Giancarlo Magalli

"Interviewer: Why are you so popular on the internet? Magalli: There are two ways of looking at my work. Some people just see me as the likeable presenter who says things that are sometimes interesting, and that’s it. But there’s another way of looking at it: I also make jokes that not everyone gets, and that’s what the kids like – they have fun with me and always manage to find something hidden in what I say. Obviously, a young person doesn’t spend all day at home watching I fatti vostri. But if they happen to be watching it, perhaps on a day when they’ve got the flu and aren’t at school, they manage to pick up on things that housewives—the show’s main audience—might not notice. Interviewer: It’s a very different audience from the one you entertain on television? Magalli: Young people have never watched much television — and if, when they do watch it, they find things they don’t like, they’re right not to watch it. But, precisely, perhaps they have a laugh with me when they happen to see me, and then they’re grateful to me. Like anyone else, for that matter: these days, if you give someone a laugh, you make a friend."

"Interviwer: As a doubtful believer, what do you think of the Catholic Church and the pontificate of Pope Francis? Magalli: Personally, I like this Pope; I find him open to the world, willing to understand that the Church’s language must evolve, as must certain overly rigid positions. He is also trying to carry out a process of cleansing and reform within the Church’s own walls, and I think all this is wonderful, even if he faces resistance – and quite strong resistance at that."

"Salvini is a protectionist rather than a racist [because] rather than hating foreigners, he would prefer them not to come [...] because they are people who often bring crime and disorder."

"(About sovranism) They’ve given it that ugly suffix; anything ending in -ism – from Nazism to Marxism, Leninism, socialism and racism – always seems like a bad thing. [...] in reality, it is based on love and respect for one’s own national identity, on the fact that nowhere is it written that the sovereignty of one people must be exercised by another people, or indeed by a group of peoples, who have nothing to do with us and do not know us."

"Rai is Rai. I’ve been working there for over 50 years. I know it well. I know full well what Rai’s limitations are. When, some time ago, I said that gratitude wasn’t exactly Rai’s strong point, I was a bit angry. But it’s also quite true. The fact is that Rai isn’t a person; it isn’t a boss with whom you have a good or bad relationship. It changes constantly. You find yourself talking to different people. There are those who respect you, those who don’t, those who can’t wait to put you to work and those who can’t wait to put someone else to work. You have to bear this in mind, just as you must bear in mind, however, that it is the company where I have spent my whole life."

"Interviwer: What do you really hate? Magalli: Arrogance – and not just from some of my colleagues. I remember heated arguments with officials or representatives of institutions who would tell people: “You speak only when I tell you to.”"

"Interviewer: What is the person who has influenced your life the most? Magalli: First and foremost, my grandfather: he was a fine example, a positive person from whom I learnt so much. Then my father: he taught me how to distance myself from things I didn’t agree with. He would fly into a rage easily, and thanks to him I realised how unpleasant it was to lose one’s temper. That’s why I never get angry and always try to be kind. My mother was a witty woman: from her I learnt the mechanics of humour. Alongside my family, I’d add professional role models such as Mario Riva and Corrado."

"Faith is a gift. I was brought up by the Jesuits and the Piarists, who bombarded me with compulsory Masses, instilling in me a forced religion that later compelled me to start all over again. I left those schools with a sort of ‘ready-to-wear’ faith, packaged like a little coat. I began to seek it out and rebuild it by integrating it into life."

"(About the transition from writer to TV presenter) Presenting is more rewarding, both financially and in terms of popularity. I always thought that the role of writer would still be there; I could have gone back to my roots. Unfortunately, that’s no longer the case today. Interviewer: In what sense? Magalli: In the sense that writers like I was back then no longer exist; they’re no longer in demand. Programmes are bought; formats are purchased and then adapted. That’s not my job. Imagine having a sheet of paper with an idea written on it and taking it to the executive on duty – that process no longer exists. That’s how it worked in the 1970s. Better then to focus on the role of presenter."

"(About Alighiero Noschese) In his home in Eur, he had top-of-the-range professional equipment that even Rai didn’t possess. He used it to perfect his impressions. He would record the voice of the person he was imitating on one tape recorder, record his own voice on another, and compare them in real time. Added to this was a VCR with a black-and-white monitor, on which he would record various programmes to capture the characters’ mannerisms and tics. He was an absolute perfectionist."

"(About body shaming) I was targeted not only for my height, but also for my weight. The truth is, I never gave a damn. I often talk on the show about children who are bullied. These aren’t stories of young people being beaten up, but of people being told ‘ugly fatso’ by their classmates. I should have killed myself at the age of eight. I was fat and they told me so. In those situations, I’d either laugh it off or tell them to get lost, and life went on. I don’t recall anyone from my generation going to a psychologist for that reason. Either kids these days are more sensitive, or those who insult others have become more of a scoundrel. Interviewer: Is anything allowed when it comes to men? Magalli: It’s clear that calling a woman a fatso is rude, but we’ve reached the point where people get angry even if you tell a woman she’d look good a few sizes smaller or a few kilos heavier. They’ll sue you."

