Description
It's August outside, but inside there's a blizzard. It's strange, homely, with the smell of dust in the wardrobe and leaves on the bed. Everything seems to be over, but remnants of the past stubbornly cling to the eyes: old earrings, a denim jacket on the back of a chair, cookies that have long since given in to time. Even silly swear words and armies of cat hair become museum exhibits - you can't touch them, but you can't forget them.
Every line conveys a mixture of self-irony and honesty: ‘Yes, everything has fallen apart, but at least something remains.’ And in this ‘better than nothing’ there is no tragedy, only human fatigue and a little warmth. As if the chaos after the storm suddenly seemed cosy, because it still holds the memory of what was once alive.
Director and editor: Davide Barbafiera
Assistants: Luca Oldani, Federico Chini
Cinematographer: Andrea Vignali
Make-up artist: Tommaso Paolichki
Location: Vevey-al-Mare di Ortis, 1991
Lyrics and translation
Original
Braulio mi guarda attraverso il bicchiere.
Fuori è agosto, ma dentro la neve.
Te ne sei andata, hai fatto bene.
Mi guardo intorno e cosa rimane?
Foto e ricchi, qualche regalo, due dita di polvere dentro l'armadio dove i tuoi vestiti si muovono ancora.
Tengo la luce accesa perché ho paura.
Rimane un vuoto allucinante, rimane poco, ma è meglio di niente.
È meglio di niente.
Meglio di niente.
È meglio di niente.
E non c'è rancore che valga la pena, non c'è ricordo che non sia una lama.
È stato bello, è stato brutto, pieno di gatti, peli dappertutto, balli mancati, offese ed insulti, pieno di ragni, pieno di rutti.
La mano destra, il pugno sinistro, rimane la salvia e questo disastro è colpa mia, probabilmente non vuol dire nulla, ma è meglio di niente.
È meglio di niente.
Meglio di niente.
È meglio di niente.
Questa canzone l'ho sognata come McCartney e Yesterday.
Certo non è la stessa cosa, ma il subconscio non mente, non è divertente sapere che tutto è andato per sempre.
Ma è meglio di niente.
È meglio di niente.
Meglio di niente.
Ragni e tele ovunque, le foglie sul letto, la menta che muore ed il tuo giubbotto, la bici appoggiata, i biscotti ammuffiti, una palestra in veranda, i gatti basiti e noi due sconfitti, e noi due sconfitti, e noi due sconfitti. Da cosa non so.
English translation
Braulio looks at me through the glass.
It's August outside, but inside it's snow.
You left, you did well.
I look around and what's left?
Photos and rich people, some gifts, two fingers of dust inside the wardrobe where your clothes still move.
I keep the light on because I'm scared.
There remains a shocking void, little remains, but it's better than nothing.
It's better than nothing.
Better than nothing.
It's better than nothing.
And there is no grudge that is worth it, there is no memory that is not a blade.
It was good, it was bad, full of cats, hair everywhere, missed dances, offenses and insults, full of spiders, full of burps.
The right hand, the left fist, remains the sage and this disaster is my fault, it probably means nothing, but it's better than nothing.
It's better than nothing.
Better than nothing.
It's better than nothing.
I dreamed of this song like McCartney and Yesterday.
Sure it's not the same, but the subconscious doesn't lie, it's no fun knowing everything is gone forever.
But it's better than nothing.
It's better than nothing.
Better than nothing.
Spiders and webs everywhere, the leaves on the bed, the dying mint and your jacket, the bike placed on it, the moldy biscuits, a gym on the veranda, the stunned cats and the two of us defeated, and the two of us defeated, and the two of us defeated. From what I don't know.