The Salt Of Life* Review

It doesn’t show a director evolving, just one happy to do what he does well.

The Salt of Life is baked from the same spongy dough as Gianni Di Gregorio’s previous film, Mid-August Lunch, which saw him playing a jovial doormat charged with hosting a soirée for a group of elderly ladies. This new one feels like a sequel, with Gianni now feeling the melancholic pangs of a future without sex; his fear of a waning libido spurring him on to prove his manhood and sow his wild oats once more.

As such, Di Gregorio has his character haplessly saunter through a garden of female temptation, and when urges are not flared by the phalanx of buxom beauties in his constant orbit (specifically, his touchy-feely neighbour, and his elderly mother’s scantily clad nursemaid), we’re given innuendo-filled shots of plump cherries and fizzed-up Champagne bottles.

If this provokes images of a leering Sid James carrying on, then that couldn’t be further from the reality. Di Gregorio unfurls his (admittedly feather-light) material with a satisfying, semi-improvised feel for the bittersweet comedy in everyday encounters. And while some may accuse him of presenting old age as nothing more than a descent into madness, he does so in a way that provokes feelings of empathy rather than scorn.

The comedic highlights of the film are, once again, Gianni’s dealings with his mother (Valeria De Franciscis), a leathery-skinned harridan with a heaving bulb of peroxide blonde hair and a tenuous grasp on the extent of her liquid assets. While she is, in no uncertain terms, shown to be a nightmare, there is an affectionate bond between the pair, which suggests that Gianni’s hot pursuit of amorous action could simply be an attempt to prove his worth to his daffy old mum.

It lends the oddly out-of-kilter soundtrack choice used for the climatic moments – 'Here Comes Your Man' by The Pixies – a touching ambiguity.