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By Anthony Acri
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About this project

BIG BERTHA AND THE MAFIA COPS.



I and my screenplay/ play BIG BERTHA AND THE MAFIA COPS, has been accepted into an LA NOIR film Festival found on without abox and I have been alerted it is able to be presented in its inaugural season. I need some money to get out there, but will scratch it out as best as I can, us using the money I get here as a seed money. I would like very much to put this play on, in LA, as it is a story about things I have heard of and about as Italian Americans of all imperial people were the only race allowed to be so humiliated and demeaned by a modern empire soon enough to go off the tracks. As America starts a political clown show with vengeful wives, doges, lawyers and pimps, as Barry Obama pays back the machers who crowbar-ed him in power, I think a play about how the Italians have been dealing here in New Rome would be a nice change of pace for the constant minstrel shows and detritus of gumba land.


In the play, an aging Police Detective, Ennius Beggillimini, is living in the suburbs of Pittsburgh's little Italy, called Bloomfield. A city wide mob war has stared and the corrupt mayor lifts the Italian American cop to Inspector, starts to bring and end to the melee. As the cop mulls this over, the city around him starts to decay in whole, Steelers greats are wandering in the streets, letter-men are trafficking in ridilin, geeks kill their tormentors, and he tried to keep his honor and his decency as he is being presented with the chance to be another American clown. If one can sue the Italians to be killer clowns and laughable dimwits and affable slobs and idiots, then too, I figure with Roman aplomb, they can again be showed as victims of an empire going sideways and off the tracks.


On the night of July 1st, 2005, Venusalia, the Roman agricultural festival, in the years of the commingling of police and surveillance , he is, as in a story on Ovid, awarded with imperial policing power to go against the local outfit. A pretty Italianate waitress named Beatrice is admired very much by the new inspector, as she slings drinks at her fathers dive, Mean Joe's, as she is also being watched by revealing deteriorating cops, who know that their country man has been packed in power to commit a secret dirty war against the local hoods. The gang pays them all, as they lord over the city as if princes, but a new found fear of terrorists everywhere alas has the gumbas as a mere collateral damage, as the city fathers merely want the mafia dons and hoods out of the way as they paramilitary the police, as shall be done. Beatrice's father the owner of the beer garden, becomes indebted to the local hoods, and she is eventually abused and beaten, but gets away and takes off in a vendetta campaign, true to her Italic roots as is taken from a Sicilian story of the last century, as she takes off to eventually get even with the dons before the Honorable stoic cop can get there. A chase ensues between her and the cop who has unspoken feelings for her, who wishes to save her from, being either a fat housewife, or a mistress, or the few things Italian American woman are allowed to be in the golden door, as Ennius has to understand in America there is only so far one like he and or Big Beatha, as she is called due to her Neapolitan va voomy body type, can go, as the cold winds whip and the angels come to attestations amid the cold steel mills. Its sort of like a Max Bear movie but cast in what Brooklyn used to be when TV started.


Risks and challenges

I would like very much to put this on as a answer to that minstrel show then allowed and lauded by so many, as perhaps the Italian are the last people you'd so cagey demean since they know the punch line to every Imperial joke. I repeated tropes in this play to get back to some of the cop dramas I saw as a kid, the femme fetale, the brunette goddess unseen now, no Jane Russel or God knows Robert Micthiums, here, as see Bertha as the canniness truth of the Italian starlet no longer allowed, as all become decent and blond, and she is an exemplar of the curvy sixties girl unseen anymore. The cop is a recollection of the works of Sidney Lumet, and early seventies cops who, like super cops, and French connection, and dog day afternoons, the whole thing perhaps done in black and white befitting a Mort Druker comics when I was a kid, like satires of Serpico and Kojack's original television movie dealing with Miranda. The undertow though is how metropolitan police forces are now being turned into paramilitary tank columns, something seen by me as early as 2005, when written, and was pooed pooed by producers then, and have taken it back out due to the era we are in now. As a spasm of self righteousness attacks America in the garden party called Empire, as we all like in Tacitus wrote of the matron, speak of salvation at the vomtorium, I see more Roman than not, here, especially in a Senate sold to the highest bidder at the cattle auction, and thus, would like to put on something aristocratically, sarcastically, wonderful, stoic hero and bosomy heroine in hand, before the gay receptions make us all cowards and shareholders. As I said before there is nothing in Coppola that doesn't appear firstborn in Plautus, as the lead Roman Cop's friend, Bauhaus Sinatra, admits with cool cat flair, there's nothing in America that didn't go sideways in Rome First.

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