.

I was the least played artist,
the most hated.

The least understood.

Assuming there was anything
to understand which there wasn't.

My physique was different
from everybody else.

I had long hair and was much bigger.

I was much shorter.

Last year I even got taller.

I was completely different.

Of those years, what sticks to me

is the abyss between me
and the people.

Lots of doors were shut in my face.

But I'd enter from the chimneys,
from the TVs,

and they couldn't help
but see me and listen to me.

It was like committing emotional violence.

I love my job.

I loved it and I still do,
for more serious reasons,

or equally serious,

but, back then, I did it
because I felt rejected.

The sun rises over the mountains

And I have reached Milano

City of plenty and miracles
of the Madonna

The sun sets over the mountains

I barely have the strength
to look at my own hands

The sun rises over the mountains

I'm being hunted in the countryside

The sun sinks into the water

If only a saint would help me

I end up thrown into a grotto

The sun rises over the mountains

Stabbed in the chest I'm left to die

Poor worker, poor shepherd,
poor farmer

The sun rises over the mountains

And I am dead and buried

The sun rises over the mountains

Another man
has already taken my job

His meeting with Roversi
was a reciprocal epiphany.

Lucio fell in love with Roversi,
not romantically,

and Roversi with Lucio,

because he felt that instant
creative vitality in him.

It was really a sort of symbiosis
between an intellectual writer

and a truly talented person.

If you think that Lucio
couldn't read the music.

He played jazz
without knowing the music.

He rented a piano

and, in a week, he could play
anything in C.

On the other hand, he found
the shape of the words

for his music.

And that was a period...

They weren't very successful
at that time, Lucio and Roversi.

They were successful in theatres.

He had struggled to get signed by RCA.

Roversi never followed Lucio
in his concerts.

No.

It was really a gift
without expecting anything in return.

It wasn't an exchange.

It was a fusion of talents.

From afar.

That too.

It is eight in the evening

When the first red flag appears

Over the walls of the FIAT plant

There's a new September
in the old September

And it falls apart
and takes all life with it

The ancient pain
that won't go away

In Genoa, Milan, and Turin
a key opens destiny

It is nine in the evening

When a second red flag appears

Over the walls of the FIAT plant

The people have flooded the streets

They don't want to wait

The people are fed up

They don't feel like talking

The old rage
has broken open the day

And grows terrible and ordered

It is ten in the evening

When a fourth red flag appears

Above the walls of the FIAT plant

- Were you disoriented?
- I was.

Initially, I was. I wanted to cry.

All this heavy machinery stacked up.

And that deafening noise.

During my first days here,

in such a big environment,
I felt quite uneasy.

However...

Actually, I thought about leaving FIAT.

- And you?
- I had worked in a very small industry

with only three workers.

I came from the countryside,

and arriving in this big environment

made me feel uneasy.

However, in a short time,

thanks to my colleagues'
little pranks,

pulling pranks was common practice,

we called them 'army pranks',

and, somehow, I adjusted
to the environment.

Was it worse than you had thought?

Neither better nor worse.

Just different.

Was there a more serious,

sweeter, more dignified,

more beautiful person than that man?

I was very charmed by Roversi.

Because he was an honest man.

And that's rare.

Everything he'd say,
whether you liked it or not,

was a form of honesty and truth.

He had skills in writing and thinking.

He followed his own ethics in thinking.

He had his style.

What is wonderful about Roversi
is his style.

Lucio didn't have a soul,

didn't have style.

He'd become everyone else's soul.

He'd possess them.

He was a sort of gentle bird of prey.

I said, the contract
had been finalized on the 30th.

The day when,

having received the green light,

I could relay the news to the public.

In fact,

I had signed the contract on the 24th,

but until the 30th,

I was not authorized to consider
the deal finalized,

because I hadn't yet received
from Tripoli the message

relaying the green light
from the Libyan government.

Good morning, thank you, Mr. Agnelli

I am from the Manchester Guardian

I won't waste your time

This is my first question

How do you square this circle?

You say Taylorism is obsolete

But then vote Mirafiori

And once again fill the trains
with immigrants

It's not a flock of sparrows
you're unleashing

But an exodus from the poor South

Leaping at the chance
to decentralize production

Very well, Mr. Agnelli

Your English is impeccable

I've duly noted your remarks

Through my clenched teeth

It's obvious that Agnelli...
let me finish.

