Welcome to the South

Hello. Balloon???

Mommy, buy it for me?

- Sure.

- 5 euro.

- Thanks.

- Receipt?

Then no.

It's easy like that.

- Not the pigeons!

- Let him play.

They carry diseases.

Cryptococcosis,

aspergillosis, histoplasmosis...

- Beautiful, isn't it?

- Milan is amazing.

It'll change our lives. Who is it?

It's Mario.

Guess where we are?

What?

I'll call you this evening.

Problems at work?

Optimism, Silvia!

- Yuck!

- Darn it!

- WELCOME TO THE SOUTH -

You can't do anything?

I've been working there for 15 years!

You promised!

You know I was counting on it.

I understand.

It's not fair, though.

Bye.

Shoes!

Naples:
gunfire downtown,

Minister Maroni

in visit to the regional capital.

It's as if an entire village

were erased from the map.

- What is it?

- No transfer to Milan.

What?

Someone disabled got the job.

To live in Milan, a person

has to be handicapped?

They have priority, it's only right.

Wasn't your friend

"Leave it to me" Mario helping you?

I told you Mario's a ciaparatt!

Daddy, what's that mean?

"Rat catcher", good for nothing.

- What are you doing for us?

- It's nobody's fault.

We're not going to Grandma

and Grandpa's in Milan?

You'll go the American School anyway,

your mother will take you,

if it were up to your father...

Then university in Milan,

you'll become a lawyer,

get married and buy a house

in Milan's biggest square!

- Or stay here and marry Pina.

- Who's she?

The daughter of the pizza maker

at "The Reef".

She's not bad looking.

Know how much her father

puts in his account every month?

Fish sticks!

Fish sticks, again.

- What's Pina like?

- A monster.

Are you crazy?

Did they see you come in?

We work at the Post Office,

not the CIA!

- Quiet, I'm running a huge risk!

- What?

I've been busting my ass

in Hicksville for 15 years.

Don't shout or we're screwed!

Help me, or Silvia

won't talk to me anymore.

There's another opening in Milan.

In a month the manager

in Via Valparaiso is retiring.

- I have to get that job.

- Lower your voice!

- There.

- There, what?

Is it him?

- The Director?

- Shut up!

No, I'm not busy.

Alright.

I didn't mean you.

The Director wants to see me.

If we say I'm handicapped?

Are you nuts?

What can I lose?

If they find out, you're dead.

- But they all do it!

- Coming!

Thank you sir, goodbye.

Pardon me.

Get the butter and broth ready,

then celery, carrot and onion.

- GUARDIAN MOMS -

Then the cabbage

and the scraped pork rind.

Kids, the area for couples

is on the other side.

Stop, he's my husband!

We got the transfer to Milan!

Really?

Mr. Manager, sir?

An inspector's looking for you.

- What inspector?

- From the Central Office.

- It's about your transfer.

- Have him wait a moment.

To Milan!

Damn, I should have tried it first.

- Hello, Alberto Colombo.

- Borghetti.

You wanted to see me?

I'd like to check a few details

on your transfer application.

Would you like help?

It's kids,

always slashing the tires.

Please sit down.

What can I do for you?

How long have you been disabled?

It's not easy to talk about.

I was very young.

The memory is blurred.

It's terrible to relive that trauma.

Muscle spasms.

Done.

Please, go on.

There are two transfer applications

in your name.

A recent one for a person

with reduced mobility

and another six months ago

in which the applicant is normal.

Are you the same person?

They're both mine.

I did the one as a healthy person...

because I wanted my application

to be considered like all the others.

It's important to see

in a "normal" person's eyes

something other than pity.

- That's quite honorable.

- Thank you.

But if this compromises

my transfer...

It's a simple but necessary check,

because often

people make false statements

to get a position in Milan.

It happens very often.

It's shameful.

But that's not your case,

you'll be fine in Milan.

Thank you.

I won't bother you any further.

No bother at all. Goodbye.

You're totally out of it.

- We're friends.

- No way!

I'm no friend of a jerk

who plays handicapped.

I did it for Silvia.

- Sit down.

- I'm sorry.

I have some good news and some bad.

- I've been suspended?

- Worse.

- Fired?

- Worse.

What could be worse?

Transferred to the South.

- Like Bologna?

- No, South.

- Don't say Rome!

- No, much further south.

- Sicily?

- No, before that comes Campania.

Near Naples.

That's horrific!

You start on Monday.

I have no lightweight clothes,

or where to sleep.

There's an apartment

for the manager.

- Where are they sending me?

- To Castellabate.

- And the good news?

- That's it.

- The bad?

- You'll be there for two years.

- Minimum.

- Two years in Naples!

It's either the South,

or fired for serious offences!

Two years in Naples, it'll kill me!

Now, go!

- I'm sorry.

- How do I tell Silvia?

You can't do this to me.

I've tried everything.

- Mr. Manager, sir...

- Hello, please come in.

- Hi, dear.

- Hello, sweetheart.

- Hi, Daddy!

- Hi, Chicco.

- Time to eat?

- Yes, it's ready.

The apartment near my folks...

Mom wrote down

the names on the intercom.

Esposito, Coppola, Wang,

Ahmed, Beretta, Capuozzo.

They're almost all

from the deep South, I'd forget it.

They're not sending me

to Milan anymore anyway.

Dinner?

Another handicapped person

rolled over us?

They found me something a lot better.

- Where?

- In Chteau de l'Abb.

Castellabate,

a charming locality near Naples.

- Terrific, isn't it?

- What?

- Terrific, isn't it?

- Before that.

- Charming locality?

- After that.

Near Naples.

Naples?

To get the position in Milan

I passed myself off as disabled.

You passed yourself off...

What a jack...

What a jackass!

I can't believe I married such a...

Jackass! You go down there alone!

Chicco, pajamas, to bed.

Jackass...

Mommy, I'm scared

of Chteau de l'Abb!

- ILLUSTRIOUS ACADEMY OF GORGONZOLA -

I proclaim Mr. Petazzoni illustrious

academician of gorgonzola P.D.O.!

Southern Italy is a very bad deal.

I know because when I was young,

my mother used to

screw a shitkicker.

That's the problem,

they're all shitkickers,

even the animals: cats, dogs,

cows, chickens, calves, all of them!

They only talk shitkick

and you can't understand a word.

When you think you understand,

you know they're f***ing with you,

they're nice to your face,

"hospitality",

but they're all in the Camorra.

- And what heat down there!

- It's hot?

Not in the winter,

but in summer it hits 40C.

So, you think it's cooler indoors,

but it's 50C there!

It's hotter inside than out?

Yeah, those sh*t houses

are made with asbestos.

- What's life like there?

- It's pretty tough.

The ones in the Camorra live well,

all the others are wretches.

Like they say,

"See Naples and then die."

A violent death, either of cholera,

or typhoid,

with all that trash around.

It's disgusting.

But I have a solution for the South:

just one huge parking lot.

Bon apptit.

I'm not hungry anymore.

Temperatures above 35C:

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