Introduction
As the symbol of wealth and power, and sometimes of corruption, gold perfectly contextualises Paolo Sorrentino's twin biopics, Loro 1 and Loro 2 (2018).Footnote 1 The title, indeed, suggests the pun loro (‘they’ or ‘them’) and l'oro (‘gold’), which seems to imply that ‘gold’ tends to influence, motivate, corrupt and – in many instances – empower ‘them’: those who have it, or wish to have it. The pun takes on a specific connotation if we consider the fact that the films’ protagonist is none other than the rich and powerful Silvio Berlusconi. The media tycoon is known internationally for the many trials and allegations of corruption that have seen him involved throughout his political career. Nevertheless, ‘he happily lived and prospered amid a monumental conflict of interests’ (Pasquino Reference Pasquino2007, 39). As is known, Berlusconi strategically entered politics in 1994, when the Italian party system was disintegrating due to the Tangentopoli (‘bribesville’) scandal. He understood that Italians needed a new political vehicle that embraced anti-communist and liberal views, and launched his Forza Italia. The party gained power and support thanks mainly to Berlusconi's celebrity status, subtle machinations and aggressive propaganda. Forza Italia thus became the ‘fulcrum around which the centre-right coalition was built’ (Newell Reference Newell2019, 61), with Berlusconi as its undisputed leader. Consequently, the First Republic (1948–92) – worn down after years of conspiracies and corruption – made way for Berlusconi's government, which dominated most of the Second Republic (1994–2018). It provided a freshly-constructed, nationalist image and followed a populist agenda, which gained him a wide constituency.
One of the fundamental problems with Berlusconi's tenure was the infringement of the rules separating private and public life. The resulting obfuscation led to several ad personam laws aimed at resolving his legal problems. Berlusconi thus carried out his own agenda, ‘on behalf of the common good’ (Tarchi Reference Tarchi2015, 275), while spreading a sense of tolerance of bribery, fraud and extortion; like Dante's Semiramis (Canto V), he legitimised the corruption that made him corrupt. However, as Alexander Stille (Reference Stille2006) points out, ‘it would be a grave mistake to see him as an Italian anomaly’ (328). He simply developed the winning formula: money + media + celebrity = political power. Loro 1 and Loro 2 represent an excellent case study of this type of metaphysics of power, as they show how it can lead to moral degradation. By its very nature, this decadence engenders – in a given individual – a deep-seated predisposition to obtain absolute power. Moreover, Sorrentino's symbolic tales depict the moral degradation of Italian neoliberal society at large: hedonism and the pursuit of power represent a pathological virus that infects the characters in the two films.
The idea of Italy as ‘diseased’ during Berlusconi's government has already received considerable scholarly attention.Footnote 2 In particular, Andrea Minuz (Reference Minuz2014) – in his short survey of Italy's moral degradation – argues that decay is an emotional-interpretative key of Italian culture. In the end, he states, ‘we are the moral degradation’. This article does not seek to reiterate the perceived climate of moral degradation and infirmity in the sociopolitical realm of Berlusconism. My reading of Loro, while acknowledging existing scholarship on the pervasiveness of moral decay in contemporary Italy, aims rather to elucidate the psychological processes that trigger the current moral crisis; these, in my opinion, are reflected in the films’ narrative. My argument moves from the assumption that Sorrentino interprets Berlusconi's political machine as an emblematic reflection of Italy's political problems, which range from a weak sense of nationhood to unproductive government coalitions, regional inequalities, organised crime and – last but not least – widespread corruption. Berlusconi's reign, then, is not merely the latest cliché representation of a corrupt Italy: it reflects persistent cultural traits that are rooted in Italy's distant past, and which characterised the attitudes of a long string of megalomaniac leaders in both the First and the Second Republics. Perhaps Sorrentino was thinking of this particular problem when, speaking of his forthcoming film at Cannes in 2017, he stated that he was making a film about Berlusconi because ‘I am Italian, and I want to make a film about Italians. Berlusconi is an archetype of italianness that allows you to narrate Italians’ (Marcucci Reference Marcucci2018). In fact, the semantic ambiguity of the title Loro underscores the fact that its characters and their flaws are ubiquitous in time and space. In these films, and also in his previous Il Divo (2008), Sorrentino adroitly argues that different Italian leaders, from different periods, reflect the same systemic individualism, as well as the tendency to megalomania and a dysfunctional abuse of power.
