Un'Ora Sola Ti Vorrei (If I Could Have You For Just One Hour) (Alina Marazzi, 2002)
Official Site
IMDb
[quote] My mother was born in 1938 and died in 1972, when I was 7 years old. I don’t have many memories of her, but I’ve always known that the whole visual memory of my family was locked inside a closet in my grandparents’ home. This closet contained old film boxes, amateur 16mm films that my grandfather shot between 1926 and the 70s.
It was only a few years ago that I dared look at those films for the first time, with great curiosity and strong emotion, especially those marked with an “L”, the initial of my mother’s name: Liseli.
As if by magic that misterious and unknown person projected on the screen in front of me seemed alive. In just a second I was thrown back to the past, in the time when my mother lived. My mother, whom I had known very little and forgotten for the most.
The film starts with the sound recording of a 45 rpm record with the real voice of my mother talking to me; it goes on interweaving readings of letters and private journals written by my mother and that of medical reports from psychiatric hospitals where my mother spent several periods. Through those words it is possible to reconstruct her whole life in the different times: childhood, love, family, illness, existential malaise.
This film is my personal quest of my mother’s face. An attempt to give life back to her only if on the screen, a way of celebrating her, through these memories.
For most of my life my mother’s name has been ignored, avoided, hidden. Her face also. But I am lucky enough to be able to see her move, laugh, run….even see her on the day she was born! And then see her grow up, learn how to walk, marry, take me on a boat trip!
To tell the story of my mother with these old films is for me to give dignity to the memory of the person who gave me life. I consider it a present for myself, for her, for all parents and children.
I would also like to convey the strong feeling of nostalgia that I felt when first watching those images. Not only nostalgia for a mother who isn’t there anymore and has never been there, but also for all that has been and will not come back, for what we come from and to which we feel inevitably bound.
Nostalgia as a necessary feeling for overcoming a loss. Nostalgia as an essential condition for living.
In this film I have evoked atmospheres and feelings that, I think, touch each of us. [/quote]
[quote]When Italian filmmaker Alina Marazzi was seven years old, her mother Luisa Marazzi Hoepli committed suicide after a brief and intense bout with depression. Marazzi tried to grasp the meaning of her mother's life and death 30 years later through film footage shot during her mother's life mixed with readings from her mother's diary in the young director's 2002 film Un'ora sola ti vorrei (For One More Hour With You). Born to a wealthy Milanese family involved in the Italian publishing industry, young Luisa Marazzi Hoepli is revealed through her own journal entries, as well as film footage shot over the years by her father Ulrico Hoepli, to have been a vivid and well-educated young woman. Growing into a young woman, Luisa wrote about her perceptions of her existence as she later married and gave birth to three children. But tragically, Luisa was admitted to a Swiss psychiatric hospital to combat depression and committed suicide shortly thereafter at the age of 33. Filmmaker Marazzi's ode, of sorts, to the vague memory and acute loss of her mother screened at a number of film festivals in 2002 and 2003, including the Rotterdam International Film Festival. ~ Ryan Shriver, All Movie Guide[/quote]
Amazingly accomplished work by first time director Alina Marazzi and a striking precursor of Tarnation. I have been looking for a copy for quite some time, and here it is thanks to Molpurgo@ItaloDome. NO SUBS as now, but images speak a lot here, and you can read the story above.
THE LINK:
[Xvid.-.DOC.ITA)Un.ora.sola.ti.vorrei.avi 
A VIDCAP:
Official Site
IMDb
[quote] My mother was born in 1938 and died in 1972, when I was 7 years old. I don’t have many memories of her, but I’ve always known that the whole visual memory of my family was locked inside a closet in my grandparents’ home. This closet contained old film boxes, amateur 16mm films that my grandfather shot between 1926 and the 70s.
It was only a few years ago that I dared look at those films for the first time, with great curiosity and strong emotion, especially those marked with an “L”, the initial of my mother’s name: Liseli.
As if by magic that misterious and unknown person projected on the screen in front of me seemed alive. In just a second I was thrown back to the past, in the time when my mother lived. My mother, whom I had known very little and forgotten for the most.
The film starts with the sound recording of a 45 rpm record with the real voice of my mother talking to me; it goes on interweaving readings of letters and private journals written by my mother and that of medical reports from psychiatric hospitals where my mother spent several periods. Through those words it is possible to reconstruct her whole life in the different times: childhood, love, family, illness, existential malaise.
This film is my personal quest of my mother’s face. An attempt to give life back to her only if on the screen, a way of celebrating her, through these memories.
For most of my life my mother’s name has been ignored, avoided, hidden. Her face also. But I am lucky enough to be able to see her move, laugh, run….even see her on the day she was born! And then see her grow up, learn how to walk, marry, take me on a boat trip!
To tell the story of my mother with these old films is for me to give dignity to the memory of the person who gave me life. I consider it a present for myself, for her, for all parents and children.
I would also like to convey the strong feeling of nostalgia that I felt when first watching those images. Not only nostalgia for a mother who isn’t there anymore and has never been there, but also for all that has been and will not come back, for what we come from and to which we feel inevitably bound.
Nostalgia as a necessary feeling for overcoming a loss. Nostalgia as an essential condition for living.
In this film I have evoked atmospheres and feelings that, I think, touch each of us. [/quote]
[quote]When Italian filmmaker Alina Marazzi was seven years old, her mother Luisa Marazzi Hoepli committed suicide after a brief and intense bout with depression. Marazzi tried to grasp the meaning of her mother's life and death 30 years later through film footage shot during her mother's life mixed with readings from her mother's diary in the young director's 2002 film Un'ora sola ti vorrei (For One More Hour With You). Born to a wealthy Milanese family involved in the Italian publishing industry, young Luisa Marazzi Hoepli is revealed through her own journal entries, as well as film footage shot over the years by her father Ulrico Hoepli, to have been a vivid and well-educated young woman. Growing into a young woman, Luisa wrote about her perceptions of her existence as she later married and gave birth to three children. But tragically, Luisa was admitted to a Swiss psychiatric hospital to combat depression and committed suicide shortly thereafter at the age of 33. Filmmaker Marazzi's ode, of sorts, to the vague memory and acute loss of her mother screened at a number of film festivals in 2002 and 2003, including the Rotterdam International Film Festival. ~ Ryan Shriver, All Movie Guide[/quote]
Amazingly accomplished work by first time director Alina Marazzi and a striking precursor of Tarnation. I have been looking for a copy for quite some time, and here it is thanks to Molpurgo@ItaloDome. NO SUBS as now, but images speak a lot here, and you can read the story above.
THE LINK:
[Xvid.-.DOC.ITA)Un.ora.sola.ti.vorrei.avi A VIDCAP:
I don't know this film but absolutely I trust you, Trep.
