Latest news with #Spartacus'
The Guardian
3 days ago
- Politics
- The Guardian
My life has been hell since mafia bosses blamed me for their downfall. Finally, justice has been done
What criminal organisations fear most is the written word. That is what a court in Italy has established for the first time. It has taken 17 years for me to see justice done, but it finally came on 14 July. The court of appeals in Rome upheld a 2021 verdict in which the mafia boss Francesco Bidognetti and his former lawyer were found guilty of mafia-related threats against me. Bidognetti is the head of one of the most powerful and violent Camorra clans: the Casalesi. He is already in jail, serving a life sentence. Yet far from being merely symbolic, the new sentences (Bidognetti got a year and a half, his lawyer Michele Santonastaso a year and two months) are momentous. They are punishment for a case that involved no ordinary act of intimidation, but one that was unique in the history of organised crime. It was performed in public in March 2008, during the 10-year 'Spartacus' maxi-trial, which involved 115 defendants and resulted in 27 life sentences including Bidognetti's. That day, through his lawyer, Bidognetti publicly expressed his own criminal truth by singling out two journalists – myself and Rosaria Capacchione – to be held responsible if he were convicted. Santonastaso read a document aloud in court – a 'proclamation' that we later learned echoed statements made by terrorist organisations. It was an unprecedented act in the history of mafia trials. The message was chilling: if the two mafia bosses in the dock, Bidognetti and Antonio Iovine, ended up in prison – as they did – the guilt would be ours. Our reporting, our complaints and our influence on prosecutors would be to blame. After reading out the document, Santonastaso removed his robes. It was a symbolic gesture to say from that moment on, the game would be played outside the walls of the court. The proclamation had served a specific purpose: to silence me and other journalists, and inform people outside the court that those responsible for Bidognetti's conviction had names. At the time, a murderous Camorra hit squad operated a reign of terror in Campania. It reported directly to Bidognetti. This armed gang, led by Giuseppe Setola, committed a vast number of heinous crimes intended to demonstrate that the power of the clan persisted, despite trials and convictions. In September 2008, for example, Setola spearheaded the Castel Volturno killing, in which six African migrants, who had no involvement in criminal activity, lost their lives. To understand the scope of the proclamation against me it is important to also understand the history and savagery of its author. Bidognetti, nicknamed Cicciotto di Mezzanotte – because anyone who stood between him and his business would see mezzanotte (midnight) descend on them – heads an organisation that built its power on blood, fear and the devastation of its territory through the illegal dumping of toxic waste from all over Italy. In 1993 he ordered the murder of Gennaro Falco, an innocent doctor who had been treating Bidognetti's first wife, Teresa Tamburrino. Falco was accused by the Bidognetti family of failing to diagnose a tumour in time to save her life. The doctor was murdered by Bidognetti's son, Raffaele. But the violence did not start there. In December 1980, during a shootout, Bidognetti used Filomena Morlando, 25, as a human shield. She was killed in the crossfire. In another incident, Antonio Petito, a young man who had no involvement with the Camorra, had an altercation with another of Bidognetti's sons, Gianluca. Petito was killed for 'lack of respect for the boss's son'. After the proclamation in court, my protection was immediately strengthened, from level three (an armoured car and two agents) to level two (two armoured cars and five agents). Life under protection means existing in an eternal armoured present, in a home that is both a refuge and a prison. It means losing not only your freedom of movement, but also your interpersonal and emotional freedom. Every encounter is behind closed doors. There is no privacy. Intimacy evaporates. Spontaneity is erased. The consequences are not only practical, but profound. My romantic relationships have been compromised. Friendships have dwindled under the weight of my situation. Anyone who interacts with me feels the need to protect me, to absorb some of my tension. That is unbearable for anyone. For 17 years I have faced trials, hearings and efforts to smear my name. Not only by the clans, but also elements of the state that were meant to protect me but instead made my isolation worse. Anti-mafia reporting has been isolated, criminalised, dragged through tribunals. In this