Isole di cenere

Panaria Film. Adventure and Poetry of Italian Cinema by Alessandro Giorgio

The history of Italian cinema is studded with stories and characters that haven't been given their deserved space and recognition. The first ten years after the war are known to have been one of film culture's richest and luckiest moments which inscribed a crucial page in the renewal of European – and not only European – film culture. That makes it perfectly understandable why something or someone has been retrenched by history. That is why to draw the attention onto an all Sicilian "small" production company in its heyday between 1946 and 1955 taking its name from the furthest Aeolian island, might help to understand the prosperity of those years and the role of those authentic pioneers, who feared not to venture on hazardous productions which entrusted histories of cinema with such fundamental moments and works as to influence great directors and actors. Panaria Film was almost set up for fun. Behind this name hide Francesco Alliata di Villafranca, Quintino di Napoli, Pietro Moncada, Renzo Avanzo (Rossellini's cousin and husband of Uberta Visconti, Luchino's sister). To these must be added Fosco Maraini whose remarkable work is a marvellous clear counterpoint portraying faces and situations of a Sicily which no longer exists.

«Everything started in 1946 when fresh after surviving the murderous war, we were happy to be alive and anxious to get back on our feet in the "charm" and sanity of the tragic experience of those years. We had the common wish to discover the sea and tell its stories through filmmaking and underwater fishing». Francesco Alliata's words, last repository of those memories and beholder of an extraordinarily valuable and interesting archive are a hint to understand the kicking-off spirit of what was to become a proper adventure. Born with filmmaking under his skin, he was a cameraman in the army during World War II and with Luce, incessantly involved in a thousand different jobs which went beyond that producer-accountant figure. Still as of today there are no counterproofs that those underwater picks of Panaria's first documentaries can’t be considered the origin of world underwater filming. Yet they prove to be something more than just a simple experiment. Francesco Alliata's initiative first of all gave life to a true cinematographic handicraft gem: a 35 mm Arriflex's case used to shoot a number of underwater scenes. Thus at the beginning the group's main interest was to try and improve their gear status, motivated by the general idea of showing the Aeolian paradise endowed with a primal aura and a veiled mystery then still rather unknown. Yet this vagueness provides an almost immediate synthesis and form which guaranteed, very much to the author's surprise, an authoritatively balanced documentary production whose value goes beyond the novelty and spectacularity of the underwater scenes. Films such as 1947's Cacciatori sottomarini (1946), Tonnara, Bianche Eolie, Isole di Cenere and Opera del pupi and Tra Scilla e Cariddi, all shot the following year by those who soon the press would rename “The boys in Panaria”. Encline to real risks, brave and rather reckless, Alliata inaugurates his covered Arriflex in Tonnara's "death chamber" surrounded by hundreds of frantic tunas. This is just one of the risky exploits on which our protagonist ventured. Another instance of jeopardy would be during Vulcano's underwater shoots when his life was literally in Federico Kechler's hands who from a boat regulated the air pressure emission into the rubber tube connected to Alliata's mouthpiece. Small mementos which help us to acquire a better picture of this unconventional producer, director and operator with the ability to shift from an accountant's job to make ends meet, to a cinematographic handicraft while walking in the shoes of a reckless pioneer.

