that she had done something nasty in the past and now she likes it when there’s evil in the world because it makes her feel better about herself, and he advised Dr. Cosenza to continue with the analysis until what she had repressed came out.
Dr. Farina, wanting to show off, told all this to his mistress Baronessa Ferla, and Baronessa Ferla told Farina that the only thing Contessa Salieri had repressed was the memory of the male organ, which she hadn’t laid eyes on since the days of the national referendum to abolish the monarchy.
She also told him that the Contessa was constantly spreading
bullshit because she didn’t have anything else going on in her life, she was bored out of her mind, and she had decided to go to a psychoanalyst because she had read in Vanity Fair that wrinkles could be psychosomatic, and since there was no longer anything to stretch with all the face-lifts she’d had, otherwise she’d rip, she had decided to go to Dr. Cosenza.
She had gone to Cosenza and not to Farina because she knew that Farina was going to bed with Baronessa Ferla and she didn’t want her business to be known all over town. Baronessa Ferla tumbled out of bed thinking that in any case she now knew all about the Contessa’s business.
Cagnotto knows nothing about any of this, and has asked to see the Contessa to obtain a raccomandazione , to get her to put in a good word. Cagnotto feels rotten.
He has made a promise to the actors that the play will go on. And if you make a promise to actors, and maybe they decline another job, and then you don’t go ahead with the play, you can forget about those actors.
He had made a promise to Caporeale and Cosentino, those assholes, and they had gone and had a fight with Rattalina.
But above all, he had made a promise to Lambertini! Who, with all her connections to the commissioners, if you made her a promise and then the show didn’t go on, you could consider yourself a dead man.
There’s something perverse about events sponsored by the departments of culture. To present your proposal you need to have your proposal in hand. But how can you have the proposal if you don’t already have the funds? To put together a theater company you need funds, but to get funds you need the company. This is how things work in Sicily, in any case, and Cagnotto is beginning to feel faint.
Before talking to the Contessa, Cagnotto had tried asking Lambertini,
with a distracted air, “But, um, among the important people you know, what do you think, might there be someone, obviously taking into account other obligations, someone who might want to buy my … our Shakespeare?”
And Lambertini had replied, “Are you trying to tell me you don’t have the sponsor or the money and that the play isn’t going to happen?”
That’s how Lambertini is, she prefers to keep her connections to herself and save them for her recitals.
Lambertini’s “recitals” are select pieces in which she presents herself onstage with the player of a musical instrument (usually a piano or a cello), and as the notes begin to swell, she plucks out her hair like chicken feathers, rips her clothes, yells out voices in her head, slaps herself all over until she drops to the floor, kicks her feet, whacks the stage, gives a couple of head-butts to the musical instrument, and, depending on the piece she’s performing, either swoons, dies, or kills herself. This description comes courtesy of Caporeale.
According to Caporeale the version she does best is the one in which she kills herself. And in fact, every time he sees one of Lambertini’s recitals in which at the end the actress swoons or dies a natural death, without fail Caporeale will comment, “But how come she didn’t kill herself?”
Without the backing of Falsaperla, Cagnotto would not only fail to get a piazza, he wouldn’t even have a dark corner in which to mount his Shakespeare. You had to have a permit, you had to have traffic cops to direct
Dr. Farina, wanting to show off, told all this to his mistress Baronessa Ferla, and Baronessa Ferla told Farina that the only thing Contessa Salieri had repressed was the memory of the male organ, which she hadn’t laid eyes on since the days of the national referendum to abolish the monarchy.
She also told him that the Contessa was constantly spreading
bullshit because she didn’t have anything else going on in her life, she was bored out of her mind, and she had decided to go to a psychoanalyst because she had read in Vanity Fair that wrinkles could be psychosomatic, and since there was no longer anything to stretch with all the face-lifts she’d had, otherwise she’d rip, she had decided to go to Dr. Cosenza.
She had gone to Cosenza and not to Farina because she knew that Farina was going to bed with Baronessa Ferla and she didn’t want her business to be known all over town. Baronessa Ferla tumbled out of bed thinking that in any case she now knew all about the Contessa’s business.
Cagnotto knows nothing about any of this, and has asked to see the Contessa to obtain a raccomandazione , to get her to put in a good word. Cagnotto feels rotten.
He has made a promise to the actors that the play will go on. And if you make a promise to actors, and maybe they decline another job, and then you don’t go ahead with the play, you can forget about those actors.
He had made a promise to Caporeale and Cosentino, those assholes, and they had gone and had a fight with Rattalina.
But above all, he had made a promise to Lambertini! Who, with all her connections to the commissioners, if you made her a promise and then the show didn’t go on, you could consider yourself a dead man.
There’s something perverse about events sponsored by the departments of culture. To present your proposal you need to have your proposal in hand. But how can you have the proposal if you don’t already have the funds? To put together a theater company you need funds, but to get funds you need the company. This is how things work in Sicily, in any case, and Cagnotto is beginning to feel faint.
Before talking to the Contessa, Cagnotto had tried asking Lambertini,
with a distracted air, “But, um, among the important people you know, what do you think, might there be someone, obviously taking into account other obligations, someone who might want to buy my … our Shakespeare?”
And Lambertini had replied, “Are you trying to tell me you don’t have the sponsor or the money and that the play isn’t going to happen?”
That’s how Lambertini is, she prefers to keep her connections to herself and save them for her recitals.
Lambertini’s “recitals” are select pieces in which she presents herself onstage with the player of a musical instrument (usually a piano or a cello), and as the notes begin to swell, she plucks out her hair like chicken feathers, rips her clothes, yells out voices in her head, slaps herself all over until she drops to the floor, kicks her feet, whacks the stage, gives a couple of head-butts to the musical instrument, and, depending on the piece she’s performing, either swoons, dies, or kills herself. This description comes courtesy of Caporeale.
According to Caporeale the version she does best is the one in which she kills herself. And in fact, every time he sees one of Lambertini’s recitals in which at the end the actress swoons or dies a natural death, without fail Caporeale will comment, “But how come she didn’t kill herself?”
Without the backing of Falsaperla, Cagnotto would not only fail to get a piazza, he wouldn’t even have a dark corner in which to mount his Shakespeare. You had to have a permit, you had to have traffic cops to direct
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