Mario Lanza was and remains an enigma. Endowed with an incredible voice and a rugged sex appeal, he rose to the top and slid to the bottom in a few short years. This film, his penultimate, is a stinker in many ways. The story sucks, the acting ghastly and the scenes contrived and unconvincing. So, why am I not slamming it with a spoiler (as indeed, this comment is not)? Easy. Mario. Mario, the voice. This guy who lived in excess of the excesses, had an absolutely great voice. He was a lousy musician (most singers are, BTW), utilized horrible vocal technique and emoted all over the place. But, the voice. Ah, the voice. It was golden. And, Mario, the ham, sang from the heart and from the soul. Trite? Perhaps. But, the truth is, his was a unique talent that even some of the great tenors of our time acknowledge as inspirational. When you consider that tenors of the quality of Pavarotti, Domingo, Carreras and McCord declare he was their inspiration, what more can you say? This film, a story not unlike Mario's own odyssey, of a tenor returning to Italy to get in touch with roots and start over again, is a bit corny. But, the singing is worth the price of watching. That voice. We will never hear another like it. In my youth, I aspired to be an operatic tenor and sang on the stage at UC Berkeley and in Italy. I found out quickly that my talent was likely not going to support a great career, but I had pursued it to that point because I loved imitating Mario. He had it. I didn't, but then, who else but Mario did? Check it out.
Review of Seven Hills of Rome