silence, the mafia has won. It has disappeared from public discourse, but not from reality. It has morphed into an economic power, a form of criminal capitalism – invisible but pervasive. The 14 July verdict goes beyond symbolism: it was an act of judicial recognition that Bidognetti's 2008 proclamation was a threat, and directly related to his mafia enterprise. We can further deduce that it was a 'fatwa', a signal to anyone in the clan who might want to climb the ranks by eliminating a named target. For the first time in a trial involving a crime organisation, we can see that the mafia considers investigative journalists to be the main cause of its defeats. According to this criminal logic, to write, report or investigate means to interfere with justice. And so those who write about the mafia have to be punished. It is an acknowledgment that anything that might happen to me from now on will bear its signature. I emerge from this ordeal in pieces. I have sacrificed my life to an all-consuming battle. My existence is a form of life sentence, suspended between fear, isolation and surveillance. Solitude is the added punishment for courage. It is likely that nothing in Italy will change, but I can at least say I helped expose the ways in which the mafia operates. And believe me, it is not limited to Italy – it is a network that targets global financial centres, including London. I will remain under police protection indefinitely, because the judges confirmed that the mafia bosses fear what I write. But I don't want to go on living like this. Little by little, I will take responsibility for reclaiming my freedom – for taking my life back, even at my own risk. Enough of this half existence: neither fully alive, nor dead. Roberto Saviano is an investigative journalist and the author of Gomorrah Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters section, please click here.
The Guardian
4 days ago
- Politics
- The Guardian
My life has been hell since mafia bosses blamed me for their downfall. Finally, justice has been done
What criminal organisations fear most is the written word. That is what a court in Italy has established for the first time. It has taken 17 years for me to see justice done, but it finally came on 14 July. The court of appeals in Rome upheld a 2021 verdict in which the mafia boss Francesco Bidognetti and his former lawyer were found guilty of mafia-related threats against me. Bidognetti is the head of one of the most powerful and violent Camorra clans: the Casalesi. He is already in jail, serving a life sentence. Yet far from being merely symbolic, the new sentences (Bidognetti got a year and a half, his lawyer Michele Santonastaso a year and two months) are momentous. They are punishment for a case that involved no ordinary act of intimidation, but one that was unique in the history of organised crime. It was performed in public in March 2008, during the 10-year 'Spartacus' maxi-trial, which involved 115 defendants and resulted in 27 life sentences including Bidognetti's. That day, through his lawyer, Bidognetti publicly expressed his own criminal truth by singling out two journalists – myself and Rosaria Capacchione – to be held responsible if he were convicted. Santonastaso read a document aloud in court – a 'proclamation' that we later learned echoed statements made by terrorist organisations. It was an unprecedented act in the history of mafia trials. The message was chilling: if the two mafia bosses in the dock, Bidognetti and Antonio Iovine, ended up in prison – as they did – the guilt would be ours. Our reporting, our complaints and our influence on prosecutors would be to blame. After reading out the document, Santonastaso removed his robes. It was a symbolic gesture to say from that moment on, the game would be played outside the walls of the court. The proclamation had served a specific purpose: to silence me and other journalists, and inform people outside the court that those responsible for Bidognetti's conviction had names. At the time, a murderous Camorra hit squad operated a reign of terror in Campania. It reported directly to Bidognetti. This armed gang, led by Giuseppe Setola, committed a vast number of heinous crimes intended to demonstrate that the power of the clan persisted, despite trials and convictions. In September 2008, for example, Setola spearheaded the Castel Volturno killing, in which six Nigerian migrants, who had no involvement in criminal activity, lost their lives. To understand the scope of the proclamation against me it is important to also understand the history and savagery of its author. Bidognetti, nicknamed Cicciotto di Mezzanotte – because anyone who stood between him and his business would see mezzanotte (midnight) descend on them – heads an organisation