Rome's Industrial Heritage: A Valley's Name, its Remaining Relics

 

"La Fornace" - the remains today of a 20th-century industrial site, in this case the Veschi Foundry, which operated from the 1920s to 1960, taken from just below the Rome-Viterbo rail line arches - see next photo.

From this simple smokestack that we had seen on earlier treks to this area, and that now was a couple blocks from our apartment, we discovered so many stories - and theories - that it's impossible to relay them all in a blog post. The stories cover wars, names, workers' rights, vistas, government intervention, you name it.

A photo from 1890, when the Rome-Viterbo rail line was being built.

Taken from Monte Vaticano, during the construction of the bridge of the old Rome-Viterbo railroad. Clay quarries and brick-kilns are visible in the background.

Let's just start with the long-time name of the valley in which this relic stands - just behind the Vatican: "Valle dell'Inferno." - Okay, it's the "Valley of Hell" - a name the government would like to erase from memory (current official name "Valle Aurelia") Did that come from the smokestacks?  Local lore would say "yes," because once this valley (this smokestack is at the southern end of it - closest to the Vatican) was home to about 20 foundries, each with at least one smokestack.  (And, unrelated to the name, the bronze for Bernini's Baldacchino in St. Peter's may have been smelted in this area.) The best old photos I could find are the one above and here:

Two smokestacks are easily visible in this 1938 photo. Look closely and you'll see several more behind, in the greyness that no doubt was constant here, and, according to some, gave the valley its name.

Another theory is that the valley was named for the 1527 sack of Rome by German mercenaries, who massacred the Papal troops "with a ferocity to evoke the pains of hell" in this very valley. 

A third theory is that it was here that those who fell ill with the Spanish flu in 1918-1920 were sent to a hospital to die, then buried in a common grave. (A friend recently told us his great-great-grandfather's remains are in that common grave. We could find no confirming historical information on the hospital or the common grave.) Apparently the Valle dell'Inferno name was on a 1548 map, which gives credence to the sack-of-Rome origins.

What is clear is that the Valley was home to the foundries and, closer in, near where the remaining smokestack stands, it was home as well to the foundry workers and those in related professions: makers of bricks and ceramics. They lived near their workplaces, but they also lived outside of the city and outside of the Vatican, apparently (we've learned from more than one source) because the Popes, who ruled the city until 1870, did not want the working class inside the city walls, finding them too radical, having learned lessons from the French Revolution. The area was at one time known as "little Russia" because of its leftist leanings.

The smokestack above, and the walls of the foundry beneath it, were preserved as part of the development of a new shopping mall, called "Aura," that opened in 2018. The developers restored what they could of the foundry, and when we first visited it, it was pristine, at least on the outside (nothing remains inside), but in a few short years, has fallen into disrepair yet again.

The name "La Fornace" is on a number of establishments in the area, including a good, classic Italian restaurant we enjoyed twice while staying in the area. Its symbol is of the smokestack and furnace, and a painting of those is on its walls (photo above).

Above, the foundry - now surrounded by the
ubiquitous (in Rome) orange fencing and graffiti.
There were some plans (dreams, visions)
 of instructing people about this
 continuous cycle "Hoffman" furnace.

The mall, with grand visions of being a new meeting place for the locals, a new "agora," seems to have survived the worst of the Covid years if not in great shape, at least not completely degraded. Below, a wall of signage at the mall.

The steps of the mall also are the scene of a 2021 painting (it's hard to call it "wall art" or "murales" when it's on stairs, not a wall) by the well-known 

Diavù- whom we interviewed at another mall (the Trionfale Market) not too far away. 

Diavù chose as his subject an 18th-century puppet-maker who lived in the Trionfale area nearby, but not exactly a fixture of the Valle dell'Inferno.

Diavù's steps "painting" at the Aura mall of Ghetanaccio,

the nickname of puppet maker Gaetano Santangel (note his puppets to the left and right).

