Seduced-Sicilian Style

Not Since Cavalleria Rusticana--that highly spiced operatic antipasto of Mascagni's--has the volatile island of Sicily enjoyed the kind of world attention it has been recently receiving.

A rash (that's exactly the word I want) of motion pictures has suddenly made us aware of Sicilian life and its dizzying tempo. Divorce--Italian Style, Seduced and Abandoned, Mafioso ... all these have shown us a high-blood-pressure society of complex customs and puzzling pride. The cinematic Sicily, said one reviewer, "is getting to be like John Ford's Ireland--a mythical country populated by people in whom alleged national characteristics flourish with a preternatural purity.... Never, one would think, have fathers cared so for the virtue of their daughters; never have they fought so for the honor of their families."

But Sicilian honor, movie style, is a topsy-turvy, even bizarre concept, and it may not be long before we are treated to a film roughly resembling this ...

Fade in: A blinding, sun-baked square in the center of a small Sicilian village. Everything is bleached to wince-making whiteness--the buildings, the streets, the fountain, the endless stone stairs and several skinny stray dogs. Against this whiteness, the Sicilians stand out in bold relief, principally because they are all dressed in black--the men in black hats, black coats, black shoes and black pants; the women in black hats, black coats, black shoes and black pants. They all walk with their eyes firmly riveted in front of them and their arms hanging straight down at their sides.

Camera Moves in to: A flyblown side-Walk café. Here, sipping cheap raisin wine and watching the passing parade, are two townsmen: young Bruno, a handsome hulk with the mind of an ox; and wizened, toothless, one-eyed Malocchio, a dirty old man of about 95. Malocchio spits and says:

Malocchio: Pah! There goes Umberto--he is a cuckold! Ptooey! Here comes Paluzzi's daughter--she is a strumpet! Ye-e-e-ech! Look at Malatesta--that filthy lecher! Ugh! If it isn't Rosalia--the adulteress! Arrrgh! Must we look upon little Peppino--the bastard? Bruno, my son--

Bruno: Eh?

Malocchio: This afternoon, when we visit the professional ladies of the Hotel Boccaccio, remember--I, your father, will be first, then you.

Bruno: But--

Malocchio (hitting him across the mouth): Silènzio! You say "but" to your father? You shame our family with a "but"? You smear this filthy "but" across the noble name of Malocchio? Bèstia! Traditore! Sciagurato! I disown you! You are no son of mine! (Standing up and shouting): LISTEN, COMPARES! THIS BRUNO IS NO SON OF MINE!!!

Bruno: Malocchio, the whole town knows I am no son of yours. I am the son of Mario (continued on page 158) Seduced-Sicilian Style (continued from page 87) and Maria Bruttamente, the cheese herders.

Malocchio (with growing menace): In front of the town, in the ears of my compares, you say Malocchio is not your father? Who then, say who, spit it out, who am I, eh, Bruno, who am I?

Bruno: I thought you knew. You are a dirty old man of about ninety-five.

Malocchio (smacking his own forehead): Si;! I forgot! Then, since I am not your father, you cannot go to the Hotel Boccaccio with me. It would not be decent.

Bruno: That is true. But, Malocchio, my friend, could you lend me five thousand lire?

Malocchio (leering): Aha, you will go to the Boccaccio yourself, eh? Very well, here is--

Bruno: NO, it is not that. I want to buy a black suit.

Malocchio: You already have a black suit.

Bruno: It is not black enough. I need a really black black suit--to get married in.

Malocchio (leaping up): Hah! I knew it! The little Stefania--you have made her pregnant! Bèstia! Traditore! Sciagurato! I disown you! You are no son of--

Bruno: Shhhh, sit down! You are wrong! The little Stefania, she is pure, innocent, a rose! Even though she has journeyed north and seen the great city of Rome, she is unspoiled. I tell you, Malocchio, I have not touched her. She is not pregnant!

Malocchio: Not pregnant? Then why do you want to marry her?

Bruno: Because I love her!

Malocchio (shaking his head sadly): Bruno, Bruno, Bruno. I suppose you think you can just walk up to her father, ask for her hand, go to the church and get married. Eh? Is that what you think?

Bruno: Yes ... why not?

Malocchio: Stupido! Do you forget? This is SICILY! It is not so simple! Now, if you really want to marry the little Stefania, listen to me ...

