No one directs actors like Marco Bellocchio and "Portobello" proves it once again The series about the Enzo Tortora case premieres on HBO Max Italy on February 20

About Portobello, the second series by master Marco Bellocchio after Esterno Notte in 2022, one could say so many things. Such as the timeliness of the show’s release, from February 20 on HBO Max Italy, in near coincidence with a Referendum that will determine the next chapter of Italy’s legislature. Or Bellocchio’s ability to revisit real-life events and extract the epic dimension inherent in their drama, transforming them into extraordinary cases of seemingly ordinary lives.

The always meticulous reconstruction, yet each time exquisitely cinematic (yes, even in a series — and yes, we are speaking of a series, not a film), seems to render unreal characters who truly existed, as though they had stepped out of great literature when, in truth, they were simply human beings. Or again, the way it places us face to face with the Little Italy we once were and have become, always with a touch of indulgence but, at the same time, with disenchanted honesty.

Forgetting the actor’s identity behind the mask

What astonishes most in the viewing of the series about Enzo Tortora, which takes the title Portobello from the television program hosted by the future member of the Radical Party, accused of affiliation with the Nuova Camorra Organizzata, is the one-to-one embodiment of each performer in the roles of the real historical figures brought back to life through their performances. Just as with Esterno Notte, history is not reproduced but seems to unfold effortlessly before our eyes, as if it were happening in that very moment. As if we were watching it take shape while it occurs on screen, receiving only echoes from the past, which occasionally return to remind us that what we are witnessing belongs to our collective memory — one that, in this country, risks being too careless and too short.

Fabrizio Gifuni, who carries the weight of embodying a figure like Tortora, gradually disappears, leaving before our eyes only the television host, making us forget the actor’s own identity behind the mask. He goes one step further when he sublimates the role to the point of becoming not only the man, but the principles he ultimately came to embody: dignity, the pursuit of justice, the refusal to waver from one’s position, never agreeing to plea bargains simply to receive a lighter sentence or soften the judgment (and the ego) of the men who were meant to judge him.

Showing what the ultimate definition of a scapegoat looks like, how one individual often becomes an example for many others, how Enzo Tortora became the open door for a State that could not believe it was hearing so many informants speak and seeing so much “justice” finally being administered. But at whose expense? And to solve what? The Tortora case proved that even in a courtroom there can be self-interest, and that it does not necessarily coincide with the unveiling of truth.

Portraits of Little Italy

And while Gifuni sinks into the despair of a man afflicted yet never defeated, the supporting cast stages a circus of acrobats and swindlers magnificently portrayed by a cast of talents capable of astonishing even the viewer. The audience finds itself repeatedly forced to remember that what they are watching is not some Shakespearean tragedy, whose intrigues are as admirable as the improbable traits of its characters, led by a Lino Musella in the role of a Giovanni Pandico so striking that he seems suspended on that threshold between real person and reinterpretation.

Brilliantly written and equally embodied, the actor stands as both equivalent and opposite to the person — and above all to the virtues represented by Enzo Tortora in the series. He is deceitful, manipulative, disreputable. He is also paranoid and schizophrenic — a diagnosis that will be taken far too lightly by the court tasked with judging the host, envious of the status of a public figure far more beloved than the State itself.

And, as master Bellocchio knows how to do, even when certain performers have little time on screen, he manages to make them unforgettable. Alessandro Preziosi demonstrates the craft of acting, with that candy-eating tic of his Giorgio Fontana, into which he pours all the uncertainty and yet the sense of superiority that the investigating judge felt was on his side.

Romana Maggiora Vergano carries in her eyes the spark we are beginning to recognize in these early years of her career, infused with unparalleled maturity and tenderness as she stands beside a man much older than she is, yet deeply loved. And then there is Fausto Russo Alesi, who for Bellocchio had already been a grief-stricken father in Rapito and, above all, an unforgettable Francesco Cossiga in what is probably the most beautiful episode of Esterno Notte.

What to expect from Portobello

This, then, is the reality of Portobello. If the viewer is left shaken, if they question how something like this could have happened and feel compelled to ensure that it never happens again, it is also thanks to the skill of all the magnificent performers in the series, who make the audience feel so deeply affected. And it confirms what we had long understood: not only is Marco Bellocchio one of the greatest Italian directors our cinema has ever known, but there is simply no one capable of directing actors the way he does.