that built its power on blood, fear and the devastation of its territory through the illegal dumping of toxic waste all over Italy. In 1993 he ordered the murder of Gennaro Falco, an innocent doctor who had been treating Bidognetti's first wife, Teresa Tamburrino. Falco was accused by the Bidognetti family of failing to diagnose a tumour in time to save her life. The doctor was murdered by Bidognetti's son, Raffaele. But the violence did not start there. In December 1980, during a shootout, Bidognetti used Filomena Morlando, 25, as a human shield. She was killed in the crossfire. In another incident, Antonio Petito, a young man who had no involvement with the Camorra, had an altercation with another of Bidognetti's sons, Gianluca. Petito was killed for 'lack of respect for the boss's son'. After the proclamation in court, my protection was immediately strengthened, from level three (an armoured car and two agents) to level two (two armoured cars and five agents). Life under protection means existing in an eternal armoured present, in a home that is both a refuge and a prison. It means losing not only your freedom of movement, but also your interpersonal and emotional freedom. Every encounter is behind closed doors. There is no privacy. Intimacy evaporates. Spontaneity is erased. The consequences are not only practical, but profound. My romantic relationships have been compromised. Friendships have dwindled under the weight of my situation. Anyone who interacts with me feels the need to protect me, to absorb some of my tension. That is unbearable for anyone. For 17 years I have faced trials, hearings and efforts to smear my name. Not only by the clans, but also elements of the state that were meant to protect me but instead made my isolation worse. Anti-mafia reporting has been isolated, criminalised, dragged through tribunals. In this silence, the mafia has won. It has disappeared from public discourse, but not from reality. It has morphed into an economic power, a form of criminal capitalism – invisible but pervasive. The 14 July verdict goes beyond symbolism: it was an act of judicial recognition that Bidognetti's 2008 proclamation was a threat, and directly related to his mafia enterprise. We can further deduce that it was a 'fatwa', a signal to anyone in the clan who might want to climb the ranks by eliminating a named target. For the first time in a trial involving a crime organisation, we can see that the mafia considers investigative journalists to be the main cause of its defeats. According to this criminal logic, to write, report or investigate means to interfere with justice. And so those who write about the mafia have to be punished. It is an acknowledgment that anything that might happen to me from now on will bear its signature. I emerge from this ordeal in pieces. I have sacrificed my life to an all-consuming battle. My existence is a form of life sentence, suspended between fear, isolation and surveillance. Solitude is the added punishment for courage. It is likely that nothing in Italy will change, but I can at least say I helped expose the ways in which the mafia operates. And believe me, it is not limited to Italy – it is a network that targets global financial centres, including London. I will remain under police protection indefinitely, because the judges confirmed that the mafia bosses fear what I write. But I don't want to go on living like this. Little by little, I will take responsibility for reclaiming my freedom – for taking my life back, even at my own risk. Enough of this half existence: neither fully alive, nor dead. Roberto Saviano is a writer and journalist
Boston Globe
23-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Boston Globe
Yuri Grigorivich, giant of Soviet ballet, is dead at 98
The ballet told the story of the enslaved gladiator Spartacus, who led a failed revolt in ancient Rome, a tale that might bring to mind another revolution, one that did not fail: the Russian Revolution of 1917. Compared with earlier Soviet productions set to Aram Khachaturian's 1954 score, Mr. Grigorovich's was streamlined and simplified, with obvious good guys (Spartacus and his wife) and bad guys (the rich Crassus and his courtesan mistress). Get Starting Point A guide through the most important stories of the morning, delivered Monday through Friday. Enter Email Sign Up What made the work most distinctive, though, was the style of dancing: It was big and bold, epic in scale and emotion. Advertisement Masses of men filled the stage, in armor or bare-chested, marching, kicking, jumping. Spartacus and Crassus, in soliloquy-like solos, spun like tornadoes and leaped impossibly high, with slashing, stage-spanning, split-kick jumps. Their climactic battle was a dance-off to end all dance-offs. In its