Gomorra (2008)
Matteo Garrone

Roberto Saviano stirred up worldwide debate when he released his book "Gomorra," a controversial up-front documentary of the infamous Camorra mafia in Italy. Currently under death threat from criminal organizations, Saviano hides from a phenomenon most of us have only seen sketched out in movies such as "Goodfellas" and "The Godfather," where the mafia is softly glorified as classy, humorous and exciting. However, Garrone's latest movie based upon Saviano's book delivers a different picture of the Neapolitan mob as a gruesome, merciless and threatening force in Italian society.

The story of the movie is really a collection of individual lives: a poor tailor who one day decides to work for two competing companies on the black market; two young boys who seek to overthrow the local region and steal power away from the mafia; a money-man who collects cash for gangster leaders; a boy whose life dream is to become a man by joining the Camorra, and finally a young man who begins working with a waste management company, soon realizing the job is not so "green" after all. Unlike many movies with this kind of narrative structure, the lives of the characters never converge. The idea is instead to approach the Camorra from many different perspectives, in order to demonstrate to the viewer the various ways in which individuals may get involved with such a group, and more importantly why they choose to do so.

The answer to that question is horribly bleak: Almost every character in the movie lives next door to the mafia and, whether they like it or not, cannot escape from becoming a part of the mob world. The Camorra in Italy operates like a gentle virus, offering protection and help to people in an area where the government has lost control over crime and corruption, at the same time giving young boys in the suburbs hope and identity as members of an important and powerful group. Not until people are part of the Camorra world do they realize they're in trouble, but only after it's already too late to go back. Many of the characters in the movie face a gruesome destiny. But there is no small print or reassuring voice explaining that it's all fiction and everything's going to be all right. On the contrary, the message of the movie seems to be: Every choice you make is a different road to hell.

Garrone follows the neo-realist school of cinematography, placing Gomorra next to "City of God" and "Tropa de Elite," except that it lacks a single-person perspective to give it a fictional and dramatic dimension. Also unlike his peers, Garrone dispenses with an introductory presentation of the topic. Without any background information or clear narrative logic, the perspective jumps from individual to individual in a chaotic, cinematographic prose. Although this “outsider's” perspective makes it more difficult to identify with the characters, it also makes the line between reality and drama impossible to discern, often catching the viewer off-guard. The gritty aesthetic style marked by playful camera movement, realistic environments, the presence of locals as actors, and fast-paced, graphic camera shots, makes this a dramatic documentary; too real to be merely fiction.

What makes this movie even more unsettling is that Garrone suspends his judgment of both the Camorra and the reaction – or lack thereof – of Italian society to the situation. The voice of desperation, fear and confusion is embedded within the destiny of each character; the form and the content melt into a solid, self-evident reality. This amorality is part of what makes Gomorra so compelling. Yet it also impedes some of Gomorra's ability to function as a documentary, as it prevents the movie from communicating anything outside of what's happening directly on the screen. And maybe that's the point--like in "Tropa de Elite," judgment happens only behind the eyes of the beholder. We cannot call it horror until we've seen it with our own eyes. This is a realistic response: the Camorra is neither good nor evil--it exists within the boundaries of our familiar, safe society; its domain is where our public institutions are impotent. People who get drawn into mafia business live in a world that we like to think we left behind decades ago.

In Gomorra, Matteo Garrone resurrects that world to prove to us that it still exists, and will remain alive and well as long as we continue providing the incentives that nurture it. Forget the shiny, classy appeal that Goodfellas and other productions delivered by Hollywood to keep us entertained; this is for real. If the presentation of the story isn't convincing enough, both Garrone and Saviano have made living examples of themselves by risking their lives to tell the truth to the world. At the moment, Saviano is in Sweden, being escorted by state police on his way to hold a conference with Salman Rushdie about his book, and why he's wanted dead by people he's never even met. Truth is always embraced with stuffy ears and, in some cases, with violence. Garrone leaves us with nothing but scars and bad memories, but his intent is compassionate: to free us from our sins by forcing us to look at last upon the dark side of the modern reality for which we are responsible.

Gomorra, by Matteo Garrone