Throughout the article, I will refer to this condition as pathological. Given the inherent dangers of adapting terminology from psychology to film dynamics, where the characters and represented relationships are artefacts created by the writer and director (even in biopics), I will limit my use of psychological terms to a reading of the director's interpretation of this historical period. Indeed, diagnosing a remediated character would do little to advance our understanding of the film as an independent work of art. Rather, a psychological reading of Sorrentino's representation of Berlusconi, as someone suffering from a personality disorder characterised by excessive power striving, will serve to identify the social and political structures that generate the obsession with power that surrounds them, which may spread like a contagious disease. My approach thus joins Minuz's discussion of ‘the metaphysic of power’ (Reference Minuz2018), considering the latter a more abstract concept that influences Italian ideology and leads to moral degradation. From this perspective, it transcends national borders and cultures, thus restating the notion that not the single individual, but ‘we [all] are the moral degradation’.
The article proceeds from a psychological outline, which focuses on the extent to which megalomaniacs are affected by an excessive thirst for power, followed by a brief discussion of the genre-exclusive specificities of the biopic genre. This will serve to highlight the obsessive personality disorder of Loro's main characters, which leads to addictive behaviour and spreads virally through the narrative. Against this background, I will next discuss the fictional Berlusconi, the individual who spreads the viral contagion by taking full advantage of the climate of neoliberalism, thus maximising the pandemic. I will conclude by suggesting that Sorrentino endows a divine status to Berlusconi in order to justify, or perhaps also to condemn, the Italians’ relentless fascination with their ‘idol’.
Megalomania and power
Presenting himself as an archetype of ‘italianness’ (Marcucci Reference Marcucci2018), Berlusconi incarnates the idea of a fascinating, powerful identity. As the plurisemantic and deictic title of Sorrentino's diptych suggests, Berlusconi may coincide with l'oro, the strange and unique metal that has fascinated, obsessed and shaped the destiny of humanity throughout time. My interpretation of Loro suggests that the obsession with power that Berlusconi represents overtakes the narrative and propagates it like a virus. Indeed, this dynamic assails the other characters’ bodies and minds, leading to a psychological condition I refer to as megalomania (or narcissistic personality disorder); in Sorrentino's reading of Berlusconism, this disorder evokes the hedonism and commodification of neoliberal society.Footnote 3
Politicians and dictators have received particular attention in psychological studies on megalomania, given the obvious link between power and leadership. Indeed, history is full of megalomaniacs, who rose to power and went on to lead countries and even empires (Coolidge and Segal Reference Coolidge and Segal2009, 195–202).Footnote 4 Many such leaders were afflicted with a personality disorder marked by excessive power striving (Charny Reference Charny1997). Maintaining that people corrupted by power have been responsible for destruction and abuse throughout history, Charny states that ‘power corrupts the personality, and excessive power strivings are disturbed not only when there is evidence of damage to one's own personality, but because of the widespread damages such people do to others and to society’ (12).
Drawing on the psychological framework briefly outlined above, in this article, I will examine how a personality disorder characterised by excessive power striving not only affects and psychologically damages leaders, but also harms those around them. Moreover, I will demonstrate that it triggers an outbreak of what I term a (Berlusconi-driven) psychotic pandemic disease, or mentally-impairing social virus.Footnote 5 In Loro 1 and Loro 2, leaders and subordinates affected by this disorder are highly dysfunctional, and make questionable moral and legal choices. As Charny (Reference Charny1997) explains, excessive power striving poisons the obsessed individual's personality and harms others (3). Thus, characters affected by this viral disorder will seemingly do anything to obtain power: (ab)use others, sell their bodies or become traitors and felons.
The fact that Sorrentino chooses Berlusconi to represent an archetype of the dysfunctional obsession with power can be explained by the generally accepted assumption that Berlusconi exemplifies corruption in Italian society.Footnote 6 Berlusconism is, indeed, such a multi-faceted phenomenon that scholars of different disciplines and ideological backgrounds have engaged with it; film scholar Marini-Maio and feminist philosopher Dominijanni, to name just a few, have explored its complex impact on Italian politics and society.Footnote 7 Marini-Maio (Reference Marini-Maio2015), in her cinematic map of the narratives about Berlusconi, insightfully argues that the fictional Berlusconi represents the historical persona and a pervasive semiotic category, in which the country's recent history is inscribed and reflected. Italian society is thus spellbound by Berlusconi's pie-in-the-sky promises. Conversely, Dominijanni (Reference Dominijanni2014) examines berlusconismo as an ‘unprecedented form of post-patriarchal and biopolitical governability’ (27), based on exchanges of sex, power and money. She refers to it as a ‘regime of pleasure’ (26) within neoliberalism, which rests on the commodification of bodies through the mechanisms of power or dispositifs. My analysis supports similar interpretations of berlusconismo insofar as it focuses on the representation of dynamics of power during Berlusconi's neoliberal reign, which forged a fascination for Berlusconi the man, and – more specifically – for his powerful influence and political persona. However, since the focus of this article is not Berlusconism per se, but its representation in a cultural artefact, namely a biopic on Berlusconi, I will start with a brief discussion of the genre-exclusive specificities of Loro.
