More Dark Heart of Italy

When I was in Italy last summer, I was inspired to write about so many things. In the space of two weeks, I was constantly struck by endless examples of what an Italian writer (I think it may have been Beppe Severgnini but I might be completely and embarrassingly wrong) called the difference between “your Italy and my Italia”. This is the difference between the Italy that tourists see (the magnificent scenery, the richness of the history, the art, the food, the fashion, the musicality of the language and the generousity and sociability of the people) and the complicated, illogical, confusing country of endless paradoxes that Italians actually live in. I felt guilty, enjoying the hospitality of my Italian friends and the locals in the village who shared so much with “le ragazze inglesi” and the desire to probe into the depths of the “confusione”, to criticise and to write.

In the end, only a couple of these posts got written, and less eloquently than I would have wanted them to be. Last night, however, a programme about Berlusconi’s Italy on Arte, the Franco-German TV channel, inspired me to say some more.

The programme began by describing the rise of Berlusconi and I recognised many of the events that I had already read about in Tobias Jones’ wonderful Dark Heart of Italy: how Berlusconi’s early political career began with the corruption scandal surrounding the Milano 2 residential complex that he built as a property developer and how he initially dodged legal procedings by exploiting the statute of limitations. The programme talked about how terrorism was exploited to create a fear of communism (“communism” and “fascism” are current political terms in Italy), making voters believe that the only “safe” government was one which subscribed to neither of these philosophies and instead promoted the development of the country and the gaining of wealth. It revealed how Berlusconi’s masonic connections enabled him to borrow enormous sums of money and build his media empire until it became a monopoly and how Mediaset then ignored rulings by the European Court in favour of a rival television channel.

All of this I knew already, and I would highly recommend Jones’ book if you would like to know more. The thought that the programme left me with however, was not outrage at the corruption itself but a sense of the terrible tragedy that all of this has been for Italy itself. Berlusconi came to power on a promise to promote prosperity for “the good people” instead of the political extremists, but it is clear even travelling around Italy today that there is an incredible rift between the wealthy and the ordinary people (never mind the poor). Public facilities such as swimming pools and libraries are rare in Italian cities. Much of the country’s beauty spots have been “privatised”, so that you have to pay to go to the beach and you can’t swim in the lake unless you own a villa on its shore. Italy’s cities, towns and villages traditionally belong to their peoples: socialising takes place during the passeggiata through the streets and sitting in the town square, but as someone who likes to wander around at liberty, I can testify to the general absence of public parks, spaces and places to go. While the rich have their fast cars, their yachts and their multiple holiday homes, there are places where graduates and professionals earn 500 euros a month and have to live with their parents even when they are in their late 30s. A young lawyer in Milan can earn as little as 1000 euros a month – when I lived there my rent alone, in a smallish flat on a dodgy street was 850 euros.

Many of these educated people know to protest but the combination of what was described as the “lobotomisation” of the Italian people through dumbed-down media, the labyrinthine nature of the country’s politics and a head-in-the-sand attitude to what is actually going on among many of the country’s ordinary citizens make it very difficult to bring about change. This indeed is the dark heart of Italy.

Why I Pay for Italian TV

With my internet package here in France, I get high definition TV bundled in with the phone line and internet connection that are the reasons the package is actually worth paying for for me. There are 150 TV channels included, but nevertheless, I was more than delighted when I realised that for a bargainous 3 euros per month, I could add the Italian “bouquet”, which gives me access to Rai 1, 3 and 3 and 24 hour news just as if I were in Italy. Given the reputation of Italian TV, it may come as a surprise to you to learn that anybody, least of all somebody born and bred outside of the borders of the Bel Paese, would actually pay to watch it, but there are two reasons why I do.

The first reason is that French TV is pretty bad. It doesn't have the same number of high-quality programmes that you get in the UK, but, unlike Italian TV, it doesn't give you much opportunity to laugh at it rather than with it either. Imagine Italian TV made boring. That's French TV.

The second reason is just one programme: L'Eredità. L'Eredità alone is worth 3 euros a month. It's a quiz show, on at 7 o'clock every weekday evening, where contestants answer questions in a range of formats, being eliminated as the show progresses until only two participants are left. These two then answer questions to “inherit” each other's money until eventually the winner takes it all.

