During last May’s Cannes Film Festival I called Jonas Carpignano‘s A Ciambra a good-as-it-went, respectably compelling sequel to Mediterranea about a young teenaged thief (Pio Amato) coping with character and loyalty issues in a hardscrabble town in Southern Italy. A kid with a beagle-boy nose, up to no good, struggling to make his mark but at the same time all but fucked for life. Definitely earns your respect for the verisimilitude alone, but what are you supposed to do with a story like this?
