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Day after day I’m dragging myself through the labyrinth of this impossible film. A labyrinth without walls, no wait, there’s not even a labyrinth. So what is it? I comfort myself with the faces of Benigni and Villaggio who continue to draw everywhere, even on the cuffs of their shirt.
Villaggio’s audition. A well dented, dusty Stetson. Graying beard. Bring out the initial trace of his eyebrows: meaner. A filthy, threadbare raincoat, with the belt hanging off to one side, with pieces of twine, pockets bulging with wadded up tissues.