The quality of the questions varies. Some are pretty stupid but some are amusing and quite a few are really interesting. One of the rounds is a guessing game that is actually really difficult, and overall, the questions are interesting enough to keep you watching and not make you despise the contestants too much for their stupidity when they get it wrong.

L'Eredità is also good for language learning because, as well as involving a wide range of vocabulary, the questions appear on the screen as you watch, helping you to understand the basics of what's going on. After the contestants response, there is a longer explanation of the answer that is a bit more complicated to follow.

As Italian TV programmes go, L'Eredità is surprisingly inoffensive. There are fewer flashing lights than in your average quiz show (and possibly even your average nature programme in Italy) and the host's skin is not too ridiculously orange. The contestants look like normal people and do not seem to have decided to appear purely in the hope of nabbing an evening gig at Berlusconi's villa. Just to add that hint of Italy, however, there is this incongruous moment where the glamorous female assistants have to dance before going on to report on relatively well-researched answers to the questions. It's bizarre.


The way that things worked out, I haven't found myself back in Italy as often as I expected to over the past few months and I feel like a bit of a fraud for carrying on this blog when I don't live there any more. I'm not ready to give it up just yet though, so let's just hope that La Rai and a few trips in the next wee while will give me enough to keep writing about.

Muse on Italian TV

I have been cracking up tonight over this clip of one of my favourite bands taking the mickey on Italian TV. Aside from the obvious joke of the guys switching places, the fact that the presenter manages to get so excited about a band that clearly knows nothing about (unless she's doing an excellent cover-up job) is hysterical. I was also laughing at her for going on about how having an English language band was "so international" ("international" is cooler than a mint granita in Italy right now, but you don't have to do much to achieve the cachet), but it turns out that Matt Bellamy has an Italian girlfriend (boo!) and the album was recorded between Milan and Como. Why did I ever leave?

Autumn and TV

It's Sunday afternoon. It's been raining on and off all weekend and yesterday night, for the first time since I arrived here, I felt cold going out in the evening without a jumper. I'm not a fan of the rain, but it is a relief to be able to get my British clothes out of the wardrobe and to not be faced with the flip-flops versus nice but uncomfortable shoes dilemma every time I leave the house. (A five year old pointed to my feet the other day and said, “We only wear these shoes at the swimming pool.” I told her that actually we wear them whenever we want to because they're comfortable. Hopefully an important lesson in cultural differences was learned by both of us.) Not wearing flip-flops will mean that I can get back to walking at normal speed and it will be nice to stop taking buses and trams everywhere because it's too hot to move.On a couple of evenings this week, I've stayed in to experience the delights of Italian TV. For at least three nights in a row at prime time on Rai Uno (the closest channel there is to BBC1), the Miss Italia contest has been broadcast to the nation. Hundreds of girls in eighties – style lycra swimsuits with sequins on them sit on benches with perma-smiles on their faces and are brought out in groups of three to talk to the presenter while the public votes for their favourite. In each group, one is always attractive but a bit too interesting looking, one is pretty but not quite as pretty as the third, who is obviously going to win. Slightly overweight men from the audience ask the girls questions and media scandals such as the size 12 Miss Emilia-Romagna being told to lose weight are counteracted by deep thoughts from the girls such as “it doesn't matter what size you are. Beauty comes from within.” Every so often, the TV camera does a toe-to-head shot of the girl being interviewed, resting for a moment on a trembling foot in a gold stiletto sandal and on other essential aspects of the girl's body before coming to rest on her pristine but ever so slightly nervous smile at the end. While all of this gets tedious about halfway through the second contestant's interview, I've come to the conclusion that it's still one step above Big Brother on the ladder of quality television, if only because the contestants don't revel in being foul-mouthed and at least attempt to come across as nice people.After two nights of Miss Italia, you can imagine my surprise when I turned on the TV on Saturday morning to be confronted not with girls in bikinis but with men in ecclesiastical robes. It appears that when the Italian public is not judging its daughters on the brightness of their smile and the political correctness of their opinions, they like important Masses to be brought directly to their living rooms. The contrast in the programmes couldn't have been greater. Listening to the Pope's French being dubbed into the calmest-sounding Italian I have ever heard and to the singing of the thousands of people who had gathered in Paris to hear him was incredibly soothing and I listened to pretty much the whole broadcast. If I can get over my fear of crossing myself the wrong way round and standing at the wrong moment, I might even go to Mass some Sunday.