Other than for their pioneering dimension these works are worthwhile for their anthropological and cinematographic slant. The documentary's deed of testifying Sicily's lost traditions and rituals – eight years before the debut of Vittorio De Seta who took his first steps with Panaria – couples with a more technical quest for an editing and framing organic unity. Invariably met with success at any international festivals they took part in and well received by the press, "The four Sicilian cinematographic bards”, as they were referred to in the title of an article by Giovanni Schisano in 1949, could now think about filmmaking on a big scale. Moreover thanks to laws, notoriously duped by movie theatre tradespeople, concerning documentary screenings, even the public could appreciate their works. Roberto Rossellini, who was already a famous director and had been involved in the project with his cousin Renzo of Panaria, had given them a hand in the documentary's post-production from the film studios in Rome. He grew so fond of that genuine and archaic Aeolian world to start conceiving the idea, with those "boys", of a film set in those lands. He even started organising everything cut to measure for Anna Magnani's role, partner in work and in love. Suddenly, though, at a rather advanced stage of the film's preparation (funds had been found, co-production and distribution contracts with the Artisti Associati italiana and the American United Artist had been signed, at a good stage with the screenplay too) Rossellini disappeared. What happened after was something that is still remembered as one of the most memorable events in cinema industry reports. The story refers to the events around Rossellini's precipitous flight from Magnani to conquer Ingrid Bergman, the turbulent separation of the latter from her Swedish husband Peter Lindstrom, and the overlapping of the filming of the two movies in the Aeolians. Thus while Panaria productions were grappling with Vulcano, with William Dieterle, Geraldine Brooks Rossano Brazzi and of course Anna Magnani on the one island, with the money recovered by the Swedish actress persuading Hughes, Rossellini and Bergman could work on Stromboli terra di Dio on the other. The long agitated and extremely captivating story around these two productions is masterly recounted by Alberto Anile and Gabriella Giannice in a monography completely dedicated to La guerra dei vulcani – The War of the Volcanos – as suitably entitled. Despite the poor weather conditions and the practical difficulties Anna Magnani gave proof of outstanding acting. Panaria must be given credit for giving Italian cinema's best actress the opportunity to consolidate the growing myth that was just then about to flourish around her, with the two opposed roles in two different films: the tragic tension of Maddalena opposed to the uncontainable liveliness of Camilla in La carrozza d'oro four years later. Jean Renoir defined Magnani's performance in his film "devastating”. Once again also that production achieved through difficulties, uncertainties, and the determination which led to the first hard-won take, shows Panaria trademark's vigour, in spite of the fact that this film diverges from the peculiarities of works completed so far. This time no sea nor difficult environmental conditions yet the experimental spirit which hallmarked ten years activity remains unaltered. With La carrozza d'oro Francesco Alliata went very close to establishing another record, that of producing the first colour film, which was, though, broken by Ferraniacolor in Totò a colori by Steno, preceded Renoir's work which still was Italian cinema's first Technicolor. The film was first commissioned to Luchino Visconti who had squandered Panaria's resources for too long. After a clear up with Alliata, which caused Alliata an unfair unanimous refusal from the entire Italian filmmaking élite which considered Visconti as "someone you should not contradict (or rather dismiss)”, the director was ousted. Despite the budget addition, the producer fortuitously took on an enthusiastic Jean Renoir, who had been Visconti's maestro. From the industry's point of view this production should be remembered because at the same time as La carrozza d'oro two other films were being shot in two very expensive sets in Cinecittà studios, so as to recoup some of the earlier waste of money. The result was an acrobatic feat from both an organisation and economical point of view unique in the history of cinema.

Back to the sea. Inspired by the idea of exploring the sea as a source for new resources for man, the group produced a feature documentary film meaningfully entitled Sesto Continente (Sixth Continent). With another acrobatic economical feat which involved Africa, Europe and America, for the first time underwater shootings were in colour. On this occasion Alliata gave Folco Quilici, then a very promising student of the Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia, the chance to debut as a director. As well as these films other previous important productions which contributed to reveal the Aeolian islands to the rest of the world with the many peculiarities of Sicily and its culture. This is the case of Panaria's following production Le village magiques (1954) by Jean-Paul le Chanois set in Cefalu at Italy's first holiday resort, with Vittorio De Seta as a director's assistant for the first time. A Ferraniacolor feature film in which Domenico Modugno and his guitar are seen treading the boards for the first time. Agguato sul Mare followed, perhaps the first Italian film in Cinemascope (1955), in which the giant screen was used to enhance Sicily with the first aerial shots of its magnificent landscape.

This short prologue pays tribute to Panaria pioneers hoping that the name will be remembered, especially now, at a time when after fifty years, so many retrospectives, festivals and talks not only in Italy are dedicated to this adventure. Almost as if it were a cinematographic Grand Tour revealing Sicily. We hope Cinemabiente's tribute-retrospective dedicated to Panaria contributes to power a new interest able to bring back both the films and the memory of such a short yet exceptionally intense adventure under the limelight again.