emphasis on dancing -- and dancing as athletic spectacle -- Mr. Grigorovich's choreography departed from the previously dominant style of Soviet ballet: dramatic ballet, or 'drambalet.' To conform to political strictures around art -- under Socialist Realism, abstraction was to be avoided -- drambalet de-emphasized dance steps in favor of gestural storytelling, and favored acting influenced by the school of Konstantin Stanislavsky. (His approach, which stressed the actor's use of lived experience, would become the basis of Method acting.) The height of drambalet was a 1940 production of 'Romeo and Juliet' by Leonid Lavrovsky, the man Mr. Grigorovich replaced as artistic director of the Bolshoi Ballet in 1964. Advertisement The attention to male dancers in 'Spartacus' was also new. 'At last the Bolshoi men are allowed to dance,' Barnes wrote, 'and indeed the ballet is as much for them as, say, 'Swan Lake' is for women.' 'Spartacus' was a huge hit, at home and abroad, as was a 1975 ballet film featuring the heroically explosive Vladimir Vasiliev in the title role. The production became the Bolshoi Ballet's signature piece, as well as the model for later Grigorovich works, including his 1975 version of 'Ivan the Terrible.' Mr. Grigorovich's ballets were popular nearly everywhere, and he was considered a genius by most Russian critics. Some Western critics came close to agreeing. Barnes hailed him as 'the most talented Russian choreographer since Mikhail Fokine,' of the Mariinsky Ballet in St. Petersburg and the Ballets Russes in Paris. Many Western critics, though, found his choreography lacking in subtlety and taste -- especially those in America, where the Russian-born choreographer George Balanchine set the aesthetic standards. 'What it's designed for is force,' Arlene Croce wrote of 'Spartacus' in a 1975 review in The New Yorker. She called the work relentless and repetitive, describing it as a 'bludgeoning,' yet she praised the passionate dancers. 'Even in trash like 'Spartacus,'' she wrote, 'Bolshoi dancers can impress you with their love of theater, their rage to perform.' Advertisement In his 1982 version of 'The Golden Age,' a tale of Communist youth facing corrupt gangsters, set in the 1920s to a 1930 score by Shostakovich, Mr. Grigorovich provided starring roles for his new protégé, Irek Mukhamedov, and Natalia Bessmertnova, whom he married in 1968 after divorcing his first wife, the esteemed ballerina Alla Shelest. But 'The Golden Age' would be his last new work. In the late 1980s and the 1990s, amid various internal power struggles at the Bolshoi, Mr. Grigorovich faced accusations that he had dried up creatively and was an arrogant, inflexible autocrat who would not allow other choreographers into the company. Prominent dancers, including the aging star Maya Plisetskaya and Mr. Grigorovich's former protégé, Vasiliev, openly criticized him. For years, Mr. Grigorovich had clashed with the Bolshoi management. In 1995, objecting to changes in the hiring of dancers, and to the hiring of Vasiliev as the artistic director of the Bolshoi Theater, Mr. Grigorovich resigned. The day after the announcement, Bolshoi dancers refused to perform. It was the closest thing to a strike in the company's history. To many, he remained a hero. Yuri Nikolayevich Grigorovich was born on Jan. 2, 1927, in the city then called Leningrad (now St. Petersburg). His father, Nikolai, was an accountant, and his mother, Klaudia (Rozai) Grigorovich, was a dancer from a family of dancers and circus entertainers. Her brother, Gyorgi Rozai, was an acclaimed character-style dancer in the Ballets Russes. Yuri trained at the Leningrad Ballet School (later the Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet). Upon graduating in 1946, he joined the Kirov Ballet (now the Mariinsky). Short in stature, he performed demi-character roles like the Golden Idol in 'La Bayadère' and a Chinese dancer in 'The Nutcracker.' Advertisement Mentored by choreographer Fyodor Lopukhov -- who advocated a Russian classical approach and had also mentored Balanchine in the 1920s, but whose work had been classified as 'formalist,' a taboo in the Soviet Union -- Mr. Grigorovich began presenting his choreography in 1956. The following year, the Kirov debuted 'The Stone Flower,' his remake of a drambalet with the addition of abstract dancing. It received the official sanction of being remounted at the Bolshoi. His 1961 work, 'Legend of Love,' was also a success. Soon after, during the upheaval over the Kirov star Rudolf Nureyev's defection to the West, Mr. Grigorovich became the chief ballet master at the Kirov. Then, at 37, he moved to Moscow to lead the Bolshoi. After resigning from the Bolshoi in 1995, Mr. Grigorovich moved to the southern Russian city of Krasnodar to start a new ballet company under his own name. He headed juries at several international ballet competitions, including the Benois de la Danse in Moscow. In 2005, Alexei Ratmansky, then the artistic director of the Bolshoi Ballet, brought Grigorovich's 'The Golden Age' back into the repertory, and Mr. Grigorovich visited the company as an honored guest. Mr. Grigorovich has no immediate survivors. His wife, Bessmertnova, died in 2008, and he had no children. After Ratmansky's resignation from the Bolshoi in 2008, Mr. Grigorovich returned to the company as a choreographer and ballet master, a position he retained until his death. This article originally appeared in Advertisement
