Gomorra

When people think of gangster films, it’s easy to think immediately of Sicilian wise-guys (The Godfather, Goodfellas) or Cockney wide-boys (Guy Ritchie’s recent output). The reality for ordinary people though is far removed from the “When I was young, I always knew I wanted to be a gangster” idealism of the Harry Hills of this world. Gomorra aims to show that reality in a barebones way that removes any pretense that the life of the people in this world is glamorous. Based on a book whose author has gone into hiding, this is the story of the Camorra, Italy’s most dangerous crime syndicate, based in Naples, who have killed more people than all sides combined in the Arab-Israeli conflict (as the titles tell us).

I say story, there actually isn’t one per se, as befits the arthouse style of the film. The best way to consider the style is to think of it as a hybrid of Gus van Sant’s Elephant (a fly on the wall docu-drama about the last day of the Columbine killers) and City of God (Goodfellas but with Brazilian street children). We don’t see one uniform plot, rather the camera shows us lives in progress, and the camera appears not to be there - this is day to day life for the characters, life that continues (or not, as the case may be) exactly as it is long after the cameras stop rolling.

In place of a plot are five individual tales, none of which intertwine. There’s the young boy for whom Camorra life already seems appealing, the bagman whose job it is to pay the families of jailed gang members, the two teenage upstarts who consider all of Naples theirs for the taking, the Camorra-financed tailor who starts secretly giving lessons to Chinese sweatshop workers, and the money launderer and his graduate protégé who efficiently clean Camorra money using toxic waste.

The stories do share a common theme - they are all set in the disgusting urban sprawl that is Naples, and they sound out that the vast majority of the city’s citizens are unwilling and terrified participants in a war that is not of their own making. As one character comments to the bagman, it’s not a matter of choosing sides, or of buying your escape from one to the other, you’re automatically in it one way or another. There is no all encompassing climax here, no crescendo of orchestras as everything comes together nicely at the end. There is just bleakness and despair, as it was and will clearly be for some time yet. The actors show this incredibly well, nearly all of them looking incredibly out of place and completely terrified, including the two bloodthirsty teenagers. It’s hard to tell whether this is unease in front of the camera or excellent acting, but it’s irrelevant - one way or another, it just works. Perhaps the fact that there are no stand out performances is appropriate for this film - no one actor is better than the film just as no one person is bigger than society.

Clearly then, Gomorra is not easy viewing. This is not a film for those looking for an enjoyable or action packed romp, this is a grim and disturbing film that never lets the audience enjoy any aspect of gangster life. The violence is shown quickly and brutally, with short sharp shots designed to shock. That’s how it is in the real world, one minute you’re going about your daily business, the next the guy standing next to you had a hole in his head and all hell has broken loose. There’s no lingering to be seen; characters do things, say things, kill, die, etc and then we’re straight onto the next set of events. That’s not to say this is a fast paced film, because its not, but there’s enough material here for a TV series, as one reviewer claimed, and it is tough to fit everything in. Thankfully though it’s never rushed, taking its time to convey sufficiently the fear of its characters, most of whom would desperately like to escape their lives, but realise that they can't except by means of a bullet.

If the cinematography is designed to shock, the soundtrack does the opposite by going for pure irony. Actually, that word really isn’t strong enough to cover the effect, and nowhere is that more obvious than after some opening credits violence, the silence after which is quickly shattered with catchy, infectious, undeniably cheesy Neapolitan Euro-pop. It’s the same throughout the film, and it works remarkably well. Inappropriate? Definitely, but it can also be seen as a metaphor in itself for wider society glossing over the nightmare created by the Camorra, and for that reason I wouldn’t have it any other way.

To say that Gomorra is an enjoyable film seems slightly wrong, because this isn’t a film you see to “enjoy” - and anybody trying to do so in that way will be bitterly disappointed. It’s one of those films that aims to open the audience’s eyes, and in so doing it leaves a very grim taste in the mouth, as Empire phrased it. It wouldn’t work if it didn’t do that however, because this is reality, not entertainment - that’s how the Camorra works. It works brilliantly well, and I do feel enlightened by having seen it, and slightly humbled by up until now having almost believed the gangster stereotypes perpetrated by Western media. By seeing this film, you’re stepping into a terrifying world that you’ll be very thankful you’re not a part of by the time you leave. Welcome to Naples. Welcome to a living nightmare.

Gomorra is out now.

[wolfganga]

Gomorrah uncovers a Naples that does not appeal to the gangster romanticism that cinematic tradition has established. Instead, it divides its interest among a handful of narratives, all of which bleakly document the Camorra, a problem that systematically destroys each life cast under its shadow.

Gomorrah expels the familial aspect we are accustomed to seeing on the screen. Since The Godfather the gangster has become domesticated; from Henry Hill to Tony Soprano, the conflicting dynamic created for the protagonist to dwell in has been stretched and reinvented endlessly. Perhaps there is no where left to go in this genre. In Gomorrah, however, there are no families present; blood or crime. No human bonds are created or destroyed and no codes are followed. Without these conventions we begin to wonder what will weave the film together. The mafia family has fallen apart.

Consider the lonesome Don Ciro and his visits to the lonely houses on the Scampìa estate or Totò whose obedience to his mother is soon submission to the local gangs as he plays a part in murdering another motherly figure. Consider Roberto who is sent away by his father to find a career or Marco and Ciro, the young men who aspire to be Tony Montana. There is no next of kin when they are murdered because of their failure to adhere to the only rule of the Camorra: you do what you're told to do. In opposition, the only redeeming scenes are the welcoming bed of tailor Pasquale's wife and child as he arrives home from moonlighting and those of an all-female kitchen preparing food, both of which vanish almost as soon as they appear. The disposal of family lengthens the distance created by the isolated strands of narrative; everything has been separated. Gomorrah remembers to forget Scarface; Marco and Ciro meet a similar end to Tony but they are not the only ones in this film. New to this genre, what can we learn from a film like Gomorrah?

Gomorrah tries to replicate Roberto Saviano's book in its investigative documentary style, but this is where the film fails. What we have are vignettes in search of a story; there is no craft in tying them together. The strands of narrative do not converge directly; they become separate tales of losers who are entangled in the Camorra. By keeping the narratives separate in this way, we limit the impact of any plot. The joy in discovering how those in one story are connected to those in another is obliterated as we have the ultra-violent shadow of the Camorra cast over each story from the ultraviolet opening. From the first scene we know that Camorra spells trouble. It is too much too soon.

A purer documentative approach would allow the film to lose its rags of storytelling and show its moral underbelly clearly. The blur of cinema and documentary inhibit Gomorrah showing how the mechanics of the Camorra infiltrate the city of Naples and ultimately show the Camorra’s influence on the lives of all Neapolitans. It does not dig deep enough into Naples life; it is limited both geographically and cinematically. Gomorrah tells us of suffering. It does not tell us who is fighting or why they matter. As a cinematic experience we have a safety layer placed between us and the reality. After a book of such magnitude do we really need a film to tell us of suffering?

[Addy]

How did I miss this being published? I thought there was a submission problem or something because I hadn't seen it

[Dario]

Originally Posted by Addy

The reality for ordinary people though is far removed from the “When I was young, I always knew I wanted to be a gangster” idealism of the Harry Hills of this world.

Addy, are you sure you don't mean Henry Hill, perhaps?

[Addy]

Originally Posted by Dario

Addy, are you sure you don't mean Henry Hill, perhaps?

Yes, oops on that one!