Drinking Italian in "The Talented Mr. Ripley"
"How far would you go to become someone else?"
I’ve been on an Americano kick lately (the aperitivo, not the caffè). The Italian aperitivo canon is in frequent rotation in my repertoire, but I’ll go through phases where one month I’m ordering nothing but Campari & Soda and that will switch over to Negroni Sbagliatos or Campari Shakeratos. The simple combination of Campari (or your favorite red bitter) with sweet vermouth and topped with cold soda water and an orange twist is incredibly refreshing and hits that low-ABV (bitter)sweet spot for session drinking, especially when you might be sitting outside (as I was the other afternoon at Bar Pisellino).
When we were in Italy in 2015 shooting my second book, Amaro, photographer Ed Anderson and I had a particularly long and tiring drive from Milan to Friuli. I had booked two rooms for us at Orsone, a B&B owned by Joe Bastianich that overlooks a nearby vineyard. When we pulled up, we were greeted by a husky ginger cat who rolled on his back in the stone driveway and then followed us around the property for the remainder of our stay (which I took as a good omen).
I had arranged everything by phone in my broken Italian and there were no email, phone numbers, or credit card information exchanged. It was all very Italian. We just showed up when we said we would it was taken care of. The bill wasn’t spoken about; we’d work everything out when we left. (We departed early in the morning on the second day before breakfast was served, but we awoke to find paper sacks outside our doors filled with bottled water, fresh-squeezed juice, a simple sandwich of prosciutto cotto with cucumbers and cheese, an orange and a pear, and a slice of torta di melle.)
It was late afternoon and we were tired but needed to stretch our legs, so we sat at a table on the terrazza and ordered two Americanos to take the edge off. The server delivered our drinks along with wooden bowls of potato chips, mixed nuts, and popcorn and we just stared out at the countryside around us enjoying a moment of silence and serenity before we had to clean ourselves up and drive into town for the next photoshoot. (Ed’s photo at the top of this dispatch captures that moment and remains one of my favorites from Amaro).
This is the time of year when friends, colleagues, and people who I don’t know but wish I had their budget and lifestyle start photo-bombing my Instagram feed with sun-baked, seaside photos of their summer adventures in Italy. There’s a bit of aspirational jealousy, sure, though I realize how fortunate I am to have visited Italy semi-regularly in the name of work and research over the years, and have been on the receiving end of generous hospitality from my hosts on many occasions.
But as a freelance writer I don’t really ever take a vacation as 90% of any travel is work-related in some way. With no slight to his deserved and hard-earned success, watching Eric Wareheim traveling through Italy is a very different experience than BTP traveling through Italy. But lately I’ve seen so many who aren’t celebrities travel through Italy like they are, with Kodachrome snapshots of sunning themselves on sailboats parked off the beach of the turquoise-colored Adriatic sea, staying in cliffside palazzos with winding staircases leading to to the beach, countless red-and-orange-hued alfresco aperitivo drinks consumed while dressed in stylish attire.
Okay, sure, maybe there is a hint of jealousy on my end, and I do aspire to one day have a proper Italian vacation in the manner of living captured in the late Anthony Minghella’s film 1999 film adaptation of Patricia Highsmith’s novel, The Talented Mr. Ripley. Buzzing Vespas, thick waffle robes to cover up after a swim, mixing up Martinis and drinking Campari on the rocks with abandon. La dolce vita without all the (spoiler alert) murders and sociopathic behavior.
I recently rewatched The Talented Mr. Ripley, which came out on Christmas Day in 1999, with an eye toward what the characters are drinking in Italy throughout the film, and while the screenplay mentions Campari a few times, it’s gin-soaked Martinis that land a supporting role.
"I Always Thought it Would Be Better to Be a Fake Somebody Than a Real Nobody."
I’m not going to get into too many specific plot details in case you have never seen The Talented Mr. Ripley (and I encourage you to do so if you haven’t) and keep it relatively spoiler-free. I’ve never read Highsmith’s Ripley series or watched the other film adaptions (there’s also a streaming adaption in the works), but Minghella’s film stands on its own. It’s incredibly stylish with beautiful cinematography, a moody score, shot on location in Italy, and packed with cast of young and up-and-coming stars including Matt Damon, Jude Law, Gwyneth Paltrow, Cate Blacnhett, and an unforgettable Philip Seymour Hoffman (RIP). Not to mention the late great Philip Baker Hall.
Set in 1959 over the summer and just past Christmas, the film starts in New York with Tom Ripley (Matt Damon), who, after borrowing a friend’s Princeton blazer, is mistaken for a former classmate of Dickie Greenleaf (Jude Law), the son of a New York shipping magnate. Dickie has embraced a privileged, playboy expat lifestyle living off his trust fund allowance in Italy with no plans to return home to run the family business. Tom is hired by Dickie’s father for $1,000 (approximately $10,000 in 2023) to convince Dickie to return home. Ripley is from a different social class than the socialites he soon finds himself immersed with and combats his awkwardness and imposter syndrome with a long and ultimately deadly game of lies, forgeries, impersonation, and obsession.