Outside of the Veschi foundry, the hamlet of the foundry workers and brickmakers has only a few remaining markers of its prior existence, mainly street names: Via dei Laterizi, Via dei Mattoni, Via delle Ceramiche, Via degli Embrici - all names of the professions, basically words for bricks, ceramics, and rooftiles. These are similar to the charming streets of Rome's center - via dei Coronari (makers of rosary beads), dei Chiavari (locks and keys), etc., but the Valley's streets are not quite as charming these days as those in the center.

Even less charming is the public housing that sprung up after the last of the small houses inhabited by the descendants of the foundry and brick workers were demolished. Built (poorly, of poor materials, according to some) in the 1980s, the buildings are some of the tallest in Rome, but still compliant with the law that nothing can be higher than the "Cupolone" ("Big Dome" - of St. Peter's). These have as many stories as they do because they were built down in the valley itself. Some locals prize the buildings, with their red trim, and the wall paintings and library - all of which we found, but we also found these locales not exactly prizes. What may be a prize is the view from the top floor apartments, as one friend told us.  We couldn't get those views, but they no doubt are similar to the views from Monte Ciocci - from which we took the photos of the smokestack. (Photos below.)

Dianne

Public housing, replacing the hamlet of workers' structures.

Wall paintings in the public spaces created as part of 
the public housing; the "prized" library is in here too. It 
was closed when we visited (hours are limited). So the young
people just hang out around here.

The view from Monte Ciocci - the views from the top floors of the public housing in Valle dell'Inferno would be similar.
The writing says: "How many times have you seen the sky over Rome?"
and on the horizon is the radio tower for "Radio Maria," the Vatican radio station, and 
Michelangelo's "Cupolone" - or "Big Dome" of St. Peter's basilica.

Another view from Monte Ciocci - the housing below is upscale, not public housing.
That's the Cupolone and the crenelated Vatican walls, in back of which the workers lived, not being welcome too close to the Vatican (because the Pope did not want workers they perceived as anti-Papacy unionists too near those Papal walls).

RST Top 40: # 17. Richard Meier's Suburban Jubilee Church

In these dog days of summer, we're taking the opportunity to re-post the following piece.  Originally posted in 2010, it is the most popular item we've ever published--some 15,000 page views. 


The Jubilee Church in suburban Rome is perhaps U.S. architect Richard Meier’s finest work. Not easy to get to using public transportation, but well worth the trek for those in Rome a second time, and therefore it hits our Top 40 list at #17. (See more on Meier in the links at the end of this post.)

Dives in Misericordia (“Rich in Mercy” – the church’s religious name, taken from Pope John Paul II’s second encyclical) is set in the Tor Tre Teste working class neighborhood of Rome, as that Pope wanted. And it is one of “50 churches for Rome” commissioned for the church’s Jubilee year (celebrating the 2,000th anniversary of Christ’s birth - jubilee years come every 50 years, but clearly 2,000 was a special one), although it was not completed until 2003. (See also Sartogo and Grenon's Santo Volto Church in Marconi.)

Meier’s church is in essence 3 enormous curved sail forms, a shape unusual for him. The sacred part of the church is marked by the wonderfully organic and curved spaces these sails produce, while in the administrative part Meier returns to more familiar rectangular shapes, that we see, for example, in his Getty Center in Los Angeles.

Modern materials are a hallmark of this church project, including a coated cement that is self-cleaning, which was a delight for the white-obsessed Meier. Meier won the competition for the church over 5 other internationally famous architects, including Frank Gehry, Peter Eisenman and Santiago Calatrava. Meier’s church is a testament to the Vatican’s good judgment, we think. See the New York Times' review of the church's consecrration: http://www.nytimes.com/2003/10/30/arts/vatican-s-modernist-moment-church-designed-richard-meier-consecrated-rome.html

We’ve also put directions on getting to the church via public transport at the end of this post.

The Vatican and Meier have been criticized for placing this modernist monument in a working class neighborhood, and basically cramming it into a space enclosed on 3 sides by unattractive apartment buildings and shops. But clearly this is what the Pope had in mind – lifting the neighborhood. As Meier recently said in response to questions about controversy over his works in Rome, “in Italy… unlike in [the U.S.]…architecture and politics are so intertwined.”