An unconventional biopic
As the title already suggests, Loro is ‘a sui generis biopic’ (Ariano Reference Ariano2018, 223); the two films are not merely a biographical account of Berlusconi's life, but centre on the people around him. The fictional Berlusconi, for example, doesn't arrive on screen until about an hour into the film; this places initial focus on the other power-hungry characters, and challenges the conventional form of biography. They also alter the style of the genre, offering a ‘contradictory and indecipherable complexity’ (Bonsaver Reference Bonsaver2009, 331) resulting from the fact that ‘the director isn't interested in a straight biopic anyway, or even an authentic recounting of news events’ (Ebiri Reference Ebiri2019). Indeed, Sorrentino's aim is not to accurately represent historical events, but to interpret Berlusconism and its effects on Italian society. Loosely speaking, Loro seems to fit the biopic genre as it ‘narrates the life of a subject in order to demonstrate, investigate, or question his or her importance in the world’ (Bingham Reference Bingham2010, 10). However, it is not the typical cradle-to-grave, chronological account of a historical figure, and it doesn't make Berlusconi's life ‘seem extraordinary’ (Cheshire Reference Cheshire2015, 7). In sum, the films move away from the traditional, genre-specific representation of a hero or a villain, by focusing not just on his actions but also on ‘those of his followers in relation to power’ (Landy Reference Landy, Brown and Belén2014, 253).
As such, Loro has more in common with Sorrentino's first biopic – Il Divo (2008), about the seven-times prime minister Giulio Andreotti – than might first appear. Both films reflect Sorrentino's approach to Italian recent history, which reveals a fascination with pathological personalities who are affected by excessive power strivings and surrounded by spellbound sycophants. Although Loro does not share Il Divo's postmodern pastiche aesthetic, stylish virtuosity or dizzying montage,Footnote 8 the two biopics have many similarities. Both films revisit critical moments in the lives of their respective protagonists. They eschew genre-specific conventions such as life stages, linear chronology and the recounting of a transformation from the ordinary to the exceptional.Footnote 9 Toni Servillo is cast to play both roles almost like a ‘caricature’ of the politicians (Marcus Reference Marcus2010a, 252), and through a major ‘physical transformation, by way of make-up and prosthetics’ (O'Rawe Reference O'Rawe2014, 153). Moreover, both biopics conform to Marcia Landy's definition of ‘counter-history’ (2014, 245), insofar as they emphasise minor or commonplace details that become important clues when studying the character.Footnote 10 Most importantly, the films showcase the lives of two pathological personalities, who were pivotal protagonists of the First and Second Republics (Andreotti and Berlusconi, respectively). In doing so, they underscore the presence of megalomaniac leaders in Italian political history; Sorrentino perceives and portrays them through an intricate web of political and social forces, rather than through the embodiment of individual exceptionality.
Contrary to Il Divo, however, Loro magnifies the pathology of power as the film turns it into a viral force that encompasses other people, not just the leader. In this sense, Loro represents a more profound elaboration of Sorrentino's fascination with pathological personalities. While Andreotti's condition is confined within his inner struggles, Berlusconi spills outside of himself, infecting those who allow themselves to be seduced by his charm.
A (Berlusconi-driven) psychotic pandemic disease
Loro 1 and Loro 2 cover the period between 2006, when Berlusconi's third term as prime minister ended, and 2010, two years into his fourth term.Footnote 11 The first half of Loro 1 tells the story of the sordid, power-hungry personalities surrounding the tycoon. The central character is Sergio Morra, a corrupt businessman and pimp who longs to impress Berlusconi. This character has been identified as Gianpaolo Tarantini (Giuffrida Reference Giuffrida2018), a businessman convicted in 2015 of procuring prostitutes for Berlusconi's parties, in the hope of winning lucrative public contracts. Sergio's fixation with Berlusconi foreshadows the long line of people obsessed with Lui, as he is often called during the first half of the film. It is triggered at the very start of the film, when he is struck by a tattoo of Berlusconi's face on the lower back of Candida, one of his prostitutes, a fact that we could interpret in terms of a pathology. Indeed, Candida has a profound fixation with Berlusconi, which clearly precedes the film's narrative timeframe. Thus, this opening scene establishes the film's underlying themes: that money is an aphrodisiac, and hunger for power is more addictive than the cocaine so liberally snorted in countless scenes.
