Renzi’s homage to Berlusconi, less blessed illegitimate son but with a smile

Matthew Renzi – the illegitimate son, the prodigal son – returns to his father’s house today. In the press room in the Chamber they await him for the presentation of the book by Pietrangelo Buttafuoco, “Lucky him. Panegyric of the arch-Italian Silvio Berlusconi” (Longanesi). And waiting increases desire. His desire. The other him. Less blessed but with a smile. Who comes here, in Rome, to Palazzo Guglielmi, to pay homage to his father: Silvio Berlusconi. To say goodbye to the mask that took off every mask from us. The satyr-silenus who thirty years ago put us in our underwear. The one who “opened the door to Italy”, as Barbara Palombelli was to say shortly after, “by tearing apart every veil”.

As now, a voice pierces the veil: “Kill, how many people!”. AND Greta Mauro, the chic face of Rai who moderates the presentation. Volto chic paces between the masks in the vestibule. Among the cameras. And in this appendix novel which is after Cav., we see Marcello Veneziani and Federico Palmaroli aka Osho, and various and colorful blazers of Renzian youth (bocconi or luissina).

But now – here he is – he comes. The prodigal son returning to his father’s home, the home of freedom where the mistake is in what hasn’t been done – the liberal revolution! – In the mistrust that he made hesitate.

He arrives. Step back to Benedetta Frucci, Luisina vestal in Valentino and Vuitton. The one who holds the threads of the Royal Baby’s new toy: The Reformist. Renzi is in a striped shirt and no tie, as in an act of sweet parricide.

“Bonsoir, how are you?” And in this greeting to the journalists – in this francophone and cheeky habit – it seems to hear the echo of the father. The satyr singing in French: Que reste-t-il de nos amoursaccompanied on the piano by Faithful Confalonieri.

And here is what remains of their love. An illegitimate child who has read, she says, Buttafuoco’s book. And he loved it. Only he didn’t bring it, in the forgetfulness typical of a boy. But he sure he read it. And while Barbara Palombelli confesses to having cried at the news of the death – summarizing the post Cav. in a perfect image: “Elly Schlein, with the color schemer, made him the most beautiful funeral wreath; it is like a tombstone on the death of Berlusconi” – here he, Matteo Renzi, laughs. And in laughter he confesses to be the son – albeit illegitimate – of such a great Cav.

And he really read it, Buttafuoco’s book, which is prose poetry and great theater (of the absurd, of course). And after reading it, and loving it, he gives us a comment. Which is worth more than a thousand reviews: “Buttafuoco keeps Paris and Amici Miei together”. The feeling of a son, albeit reckless, and the Italian comedy that unites them. Because who knows how to laugh, you know, he is the master of the world.