My favourite film: The Consequences of Love. When I break up with someone, or just feel particularly sad, I watch an Italian film by Paolo Sorrentino called The Consequences of Love. It came out in the UK in 2005. and I bought the DVD soon after. I've now watched it so many times that the disc is scratched, and no longer plays a 10-minute segment that comes halfway through. But I still know roughly what happens. When I was 16, I wrote the film's first Wikipedia page.
Текст песни: I always shoot first, never ask questions. Never think of consequences. I didn't feel a thing. I didn't feel a thing. I never think twice. No intentions.
Play Be it thus. Play Consider the consequences. My secret love dies with you. Play · Vengeful Vengeful Spirit I die, but my love lives on. Целый год прошел с того момента, когда той ночью Такуя, лежа на кровати и держа за руку ДжунДже, сказал ему: «Сайонара».
Directed by Paolo Sorrentino. With Toni Servillo, Olivia Magnani, Adriano Giannini, Antonio Ballerio. An introverted man's life changes completely when he finds. I didn't always love unintended consequences, but I've They exclude people that died as a consequence of civil.
and included an excruciatingly detailed synopsis. Most of it's still there. I fell in love with the film because I felt – and still feel – such affinity for its central character, Titta di Girolamo. It doesn't really make sense – I was a bouncy teenager; Titta is a diffident, divorced businessman – but at the time it weirdly felt like he was one of the few people I could really identify with. This may surprise people who knew me then, but for much of my teens I felt quite lonely. And so does Titta. For the past eight years, he has been living alone in a Swiss hotel.
At first, it's not clear what he's doing there. Every day, he gets up, puts on a suit, and wanders morosely around Lugano. Sometimes, he plays chess with himself. Mostly, he just sits in the hotel foyer – and waits. Gradually, we discover that Titta used to be some kind of stockbroker.
In the 1990s, he was asked to invest 250bn lira on behalf of Cosa Nostra – and he lost 220bn within an afternoon. As punishment, he's been marooned in Switzerland. Every week, for the rest of his life, he must deliver a suitcase of laundered mafia money to a Swiss bank.
Like a lot of gangster movies, it's gripping. But for me, the appeal is less in the outward narrative, and more in Titta's internal goings-on. Estranged from family and friends for nearly a decade, he has become increasingly shy. He greets the hotel manager, and occasionally plays cards with two of the hotel's other long-term residents – but otherwise he barely speaks. He develops feelings for Sofia, the beautiful waitress in the bar, but he is too frightened to act on them. So he ignores her, to the point of rudeness.
Despite his age and experience, Titta is now as awkward as a 15-year-old – and it's this that I found so cathartic as a teenager. When he finally finds the courage to approach Sofia, I felt we were experiencing the same rite of passage. In many ways, Titta was me. More superficially, I also felt an aesthetic oneness with the film. When I first saw Consequences, at a Curzon in central London, I had just been given my first digital camera, and I was doing a lot of graphic design.
In both my photos and posters, I was obsessed by shapes and angles – and so too are Sorrentino and his cinematographer, Luca Bigazzi. The opening shot – a long take of a long, empty corridor – epitomises their style: sharp lines shooting into the four corners of the screen.
When I saw that shot, I had just spent a day wandering around the Docklands, trying to snap sharp, angular pictures of old cranes. I immediately thought: they've created the image that I was trying, but failing, to make. As I've watched the film more, I've realised Bigazzi's not just about strong, static compositions. He also likes to track the camera forwards – moving it, not zooming, and often radically altering the frame in the process.
In the film's most memorable visual image – a shot of Titta injecting himself with heroin – we first think we're watching a stationary close-up of Titta's upright face. It's only after several seconds that we realise we're actually sliding through the air in slow-motion, following Titta's head as it falls 180 degrees towards the floor. The effect is utterly disorientating.
It's a metamorphosis matched by Sorrentino's eerily complex soundscape, which flits imperceptibly between a cool, electropop soundtrack – Terranova, Mogwai etc – and an acutely well-observed set of sound effects. A dialling tone segues into a Lali Puna song; the bounce of a tennis ball becomes Titta's heavy breathing.
What we think is one sound actually turns out to be another. So: much of the film's visual and audio vocabulary is about change – and I originally wanted to end by saying something similar about my changing attitudes to the film. But revisiting it last week, I realised that isn't true. I like The Consequences of Love for exactly the same reasons I first fell in love with it six years ago.
It's a film for lonely people. Watching it is like coming home to an old friend.