The many falsehoods (and inaccuracies) of the Rai 1 miniseries on Leopardi
In recent days the miniseries “Leopardi” by Sergio Rubini was broadcast on Rai 1, preceded by grandiose declarations from the director, who stated that he wanted to tell a “different” Leopardi, new to the usual image of the depressed pessimist.
This is the reason, according to him, for the choice not to represent Leopardi as he was physically, but to embellish him: a graceful and attractive actor was chosen, the hump was eliminated and only towards the end are clear aesthetic signs of illness shown . This has obviously generated a lot of controversy, and is in fact such an absurd decision that it would seem to have been made just to spark discussion; especially because the director declared that he removed the hump because he wanted to show Leopardi as ironic and full of life. But why can’t someone with a hump be ironic and full of life? Such a statement even seems incredible, which obviously makes no logical sense. And in fact, Rubini’s Leopardi is not full of life at all, but he is sad, shy and cadaverous exactly like the Leopardi that everyone knows.
If someone has a hump he can’t be ironic, and if he doesn’t have one, does he become one?
This is because, in fact, it is obvious that it is not the physical appearance that creates the character: it is not that if you remove the hump then he becomes “colourful”, especially if you continue to represent him as a poor idiot who does not even when a woman takes his hands and if she puts them on her breasts she manages to quail. In fact, it is incredible how many times in the film Leopardi finds himself in front of a woman who is clearly interested in him and reacts like a beardless twelve-year-old; incredible especially because in reality, unfortunately, these things never happened to him. But this is just one of the many liberties that the director took.
Of course a biopic can never be completely faithful to historical truth, and will present licenses due to issues of time or the complexity of certain issues; however, it is assumed that these licenses are sensible, that is, they serve to paint a picture of the person whose biography is being told. One wonders therefore, especially from the perspective – let’s remember – of the representation of a “different” Leopardi, what is the point of showing him incapable of relating to the opposite sex, when it is not true that he was: how does it change the idea that did we have him? He was a loser and remains a loser, except that he also seems stupid to us.
Too much space for love and too many invented facts
I ask myself the same question about the immense space dedicated to Fanny Targioni Tozzetti, who is almost more important in Leopardi’s life than Antonio Ranieri, who lived with him for seven years. This woman certainly had a notable impact on the poet, who fell in love with her, obviously not reciprocated, and suffered a lot; but her presence in the film completely dominates the last years of Leopardi’s life, considering that he met her in 1830 and she died in 1837, so much so that the other things that happen in these years are presented almost in passing, including the composition of Ginestra, the Leopardi’s final masterpiece. Not only that: a large part of the second episode is dedicated to the relationship between Fanny and Ranieri (this too told by altering the facts, obviously), and here the question is even more inevitable: but if I am watching a series on Leopardi, an immense poet and eternal, what do I care about seeing the cuddles that your friend has with his lover? Nothing, except that, by altering the facts, Ranieri’s relationship with Fanny is described as a betrayal of Leopardi himself, and therefore, in short, another reason why he is a poor loser. So much so that he even ends up acting like Cyrano in Bergerac de noantri, writing letters to Fanny pretending to be Ranieri – and she is so stupid that she doesn’t notice, which is impossible considering that Ranieri expressed himself as a semi-illiterate and Leopardi was one of the greatest poets of the history of Italy.
The dominant criterion seems to be the need to create an audience
In short, everything to create drama, to make us feel sorry for Leopardi, when in theory it was exactly the thing the film shouldn’t have done. But obviously it’s not the only reason: there’s always the audience to take into consideration, and the need, as I said before, to get people talking about the series. So here is the much-talked-about kiss between Leopardi and Ranieri, of which we obviously have no evidence, and which is also put there in the film just for the sake of it: they kiss, then as if nothing had happened. The meaning? Titillate that part of the gay community that for some reason needs to imagine that every single artist of the past was homosexual and this truth has been obscured for centuries by homophobic philology.
Almost nothing emerges of Leopardi’s thought, of the incredible strength of his ideas and character, of his irresistible comedy: small flashes every now and then, inserted here and there without a real common thread between the parts. His writing is represented as a sort of mystical delirium that occasionally comes to him out of nowhere, and the feeling that the scenes in which the steps are recited were inserted only because they had to is difficult to shake.
There is also no lack of merits in this film, especially in the part dedicated to childhood, where the chronological inaccuracies, although present, do not cause particular damage, but fall within those legitimate licenses I spoke about before and overall give a fairly faithful to what little Giacomo was like, and what it was like for him to live in the Leopardi palace under the strict control of Monaldo. But what the viewer is left with, obviously, is the story of adulthood, and therefore the impression of a person incapable of living, sad mostly for no reason – especially at the beginning – and socially clumsy. Leopardi was certainly sad, but he certainly had reasons; he was also a little socially awkward, but he was also brilliant and in great demand in salons, and perhaps this would have been useful to show, after the proclamations about the alternative Leopardi. Instead, once again, we bring home the image of Leopardi as depressed and boring.