The puppets and puppeteers located at Italy’s insane nexus of tawdry television and political power get the wry treatment they deserve in Erik Gardini’s suitably strange 2009 documentary, Videocracy. While most filmmakers would have kept the focus on Italian President and TV magnate Silvio Berlusconi–who’s part Rupert Murdoch, part Joe Francis, but worse than both–Gardini spends plenty of time leering at the overlords and underdogs who strive for money and fame in the wet dream that is the nation’s idiot box.
Considering that Italian TV is mostly filled with regular people who will do anything for a shot at fame, it’s not surprising that Gardini’s “stars” are a motley crew. One is a mechanic who aspires to be a cross between Jean Claude Van Damme and Ricky Martin. Another is powerful talent scout Lele Mora, an idolmaker and Mussolini fan who can create a star overnight owing to his close friendship with the President. Mora’s erstwhile protege, Fabrizio Corona, is a sour-faced paparazzo who takes embarrassing photos of celebs. After a stint in prison for dubious business practices, Corona emerges as a star himself, replete with a T-shirt line and a full datebook of personal appearances. Amusingly enough, none of the women who jiggle in underwear and less for ratings are profiled. That’s fitting since the first rule for female models on Italian television is that they’re not allowed to talk.
Berlusconi, who owns ninety percent of the country’s TV holdings, has used the medium to gain political power, building his appeal by broadcasting self-aggrandizing propaganda and by giving the masses all the titillation they desire. But he’s obviously not the film’s only raging ego. Gardini uses simple devices–color schemes, odd camera angles, slo-mo–to lend the film an eerie impressionistic feel, one that applies a sickening gloss to these desperate faces. As the sleazeball Corona says: “Having a super powerful personality pays off in this country ruled by television.”•
