Mariella Gattini

The clue for the surprising ending of this movie is precisely its title, Il Sorpasso, and for that very same reason I won’t give you the right translation. I’m very aware that you can easily look it up helped by all the wonderful devices available at the tip of your fingers, but dictionaries or translation programs are not enough to understand culture—you need to know how the language works from inside out.

Il Sorpasso (1962), directed by Dino Risi, and co-written with Ettore Scola, and Ruggero Maccari, still is a vibrant work of art in black and white, which can reach many audiences because it’s a timeless story that manages to take a piece of the Italian culture and make it universal, helped by the wonderful cast that includes, Vittorio Gassman, Jean-Louis Trintignant, and Catherine Spaak.

In Rome, two Italian men from different social class, and totally opposite personalities—one defined as a “playboy”, Vittorio Gassman, and the other a bookish, reserved law student, Jean Louis Trintignant—embark on a trip. The fast-paced narration takes you along, and shows, with complete generosity, how two strangers can get close, and at the same time, how dangerous that path is—an innocent desire for a good time can lead to the most unexpected of outcomes. To be sincere, that’s not completely true. The ending shouldn’t be that surprising since, from the very beginning, they insinuate what is really going to happen. But, you don’t want to acknowledge it, and want to keep following this two “spensierati” (lay back, free-from-worries men) until the end gives you a real slap on the face.

Looking at it from today’s perspective the movie looks more like a document that attests real events, instead of what it really is—a fictional story that grabs you and doesn’t let you go.

It reminds me of the times when I was six years old and went around with one of my brothers on his Vespa. He was twenty years older than me. I have many photographs in black and white of a very handsome young man, more handsome than Vittorio or Jean-Louis. He left me behind when I was six, or so I felt when I was that age. I saw him later in Italy, but it was never the same, and years later he died in a motorcycle accident near Milan, Italy.

Il Sorpasso reminds me of him, and of the relationship we could never have. In a way, we had become two strangers long before his accident, and today the only thing that keeps him alive in my mind is the memories in black and white of the two of us on his Vespa. We still go for rides on Sunday mornings. I’m still 6, he; 26. I wear my best dress, my brother; his blue jeans and a pristine white t-shirt. His curly hair is very short, and his sunglasses hide his blue eyes. Sitting on the Vespa, with his hands on the handles, he accelerates more and more. I’m standing between his legs looking forward, and the wind plays with my hair, so much so that at times it impairs my vision.

Il Sorpasso forces me to think about what could have been, and pushes me to rethink the way I want to live my life. For better or for worse, who I am today is the product of all those little experiences, together with the Italian culture, which I think is not only in part mine, it’s also the cultural patrimony of everyone in the world. Italy is a constant reminder of strength, creativity, and profound love for life, no matter the reality of things.