Shouty men in wigs have disgruntled petulance in this Italian dram which is set in 1976. This was not strikingly strong and honest. This has an air of studied detachment. People are castigated. There is staring and a trash ex. There is no narrative satisfaction or moral character. The men are charmless meatheads who aren’t endearingly primitive and the women are ornaments.
There are no wistful conversations. This has the whiff of moral seriousness. This was oppressive tedium and has no escalating intensity. This has no nuance or depth and was not grimly compelling. This has no sense of doom or paranoid miasma. There’s an ethical void in the hero’s prevails.
This was ridiculous and OTT and tries for endlessly dramatic. But is just increasingly inept and the hero is morally indignant and has no personal feelings of urgency. The opening credits are dull. This is eyebrow waggling facetiousness. The hero Dario is enduringly tragic. People are dangerously emotional and noxious reporters lurk.
People are contentious and there are certain implications. Dario moves back to his home town and looks into the mob after his best friend is murdered. Dario is billy no mates. There are endless flashbacks and it is demotivational to caring. There are secrets and lies and negative findings and Dario’s isolation is reinforced. This is no moral betterment. Yawn.