We think a trip to the Tor Tre Teste neighborhood is enlightening in many ways. You’ll see how ordinary Romans live. You’ll see magnificent architecture soaring in the midst of the commonplace – what could be more representative of Rome? If you walk a few yards from the church, you’ll also be able to amble through a park with a preserved ancient aqueduct – again, very Roman.

Meier’s other building in Rome is the “museum” and display of the 9th century BC Ara Pacis, the Roman altar to peace (“pacis”) - in this case meaning Roman conquest. It was the subject of even more controversy when it opened in 2006 (and there's still controversy - see Bill's post on a tunnel to be built along the Tevere next to the Ara Pacis). The right-wing picketed (we were there to cross the lines); the new right-wing mayor Alemanno called for Meier’s building to be torn down (or moved to the suburbs). Like everything else in Rome, these nutsy ideas, while stoking the culture wars ($24 million! To an American! It’s just a white box! It’s for the elite!), are now little more than vapors in the air. We didn’t put the Ara Pacis on our RST Top 40 list because it belongs on the First Time list – it’s the 3rd most visited site in Rome.

Dianne
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(For more on Meier, see Bill's post on Rome's "Starchitects", Piazzo Augusto Imperatore, where the Ars Pacis is located - which comes in at No. 9 on RST's Top 40, and further afield the Rome/Michael Graves connection..  Generally for architectural comparisons of the highest order in Rome, see our recent post on MAXXI versus MACRO.)

Transportation:
Best option: get a friend to drive you;

second, take a taxi (but it will be very costly);

third - public transport as follows:
In back (on the South side; right as you're facing the terminal) of the main train station in Rome (Stazione Termini) is a commuter train line. You can take Bus 105 or 105L from the front of Termini to this place (3 stops) - or just ask and walk the several blocks back there. Then take the "train" labelled GARDINETT (for Gardinetti) 16 stops - the stop you want is "Tobagi"; the train runs every 5 minutes in normal hours. Walk about 50 yards to the bus stop "Tobagi" and catch Bus 556 (Gardenie) for 12 stops (to Tovaglieri/Ermoli); the 12 stops aren't that long, really just winding through the suburban high rises. The bus runs every 15 minutes. When you get off, you're 100 yards from the church and you should be able to see it or find it by asking for the church.

TO RETURN: Go back to where you got Bus 556 and take it again, going in the same direction you had been to arrive (Gardenie) - not back; take it 11 stops to Togliatti/Molfetta; go to the Tram stop Togliatti (this is a real tram) and take Tram 14 back to Termini.
Caveat: we have not taken public transportation; I'm relying on the City's transportation site for these directions. Don't ask me why the ways to/from are different. If you're a walker, you could walk to/from the Train or to/from the Tram and not have to go to and from different ways. Just a suggestion. Good luck on this!

The Vatican Walls: Where Fascism Meets Catholicism, or Letting Out the Popes

On one of our great Wall Walks (we know there are those of you who have wondered what happened to our plan to walk the perimeter of the 7th-century Aurelian Wall... yes, those posts are to come), we encountered a physical reminder of the 1929 "Conciliation" between the Italian State and the Catholic Church.  The grand double arches you see in this post are impressive evidence of the Romans' ability to use architecture and symbols to constantly remind us of their history.

In 1929, Benito Mussolini signed for the State, and Pietro Gasparri, Cardinal Secretary, for Pope Pius XII, the Lateran Pacts that resolved the question of the role of the Catholic Church within the secular Italian State - basically, the territories the Church would retain, financial reimbursement for property seized in the revolution, the Church as the State church.  That question had been pending since the "Risorgimento," or the overtaking of most of Italy by the non-Papal forces, in 1870.  And, since that time the Popes had not come out of the Vatican, a self-imposed incarceration.

The Conciliation - commemorated by Via della Conciliazione, which leads from the Tevere to St. Peter's - is also known as the Lateran Pacts, because the agreement was signed in the Lateran church: San Giovanni in Laterano.  (We had always thought they were signed in Piazza della Pigna, where there is a plaque to that effect. Perhaps Il Duce and Gasparri negotiated aspects of the Pacts in that quiet piazza, in which sits a restaurant we have frequented.)

Perhaps more interesting.