The onset of the contagion is visually represented in a subsequent scene, where a close-up of Sergio's face highlights the psychedelic look in his eyes (see Fig. 1).Footnote 12 Immediately after Sergio becomes ‘infected’ by Berlusconi's ‘virus’, he starts showing visible signs of an irrational urge to do anything to meet ‘Him’. This incident sets in motion the hedonistic regime of exchange of sex, power and money typical of neoliberal societies. With the help of the high-class femme fatale Kira, one of Berlusconi's mistresses, he gambles all his money by renting a villa next to the prime minister's, filling it with young people, high on drugs and in a state of undress. Kira assures him that ‘[i]t's the best investment you'll ever make’. In all his machinations, Sergio behaves as though intoxicated, becoming irrational and fearless. He is willing to risk everything for his obsessive quest, and surrounds himself with people that show the same symptoms, including Kira and her entourage of power-hungry girls. Like Candida's fixation, Kira's obsessive attachment to Berlusconi predates the film's narrative, which emphasises the weight of such a relentless addiction. Kira is one of many women Berlusconi uses to satisfy his sexual appetite during his notorious bunga bunga parties. Although she is conscious of this demeaning treatment, her power striving leads Kira to accept being used and debased in order to please ‘Him’. Sergio, Candida and Kira therefore all exhibit symptoms of an obsessive disorder that leads to addictive behaviour, aimed at obtaining power.
Fig. 1. Loro 1: Sergio Morra's psychedelic eyes. ©Indigo Film, Pathé Films, France 2 Cinéma.
Sergio, in particular, embodies an obsession that turns into an addiction. In psychological terms, Sergio becomes addicted to his obsession because, in response, his brain produces powerful ‘feelgood’ chemicals that make him euphoric, in turn making him want more. Consequently, addiction takes on a life of its own. Thus, the more Sergio engages in his addictive behaviour, the more he craves the target of his fixation. Hypothetically, Sergio could be trapped for the rest of his life in an endless cycle of obsessive thoughts and compulsive actions, bankrupting himself in order to feed his addiction – thus exemplifying the causal connection between and the interdependence of obsession and addiction. More importantly, Sergio's disorder is pathological because it spreads like a contagious disease. Thus, ‘infected’ by a prostitute (Candida), he passes the virus on to his girlfriend Tamara. The force of this contagion is again visualised through explicit editing choices. For instance, the frequent and combined use of L-cuts and J-cuts unifies the flow of images and links them to the theme of infection. Specifically, the music chosen to accompany Sergio's contagion scene (The Stooges’ Down on the Street) overlaps the picture in the following scene, which introduces Tamara. Skilfully, the extradiegetic song from the previous scene becomes diegetic, creating a sense of thematic continuity between the two characters, which reflects the transference of the contagion from one character to another.
Lui and Loro: Berlusconi and his enablers
Appropriately for a film called ‘Them’ rather than ‘Him’, the magnate doesn't appear until an hour into the film. Sorrentino picks up ‘the saga of Berlusconi’ (Young Reference Young2018) in the closing days of his marriage to Veronica Lario, after his fall during his third term, when he was already convicted of tax fraud and involved in several other trials. He was, at last, suffering the consequences of his megalomania. Berlusconi is presented ‘as a smooth-talking charmer’ (Weissberg Reference Weissberg2018) who disguises his ruthlessness behind his toothy grin. His first appearance is disorienting; disguised as a kind of Caucasian houri, the tycoon is shown surprising his apathetic wife in their sumptuous villa. Veronica is visibly unapproachable and, unmoved by her husband's displays of affection, isolates herself behind book covers. These moments of melodramatic quasi-normality humanise the man in a way that makes his crudeness and cupidity even more insidious. These theatrical impulses, and their expression through cinematography, mise en scène and narrative, suggest that Berlusconi's psychology is conditioned by the socio-political context of the time, that is, his temporary defeat as prime minister.
In fact, Berlusconi soon reveals his true colours, and unmasks his narcissist personality. At the beginning of Loro 2, the magnate's megalomaniac ambition is succinctly summarised when his doppelgänger and work partner, Ennio Doris (also played by Toni Servillo), asks him: ‘What did you expect: to be the richest man in the country, become prime minister and be madly loved by everyone too?’ He replies: ‘Yes, that's exactly what I expected.’ Berlusconi is coming to terms with a bruised ego, his coalition having been defeated by a centre-left bloc. After flattering him, and reminding him that he is the greatest salesman on earth, Ennio urges Berlusconi not to drop his plans to lead the government again. He suggests that his friend should convince six left-wing senators to switch to his right-wing party by triggering a no-confidence motion, ensuring his re-election as prime minister. Bribes and illicit manoeuvring at the renowned, lavish parties in his Sardinian villa eventually allow Berlusconi to whip votes, and he is re-elected prime minister for the fourth time. Ennio is aware of the fact that a person with narcissistic personality disorder, coupled with excessive power strivings, needs adulation to spark his apparently dormant and frustrated ego. The scene therefore portrays the inner turmoil of a character split between acknowledging his political defeat and wanting a successful comeback (Fig. 2); Ennio reflects Berlusconi's combative subconscious, whereas Berlusconi represents his submissive ego, which has to come to terms with an adverse political reality. Eventually, his narcissistic desires resurface, and Lui regains political power (Fig. 3).
