Spoiler warning! This review reveals the film's ending, which is vital for a proper discussion of the film's problem areas.

 

A Romanian immigrant boy and an Italian man both live on the fringes of society in the Italian capital and almost get together in writer-director Carmine Amoroso’s Cover Boy l’ultima rivoluzione. Frustratingly scripted, the film’s two protagonists are put through the entire checklist of budding gay relationship iconography but never seem to arrive at the promised destination, overshadowing an intelligent treatment of themes such as hard big city life and the exploitation of the male body with what feels like of a case of Ozpetek interruptus. An uneven technical package and middling performances will add to the problems of Cover Boy to find wider distribution, though abundant display of naked male flesh should spark specialised video sales.

In homeland Italy, the film has been recognised as being of “national cultural interest” and it is easy to see why: by equating two types of immigrants in the Roman capital, one a legal immigrant from the Italian South and the other an illegal immigrant from Romania, the film succeeds in throwing a new light on some of the problems associated with hard life in the big city for the lowest classes.  Unsurprisingly, the two men bond, though initially Italian Michele (Luca Lionello, Judas from The Passion of the Christ) thinks Romanian Ioan (newcomer Eduard Gabia) has stolen his discman. In a moment typical of independent queer cinema, the two get in a rowdy fight in which the slight Ioan hits the floor, bleeding, with Michele’s look of triumph turning into a look of compassionate love that lingers much too long on the young victim.

Cover Boy’s main problem is exactly this: it is so clearly working within the tradition of independent gay films that it frustrates when it does not deliver the goods. Michele hovers over Ioan when he sleeps in his underwear, caressing the lank body of his roommate with his eager eyes. They frollock on the beach and in the sea. Naked. Together they plan to open a restaurant in Romania once they have saved some money. There is even the obligatory “Do you have a girlfriend?”-scene, with the just as obligatory answer: “I want freedom. The freedom to be here with you”.

 

But then there is the protracted latter section of Cover Boy, in which Ioan leaves for Milan to do what is requested of him in the film’s title and find some time to dally with a female photographer (Chiara Caselli), while Michele struggles to get by in Rome. What is Ioan doing and why?

 

Amoroso, who co-wrote the Mario Monicelli comedy Parenti serpenti (and which was based on his play), here seems to juggle too many elements, including a traumatic childhood experience in Ioan’s life that serves as an excuse for several flashbacks (as well as a somewhat pretentious opening montage) and the story of a failed actress and home-owner (Luciana Littizzetto, from Manuale d’amore/Handbook of Love) who lives upstairs from Michele. Rather than illuminating Ioan and his struggles, they seem to obscure them.

 

Gabia, as the Cover Boy of the title, comes across as affable and appropriately gullible, though he is so different from the other models backstage at a fashion show that his success story as one requires an extra dose of suspension of disbelief. His performance is not developed enough to give an indication of what he feels for Michele. Lionello is more credible as the Southern immigrant in his late 30s trying to get by, though his longing glances seem to fall on deaf ears. Because Cover Boy does not radically break from the mould that its cinematic language seems to suggest it belongs to, the film, strangely enough, would have benefited from being more formulaic. Bring on Ozpetek for a melodramatic rewrite!