So to the Wall.  The photo above, of a double archway, shows one of the first "signs" of the Conciliation that we found on our walk.  In this case we are "inside" the Wall, inside the Vatican, that is, looking out.  On the top of the arch on the left is the coats of arms of Rome, the SPQR, and on the right, the symbol of the Pope, the Pope's hat (mitre) and St. Peter's crossed keys to the Church,  (Why the balls on the coat of arms?  See below.)  So we have the Wall, we have the exit from the Vatican, now usable by the Popes, and a symbol on each gateway representing the two sides in the power struggle.

The archway in the photo above, another exit/entrance from/to the Vatican is perhaps more interesting because it has three layers of secular and Papal symbols.  On the lower level, if one looks closely (see photo left), the State symbol has 1) the King's crown 2) the fasci, representing the Mussolini government, and 3) SPQR, the ancient Rome's government acronym, adopted by Mussolini to tie his Fascist regime to ancient Rome.

The coats of arms at the top likely are older ones that were placed here. The Papal one on the left is of the Barberini Pope (see the bees), Urban VIII (1623-44), and the State one on the right is for the King of Savoy.



Finally we leave you with the grand double archway below, looking from the outside into the Bernini colonnade.  Here the multi-layered blocks and symbols appear to have both Papal and Fascist dating. There is a reference to Pius IV (IIII), a Medici (note the balls in the coat of arms in the photo at the top of the post), who in the early 1500s built the now destroyed Porta Angelica, to welcome pilgrims from the north.  It was at Porta Angelica in 1849 that Garibaldi and his troops made their first forays into Rome to take over the city from the Popes.

So perhaps the Vatican is extracting a sense of justice.  We have a gate (think exit) built after the 1929 Conciliation to acknowledge the Vatican territory and let out the Popes for the first time in almost 60 years.  But on that gate, the Vatican has placed highly symbolic parts of the 1500s Porta Angelica, the gate where at one time (1849) anti-Papal forces forcefully challenged the rule of the Popes; and the Popes won that battle.  Garibaldi's forces won about 20 years later: 1870.  While I disagree with him, David Kertzer, in his book Prisoner of the Vatican: The Popes, the Kings, and Garibaldi's Rebels in the Struggle to Rule Modern Italy, takes the position that even though Garibaldi won the battle for Rome in 1870, eventually the Popes won the war, in the sense that the Catholic Church has religious (albeit not state) dominion over more than 1 billion people.  In any event, in these grand arches and gateways, the Popes are making their point: we're still here.

Dianne

Rome's Best Posters, 2014

Compared to any place in the U.S., Rome is a poster city.  Some are legal, some are "abusivi"--illegal--and most of them are interesting in one way or another.  It wasn't a great vintage, but here are our 2014 favorites:

Bill

As in the U.S., the Italy's right wing--here, the Lotta Studentesca and Forza Nuova--have appropriated the family, as if the left didn't care about families, and as if the policies of the right didn't damage them.  The poster announces a "March for the Family" in Piazza Mazzini.  Bring your three kids and wear jeans.  And smile a lot; raising 3 kids is easy.  Are they all boys?

We first shot this one through a bus window, then returned to photograph it again.  It's Ronald, of course, and next to him the words "I'm destroying it," meaning the world (a take off on the company's ubiquitous slogan "I'm lovin' it," of course).  Across the golden arches it reads "McDeath."  This is a rare poster. 



Here are two of the most crowd-pleasing Popes (at least prior to Francis), Pope John Paul II (left) and John XXIII (right), freshly made new saints on April 27.  The political party, Azione Cattolica Italiana, is thanking us all--for just what we can't say.  Or is it thanking them?  Colorful, though, with slanted graphics.  These were everywhere.  

This is a right-wing effort.  The words below translate as "Honor to Fallen Comrades, Victims of Anti-Fascist Hatred."   The "7" refers to January 7, 1978, when a man on a motorcyle shot and killed 2 members of the neo-Fascist group, Fronte del Gioventu'.  The killing took place in the Tuscolano neighborhood on via Acca Laurenzia, where there is an informal memorial to the event.  Historian and guest blogger Paul Baxa wrote an insightful post on this event and its aftermath.  

