Divina

What drives a not so young postman to choke his old moped to deliver a letter still stamped with the royal stamp to a mysterious receiver, sifting through the lesser known parts of a Palermo roasted by the summer sun?
And for what absurd distraction of the natural course of things doesn’t any cinema encyclopedia , between Martin Scorsese and Paolo Sorrentino, refers to the name of Ferdinando Scuteri?
And what could have possibly brought that postman and that director, at the same time but one unbeknownst to the other, to follow the same tracks, to go through the same alleys, to ask the same questions, in the same investigations along paths long abandoned?
And those paths , how can they be walked again, if not putting together, piece after piece, the tables of a stage, recovering old fliers, worn but not dusty ostrich feathers, starched shapes of dancers maybe even more alive than their counterparts in flesh and bone?
The answer will not be known if not retracing the threads that tie those two investigations together, together with the characters of this story that, between reality and fiction , talks about theater and above all of the thousands of roads and opportunities of life, first of all the one that leads to the key figure to unravel the threads of those investigations: a once very popular actress, who, when she decided to leave the stage, thanks to her scenic art she managed to maintain her inner “fire” intact and even to ignite it with the only true fuel of any form of representation: humanity.
She, if authentic, weather still represented blazing with sequins, in the spotlight, or weather immersed in the cone of shadow, cannot but be and remain, however...divine.