Fig. 2. Loro 2: Berlusconi's split personality. ©Indigo Film, Pathé Films, France 2 Cinéma.
Fig. 3. Loro 2: Berlusconi's resurrection. Photo by ©Gianni Fiorito.
As the movie unfolds, Berlusconi exhibits the trademarks of this pathology as manifested in a Trumpian figure,Footnote 13 one that is more interested in pageantry than politics, and obsessed with power. However, Sorrentino doesn't merely satirise his subject; he implicitly criticises the complicit Italian viewers, and voters. Berlusconi is not solely responsible for whom he has become, or what he has done. He has received encouragement through attention, admiration and TV subscriptions. Thus, everyone who has been charmed by him outside the film is responsible for fuelling both his narcissistic pathology and his power addiction, which have helped him climb the social ladder and accumulate millions. At this point, the fourth wall breaks, with fiction and reality merging and blurring. Since Berlusconi's addictive power pathology spills beyond the film's narrative, the characters merge with the audience – with ‘us’. In other words, as the characters are contaminated by the uncontrollable urge to emulate him, the audience runs the same risk of becoming infected by this addiction to power seeking.
This breaking of the fourth wall is made explicit in the complex semantics and ambiguous deictic referentiality of the title Loro, to which I referred at the beginning of this article. In Italian grammar, loro can be a subject pronoun meaning ‘they’, an object pronoun meaning ‘them’, and also a possessive adjective meaning ‘their’. If spelled as l'oro, though, it means ‘gold’. This intricate linguistic explanation uncovers the twofold connection supporting my initial statement: the characters are the obsessive subjects and objects (loro) of money and power, while the latter are symbolised by the characters’ relentless attempts to possess gold (l'oro). However, if we interpret the pronoun loro as a formal address for ‘you plural’, frequently used by the real Berlusconi himself, it can include the film audience as well, given the viewers’ direct involvement with the characters’ central quest. Indeed, through this complex game of semantics and transference, we as viewers gain agency and become exposed to the virus. This is once again visualised in an explicit way, in the close-up shot of Sergio (Fig.1), where his direct address at the camera serves as a direct interpellation of the audience, thus exposing ‘us’ to the virus. In other words, by breaking the fourth wall and involving the audience in a transference pattern, the viewers become the subject of the obsessive pathology of Berlusconism and the ideological claim advanced by the narrative. At this point, it is our responsibility to embrace Berlusconi's charm, or resist its appeal. It is clear that Sorrentino is simultaneously implicating and exonerating Berlusconi's electorate, that is those who supported – or tolerated – him. Sorrentino's films do not, however, seem to provoke Berlusconi's voters, because deep down the director's aim is not to blame anyone for the spread of such a power-hungry pandemic. This aspect is a telling manifestation of Sorrentino's ethos, where brilliant insights and unexpected superficiality coexist in perfect harmony.
This argument recalls the Deleuzian concept of affect (Deleuze Reference Deleuze, Tomlinson and Habberjam1983, 102),Footnote 14 and the theories of the mirroring process of emotional contagion and character engagement advanced by several cognitive film philosophers. Elaine Hatfield, John Cacioppo and Richard Rapson (Reference Hatfield, Cacioppo and Rapson1992), for example, define emotional contagion as the ‘tendency to automatically mimic and synchronize expressions, vocalizations, postures, and movements with those of another person, and, consequently, to converge emotionally’ (153–154). Because of our hard-wired ability to mirror one another, our emotional experiences can be directly and immediately affected by others’ emotions, or by external events. My interpretation complicates this theory because I believe that this contagion does not only involve an emotional state, but also a mental pathology, which may be irreversible.Footnote 15 If this virus spreads by virtue of the victims looking directly at the source of pleasure and being enthralled by it, then the viewers (therefore, ‘we’) are in danger of being exposed to a powerful pandemic by looking directly at its source. They probably would not resist its contagion because they are dumbfounded both by what they see and by what they desire: the possibility of gaining the same power and money that the prime minister enjoys.
One question that we might ask, at this stage, is whether Sorrentino himself is a victim of Berlusconi's ‘virus’? The last section will propose a rationale for this relentless and all-encompassing contagion of power strivings.