He leans across the table and whispers his advice, as we Dissolve to:

A flyblown sitting room in Stefania's house. An old horn phonograph is spewing a Sicilian folk song about love, olives, honor and cheap raisin wine. An electric fan whirs feebly, barely stirring the fetid air. On a couch, Bruno has just untangled himself from the arms of the little Stefania, who looks up at him with languorous satisfaction. Bruno has lost about 15 pounds since the previous scene, and his eyes are ringed with blue.

Bruno (mopping his brow): Mamma mia! You are much woman, Stefania!

Stefania: And you are much man!

Bruno: I will not be much man much longer, if we go on like this!

Stefania (pouting): You do not like me anymore?

Bruno: Oh, cara mia, I love you! But three times a day for the past four months??? A man is not made of iron!

Stefania: Bruno, my sweet one, it was your own idea. Remember the advice of Malocchio ...

Bruno: Malocchio, Schmalocchio! I am beginning to think--

Stefania (purring): Do not think, caro. Feel! Feel my pulse throbbing, my heart pounding with love!

Bruno: Ai, ai, AI! ...

As he is drawn into her arms again, we cut to a symbolic montage of opening buds, forks of lightning, neighing stallions, skinny stray dogs, etc., then back to the couch--

Stefania: Bruno! My father, he is coming!

Enter her father, Don Mafia. Gross, cold-eyed, reptilian, he is the feared leader of P. A. S. T. A., the Protective Association of Sicilian Thieves & Assassins. Seeing Bruno and his daughter, he recoils.

Don Mafia: You! Bruno! Get out!

Bruno: Don Mafia, you do not understand. I love Stefania, and wish to marry her.

Don Mafia (pounding him on the head): Marry my Stefania? You? Never!

Bruno: Why not, signore?

Don Mafia: I tell you why not! All the time you come to my house, eh? You make the amore with Stefania--three times a day for the past four months! And what happens? I tell you what happens. Niènte! Nothing happens! My Stefania, she does not get pregnant!

Bruno (crestfallen): I know this, Don Mafia, and I am ashamed. I try and I try, for four months I try ... I do not know why nothing happens.

Don Mafia: I tell you why! Because you, Bruno, are not a man! You do not have the red blood! You make a laughingstock of my daughter! The neighbors, they talk about her--"That Stefania! Not pregnant yet?" No! My daughter, she will not marry such a weakling!

Bruno: Please, Don Mafia! Give me one more chance!

Don Mafia: One more chance??? You have had ... letta me see, three times a day, four months, thirty days hassa September ... you have had three hundred and sixty chances! Out! Get out!

Stefania: Bruno ... Poppa ... perhaps I can explain. When I took the trip to the great city of Rome, I learned many wonderful things. I learned about the air conditioning, the television, the Coca-Cola without the calories, and I learned about the marvelous new, how you say, "pills"?

Bruno: Stefania! The pills of the americani? You have been taking them?

Stefania: Yes. So you see, Poppa, Bruno is not to blame.

Don Mafia: Hmmmm ... yes ... that is different. Bruno, my boy! Here, take this-- (Stuffs something into his hand)

Bruno: What is it?

Don Mafia: Five thousand lire for a black-black suit. You don't want to get married in light black, like a peasant, do you?

Swift montage of flyblown church bells, bridal veils, rice, wedding feast, gifts, black-black suits, etc., Dissolving Into:

Night. Mandolins playing in the distance. The bedroom of the newlyweds. Bruno shakes the rice out of his hair, turns tenderly to the little Stefania and gently strokes her shoulder.

Stefania: No, Bruno. Not tonight. I ... have a headache.

Bruno: But, Stefania! This is our wedding night!

Stefania: Try to understand, Bruno. We must ... control ourselves. You do not yet have a good job. We would not be able to support the little ones. We must wait ...

Bruno: Wait??? But what about the marvelous new, how you say, "pills"?

Stefania (leaping up and striking him): Silènzio! You say "pills" to a respectable married woman? You shame our home with this "pills"? Bèstia! Traditore! Sciagurato! I disown you! You are no husband of--

As he runs, cowering, from the volley of pots, pans and pills she is raining about his head, scampering desperately in the direction of the Hotel Boccaccio, we mercifully Fade Out.