Here, a larger poster for a TIM fiber network is partially covered by a poster announcing an event around the work of American poet and novelist Charles Bukowski--one of our favorite authors, despite his outrageous sexism.  The coloring and the pose are reminiscent of the 2008 "Hope" poster of Barack Obama, but the sponsor, CasaPound, is right-wing.  A CasaPound poster made it into our 2012 year-end poster reflections as well.

"Enough Immigration, Enough Banks, Enough of the Euro"/"We want a Europe of Homelands"
The right-wing message, clear enough, is distributed by the Fronte dei Popoli Europei--a group with which we're not familiar, and the Lega Nord [see the circle at bottom right], a once powerful northern Italian party that in the past advocated the secession of the north from the Italian nation.  Although the Lega Nord no longer has much power or influence, the anti-Europe, anti-immigration sentiments of this poster are common in Italy.  In the background, the arm wielding
the hammer suggests the appeal is to the working class. 

"All' Assalto" might be translated "On the Attack" or "To the Barricades."  The author is the Lotta Studentesca [LS, Student Struggle].  The best we could do with the words at the bottom is "Not in anger, not to destroy, but for the red dawn," whatever the "red dawn" is.  The LS is a right-wing organization committed to educational change.  The building is the famous "Square Coliseum," a Fascist-era structure in EUR with visual links to the Coliseum and, therefore, imperial Rome.  

We chose this one not because it's a great poster--the layout is standard for politics--but because the message is clear.  The group "Contropotere," its symbol a pair of pincers, wants to get rid of the new Rome mayor, Ignazio Marino ["Rome, throw out Marino"].  However, the words at the top--listing the homeless, the unemployed, workers without contracts, students, and others--suggest a left-wing orientation, and Marino is center-left.  Anarchists at work?

When Rome was French

It could be an item from Ripley's Believe It Or Not:  There was a time when Rome was French.  Not French in spirit.  Not French in culture.  Not French in tradition.  But French in the sense that Rome was French property and decisions with regard to religion, governance, social welfare, and urban planning were made by the French. 

Rome's French period began in 1798, when the French revolutionary army, taking advantage of the weak defenses of the sprawling Papal States, entered the city along via Flaminia, through the Porta del Popolo, down the via del Corso, and up the capital steps, where the "Republic" was declared.  Under what was known as the "repubblica per ridere" (The Ridiculous Republic, or, more literally, the Laughable Republic), the Pope was deported, enemies of the regime were executed in Piazza del Popolo and the Piazza of Santa Maria in Trastevere, and increases in the price of bread led to riots in the streets. 

He loved Rome--or perhaps the idea of Rome--but he would never see the city.  The painting is in the Museo Napoleonico

Villa Medici, inhabited by the French since 1803

The Republic, such as it was, lasted only as long--about two years--as the French military was there to support it.  Yet even after 1800, as Napoleon's forces took control of much of Italy (though not yet Rome), the city remained under French sway.  The Pope was restored, though dependent on Napoleon for his post; a French ambassador arrived, taking up lodgings in the Corsini Palace; the French Academy took over the Villa Medici (1803); and wealthy French flowed into the city, preening from their fancy carriages on the via del Corso, irritating the Romans, who jeered and threw things.

Castel Sant'Angelo, where French troops were
quartered.

This period of (relative) accommodation ended in 1808, when the French army--the army of Napoleon, not the Revolution--entered the city and found quarters in Castel Sant'Angelo.  The Pope withdrew to the Quirinal Palace, a virtual prisoner.  Things got worse for the Romans on June 10, 1809, when Rome was officially absorbed into the French Empire as an imperial city.  Napoleon--who would never visit Rome--was thrilled by the prospect of joining the Eternal City with the French jewel, Paris.  The proclamation was read on the Capitoline Hill--"Napoleon the Great wants only the glory of giving you, after so many centuries of oblivion, a fate more worthy of your ancient destiny"--and an elaborate procession followed, with stops at Piazza Venezia, Piazza Colonna and, further along the via del Corso, Piazza del Popolo. 

The Quirinal Palace, where a captive Pope
excommunicated Napoleon, among others.