Berlusconi's divine status and the force of the contagion
Critics have questioned Sorrentino's fascination with Berlusconi's persona – that is, his inclination to redeem the politician's misdeeds in the name of a subtle admiration for his ensnaring guise (Mackay Reference Mackay2018), and for ‘the endless, aggressive, triumphal flaunting of one's own emptiness’ (Haas Reference Haas2019). To give one example, whenever the fictional Berlusconi has verbal confrontations with his wife and political opponents, who openly expose his corruption and misdeeds, he emerges victorious; his arguments and confident rhetoric undermine the evidence of his corruption, tout court.
More importantly, Sorrentino presents a highly resilient fictional character whose power is strengthened by frequent allusions to a divine status.Footnote 16 For instance, during the first hour of Loro 1, Berlusconi is physically absent, and his full name is scarcely uttered, recalling the belief that God's name is too sacred to utter out loud. Thus, characters refer to Berlusconi as ‘Him’ with a capital ‘h’, again emphasising his divine and mysterious qualities. Coincidentally, the name God is uttered many times in reference to a very powerful individual, whose identity remains a mystery throughout the film.Footnote 17 When he does eventually appear, he is in a steam room; towels cover his body and face, and an electrical device alters his voice. Yet the audience may deduce that this person – an older man who enjoys sexual services from young women (he is particularly interested in Stella, one of Kira's girls, whom he invites into his steam room) – is indeed Berlusconi.
Another cinematic component that associates ‘Him’ with the supernatural is the ghostly presence that constantly shadows him. Always dressed in white, and often surrounded by funereal white flowers (Fig. 4), this figure is Paolo Spagnolo, supposedly Berlusconi's biographer, although he never writes or takes notes. Spagnolo acts both as Berlusconi's guardian angel and demon, protecting him from unwanted guests, advising him and disinfesting his property of real and metaphorical snakes. Curiously, while the other characters have a counterpart in Berlusconi's real-life entourage (e.g., Sergio Morra/Gianpaolo Tarantini, Kira/Sabina Began), Spagnolo is a completely fictional character; his uncanny and ghastly aura supports my idea that Berlusconi induces a godlike feeling in the characters that surround him.
Fig. 4. Loro 1: The mysterious character of Paolo Spagnolo. ©Indigo Film, Pathé Films, France 2 Cinéma.
Berlusconi's ‘divine’ power is reinforced in a subsequent scene, which demonstrates his need to impose his irrefutable interpretation of facts on others. It is also one of the most memorable ones in Loro 1, and serves as the film's mise en abyme. Berlusconi is talking to his young grandson in the grounds of his magnificent villa. When the young man warns his grandfather that he has just stepped on excrement, Berlusconi convincingly insists that, on the contrary, he has stepped on a simple lump of mud. He adds that truth is not always what it seems, but what one proclaims it to be. In other words, the better one is at creating stories, the better one manages to convince people of one's version of reality. This salesman-like perspective is an acute meta-reflection of the filmic medium itself, and has a twofold implication. First, Loro is not the typical biopic, in that it is not an objective portrayal of Berlusconi's political and personal life. Rather, it is the director's visionary interpretation of part of that life. The extent of the film's failure or success (and by extension, Berlusconi's downfall or triumph) is measured by the degree of credibility the director earns from the audience. Since the spectator is captivated and enthralled by the tycoon's matter-of-fact account, one may conclude that Berlusconi/Sorrentino's storytelling is effective. Second, this episode reveals Berlusconi's megalomaniac personality, and emphasises the immense power and influence that Berlusconi believes he exerts on others. Indeed, his own belief is a reflection and a cause of the effect he has on people.
Berlusconi's omnipotence as portrayed in Loro is epitomised by another pivotal scene. After a conversation with his doppelgänger Ennio, Berlusconi tests himself to see if he can still work the old magic that got him started in the real estate business, when he sold apartments in a dead market during the financial crisis of the 1980s. Dialling a random number and posing as a real-estate agent, he sells a non-existent luxury apartment to a middle-aged divorcee. This is a brilliant moment because it shows that both politics and merchandising are forms of theatre, and explains why Berlusconi excels at both. This is reflected in the cinematography, which seems to take on a life on its own. Like a living creature, the boisterous camera follows him around the living room, alternating close-ups of his increasingly animated facial expressions and medium/full shots of his perfectly framed body in the mise en scène. Sorrentino obsessively places Berlusconi at the centre of the perspective axis within the camera's frame, thus visualising his divine power and ability to sell dreams (Fig. 5). More importantly, the camera highlights his possessed state, clearly showing a resurgence of his viral obsession with authority and omnipotence (Fig. 6).
Fig. 5. Loro 2: Sorrentino's cinematic symmetry. ©Indigo Film, Pathé Films, France 2 Cinéma.
