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The easy life

Produced by Domenico Procacci for Fandango, the easy life raises a look at one of the states by the most conflicting of Africa: Kenya. Earth colony, and colonists such as Lord Delamere, the time of the great safari, big game hunting to those of the big five years and simply converted to hunt for pictures and documentaries in 8 mm.

He knew and was crossed by great wealth, in the words of Father Angelo in mission in Ukunda, Kenya but has remained a piece of third world poverty, the accumulated wealth in few hands and the poor get poorer. Here are dying for an infection, without disturbing the specter of Ebola or malaria.

Lucio Pellegrini, the director chose to set this movie in northern Kenya, Archer's Post, on a near Somalia, a land of Sambur, crossed the river Ewaso Ngiri. Extraordinary views that only these sites can give a small plane that glides on the African plain, where there is no running water or electricity.

The director tells the story of a doctor, Stefano Accorsi, who has been living and working in a small hospital camp in Kenya, where everything is lacking, but the passion and love he puts into his work.

fled from himself, and love from his father.

But you can not hide forever. He touches his friend

Pierfrancesco Favino, he said doctor, who had everything, or so he believed, because Africa's opened his eyes and soul.

between the two men, one woman, perfect equation, common place or chose to study?

Yes, because all you can say but not that the character of Vittoria Puccini is trivial.

course over the top, looking for same, of the future. Love?

Camilla Filippi, second woman in the film, is another choice of love for Africa.

Here is what brought them to Kenya, but the fact that you have arrived.

and where everything is dust that stains clothes, echoing calls where Swahili, has little value to the bank account.

Although there are plenty of twists and turns until the last frame, nothing is as it seems.

The easy life would seem that good of Rome, between glasses of wine, touching, beautiful homes, but perhaps the easy life is that if Africa gives you the know appreciate.

If you take away the clock when you arrive and forget time.

And Africa always gives his answers, just knowing how to read.

Here and there the reference to old songs and evocative, as I hear of Matia Bazar and the season of love by Battiato.

extraordinary soundtrack Gabriele Roberto.

Shot in Kenya and Salento, sunny and exotic atmosphere reminiscent of the film by Ettore Scola Will our heroes find his friend mysteriously disappeared in Africa?

The easy life, good movie and special occasions. To see.

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Karibu, Hic sunt leones Kwaheri

"In a living room an old lady spoke of her life. She was willing to live it all again to prove that he had lived wisely. Yes, I thought, his life is one that must live twice before you can say it was really lived "Karen Blixen

gaze stopped on the series next to the photo in silver frame : friendly faces masked against the backdrop of Venice, a slice of bell.

much time had passed and what was far away in Italy at that time.

Iris sat on the edge of the bed came the muffled voice of the beloved:

"But how? You are not ready yet "And so saying

grabbed the hanger with the garment, by turning waltz roses on fabric.

thoughts went to another memory.

was the last night of the year.

was curious how it was December and it was the right time.

But when the opportunity presents itself for many years rifesteggiare that night. Every time someone came back, every time you wanted to meet.

And so it happened that New Year's Eve in the spring, or some hot summer night, this gave them the illusion of having cheated the time, only the mirror was merciless on the wrinkles and the years that passed.

had chosen Africa, some already knew from Italy, had been joined by other friends, left, found on the road and their houses on the coast with Chinese lanterns lit the evening were the reassuring "Welcome," Karibu in Swahili.

Iris got dressed and walked across the kitchen, he was curious how people there were, they still had their place in his field of vision, such as plaster casts in Pompeii.

The aura that each of us leaves, a crumpled pillow, a gardenia at the door, the movement of chess, one hand grasping a book in a hundred others. Hugs.

They spent all there, this was curious, and sat at the big walnut table that was brought from Italy, came for dinner, for advice, to laugh or to cry and followed them home with his blessing .

Iris ran his hand over the wood grain, like veins on the skin.

and light candles, the scent of jacaranda and frangipani and the tablecloth with the poinsettias that clashed in the middle of summer but it was their way of augurasi "Happy New Year", first because it was not possible.

But that night was really Dec. 31 and who was there would go to Club Mnarani

There were many African and warm air of the evening wrapped with the poignant sweetness of a kanga.

People came and went, liquid in her glass of wine and bubbly.

Even the movements of people and their foibles or their faults, they talk about them before you even see them.

So did that jacket out of place on the arm of a sofa.

I stroked the cut with his eyes and looked up among the people to guess the profile, from behind, and hear the laughter, roaring like summer rain on parched earth.

Iris put his empty glass on a tray.

He turned and left.

The voices of the festival came from the rhythmic thunder of fireworks.

who spent a year at midnight and goes.

The ocean roared down over the reef and the African new moon swinging between the palms.

Kwaheri read the sign, bye.

walked up to his house.

Slowly. The distracted a little knock.

While looking at the roses on her dress, she thought of days gone by, other flowers, sad days, days where Kwaheri was a bit 'less painful farewell. A day of death, that everyone in Africa had asked its price. Mesta begging everyone was paid, the absence was the veil that went down as Amboseli, the fog, hiding the Kilimanjaro.

It came out of the window the sun and the scent of frangipani, like that time, Iris thought, as every time there were all down in his lawn at his home echoing voices friends.

