fragment 0016: Elio Petri

The bank teller, Flavio Bucci

The Bank Teller, Flavio Bucci

I, a business professional, am no different from you. Nor are you different from me. We are equal in our needs and different in the way we satisfy ourselves. I know that I will never be able to have any more than I do until the day I die. But no one can have more than there is to have. Certainly many of you have more than I do, as many more of you have much less than I. In the struggle, legal or not, to get what we don’t have, many people are afflicted with shameful diseases. Their bodies fill up with sores inside and out. Many others fall and die. They are excluded, destroyed, transformed. And they become beasts. Stones. Dead trees. Worms. That’s how envy is born. And in this envy is hidden class hatred. In itself, it is simple egoism, and rather inoffensive. But egoism is the fundamental sentiment behind the religion of property. I feel that this situation has become intolerable and I know that many of you feel the same way.

The Butcher, Ugo Tognazzi

The Butcher, Ugo Tognazzi

What will I do with all this money I’ve accumulated, now that I’m in a position, as I have been for some time, to take care of all the needs I have in life? Well, I’ll use it to make more money! Millions! Billions! Because my fundamental need is to get ever richer. When I think about the bank teller, who risks his life protecting other people’s money or about the fare-collector on the train who, every night, quite punctually delivers the day’s collections to the boss… or about the people dying of hunger who passively accept their disgrace, respecting the laws that protect property… Ha! But now I’ve been suspecting that the have-nots… Well, screw it! There’s honor among thieves. That calms me down. Because they’re the ones that are making me rich. But in spite of everything I’m not happy, because I, just like money itself, want to be immortal.

The Prostitute, Daria Nicolodi

The Prostitute, Daria Nicolodi

I feel like a thing. I am a thing. To put it another way I am many things. Tits… thighs… stomach… mouth… I am many pieces, many pieces of a thing and I live like a vase full of needles. They took me out of my house like I was a can of tomatoes and now I’m here. If I wasn’t here I’d be somewhere else… in some other business… in another house, another neighborhood… or perhaps watching a movie. Like you. But they’ll always open me right up like a can of tomatoes. With a can opener. With the handle. Or with their fingers. And I just laugh. Why do I laugh? Because you’re just like me even if you don’t look it. And like me you are shut away in the refrigerator next to the mineral water… carbonated mineral water. Hah!

The Inspector, Orazio Orlando

The Inspector, Orazio Orlando

I, brigadier of the public security forces, I protect human life. For twenty years I’ve been maintaining order. I’m afraid of that order, of that harmony, which would come from a life based on equality… naturally an impossible life. But to compensate, I have lots of secret satisfactions. I search, arrest, interrogate, misrepresent… I humiliate, affirm, deny… I exercise influence,… I make acquisitions, I do I undo… And my decisions have no influence on anyone’s existence. So I am consumed by pessimism, and I console myself with the egoism of my privileges. The first thing I do is go out and arrest whoever I want. Arresting people is fantastic!

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