Places, facts and people are, in this tale, real. I have not invented anything: and whenever, in the footsteps of my old habit as a novelist, I invented, I was immediately driven to destroy what I had invented. Even the names are real. Let me tell you what I “ate” at the Lessico Familiare presentation hosted by Sunnei
Words DOMENICO COSTANTINI
Around the set table, with fork in hand and knife tapping on glass to draw attention as in wedding toasts, Great Revelations is made.
The material for a comedy of misunderstandings was there, in the hands of a director truly intent on entertaining. Not just to forge complicity with his target audience, or to try to broaden it-as happens here-without displeasing early fans.
SUNNEI, the host, opens the doors of its own HQ, both physically and metaphorically, to welcome the presentation of Lessico Familiare’s new “Literally me” collection.
Distinguished guests, journalists, professionals, competitors, sit at this table, also a family memory. Four musicians, as on the Titanic, play in unison as if to cheer the guests thoughts in a final ballad.
Here they make their entrance amidst funny and wheezing, the latest arrivals, making their way through the candles, looking for their names alongside those of the other guests. Not mere people but characters who shaped the lighthearted and self-conscious rhythm of Lessico Familiare. Martin Luther, for the Reformation. Cecilia Lisbon, for candor. Florence Welch, for the lungs. Richie Tenenbaum, for waiting at the station. Gwyneth Paltrow, for Goop. Sofia Coppola, for the girls. Mr. Darcy, for stubbornness. Luke Danes, for the coffee. Seth Cohen (with spider man mask), for indie pride. Lady Diana, for everything. Natalia Ginzburg, for Family Lexicon. Ginger Rogers, for rhythm. Cindy Sherman, for literally me. Lenny Belardo, for vanity. Sister Aloysius, for doubts. Mary Parsons, for it not to happen again. Nina Simone, for Little Girl Blue. Joan Didion, for words.
This included me as Luke Danes, a bartender with a baseball cap and embroidered lettering with the naughty, pink (piggy) phrase “Bow Job,” which in this case indicates something I like, but ultimately not too much, a character that at times represents me, always a bit awkward but with an appeal that I perhaps lack. I did my best, I moved deftly trying my hand at a beautiful and damned Alessandro Merlo as Lady Diana, I winked many times, of course without any comeback, at Gianmarco Porru inside a wonderful futurist upcycle Thayhat suit, but in the vein of a wonderful Nina Simone. I tried to make out with Seth Cohen under the Spider Man mask — oh my God he looked so sexy in that ruffled Codogno Calcio jersey — Fortunately, at the end there was Victoria Genzini, disarming Suicidal Virgin, who handed me her xanax to relieve all my evils.
The collection consists of a series of fakes, garments already seen, stolen from characters from their paintings, imaginary sets, hotel rooms or red carpets. Dismembered according to Lessico Familiare‘s practice, they are exaggerated in proportions, offset and rethought without paying too much attention to functionality.
It would be reductive to do a review on the clothes, as this was not just a runway show but an experience, a personal narrative forerunner of the costume. Understood and embraced, of course by the svelte contemporary bravura that has always distinguished SUNNEI
Here the music is over, an exotic Martin Luther resigned turncoat, will no longer denounce the sale of indulgence, rather he will realize that we need a dream despite its cost.
SUNNEI is the table. Lessico Familiare the tablecloth. We the banqueters.
