If one believes director Pippo Delbono, his documentary is one of humanism and humor. In 1995, Delbono discovered Bobò during a theater workshop in a psychiatric institution in Aversa. The microcephalic man, unable to speak, hear, or write, had spent decades in the asylum. Sensing his artistic spirit, Delbono took him out of the institution and made him a prime member of his theater troupe. Their friendship cured Delbono of his depression and made Bobò happy until his death in 2019. A real-life fairytale – or Hollywood movie – about the friendship of a mentally challenged man and a career person in crisis, with the latter finding salvation through their unique connection.
It’s hard to miss the narrative parallels to films like Rain Man, even though the Italian director’s collage of grainy archival footage is far away from a glossy, mainstream look. But thanks to this rough arthouse aesthetic, Delbono’s film is equally, if not more, manipulative and misguided. “Ci siamo salvati a vicenda” (“we saved each other”), Delbono, whose off-screen commentary remains the only voice to be heard in his mosaic memorial, repeatedly claims. The considerable success of Bobò’s shows certainly implies that this was true for Delbono. The question of how he even came to have Bobò publicly and privately almost constantly with him remains suspiciously murky.
Delbono claims he “abducted him against all legal regulations,” but also says the insane asylum’s director told him “to just take Bobò.” Both scenarios seem equally worrying and point to terrible conditions within the mental institution where Bobò spent decades of his life. Almost as disconcerting as this cruel neglect is the fact that the documentary never further addresses it, treating it as something normal. Bobò’s guardian was strictly against him leaving with Delbono, but this conflict is neither explained nor explored. Providing insight and information apparently isn’t among the director’s goals. None of the numerous questions brought up by his fleeting remarks about Bobò’s institutionalization are answered.
What happened with Bobò’s family? Who became his new legal guardian? Who cared for Bobò after he left the asylum? Where did he live? Was he paid for his stage work, and where did the money go? What was Bobò’s real name? To restore some dignity to this person: His name, according to some online research, was Vincenzo Cannavaciuolo. Why Delbono refuses to use it is never explained but still serves to reduce Vincenzo further to the human spectacle he became. Any doubts about that are dissipated by the unsettling scenes of Vincenzo’s stage appearances. Archival footage of these makes up the largest part of the documentary.
Most of these follow the same pattern: Vincenzo is dressed up as a rap musician, mafioso, or in a kimono, then imitates stereotypical behavior for that dress-up. He squeaks, smokes a cigarette, and imitates kung fu style gestures. His attempts at vocalization invariably earn laughs as if disability itself was a huge joke. One of these shows has him dressing up as Hitler, another one being enticed by a young striptease dancer. The performances are culturally insensitive, chauvinistic, humiliating, and tasteless. They allowed audiences to openly mock a mentally and physically challenged person while congratulating themselves on their eclectic entertainment taste. And they still work, judging from the amusement of the audience at the film’s premiere screening in Locarno.
Instead of recognizing Vincenzo as an individual, the selective footage collection does the opposite. It exhibits him without any concern for who he was, how he felt, or what he thought. All these crucial aspects are only revealed about Delbono, who congratulates himself for his artistic ingenuity and humanity. If Bobò is a tribute, then it is a self-tribute – and a testament not to one person, but to the lasting perception of different bodies and minds as spectacle.
- OT: Bobò
- Director: Pippo Delbono
- Year: 2025
