Among the meanings of the word ‘obiettivo’, the dictionary tells us: ‘Optical system composed of one or more lenses…’. It’s a lie! It’s a ‘system’, yes, but to discover the secrets of man. It penetrates through the gaze into the secret of consciousnesses and reveals their deepest feelings, of which we ourselves are unaware. It is a merciless revealer of the profound. The characters inform us with their words, with their physiognomy, with the changing appearances of the relations that exist between them, of their everyday lives, but suddenly, as if by revelation, the drama emerges: the ‘obiettivo’ makes us discover it before it manifests itself, it renders us witnesses and participants. Only afterwards do the facts speak. It is a privileged moment that turns the spectator into a judge. But in Maria Zef, beyond judgement we ask for mercy, which, alone, leads us to total comprehension; and which perhaps restrains us from uttering a sentence.
What is a film if not a search? An attempt at involving ourselves, a desire for penetrating other lives which are for us examples of the human condition into which we can insert ourselves and enrich our everyday solitude? If Maria Zef were a work expressed in its totality, we could then state: a girl, a child, a boy, an uncle and a dog; these are the elements sufficient and necessary so that a fragment of the world’s truth may pose to us the question to which, perhaps, we can’t give an answer except through sentiment. And mercy.
From Ai poeti non si spara: Vittorio Cottafavi tra cinema e televisione (Edizione Cineteca di Bologna,
2010), p. 167. Originally published as ‘Maria Zef’, Quaderno Rai, 4, Rai Udine, 1981.
Maria Zef (Vittorio Cottafavi, 1981)