Romans failed to appreciate their new status, as did Pope Pius VI, who from the Quirinal Palace issued a general excommunication of those who cooperated with the takeover of the Papal States--an order that obviously included Napoleon.  Angry at the pontiff's intransigence--he had thought that
the Pope would be willing to compromise in exchange for protection--he had Pius kidnapped and removed from the city to Savona.  The attack on the Church continued with the removal of the stations of the cross from the Coliseum, the deportation of hundreds of clerics, and the closing down of the Papal welfare state, which had supported thousands of Romans unable (or sometimes unwilling) to work. 

The French under Napoleon were reformers, standard-bearers of the Enlightenment, and they made every effort to bring their modernizing perspective to a Rome that clung to its medieval ways with tenacity.  Like Mussolini, the French disliked and feared Rome's physical complexity.  They believed that its narrow, winding streets--perhaps especially the warrens of Trastevere--and its nameless streets and numberless houses--reinforced the insularity and hostility of the population, including the Trasteverini.  The French were not in power long enough to do much in the way of urban renewal, but they did manage to number the houses and install street signage and street lights, as well as prohibit concealed weapons in a violent city where nearly every man carried a knife. 

The ban on concealed weapons was not popular with the Romans, nor was military conscription, the forcing of able-bodied men to work on public projects, depots for the storage of vagrants, or efforts to suppress the lottery (Romans loved to gamble).  The new "scientific" guillotine was introduced in 1813, and torture was outlawed. 

Giuseppe Valadier's Casina, on the Pincio

The French were planners, too.  By 1810 there were plans for an enormous imperial palace, one that would have dwarfed the monument to Vittorio Emanuele II.  There were plans to turn the Lateran Palace into a hospice for beggars, to create open piazzas around Trajan's column, the Pantheon, and the Trevi fountain, and to cut new boulevards in the city.  Mussolini would have understood. 






Imagine the Tevere, navigable for large vessels,
all the way to Perugia.  The French did. 

There was a plan to open the Tevere to large vessels, all the way to Perugia, and another to create an enormous garden from the Pincian Hill to the Tevere. 

The Verano cemetery

Perhaps for health reasons, the French planned to build two cemeteries as part of an effort to bury the dead outside the city walls. 

Of all these plans, few came to fruition.  The Pincian/Tevere garden was in the works when the French departed, and one element in that larger plans remains to this day: the Casina by Italian architect Giuseppe Valadier.  The Verano cemetery, located adjacent to the Basilica of San Lorenzo fuori le mura, was another French achievement.   

Canova's Pauline (Napoleon's sister), in
the Borghese Museum

The French made contributions to the arts.  Their enlightenment ideology included an interest in archaeology, and some progress was made in that area, notably in the Coliseum and at the Temple of Jupiter.  In the fall of 1809, the brilliant sculptor Antonio Canova was called back to Rome from his native Possagno to head the city's arts program.  One of his most famous works, the Venus Victrix, for which Napoleon's beautiful sister Pauline was the model, is on view in the Borghese Museum.  (Pauline eventually bought a villa--now the French embassy--just inside the walls at Porta Pia.)

The unassuming Pasquino, where
Romans expressed their dislike of the French.

As we have seen, the Romans were not pleased to be governed by the French.  As historian Susan Vandiver Nicassio writes in Imperial City: Rome Under Napoleon, "Napoleon loved Rome like a bridegroom; Rome did not love Napoleon.  The affair progressed from courtship to rape and ended, as such affairs must end, in mutual destruction."  What could the Romans do?  The Pasquino--the statue near Piazza Navona on which generations of Romans had posted their views and complaints--was covered with denunciations of the emperor and his infant son, crowned King of Rome in 1810 ("the little bastard has been crowned").  Napoleon, baffled by the Pasquino tradition of dissent, announced that "Rome has become a theatre for defamation, a headquarters for libel."  Although one would imagine that the populace would have been grateful when the French authorities decided to allow "carnival" to take place as scheduled, Romans chose to express their dislike of the occupation by refusing to participate (refusing to party!). 

