In the village of Portobuio no more children are born, and is especially a problem when you need to set up a live nativity scene Christmas. The mayor Cecco – born in Portobuio, emigrated in the Milan hinterland (to warrant the Lombardy accent Claudio Bisio who plays him), and then returned in childhood places – it takes charge of finding an infant whom to entrust the role of the Child Jesus, and finds no better than turn to the Islamic community living with some difficulty with the historical inhabitants of the land. At the head of the Islamic community there Marchetto said Bilal, childhood friend of Cecco converted to the Muslim faith for the sake of the beautiful wife Aida. Closes the circle, or rather a triangle, Sister Marta, childhood friend of Cecco and Bilal, then became a nun, midwife unemployed and refreshing.
Luca Minieri tries once again to revive the formula Welcome to the South who has made his fortune, apparently forgetting that the movie was based on a French play by the very well-structured script that retained ample margins of credibility, even in the context farcical . There is no religion instead, also signed by three professionals as the same Miniero, Sandro Petraglia and Astutillo Smeriglia, young author of short hilarious animation, not only abandons any realism but also any logical consistency, making landing in Portobuio exotic animals and Eastern immigrants (as will be the end) apparently rained down from space.
Even a story, like this is proposed to be declared, must have a minimum of internal consistency, and a maximum of relevance to the true: but here the only real fact is to departure, or that no more children are born in Italy and generational change can only be ensured by immigrants. The rest is sheer implausibility and ignores the thorny aspects of a very important issue, forgetting that the Italian comedy that is topical social issues (as are those of the declining birth or shortly integrated immigration) has the right and duty to be scathing and painful. Portobuio instead is a bucolic country where you can make fun of overweight children, veiled women and brain drain (the Cecco daughter lives in England, imagine for lack of opportunity in Italy) without ever facing, albeit in an ironic, the ‘ dramatic aspect of these realities: we think in contrast to a small comedy like Pitza and dates, and with much more modest means has been able, thanks to the presence of a recent immigration director, told in comic form but also bitter coexistence between ethnic and different religions in our country.
The only spark of credibility, despite the demographic disparities (between Finocchiaro Gassman and spend ten years), is given by the friendship historical between the three main characters, which at times makes you feel a longing for the thrill comedies deeply Italian and generational as Marrakech Express: the affection and familiarity we feel toward the three performers make it almost touching their scenes together. It would therefore be appropriate to focus on the relationship dynamics between Cecco, Bilal and Sister Martha, instead of wasting time to bundle a plot more and more unlikely, more and more distant from any recognition.