"I have tried to explain to everyone that this is, above all, a message we want to send out, with passion and commitment, to make it clear to those in charge that it really is time for something to change. I have been chosen by many friends on the web as the face of this ‘smiling uprising’, as I have chosen to call it, but they could have chosen many other faces instead of mine and the protest would have been just as effective, because the face to put forward is, yes, important, but what matters are the faces to be removed."

"Here is Cirilli. Laughter is guaranteed. His own."

"There is nothing more ordinary than trying to appear extraordinary."

"Being mad is no easy feat. Have you noticed that almost everyone who says of themselves, ‘I’m a bit mad’ manages, at best, to be a bit daft?"

"In the film Mia madre (My Mother), Nanni Moretti tells (well) the story of the depression that marked his mother’s life. What isn’t entirely clear is whether he is depressed because he is her son, or whether she was depressed because she is his mother. In any case, it’s a fine film."

"True freedom is not being forced to post something on Facebook every day just to prove you’re still alive."

"Happiness is never perfect because it is always undermined by the fear of losing it. For the same reason, unhappiness can be made perfect by the fear that it will never leave us."

"You realise you’ve got old when your friends ring you and, if you don’t answer, they don’t think you’re having sex, but that you’ve died."

"A bad temper and bad breath are two things you can’t hide. Unless you never open your mouth."

"Life is a book we are lent. And they usually want it back just when we’re about to figure out the plot."

"Great thoughts often cross our lives like cats darting in front of our cars: they’re quick, they frighten us, and we do everything we can to avoid them."

"Old people shouldn’t watch television. TV is a window onto a world that is slipping away, and they know it. They see places they can no longer go, women they can no longer love, and adventures they will no longer have time to experience. Give an old person a book and switch off their TV. But not a book that makes them dream too much. Fantasy is a painful flight for those who no longer have wings."

"Today, Italian cinema claims to mourn the passing of Ettore Scola, a director of extraordinary greatness. In reality, it is the public who mourn him. That public who adored his films, who cried, laughed, dreamed and reflected thanks to him. That public who would gladly have seen more of his films. I met Scola a few years ago at a ceremony at the Campidoglio. He was courteous to me and I plucked up the courage to say to him: "Scola, how I’d love to make a film with you!". He smiled and replied: ‘Magalli, how I’d love to make a film!’. There you have it: behind his usual irony lay the pain of a film industry that had cast him aside, instead of queuing up at his door to beg him to work again. So it is right and proper that the public should mourn him, and he would appreciate it, but the film industry—that film industry—should not mourn Scola. It should mourn itself and its own indolence. Farewell, Maestro."

"(About Donald Trump) We laugh at his hair, but we don’t listen closely enough to what he says. Is it possible that none of us are concerned that this rather unbalanced gentleman might become president of the most powerful nation in the world? That he might have the codes to launch nuclear missiles wherever he pleases and that he might influence the global economy?"

"He was talented. He was likeable. He was a great actor. I have so many excellent performances of his etched in my mind. But one memory is indelible for me: when, some thirty years ago, I accompanied a friend (he was Gianni Boncompagni) to look at a car at a dealership. A salesman came towards us, smiling very kindly. We were surprised to see that it was Riccardo Garrone. I hadn’t seen him for a few years; we hugged and I asked him what he was doing there. ‘My dear,’ he replied, ‘the cinema doesn’t call me anymore, nor does the theatre. I have to make a living, so I sell cars. What can I do for you?’ A few years later, the cinema, the theatre, TV dramas and advertising called him back, and success and fame returned, just as before—and even better than before. You see, Riccardo has always represented this to me: the comeback! The good times that can return after the bad ones, the fact that if you have real talent, the world may ignore it for a while but not forever, and that tenacity and professionalism, when they go hand in hand, are an invincible weapon. I’m happy, Riccardo, that your long life didn’t end selling cars but by savouring success and the love of your audience once more. You’ve earned every bit of it, right down to the very last round of applause."

"The only thing that eludes me is why a radio station [Subasio] that has excellent presenters and speakers would have Enrico Papi host the concert [to celebrate 40 years on air], given that his musical expertise is one of his many talents that aren’t exactly on record..."

"Could you say that water is part of the sea? Certainly not: water IS the sea. And so one could not say that Albertazzi was part of the theatre. He WAS the theatre, in every form, in every sense and meaning. Anyone lucky enough to hear him recite realised that Dante’s most obscure verses or Shakespeare’s most veiled concepts became comprehensible without him having to explain them; it was enough for him simply to utter them. Thus he turned certain great texts, such as Calvino’s American Lessons, into true sensory experiences, where everything was satisfied: eye, ear, heart and mind. These are the legacies that great actors leave behind. Immense actors leave immense legacies, and there is no thank you sufficiently immense to say to them."