Fig. 6. Loro 2: Berlusconi's possessed state. ©Indigo Film, Pathé Films, France 2 Cinéma.
As the virus spreads through the unfolding of Berlusconi's increasingly successful, political and existential manoeuvres, those infected – mainly young and attractive women, gathered by Morra and Tamara, with the help of Kira – manage to enter his villa and meet ‘Him’. Conveniently, Sorrentino's narrative evokes the current #MeToo movement,Footnote 18 which is significantly impacting societal norms; he does so by deconstructing its force and disavowing it in line with what many have called his misogynistic tendencies.Footnote 19 In fact, women appear to be completely under the tycoon's spell; they are excited at the prospect of seeing him, and when they finally do, they go out of their way to please him.
Some might explain Sorrentino's misogynistic representation of women as an attempt to reflect Berlusconi's role in propagating the sexual objectification of women in all levels of society, as the aforementioned Marini-Maio and Dominijanni asserted. However, I would argue that Sorrentino is likely implying that this sexual dynamic is not entirely coercive, since women willingly use their bodies to achieve power, blurring the line between acquiescent use and resistant abuse. Similar views have been propagated in postfeminism, a concept coined within mainstream media in the 1980s. It was meant to describe a new phase for women, liberated not only from male domination, but also from the restrictive and dogmatic demands of radical feminism. Angela McRobbie (Reference McRobbie2004) insightfully stated that in postfeminism, a feminist ethic has been substituted by a form of personal liberation, grounded in the tropes of empowerment, choice, agency, lifestyle and an entitlement to sexual pleasure. In a similar vein, Rosalind Gill (Reference Gill2008) argued that the postfeminist woman has become increasingly sexual; she is no longer only a sexual object, but also a ‘sexual subject’ (45). Yet, this urge to ‘capitalise on their heterosexual desirability’ (Zambelli, Mainardi and Hajek Reference Zambelli, Mainardi and Hajek2018, 135) involves a ‘double entanglement’ (McRobbie Reference McRobbie2009, 12): women's empowerment is always subjected to a male gaze, around which women forge their ‘subjectification’.
Although in Sorrentino's diptych women certainly self-style themselves as desiring subjects, and are depicted as practising a sexual agency based on chauvinism and ‘sexist symbols associated with male desire’ (Reference Marini-Maio and MarianiMarini-Maio forthcoming), in both Loro 1 and Loro 2 this ‘subjectification’ is not limited to female characters alone. While women's subjectification is represented in the form of sexual commodification, male characters as much as the female ones are eager to meet Berlusconi. I would therefore argue that men as well as women become desiring subjects, and that the viral psychosis possesses all these characters: everyone becomes a ‘desiring subject’ as a result of this pandemic of power addiction. Sergio Morra, Paolo Spagnolo and also Santino Recchia (one of Berlusconi's ministers) thus exemplify male characters who are completely subjugated by Silvio's charm, and who are willing to self-style themselves in order to be like him (Morra), to be with him (Spagnolo), or to replace him (Recchia).Footnote 20 In other words, Sorrentino seems to suggest that men as much as women are enthralled and captivated by the prime minister: the virus makes no gender distinction.
Nevertheless, a few characters seem to be immune to Berlusconi's spell, and to the virus he spreads. First, his wife Veronica vehemently tells him she wants a divorce because she can't stand to be near such a sick man, who repeatedly humiliates her with his love affairs and sex scandals. She unmasks him and recognises that his addiction to power has triggered his personality disorder, which is affecting his reasoning and his moral choices. Second, one of Kira's protégées manages to resist the pandemic: Stella, an innocent-looking 20-year-old who attracts the voyeuristic gaze of Berlusconi during a dinner party at his mansion.Footnote 21 Looking bored and out of place, Stella goes to take a nap in one of the many bedrooms, where the prime minister tries to seduce her. Unaffected by his spell, and immune to the virus, she bluntly tells him that sex with him is unthinkable because his breath reminds her of her grandfather's. She therefore does not conform to the commodification and erotisation of power relations typical of neoliberal Berlusconism, as she distances herself from the ‘stench’ emanated by this ideological, addictive disease. A number of real-life events might possibly explain Veronica and Stella's immunity to the power-hungry virus that affects most other characters in Loro. Thus, Veronica Lario filed for divorce in 2010, and a young woman involved in Berlusconi's private parties filed charges against him for underage sex.Footnote 22 I would argue, though, that while Veronica and Stella's payback might find confirmation in reality, Sorrentino reinterprets these facts within the context of the contagious virus used to describe Berlusconism in his film.