Los Angeles Times
11-02-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
Review: At the Getty Villa, the marvelous exhibition rescued from the Palisades fire
What is Thrace? Or, better, where is Thrace? Of all the ancient cultures clustered around the eastern half of the Mediterranean Sea, whether Egypt, Greece, Persia or Rome's imperial outreaches, Thrace is surely the least well-known. In recent memory, mostly it pops up from 'Spartacus,' the 1960 Stanley Kubrick Hollywood epic, and its later television offspring. But the sizable Balkan territory once encompassed much of modern Bulgaria and parts of northern Greece and European Turkey, between the Black Sea and the Aegean. 'Spartacus' screenwriter Dalton Trumbo, blacklisted during the Red Scare, may have identified with the shrewd Thracian gladiator who led a slave revolt against the crushing overlords of the Roman Republic. Unsurprisingly, some of that movie's blunt-force muscularity turns up in 'Ancient Thrace and the Classical World: Treasures From Bulgaria, Romania, and Greece,' a survey of vessels, warrior paraphernalia (armor, weapons, horse trappings), jewelry, tomb sculptures and other objects at the Getty Villa in Pacific Palisades. Understandably, the Villa is temporarily closed. The horrendous Pacific Palisades fire annihilated huge swaths of the surrounding community and burned some of the Getty Villa's grounds. Thankfully, the museum and interior formal gardens were largely untouched. The day was saved by advance planning for wildfire mitigation and courageous staff, including security guards and groundskeepers who risked life and limb and remained at the site to fight the deadly blaze. No reopening date has been announced, as parts of Pacific Coast Highway are closed. (The Getty Center in Brentwood has reopened.) The Thracian show floats in a state of suspended animation. I managed to see it shortly before the fire. Here's what I found. 'Ancient Thrace and the Classical World' is significantly characterized by brutality. The archaic society was known for the prowess of its soldiers and its brawny militarism. To generalize, we might describe Thracian art as embodying a barbaric style — not as a term of derision but merely descriptive of a blunt, skillful fierceness so often encountered in its forms. Among the more startling objects on view is a late 4th century BC bronze helmet that takes the unmistakable form of the conical glans of a human penis. Adorning the spot where the urethral opening would be is a small, finely crafted silver relief bust of Athena, goddess of wisdom and warfare, protector of Aegean city-states, aide and ally of Herakles, Odysseus and other mythic heroes. Such a helmet, worn to protect the head during battle, stands as an unmistakable sign of aggressive power. Imagine a helmeted phalanx of Thracian soldiers advancing on an enemy. Could there be a more emphatic conflation of symbolic maleness and brute force? Swords, scabbards, armor — weaponry and objects related to combat are plentiful in the show. Some of the most exquisitely crafted pieces are small decorative elements made for the harnesses of soldiers' horses — the powerful and celebrated Thessalian breed, perhaps. Think animal jewelry — bridles, straps and other harness parts adorned with eagle heads, rosettes, griffins, busts of Herakles, serpents and lions, often shaped from gold. These small dazzlers glint in the light to both impress and intimidate. Many (if not most) works in the exhibition have been retrieved from tombs and burial mounds, where even horses could be interred — an indication of their essential value to a warrior class. On occasion, a deceased warrior's wife would be killed during a funerary ceremony. Necklaces, earrings, bracelets and domestic objects, including painted clay pots and sumptuous gold and silver banquet vessels, would be buried along with them. One stunning piece, excavated 60 years ago from a tomb in the foothills of mountainous northwest Bulgaria, about 70 miles from Sofia, is the left shin and knee guard from a soldier's armor. Called a greave, it was