Agnelli made a deal,
economically and politically,

and so did Gaddafi.

But I don't want to talk about Gaddafi.

The deal was made
with his capital in mind,

within FIAT's monopoly.

But it doesn't go
beyond his monopoly.

The working class
won't benefit from it at all.

Agrobusiness

Alimont, down five or fifty. Whoa!

Buton, good God, down by ten
Bon. Ferraresi

Motta, Eridania, Zuccheri Roma
and forty five others

Cement sector: Eternit,
Italcementi, Unicem

Down ninety, up thirty,
up eleven more

Real estate: Condotte d'Acque,
up by nine

Le Gilardini, seventy nine
Risanamento, up by thirty

Coge, Coge, Coge, eighteen

Certosa sixty
Beni Stabili up twenty, up twenty

Breaking news

For 48 hours,

a man who lost his mind
due to the stock market crash,

terrorized the Milan Stock Exchange.

His relentless sequence
of crazed buying and selling

has caused three coups
in Central America,

the suicide of a high ranking
Japanese official,

and the merging of six
out of the Seven Sisters

in a new cloistered order.

Tobia, do you remember the times
when Lucio was the happiest?

I would see Lucio's happiness
when he'd feel

fulfilled through his albums.

When he was convinced,
and no one else,

that he'd made a masterpiece,

that's when he was very happy.

How would he show happiness?

He'd hang out with his friends,

laughing and joking.

He would just be himself.

And you know

that Lucio was very likeable,
when he wanted to.

- And quite a lot.
- Yeah.

- Besides...
- One more thing I remember

is that as he got richer,

he'd take up more space.

He'd buy real estate.

He'd expand his own house.

He expanded from Via D'Azeglio
to Piazza Dei Celestini,

buying parts of apartments.
Must have been seven apartments.

He bought a house on Mount Etna.

- Two houses on Tremiti Islands.
- Yes.

That he'd reach with his boat
named 'Phlegm'

after his love for gross stuff,
for foul smells,

for disgusting stuff,

for excreted stuff.

In fact, his intercom would show
the name Domenico Sputo, as in spit.

He was a world champion
in spitting.

He'd do crazy stuff.

Once, we went to Cantù
for a basketball game.

Marzorati, captain
of the Italian national team,

had Lucio try three 3-pointers
during the break.

Lucio shot them like this.
He used to play basketball as a kid.

He was nicknamed "Tombolino".
He sucked.

- He'd shoot with two hands.
- Yes.

- It was a horrible sight.
- But he'd always score.

In front of 10,000 people in Cantù

he shot three 3-pointers.

He was like...

Let's put it this way,

let's say a word about Lucio:
always surprising.

He'd never leave you...

He'd never meet your expectations.

That's the surprise.

He'd blow your expectations.

You'd expect something,
and he'd do something else.

He was unpredictable.
He'd change all the time.

That was his luck.

Artistically, physically,
and personally.

You go out early in the morning

Your head racing with thoughts

Dodge the traffic
and the newspapers

Then rush back home, after all
today's the same as yesterday

No happiness

Not even on airplanes or trains

Or on a spot lit stage

You bow to the crowd up front
clapping their hands and cheering

No happiness

Together in bed but there's no peace

Nothing left you can think up

Forced even to do yourself harm

Just so you can forgive with sweetness

And go on

Happy

Pretend that all across the world

There are people who share
the same problems

Organize a nightly hang

For people who are crazy
and not that smart

Pretend that the whole point
of this race

Is to make it healthy
to the grand finale

While Andrea is already ready

With a club and his jaws
like a shark's

Asking you to pay up

For the meals served
and barely eaten

For sleep interrupted,
for being forced to steal

For having been killed

Fifteen times in an alley

For fifteen years
each Christmas eve

For your latest album,
you wrote the lyrics, too.

And they're quite good.

Why didn't you do that before?

I didn't because I preferred
the lyrics Roversi wrote for me.

This time, I wrote my lyrics,

especially because,
not only I felt the need

to say what I felt inside,

but also to find
an even deeper reason

to continue doing this job

that was beginning
to bore me last year.