Despite these and other – both public and private – downfalls, the fictional Berlusconi continues his dysfunctional life as a megalomaniac, surrounding himself with charmers and prostitutes, virtually bathing in gold. Towards the end of the film, he lights an artificial volcano in his backyard. Although he leaves the filmic space after this emblematic and powerful gesture of quasi-omnipotence, he remains present in the film's very last scene, where a statue of the deposed Christ is recovered from a demolished church in L'Aquila, after the devastating 2009 earthquake.Footnote 23 The camera dolly follows the delicate recovery, but the sequence cuts several times to close-ups of disheartened and dismayed bystanders. The cross-cut editing – paired with slow and melodic, extra-diegetic music – creates an emotional contrast between calm and tension, ultimately enhancing anxiety. When the statue topples to the ground without being damaged, the audience cannot help but relate it to Berlusconi's resilience over the years. In fact, despite his numerous scandals, the prime minister lands on his feet, regains his composure and is ‘resurrected’ – again, recalling the sacred imagery mentioned above.
It must, however, be said that Sorrentino's distinctive cinematography is neither a tribute to nor a parody of Berlusconi. As Belpoliti (Reference Belpoliti2018) rightfully remarks, ‘Sorrentino does not judge, he exposes, suggests, proposes’. In fact, through his use of idiosyncratic aesthetics – consisting of hypnotic takes and slow-motion shots, among other things – he creates a magical-surreal, sui generis biopic.
Conclusion
This article has demonstrated that Sorrentino interprets Berlusconism in terms of a pathology, centred on fascinating and powerful personalities. My argument, building on his visualisation of moral decay during Berlusconi's reign, focused on some of the pathological processes that reveal the inherent instability of Italian contemporary society. As we have seen in the scene where Candida's tattoo sparks Sergio's fascination with Berlusconi, obsession with power originates outside the profilmic space and is forcefully brought into the narrative. The source of this obsession, namely Berlusconi, is so powerful that it even prevails over a natural disaster – the L'Aquila earthquake. Here, the recovery of Christ's statue from the rubble may be construed as a symbol of the ‘resurrection’ from the ashes of Berlusconi's power. Indeed, the magnate is shown dutifully marching through the rubble of L'Aquila, promising homes and new businesses. He keeps his promise by building, in record time, the ‘new towns’. This remarkable restoration reinforces my view that Sorrentino depicts Berlusconi as a godlike figure, creator of new life.
From this perspective, it is not farfetched to see addictive power, or sete del potere, as a virus difficult to contain or resist. Admittedly, this analysis might suggest that the desire for unlimited power infects those close to it, excusing them from individual responsibility. This does not always happen, though, as people may choose to resist the infectious allure of power by simply refusing to be drawn into its tentacles. This is exactly what Stella does when she laments Berlusconi's bad breath, thus rejecting his pathological charm. Sorrentino seems to infer that only those who resist the ideological urges of and addiction to (per)versions of power may identify and fight against Italy's moral decay, that is, the decay within themselves. He also does so by not observing the traditional cradle-to-grave format of the biopic genre. Indeed, his unusual biopic, whose plurisemantic and deictic title tends to disorient the viewers, focuses less on Berlusconi and more on those who become infected by the perception of the power he projects. Ultimately, Sorrentino may be blaming loro (‘them’, ‘us’, ‘you all’), that is, those who let themselves become infected by the virus, for allowing Berlusconi to exert his powerful influence on Italian society. The foregoing discussion begs the question whether the viral ‘pathology’ implicates and, at the same time, exonerates the society that elected Berlusconi. Sorrentino does not appear to give a straight answer: he mostly offers a thought-provoking and symbolic imagery. This is perhaps best reflected at the end of the film, when Berlusconi resurrects from the ashes. This scene strongly implies that the ‘virus’ he symbolises is too ingrained in Italian culture to simply die out. As in all his works, here too Sorrentino does not moralise: he simply suggests.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Mark Seymour and Modern Italy's anonymous referees for their invaluable feedback and suggestions. I am also thankful to Paolo Sorrentino's photographer, Gianni Fiorito, who granted me permission to use the third photo in this article. I am very grateful to Lara Lucchetta who helped me obtain copyright permissions to use the film grabs from Indigo Film, Pathé Films, and France 2 Cinéma.
Notes on contributor
Annachiara Mariani is an Assistant Professor of Italian at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. Her research interests are in Italian Cinema, National and Transnational Media Studies and Italian Theatre. She has authored a book on the Grotesque Theatre and Pirandello (2013) and was the guest editor for a special edition of the journal of Italian Cinema and Media Studies on Sorrentino's films and TV series. She has also published numerous articles, essays, book reviews on Italian Theatre, Cinema, Television and the interrelation between media and literature. She is currently working on a book-length project on today's portrayal of the Italian Renaissance through popular culture.