hammered from a single thick sheet of silver and symmetrically decorated with gilded animals, both real (lions) and imagined (griffins). Covering the knee is the head of a goddess, the brow above her two wide-open eyes adorned with a victor's wreath. (Nearby, a vitrine holds a spectacular, oversize oak wreath, delicately assembled from snipped sheets of gold and wire, found laid atop the head of an aristocratic grave.) Horizontal bands of silver and gold march in a rhythmic pattern down the right side of the goddess' face, ornament that may represent the elaborate body tattoos popular among Thracians. The pattern's strict rectilinear geometry creates a stark contrast with organic facial features, vivifying the otherworldly human form. The exhibition's most riveting work, sure to have been a popular favorite, is the roughly life-size bronze head of Seuthes III, a Thracian king almost contemporary with, if perhaps slightly younger than, Macedonian Alexander the Great. Metalwork was a highly refined practice in Thrace, evidenced throughout the exhibition, nowhere more beautifully demonstrated than here. Some scholars also think the head might have been fabricated in Greece, given the close relationship between the two regions — an Athenian commission brought to Thrace to mark a neighboring king's grave. The state of preservation for the 2,300-year-old bronze is pretty remarkable. The neck's jagged base suggests that the head was torn from a larger, perhaps full-length figure, but the sculpture reveals almost no other significant damage. A deep brown patina radiates a glow of dark greenish tint. The gently furrowed brow, crow's feet fanning out at the eyes, a full beard as dynamic as a waterfall and broad handlebar mustache together yield a sense of age embodying experienced wisdom. So carefully observed are the head's features that even a small wart marks the left cheek. What astounds, though, are the sculpture's extraordinary eyes. The king stares intently into an eternal distance through composite orbs fashioned from alabaster and glass, rendered in varying degrees of clarity, transparency and opacity. Rimmed with delicate lashes of thinly shredded, light-reflective copper, the luminous eyes sparkle. It's a dramatic tour de force. The exhibition was organized by Getty curators Sara E. Cole and Jens Daehner and former curator Jeffrey Spier, together with Margarit Damyanov, a professor of Thracian archaeology at the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences. It is divided into three sections, opening with interactions between Thrace and neighboring Greece and Persia — the former generally friendlier than the latter but all three cosmopolitan thanks to trade and stylistic mingling. The room's most impressive object is a 5th century BC carved marble stele, 8 feet tall. The funerary marker features the torqued and compressed figure of an old man, who offers a piece of meat to an eager dog — a rare moment of compassion. The canine rises up on its hind legs in an almost prayer-like pose that fuses desire and fealty. The second room is focused on archaeological tomb discoveries, including the bronze head of Seuthes, the silver greave and the gold wreath. The final room is a treasure house of luxury objects, including an exquisite saucer, nearly 10 inches in diameter, featuring three concentric rings, each composed of 24 embossed heads of Black African men in increasing size. Together with its deeply researched catalog of recent scholarly inquiry into the tribal culture, 'Ancient Thrace and the Classical World' is the third in a fine series of Getty shows that mean to provide larger context for the museum's collection of mostly Greek and Roman antiquities. It joins studies of Egypt in 2018 and Persia in 2022. The current exhibition can only sketch the art of a period that lasted around two millennia, from about 1700 BC to AD 300, but it stands as a marvelous introduction. The Thrace exhibition's fate may echo what happened to the engaging 'Where the Truth Lies: The Art of Qiu Ying,' which COVID abruptly shuttered at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art five years ago. The Thrace show was scheduled to close March 3, and impressive loans of art from Eastern Europe will need to be returned. The fine exhibition catalog is worth perusing. The epic destruction that surrounds the Villa today adds an unnerving element to the exhibition's art historical context. It's easy to forget that the Villa is based on an ancient Roman house buried and destroyed in the lava of the erupting Mt. Vesuvius. Civilizations are inevitably transient — rising, expanding, collapsing, disappearing. Relatively obscure Thracian art, for all its muscular power and authority, is a sobering reminder of our common fragility.