Doing something new helped
find meaning again.

She gets off the tram and approaches,
dancing a little Mambo

She feels clever and cute, says
I won't be staying with you longo

My heart is shipwrecked but I'm a man
and say, You're free to go

Take your smile with you
and leave me to ease my blues

Take away the tatters, your hips,
and that Mambo face

And your fake happiness

That can force a smile
from even your last sob

You, yes you

It's you who never feels afraid

I want to come back
and find you a little surer

My Mambo queen

I think I'd rather stay shipwrecked

Than have you at my side again

You

You

How did Lucio compose his songs?
I remember he had a notepad.

When he was around town, or home,
he'd start writing.

Music would come later...

- True.
- Most of the time.

When he'd ask me if I liked them or not,

it was nice debating about it.

I have no creativity at all,

so, I represented the audience's inertia,

regardless of his trust in my judgement.

When you find someone so talented,

that talent is a little special.

It's not just intelligence or sensitivity.

It's the ability to pass that sensitivity
and intelligence onto others.

Lucio wrote beautifully.

There are no two songs alike.

They evoked extraordinary images,
rarely ordinary.

Somehow,

Lucio had a stronger creative instinct
than a propensity for reflection,

because he'd use reflection
to his advantage. He was cunning.

You know him, he'd never give in,

he always had to have the final say.

- He'd listen to you, though.
- Alright, let's say...

He'd listen to you because... Listen.

It wasn't because you were friends,

but because he trusted you.
It's different.

I met Lucio when I was six.

You know, you can't lie
to your brother from another mother.

In fact, when he'd lie to my face,

he knew all too well
that I knew it was a lie,

but I'd pretend it was all right.

And so would he, while telling it.
He knew he was lying,

but he would pretend he wasn't.

He'd pretend I believed the lie.

What do you look for
in your personal relationships?

In my relationships
with others I look for...

for everything.
Or, at least, I look for a lot of things.

At times, maybe childishly,
I try to find myself in others.

It's quite scary because
I often look for people like me

and this kills me.

I find myself in what
is completely different from me.

If I found someone
completely different from me,

an individual
who's diametrically opposite to me

in every sense, also physically,
then I'd be attracted to them.

Why do you lie?

What?!

For more than a hundred years

At the Luna park

Sonny Boy arrives

With the painted horses
and the Fortune Teller

With her metal teeth

Black eyes

Scanning the mysteries of the sky

He was born in Ferrara,
no, he was found on a wall

He's full of signs, his muscles
ripple beneath his skin

Sonny Boy has drawn a map
of the stars on his arms

And hunts each night
on his horse for lost souls

I also asked for help many times
as a little boy

How many times have I been lost

How many times did I fall and cry

Watching the stars
I tried to understand

How to live in the grown-up world
But not be afraid, afraid of dying

Like a gypsy sitting on a wall

Eyes trained on the future

Have you ever stolen from Lucio?

- Me?
- Yes.

If that's what you're implying...

What does that mean?

I said, have you ever stolen money?

In order to steal from Lucio,
you had to be an early bird.

You know him well, it wasn't easy.

He was the only artist
who was aware of everything.

- He knew everything about everyone.
- He was a sleuth.

Not with me. He'd rip my invoices.

For an artist, and I must say

there aren't many like that,

as many have been misguided,

either due to ignorance or dishonesty.

What about him?

Not him.

Lucio knew everything.

You know, all of Lucio's
and your friends

say that Lucio was luckier
to have you than you were to have him.

It's not for me to say,
but I'm glad you said that.

When I was asked to work for Lucio,

thanks to you
who acted as my sponsor,

I can say that the many years
I spent with Lucio were happy ones.

So, Lucio believed in you

- and you believed in Lucio.
- Yes.

What do you believe in?

I believe in mankind.

In the possibility of being completely...

I believe in love.

In absolute love.

I believe in the possibility
of redeeming oneself.

I believe no one should be judged.

Basically because I'm a Christian,
and I believe in God.

Despite its many contradictions.

Are you an optimist?

I am a believer.

A believer can also be a pessimist.

But I'm not a pessimist.

I'd never sing of a world
without disquietude.

