A few months ago, one August evening, I found myself watching Avanti un Altro! on Canale 5. I watched it for what felt like an eternity, incredulous, while a friend next to me laughed distractedly at Paolo Bonolis’s jokes. Since childhood, no one ever allowed me to watch those kinds of programs, and as I grew up, I never developed any interest in that kind of television product. Now, at nearly thirty, watching my friend laugh at Avanti un Altro!, I felt two opposing and contrasting emotions. First, instinctively, I felt joy—joy in not finding any of Bonolis’s facial expressions amusing. Second, however, I felt a deep sense of sadness—sadness for the state of Italian television, forced to chase ratings with such sadly simple methods. In a way, I envied the carefree attitude of my friend next to me, who seemed untouched by the emotions I was experiencing. Her lightheartedness stemmed from a kind of detachment I couldn’t achieve for myself.
Televisiva: Stefano De Luigi’s Book on Italian Television
When I browsed through Televisiva—a photographic book created by Stefano De Luigi, curated by Laura Serani, and published by L’Artiere—I was reminded of that summer evening and those feelings. De Luigi’s powerful images lead us to reflect on the outcome of more than thirty years of television revolution, from the early years of Silvio Berlusconi to the so-called Bunga Bunga Era.
The images collected in Televisiva are accompanied by a text written by Pietro Grossi, which challenges—literally—the reader, guiding them on this revealing journey where our perception of television, specifically Italian television, comes to the surface. De Luigi’s careful work shows how TV, no longer an educational medium, has become increasingly superficial over the years, influencing democracy and political discourse. His position, certainly extreme, reminded me of the same disgust I felt watching Bonolis on Avanti un Altro!—a reaction, perhaps exaggerated, but one I couldn’t ignore.
In this way, Televisiva prompts us to reflect on something we probably don’t think about often enough: the (possibly destructive) impact of the television revolution spearheaded by Silvio Berlusconi. The photos in the book aren’t only from Mediaset studios but also from Rai and other stations like Telelombardia, underscoring the pervasiveness of this revolution’s influence. De Luigi and the team behind Televisiva, by challenging us, aim to expose a deeper wound—something that has changed our country forever. The world of television, in a way, is a part of us, and we will continue to be as fascinated by it as we are, at times, repulsed by it.
