Interview curated by Silvia Tarquini
Watch the film here.
From February 22, the documentary Gorgona: Italy’s Last Prison-Island is available on Arte TV. How did you get in touch with this project?
I had already worked with the German production company Medien Kontor on other documentary films. They produce films for Arte TV both in France and in Germany, a channel entirely dedicated to documentaries, with many different slots: from auteur documentaries to reportage. A type of channel that we do not have in Italy. In our country, very few documentaries are produced; they are broadcast on Rai 3 at night, or they play in festivals, so they do not have the possibility of reaching a larger audience. The Medien Kontor production contacted me asking if I was available to shoot the film Gorgona: Italy’s Last Prison-Island for 3 weeks on the island of Gorgona in Tuscany. I was free and I accepted immediately, as I was very interested in the project. I had already filmed in prisons in the past, and I knew how difficult it was to do a good job, but also how much richness could be drawn from an experience of this kind.
What was the reality you discovered once on the island?
Gorgona is an island entirely designated as a prison, a territory managed by the State for detention purposes. It currently houses about 85 inmates, along with surveillance personnel, the “assistants”. But Gorgona is a unique penitentiary institution, different from traditional prisons: selected inmates, transferred for good behavior and psychological stability, spend the final part of their sentence in an environment very different from ordinary prisons. Despite having committed serious crimes, often murders, the inmates are free to move around during the day, work, and have access to various tools and work equipment of all kinds. The only time they return to their cell is at night, to sleep. Despite the island’s function as a prison, some of its houses have remained on loan to former residents, who lived there in the 1970s and 1980s. Today, Gorgona has only one permanent resident: a 94-year-old woman who chose not to leave her home. She has established a strong bond with the inmates, who consider her a sort of grandmother and help her with daily chores. Isolation is a crucial aspect of life on Gorgona. Surrounded by the sea for a radius of about 35 kilometers, escape is unthinkable. Moreover, weather conditions can make navigation impossible, blocking the arrival of supplies, or can cause power outages and prevent the normal rotation of staff. When the sea is rough, no one can enter or exit. We ourselves, after finishing our work, were stuck for three days due to strong winds and waves too high for navigation. This forced isolation is a metaphor for the very nature of Gorgona: a prison without bars, yet from which escape is impossible.
What was the atmosphere like? Did you establish a relationship with the inmates?
Gorgona exists to experiment with a different mode of incarceration. It offers inmates—who often have very heavy pasts and sentences of 20–25 years, frequently for murder—the chance to spend the final part of their sentence with greater freedom of movement and, above all, in contact with nature. On the island, there is a need for a carpentry workshop, and therefore for carpenters, as well as for other types of trades. A very fine wine is also produced: the Frescobaldi winery owns vineyards on the island, and it is the young inmates who, on a daily basis, take care of the harvesting and production of the wine, guided by experts who come from the Tuscan winery to help them. I met two young men, two brothers from Trentino, both sentenced for multiple murders, who had been accustomed from an early age to practicing transhumance for long periods—herding animals in the woods and valleys; born in nature, they feel at home on Gorgona, and continued doing what they had always done before entering prison. The fact that the inmates have access to all these tools is very powerful, even if only psychologically. They are given great responsibility and a great deal of trust. They have hammers, saws, drills, tractors… There are many animals with them—sheep, horses, cows, chickens; for the most part, they work as farmers.
Have you had other experiences with documentaries? What are the characteristics of working on documentaries for a cinematographer?
I have had various experiences in the world of documentaries, particularly in the past when I collaborated on the production of many documentary films, mostly shot outside Italy. I am especially attached to one of these projects, even though many years have passed—it’s a 2009 project. It is a film I made in Afghanistan, Girls on the Air by Valentina Monti. We set off for Afghanistan shortly after it was liberated from Taliban rule, facing great difficulties but with complete creative and production freedom, and we managed to make a beautiful film about a group of women—very young girls—who ran a radio station called “Radio Sahar.” The film was presented in competition at IDFA – the International Documentary Film Festival in Amsterdam, one of the most important documentary festivals in Europe, and was nominated as best film. It was a documentary with a strong authorial perspective. Working on documentaries has allowed me to travel and discover special places. What unites all these films—and what particularly interests me about documentaries—is that they offer the opportunity to enter into situations that would otherwise be inaccessible. It is unthinkable for someone to spend 20 days of their life at Gorgona just to see how the inmates live and to build a relationship with them, just as it is unthinkable for someone to go to Afghanistan for a month to try to understand what is happening in Afghan society. A documentary gives you the chance to come into contact with real stories and situations, with characters and a world that would otherwise remain distant and unknown.
So, regarding your relationship with Carmen Butta, the director of Gorgona, can you explain what she asked of you, how you related to each other, and what technical choices you made to work on the island?
The initial idea was that Gorgona is a point in the middle of the sea, with natural boundaries. On one hand, we wanted to show that it was a paradise, because it truly is—the island is beautiful and untouched. At the same time, however, we had to show the sea as a sort of wall, a barrier, like bars. The necessary choice was to work with fairly small cameras that I could handle on my own. I wanted to try shooting handheld using autofocus, which today, thanks to artificial intelligence, delivers excellent results, and I must say I was very pleased. In the past, having to shoot handheld, I often found myself holding the camera in an awkward way, and I would frequently make mistakes. With this new system, every image was in focus. I could move with ease, shift from one spot to another, and sometimes I could get close to the subject for a very tight close-up, and even if they moved away, the focus remained captured. I decided to work with a Sony x6 and two zoom lenses—one a bit wider and one a bit tighter—but generally I always used a single zoom, the 24–70 mm, which is ideal for telling this story. Anyway, in documentaries, the fundamental aspect is still empathy, not technique. Without empathy, the person you’re following will never truly open up, won’t share their story, and won’t reveal their fears or secrets. Shooting a documentary means, in a way, becoming one with what is being told. A crew of four people must develop a deep intimacy with those they meet. We spent entire days with the inmates, sharing their routine and their space, and it was only in this way that the bond was created, which then allowed us to engage in very personal conversations about their lives. The time spent with the subjects is very important, the relationship you build with them, the search for that moment when people begin to share their stories spontaneously. When you succeed in this work, the film takes shape and improves.
Is there a particular episode you’d like to recount? Something important for the film or that has stayed with you in a special way?
In the first days, as I mentioned, we got to know each other—we were checking each other out—and since some of the crew were German, there were some difficulties. Gradually, we bonded with two guys, one about 40 years old and one perhaps 55. They had set up a rehearsal room where they played in a small band: an Albanian guy, a very skilled drummer, a bassist, and a singer, around 35–40 years old. One day, they took us into the rehearsal room, where there were microphones, guitars, bass, drums, and everything, and they began playing for us pieces they had created. We were there filming—first one shot, then another… At one point, while we were talking and no one was playing anymore, the Albanian guy started drumming a very danceable, fun blues rhythm. One of the inmates began moving in one way, the director another, the sound technician started moving, and even I began to move… Within a few minutes, we all found ourselves dancing, and the moment lasted ten minutes. It was wonderful. I had the camera rolling, and we ended up with ten phenomenal minutes of backstage footage—everyone dancing together to that wonderful rhythm. From that moment, everything changed. If the first 4–5 days had been a bit difficult, with some shyness on the part of the inmates and also on our part, at that moment every barrier broke down. They welcomed us completely, and filming alongside them became natural.
Thank you, Alessio.
