A man stuck at home with a fractured pelvis tries every means possible to attract a woman into his bed, among them a beautiful policewoman investigating the disappearance of the young man's fiancée. The single camera, ostensibly mounted at the foot of the bed so the doctors can keep an eye on his leg injury, is focused on the man's penis, which, as his face is never shown, must do all the acting in one single uncut shot.
Marisa is a film for Marisa, my mother, Marisa Rusconi who has been gone for a year. I wanted to tell this personal story, with vaguely biographical elements of Marisa and my sensations on detachment and life, using films from the Rai archive on the subject of migration. In this material, broad and open to the world, I found the elements with which I built the backbone of the film. Then I inserted images and sounds recorded by me in the last few months and fragments of Super 8 filmed by my father, Franco, in the 60s.