It would all be over soon.  French influence in the city was dramatically reduced in 1812, when Napoleon's armies ran into trouble in Russia.  In May of 1814, Pope Pius VII entered Rome in triumph over the Ponte Milvio, the same route into the city taken by the French revolutionary forces some 16 years before.  The Romans got their city back. 

The Museo Napoleonico

Lucien, Napoleon's brother, lived in Rome from 1804 to 1808, and he returned to the city after his sibling's fall.  One of Lucien's descendants founded the Museo Napoleonico.  The museum is at Piazza di Ponte Umberto I, 1, just north of Piazza Navona. 

Bill

This account is based on Susan Vandiver Nicassio's informative and entertaining history, Imperial City: Rome Under Napoleon (The University of Chicago Press, 2005).  It is available from the publisher and on amazon.com (paper and Kindle). 

"Habemus Papam" - We Have a Pope - or do we? Inside the Conclave with Nanni Moretti

We have a Pope - "Habemus Papam" - is Nanni Moretti's prescient 2011 film, released in the U.S. last year.

The newly elected Pope in Moretti's film has a crisis of conscience and confidence (to put it mildly) and spends days deciding if he will even greet the public after the white smoke puffs come out of the Sistine Chapel and after the head of the Conclave announces to the crowds gathered in St. Peter's square "Habemus Papam" or "we have a Pope."  The elected one here is a dark horse choice (in fact, 90:1 per the odds-makers, Moretti's film later tells us) when no one else even wants the job.  "Lord, don't pick me!" is the common prayer of the cardinals.

Moretti's film seems to take us right to today, as the cardinals proceed into the Sistine Chapel (while a pushy newsman, remarkably like Geraldo Rivera, attempts to interview them).  In the backdrop of the Sistine Chapel (recreated for the film), and particularly the entire wall covered by Michelangelo's Last Judgment (no sloppy choice of walls here), the cardinals write out their ballots like high schoolers, peaking at one another's votes.



Michel Piccoli as the just-elected, and
totally shocked, Pope

The first 20 minutes of this quiet film will give you as close a feeling as you can get to what the Conclave must be like.

I won't do a spoiler alert for the film, but will say it has many comic moments - the cardinals playing volleyball on geographically determined teams (underrepresented Oceania only has 3 cardinals), under the supervision of the psychiatrist - played by Moretti - brought in to help the Pope get up his gumption; the Swiss Guard ordered to stand in for the Pope, gorging in the Pope's apartments while the Pope is MIA.  And the film grabs us with the Pope's wistfulness at the life he could have had - as an actor, quoting Chekhov with an actor's troupe, and multilingual, recalling Pope John Paul II.   The last speech of this just-elected Pope sounds like it's out of Benedict's mouth in 2013.

Swiss Guards under the Last Judgment in
Habemus Papam

Television crews are set up at the end of via della
Conciliazione facing St. Peter's - part of the Pope watch

The film takes some odd turns and has some puzzling moments, perhaps one reason it hasn't been rated as highly as some of Moretti's other films.  "The Son's Room" won the Cannes Palme d'Or in 2001; Moretti won Best Director at Cannes for his 1994 Caro Diario ("Dear Diary"), and he chaired last year's Cannes jury.  Habemus Papam has been reproached for not being critical enough of the church (Moretti is a leftist and an atheist), or not being comedic enough.  And it has been praised, with good reason, for the magnificent performance of Michel Piccoli as the Pope-in-waiting or the Pope who keeps us waiting.

Piccoli was a leadingman of French noir and has appeared in more than 200 roles .  We just this week saw him in the 1971 Claude Sautet Max et les Ferrailleurs ("Max and the Junkmen") at our local Tarantino-owned theater.  Now 85, Piccolo's performance alone is worth watching the film.  All criticisms taken, I just watched Habemus Papam again, and found it even more compelling against today's news than I did when I saw it a year ago.



Crowds in St. Peter's square in 2005, awaiting news of
a new Pope

Habemus Papam is now available on Netflix, Amazon, Amazon instant video, etc.  To get yourself in the mood for this Conclave, rent or buy it now.  In Italian with English subtitles.