Dance Dance Ballerino,
all night long and in the morning

Don't stop dancing

On a table set between two mountains,

Dance on the waves of the ocean,
I'll come watch you

Grab the sky with your hands

And fly higher than the airplanes

Never stop

Few years remain, or maybe days

They're all stopping
in a hurry one by one

Not one will ever come back

Dance, don't be afraid
the night is dark and cold

Don't think of the pistol
that you're aiming

Dance in the light
of a thousand cigarettes and the moon

That shines on you in the day

Dance the mystery

Of this world that burns up
all that was true yesterday

Tell me I'm right,
it won't be true tomorrow

Stop the Palermo-Frankfurt train
with your bare hands

The sight of a boy at the window
for some reason moves me

Green eyes that look like glass

Run stop that train
and make it turn around

They're loaded, let them through.

Good gracious.

Let them through.

Mister President.

- Mister President, maybe...
- They're loaded.

Let them through.

Bologna. Central Station.
August 2nd, 1980.10:25 am.

A bomb in a suitcase goes off
killing 85 people and injuring 200.

It's the worst terrorist attack
in Italian history after World War II.

We resume the conversation,

paying our debt to Lucio Dalla.

It's alright, I can collect it next year.

I wanted to ask,
since I'm interested in the song...

The song...

The discourse on the Euromissiles.

Craxi, you're saying

that Europe has always been open
to the Soviet Union

in terms of financial credit

as well as in terms of dialogue.

So, why is it that the Soviets

are preparing such sophisticated
offensive or defensive systems?

I said it in one of my songs,

Russians and Americans
are exactly the same.

I believe there's
something greater at stake

that is harder to analyse.

Especially when it comes to the people.

How can the people

in Sicily, or in Emilia-Romagna,
or in Lombardy

say 'yes' or 'no' to the installation
of missiles?

"Are those missiles against us
or someone else?"

We had initially mentioned
the opportunity to rebuild relationships

within the Italian Left...

so as to find a common ground...

I'm not a politician.
I'm an entertainer who believes...

Europe is already scattered
with missiles.

It won't allow for the political
canalization of dissent...

an extended lecture
from philosopher Luporini...

our 'no' to the Euromissiles

includes those from the East
and from the West.

Your heart beats slower, slowly slowly

Ciao, how are you

I feel your heart now

I've never seen your eyes so beautiful

But don't turn away now
I still want to watch you

Don't turn your head

Where are your hands

Let's wait 'til it's light again

'Til we hear a voice

Let's wait without fear

For tomorrow

It seems to me, Lucio is more loved
now that he's dead

than when he was alive.
Let's be honest.

It's quite strange.

Such a...
fervent admiration for Lucio

after years of of being marginalized.

But it's also legitimate because...

Maybe I'm overreaching,

but if Lucio's songs
will be read 50 years from now,

it's because they still work.

And it's true that

there's hardly anyone I know,
and who met Lucio,

who wasn't fascinated by him.

People from the music industry,

as well as the general public.
He had such a strong impact.

He never stayed the same,
so to speak.

He was like a perpetual firework.

We miss him, but...

Soon after Lucio's death,

you know we've never said
a word about Lucio,

we're doing it now, exceptionally.

Morandi said he was expecting Lucio
to come back from South America

saying, "I was kidding, guys,
I'm not dead".

Sure enough, among us friends

we speak of Lucio in the present tense.

We can't...

Curiously, his presence
goes beyond time, somehow.

It's not just that
the songs stay, the body leaves.

His body is still here, too.

His voice.

His transformations.

He's here.

Where are you going?

I'm leaving.

I'm leaving. I'm coming.

Ultimately, like a hero.

- Why are you leaving?
- Ordinarily.

Because it's written. It's my destiny.

There's always a departure or a return.

The greatest heroes
do that in their daily life.

For me, leaving Bologna
is painful, sometimes.

Like a cut.
At times, it's a relief.

I like Bologna and I dislike it.

Leaving takes on meanings
that can be disquieting.

It's good to leave
and it's even better to come back.

I'd love to give a saucy
and sentimental sense

to each departure and each return.

Saucy, I can do.
Sentimental, not so much.

Lucio!

FOR LUCIO