There were in days of celebration and silent in days of sorrow.

came back in waves and sat down at his old walnut table where she sat, but only on certain evenings on the back with a kanga, dogs on the floor with his nose flattened prick up their ears when they felt the wind noise out on the plains .

tea in the cupboard and stories to tell, when he came out of Tsavo.

or Lake Baringo, even in his memories remained those pink flamingos in perfect balance, perfect as a doll of sugar on a birthday cake.

's friend came to the door, Iris slipped his hand on her dress.

"Shall we go? I do not think you will wait much longer "

On the dresser was left of the photo carnival in Venice, but it looked like another life, the roof beams makuti still had the impression that they had been drawn up, for art, like a Cathedral, the house in Kenya.

And the house retains the aura of those who had crossed for a coffee, for advice, to stay long or short moments.

Iris heard echoing his heels as he crossed the kitchen and came out on the lawn when he saw the silhouettes of acacia trees, palms, casuarina trees, and the faces of those who had loved, who were there, like a new year out of date.

walked slowly. The destroyed a hand held out a gardenia.

And yet the shadow of a deja-vu, the absence distracted. But it would be much later.

That was the time of the frangipane.

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" He also led the gramophone in the safari. Three rifles, supplies for a month and Mozart.

began our friendship with a gift and then not long before Tsavo, he gave me another. An incredible gift, a look at the world through the eyes of God and I thought, yes, I see. With this intention was given to me. He was waiting for me there, but I am anticipating my story too, this would give much trouble to Denys, he liked a good story.

I had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills "

From: My Africa

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The Southern Cross, from Lamu Diani

- "Egg is a message for you," he said, "but if you read it you have to break the egg"

seemed to want to put to the test. He did not open the egg. He remained there for years and years until one morning after the longest night of my life, and suddenly the meaning included. So it was no longer necessary to open it .- Kuki Gallmann

The Palace of Dottula was crossed by the blinding light of midday and the echo of the bells rained on homes, narrow streets, announcing the hour of noon.

Margaret took off his sunglasses and went up the central staircase, did not even have time to raise his hand to knock the door opened.

"Oh, well, here it is finally" the official said the accommodate.

put a bag on his desk, coughing awkwardly.

drawn upon a daisy.

She reached out, took the envelope.

"If there is another lawyer ..." he began.

"No, only this" and took her to the door.

went downstairs, put sunglasses, said the flower drawn on the envelope and shook his head, then put it back in the bag.

The rush-hour traffic swallowed.

The decision to leave probably arose long ago, this thought as he crossed the hall of the airport.

a message had arrived. He checked the phone. Lesse. He did not answer.

sitting beside the window looked at the envelope, but decided not to open it.

The phone began to ring. He watched as the desplay. A

the hostess warned: "We should turn off the phones, we are doing fuel and will soon close the doors, you know the rules Air Force "

" Yes, I'm sorry "did not answer and went out.

The flight was like the night through the forests of ghosts of the past, from Lamu Diani had passed twenty years.

crumpled in the dawn of Africa, Margaret was surrounded by the humid climate of Mombasa, the lens turned the blades of the ceiling in the arrival hall and lens were the practices of immigration.

turned the phone and called his brother.

"I am in Mombasa"

"Well, happy holidays"

The journey home was the alternation of memories and our embrace of the places that were known Meeting of the window.

He left the bag at home. He put the envelope with the daisy Masai near the statue on the shelf and left.

was hot even though the sky was overcast. He arrived at

Mnarani Club of Kilifi, entered the great hall, he saw in the corner of Old William sat in front of the board.

He stopped to greet him.

was curious how some things in that corner of the world grow older, but they were always part of the imaginary town. William was one of them, lived in Kenya for twenty years.

"Play alone?"

"No, against myself" small eyes shone clear and and raised a web of wrinkles. "Please move, move to grant a" he said.

Margaret, sat down, watched the board and looked up: "However you move checkmate the king," he protested.

said William, in turn, along the board, as a professional player and spoke with the voice that experience teaches, "You see Miss Daisy, it is true, however, I will move checkmate the king, but she prefers to be locked in the tower and risk? Look at the chess board and how to remain after I check "and in doing so moves the figures as the court dance, the night of the Leopard.

"The board is white and black, but in life expectancy between black and white pass an infinite number of shades of gray, "he concluded.

A waiter had placed two glasses of tropical juice, the smell almost dazed.

Outside the frangipane swayed in the wind and mangroves had their roots to drink sea water to leave salt on the leaves.

"Fabrizio has come out with the boat," concluded William.

Margaret got up, went down the stairs on the dock, put his hand to shield from the sun, he recognized a sail known.

faded T-shirt of Marlyn Fishing Club of Diani.

From Lamu Diani had passed twenty years.

raised his hand in greeting.

The man appeared to throw its moorings.

"I do not believe you're here on holiday, is not the best time," he said.

"No, in fact,"

"It was better if you were not," he said getting off the boat Scansano.

She followed him.

"Did you read the letter?" Him.

"No" her.

Now he could move the setback to the king.

The next morning the sun filtered through the palms shadows moving drawing on the opposite wall.

'It's better to come back in Italy Margaret "

" And you have to do? I am twenty years you're here, you think that by dint of fish sharks Eryn coming back? "

" I work here there and please spare me your comments "

The letter was as certain to yellow flowers in a closed book a moment to remember.

The items would be aged, and only then would have the right tone as the bells at noon.

The night was lit by the Southern Cross, in that quarter moon rising.

moon of March.