FEDERICO FELLINI AND DONATELLA
MY MEETINGS WITH FEDERICO FELLINI AND THE CHARM OF AN EXTRAORDINARY MAN WHO LOOKED ORDINARY WHO TRANSFORMED ORDINARY THINGS IN EXTRAORDINARY WAYS
Federico Fellini with
his wife and the Guidotti and Cinelli Colombini families
by Donatella Cinelli Colombini, winedestination, Casato Prime Donne Montalcino, Fattoria del Colle Trequanda
I’m talking about events that occurred about fifty years ago. Federico Fellini often came to my mother’s winery in Montalcino, thanks to our mutual friendship with Mario Guidotti, a journalist and cultural promoter. After the first, more formal visits, Italy’s greatest director began arriving unannounced, like a member of the family.
The problem was that, often, my parents were away, and I had to welcome Fellini alone. I was very young and lived a very bourgeois and decidedly provincial existence between Montalcino and Siena. I was used to meeting intellectuals and famous people because my family had always had that kind of association, but Federico Fellini was decidedly in another league.
That man was a legend, a world-renowned genius with five Academy Awards. His fame was so immense that it would have intimidated people far more skilled than me. I was incredibly nervous in front of him, my hands were sweating, I couldn’t sit still, and above all, I could only say a few polite words, but I didn’t know how to communicate with him; I felt like I had nothing interesting to say. What a shame!
Federico Fellini and his wife Giulietta Masina would come to Tuscany for the beneficial “waters” in Chianciano. From there, they travelled to Montalcino to break the monotony of the treatments and perhaps even indulge a bit. They were often accompanied by Mario Guidotti or the then-very young Fabio Carlesi.
FEDERICO FELLINI AND GIULIETTA MASINA IN MONTALCINO
Fellini was always dishevelled, as if he hated having his clothes ironed. His wife, on the other hand, was always impeccable, with her hair well-combed and her clothes wrinkle-free. The Maestro spoke little but looked around curiously and was interested in wine. He loved good food, so my mother would tempt him with roasts and Brunello.
FELLINI’S NONCONFORMITY AND HUMANITY
He was so spontaneously nonconformist that it was surprising. We once organized a dinner for him in the garden, but it was cold. We suggested various garments, and he chose a hideous red knit shawl with long tassels. It would have looked vulgar on any woman, but he draped it over himself, enjoying our embarrassment.
Another time, he arrived unexpectedly while my parents were out and I had a house full of friends for a snack. Among these young people was Azelia Batazzi, who reminded me of the episode recently. The great maestro’s unexpected arrival had embarrassed me, and since I couldn’t organize something just for him, I decided to include him in the group. “Can I ask Federico Fellini to join you?” I asked, and although they were thrilled by this unexpected encounter, they couldn’t bring themselves to speak to him while he nibbled on bread and prosciutto.
Another time he came to send some Brunello to Georges Simenon and asked me to write the covering letter. At the time, our winery had only one employee, Vanna Rossi, and a tiny office with a Lettera 32 typewriter. He was quite large, and the room seemed too small for his size and his genius. But without protesting or asking for help, he sat down and began typing.
It took him forever because there was no way to erase, and every time he made a mistake, he had to rewrite the entire text. When he finally put the letter in the envelope and left, the office wastebasket was full of sheets of paper containing almost the entire letter. I think that by rewriting it so many times, he had almost memorized it.
Out of curiosity, I read them. The letter was in Italian and was beautiful. It had the same light-hearted irony, the same hyperbolic imagination that characterizes his films. An almost tactile descriptive ability to evoke images. “Mamma mia,” I thought, “Fellini is a giant, no matter what he does.”
I wondered if I should keep those papers since they were private correspondence that didn’t concern me, and as a proper lady of the house, I had them destroyed. I’ve always regretted this dutiful gesture. But sometimes the past stalks you like a hunting dog that sniffs out the trail and arrives unexpectedly. I was in Zurich at the Wine Advocate tasting—Robert Parker, and Alessandro Regoli of WineNews showed me, on his cell phone, a letter published by Adelphi in the booklet “Dear Simenon. My dear Fellini. Correspondence of Federico Fellini and Georges Simenon.”
DEAR SIMENON… HERE’S FELLINI’S LETTER
<<Dear Simenon, driving through the valleys around Chianciano, we arrived today at Montalcino, a mythical hill, at least as fabulous as Mount Olympus was to the Greeks in Homer’s time. Here, too, there is a deity: Brunello di Montalcino, a red wine that can compete with even the most celebrated French wines.
I’m writing these lines in the owner’s office, a bit daunted by the avalanche of awards, diplomas, medals, and cups overwhelming me on every side, along with the photos of reigning cardinals and famous drunkards from all over the world with dedications of unstinting gratitude. So I, too, am a bit caught up in the vortex of exaggeration. I don’t know much about wine, in fact, I don’t know much about it at all, but this Brunello, tasted before the extraordinary landscape of the Val d’Orcia, seemed delicious. In any case, it was Giulietta’s idea to have Simenon judge it.
Here it is, I hope it arrived in good condition.
Let’s toast to the happiness of our friends Teresa and George. Prosit! Cheers! Hurray!
Fondly, Federico Fellini”