We were in Rome when John Paul II died and Benedict XVI was elected.  Those 2005 photos give a feel for what Pope-watching is like in Rome.

Another Rome tidbit - The Palazzo Farnese filled in for the Vatican for much of the film. These days, it's almost the only way you can see the Palazzo, which houses the French embassy in central Rome.


View from St. Peter's square back
to the TV stands at the end of
via della Conciliazione (the bright
lights)

Dianne

Crowds watching an outdoor screen set against the Coliseum
for Pope John Paul II's funeral in 2005

Crowds in Circo Massimo, with the Palatine Forum in the
background, large screens and speakers set up for
Pope John Paul II's funeral in 2005

Pasquino Lite - Rome's "talking statue" gets a dressing down



in happier times

Rome, a city fairly expert on the protest scale, is experiencing a tightening of the noose by right-wing mayor Gianni Alemanno.  Alemanno has cracked down on Rome’s most famous “talking statue,” little Pasquino, who sits in an homonymous piazza right off the larger and more famous Piazza Navona.



Poor Pasquino - as last seen with a lucite stand
(right) and only a few comments

Okay, when you get your first look at Pasquino, he might not seem like much; he’s missing quite a bit of his body.  But, remember, he dates to the 3rd century BC,and he’s battered, but  still standing. 

Pasquino’s fame dates to the 16th Century, when he became the locus for comments critical of the reigning Pope.  And, his body as a place to slap on one’s protests, continues to this day.  Well, almost.  Alemanno now is insisting that instead of putting the protests right on Pasquino, they be properly put on a side board.  Where’s the fun in that?  Of course, most of the posts (the last time we went by) were satirical jabs at Alemanno for this (ahem) stupid policy.  It’s not as though Pasquino’s 3rd century BC body should start being protected now.  The real purpose of Alemanno’s edict appears to be to clean up and stifle criticisms against the mayor himself.

Comments in 2011 criticize the government

But don’t let that stop you from visiting what we now refer to as “Pasquino Lite,” and the piazza is a nice respite (with plenty of cafes and a substantial wine bar) from the busier Piazza Navona.

Dianne

For more on Pasquino, “pasquinades,” and other talking statues in Rome, see the following sites:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pasquino

http://www.romeartlover.it/Talking.html

The Stones of Rome

If you've been in Rome more than 15 minutes, you've noticed that many of the streets are paved with square black stones--very "picturesque." Here we have some pidgeons having an early morning pizza on this picturesque surface.

The stones are called sanpietrini (little Saint Peters--a reference to their use in the early 18th century in St. Peter's square, after the coach carrying the Pope nearly tipped over), and they have an inverted-pyramid shape that resembles a molar. They're a bit like icebergs, with most of their bulk below the surface. To give you some idea of an average-size sanpietrino, I asked Dianne to hold one in her hand (below right).

According to Fulvio Abbate's Roma, a "non-conformist guide to the city" (one of our favorite books when we can understand it), these paving blocks first appeared in the 16th century, to facilitate the smooth movement of carts through the streets. Having suffered through kilometer upon kilometer of sanpietrini on the back of a scooter known to have a rather stiff rear-end suspension (that's the scooter's rear-end we're talking about), Dianne isn't so enamoured of the "smooth" ride these blocks of basalt are presumed to produce. And, as every scooter driver knows, and as bicycle racer Denis Menchov discovered on a straightaway in the final kilometer of the last time trial of the Giro d'Italia, with the Coliseum in view and the finish line--and glory--around the curve, dampened sanpietrini are, well, really, really slippery. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oYUfYzHEjdc

If Dianne were mayor every street that we ride on would be dependable asphalt. But she isn't, and so we now and then can take pleasure in watching a sanpietrino (also the word for a craftsman who installs the blocks) ply his centuries-old trade (video below from Piazza del Gesu'). Rome's artists, too, have found the streets of sanpietrini the stuff of inspiration, as we discovered one evening at a small gallery in Ostiense (left), where Giovanni Liberatore was showing his sensuous, closeup photos of wet and oily pavement.

And, for the time being--until Dianne gets her way--Romans will now and then pick up a loose one, take it home, and use it for a doorstop. Bill