One of the biggest mysteries of Italian cinema (or what's left of it) is the inexplicable success of Checco Zalone, a so-called comedian who somehow manages to embody every unpleasant trait of the "average Italian": lazy, ignorant, prejudiced, hypocritical. And yet, in the grand tradition of low-brow Italian comedies, this ugly, mean-spirited character not only muddles through but also inexplicably lands the prettiest, smartest woman in the room. These films should really have their own genre: "Italian Male Wet Dream."
"Sole a catinelle" is one entry in what seems like an endless string of movies featuring the same dreary character: Checco, our "hero" - who loses his job, stumbles around in a fog of idiocy, and then, against all logic, "wins." The humor is nonexistent, the story is thinner than cheap grappa, and the whole thing feels like a very long, very unfunny inside joke.
I lasted until my brain begged for mercy and I switched off before the end credits. Life's too short, and so are good comedies in Italy, apparently.
