Fedele alla linea

"We'd like to see a documentary about Cccp and Csi. About the evolution of Pgr, about how the human and interpersonal relationship between Giovanni Lindo Ferretti and Massimo Zamboni actually worked." Fans of the documentary — or rather of the rockumentary, a form of art and communication that in Italy has been enjoying a period of creative flourishing for some years now — are setting the bar high.

Outside the Nuovo Cinema Aquila in Rome's Pigneto district ("arty types drawn to the charm of the old working-class neighbourhood," as Niccolò Contessa describes it), tickets for "Fedele alla Linea" are already sold out half an hour before doors open. "It would be good if the documentary untangled a few knots around some of Ferretti's more provocative statements. Not that he needs to apologise, just to clarify." All expectations seem plausible, given the subject (Giovanni Lindo Ferretti, of course), the director (documentary filmmaker and actor Germano Maccioni) and a budget that's anything but do-it-yourself.

By the end of the screening, some of those expectations are confirmed — some pleasantly, others less so. Let's start with the good news. Italian documentary filmmaking is alive, expressively accomplished, and capable of piquing the curiosity of a wide audience. Audiences, when given the right stimulus, seem willing to embrace new input and appreciate it. All this despite the scant airtime devoted to documentaries on television and the rarity of theatrical screenings.

What seems to be missing, however, is a guiding idea. Given the resources and energy invested, and the lack of any guaranteed television outlet — especially in Italy — the film could and should have taken more risks, rather than clipping the wings of what might have been a beautiful bird in flight. Instead, no. Germano Maccioni's "Fedele Alla Linea" excels in its cinematography, gentle and affectionate, but almost completely loses its way when it comes to substance.

The story of Cccp and Csi (Pgr isn't even mentioned) remains too much in the background of Giovanni Ferretti's personal story, which is only partially explored and therefore fails to leave a real mark on the viewer. Politics, Mongolia, illness — always handled with discretion and restraint — the fraught relationship with his mother, and the recurring references to Christian faith: none of these threads is ever picked up and pursued with the rigorous scrutiny needed to lift a veil or crack open a vault.

Sure, there's an amusing, fleeting moment involving Zecchino D'Oro, but the rest of the footage is either archival or far from memorable. Ferretti's way of speaking remains as clear, pure and disarming as ever, but this is by no means a biographical film. In fact, it's genuinely hard to pin down what it actually is. Is it an existential journey that everyone (or no one, which amounts to the same thing here) can identify with? Is it an introspective interview with a few decent questions? Is it a beautiful, impossible devotional portrait of a "deviant" artist on loan to the indie scene?

The director has repeatedly claimed that "Fedele Alla Linea" reveals a deep kinship between Ferretti and Pasolini. Allow us to disagree. Pier Paolo Pasolini was a man who spoke plainly. Ferretti mumbles. He's deeply poetic but never clear, detached as he is from the kind of chatter he already despised back in his punk days. So he hints, he offers at most a few sparks of insight, but says little or nothing outright. Just as, inevitably and quite humanly (after all, it's his own life he's talking about), he rarely shows the critical distance needed to properly weigh his own statements.

If you'll allow us the criticism, "Fedele Alla Linea" is a documentary that succeeds only halfway: deeply poetic, yet too superficial for a die-hard fan, and not incisive enough for a curious viewer more interested in music than in horseback riding. Yes, because the real star of the show turns out to be the horses of the estate in Cerreto d'Alpi, in the province of Reggio Emilia — the only living beings Ferretti actually converses with in his self-contained monologue. Perhaps the one true, everlasting love of the Emilian singer-songwriter since childhood, the horses are filmed from every conceivable angle. And then some. They're held up as models, idealised, humanised, extolled, mythologised — until, in the end, "Fedele Alla Linea" feels less like a rockumentary and more like a promotional DVD for Equitazione Oggi.

Rather than a documentary film about Giovanni Lindo Ferretti, it comes across as a mid-length film about "Saga", the equestrian show staged in Reggio Emilia by Ferretti himself with the magnificent Maremmano horses of the Corte Transumante di Nasseta. Put that way, even the closing-credit contributions from Emilia-Romagna and Tuscany start to make sense — though, of course, that's the kind of malicious speculation best ignored outright. If nothing else, because even this aspect, which clearly dominates the film, is never really explored in any depth.

There's no mention at all, for instance, of the show's elaborate libretto, written in Italian and Latin, and the footage of the performance certainly conveys its visual power but nothing of its actual content. When the lights come back up, a girl behind us quips ironically: "If they've stolen our car, we'll just ride home on horseback." Sometimes a single joke is enough to exorcise a letdown.

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