The psychedelic colours that saturate this film absolutely stun me; the vibrant hues of foamy blue and blood orange coalesce into some sort of dreamy, eternal-sunset-splashed heaven.
Italy is indeed a beautiful place: elderly centenarians (perhaps not quite; but the Dumbledore-esque wispy white beards seem to make them decades wiser) stroll along the cobbled streets; fresh-faced bullish men gallop across the piazzas carting barrels of fresh produce; little kids flounce around the streets rambling strings of incomprehensible, enviable Italian…
Although the brilliant colours are probably down to the cross processing of the tungsten film, the architecture and the cosy feel of the Italian towns simply can’t be replicated. Perhaps it is the history associated with these buildings that invoke such passion and awe in us; the flaking white paint and worn pebbles remind us of a bustling town once thriving in the affluent Renaissance.
Ruru 