Okay, pull up a chair, maybe grab something that doesn't make you nervous (unlike coffee for our stressed-out protagonists), and let's talk about a curious little gem from the Italian video shelves of 1982: No Thanks, Coffee Makes Me Nervous (original title: No grazie, il caffè mi rende nervoso). What strikes you first, perhaps, is the title itself – quirky, specific, hinting at an anxiety that feels both mundane and strangely profound within the film's offbeat world. It perfectly sets the stage for a movie that gleefully mashes together broad Neapolitan comedy with the shadowy suspense of a giallo thriller, a combination as potentially jarring, yet intriguing, as caffeine jitters during a murder investigation.
Naples Noir... With Laughs?
The premise unfolds against the backdrop of the first "Festival della Nuova Napoli," a fictional celebration meant to showcase Naples' modern cultural face. But a shadowy killer starts bumping off the festival's performers, leaving behind cryptic messages and a single clue: the victims are dispatched shortly after drinking coffee offered by the murderer. Enter our unlikely heroes: Michele Giuffrida (Lello Arena), a neurotic, perpetually flustered journalist covering the festival, and Funiculì (Massimo Troisi), a laconic, world-weary E.T.-lookalike figurine salesman who stumbles into the investigation. Together with a determined reporter, Lisa (Maddalena Crippa), they try to unmask the killer before the entire festival lineup meets a darkly caffeinated end.
This film marked the directorial debut for Lodovico Gasparini, but the real engine driving this comedic mystery is the dynamic duo of Arena and Troisi. Fresh off their immense success with the cabaret trio La Smorfia, they brought their established personas to the big screen. Arena is pure manic energy, a whirlwind of physical comedy and escalating panic, embodying the film's more overt comedic beats. His Giuffrida is a man perpetually overwhelmed, his anxieties almost a character unto themselves. It’s a performance that feels intensely rooted in the Italian comic tradition, broad yet somehow relatable in its sheer franticness.
The Melancholy Clown and the Manic Reporter
Contrast this with the inimitable Massimo Troisi. Even here, early in his tragically short film career (which would later give us the poignant masterpiece Il Postino in 1994), his unique screen presence is undeniable. His Funiculì is the deadpan soul of the film, observing the chaos with a kind of resigned amusement. Troisi’s comedy wasn't about gags; it was about hesitant gestures, mumbled observations, and a deep-seated melancholy that somehow made everything funnier, more human. Watching him navigate the absurdity of a giallo plot while trying to sell his little alien figures is a joy. The chemistry between Arena’s high-strung energy and Troisi’s low-key charm creates a comedic friction that powers much of the film. It's fascinating to note that Troisi also co-wrote the screenplay, alongside Arena, Gasparini, and Decio Silla, injecting his signature observational wit into the proceedings.
A Giallo Through a Funhouse Mirror
The film playfully engages with the tropes of the giallo genre, popularized by directors like Dario Argento and Mario Bava. We get the black-gloved killer, the subjective POV shots, the slightly lurid murder set pieces – but it's all filtered through a comedic lens. The suspense is often undercut by absurdity, the terror diffused by laughter. Is it a sharp satire? Perhaps not razor-sharp, but it’s certainly an affectionate send-up. It understands the feel of a giallo – the paranoia, the stylish visuals (albeit on a likely modest budget typical of Italian genre filmmaking of the era), the convoluted mystery – but uses them as a playground for its comedic stars. Filming on location in Naples adds a layer of authenticity; the city itself feels like a character, its vibrant energy a counterpoint to the shadowy killings.
I remember finding a copy of this on a slightly worn-out VHS tape, probably dubbed, and the experience felt wonderfully strange. Here was this deeply Neapolitan story, filled with local references and rhythms, playing out like a cross between a classic Italian comedy and a slightly goofy horror flick. It didn't quite fit any neat category, which was precisely its charm. While perhaps not achieving the box office heights in Italy of some of Troisi's later solo vehicles, it remains a beloved cult item, particularly for those who appreciate the specific brand of comedy he and Arena pioneered.
That Lingering Taste
No Thanks, Coffee Makes Me Nervous isn't a cinematic landmark, perhaps. Its pacing can feel a little uneven, and the blend of genres might not satisfy purists of either comedy or giallo. The humour, deeply rooted in Neapolitan culture, might occasionally feel broad or specific to its time and place. Yet, there's an undeniable warmth and charm here, largely thanks to its leads. Troisi’s performance, even in this lighter context, hints at the depth and sensitivity that would define his later work. It’s a film that captures a specific moment in Italian popular culture, showcasing two unique talents flexing their comedic muscles within an unusual framework.
Rating: 6.5 / 10
Justification: The film earns points for its unique genre blending, the infectious energy of Lello Arena, and the magnetic, understated brilliance of Massimo Troisi. The Neapolitan atmosphere and affectionate giallo parody add to its quirky charm. However, the pacing isn't always consistent, and some of the humour might feel dated or culturally specific, preventing it from reaching classic status for a broader audience. It's a fun, slightly eccentric ride, especially for fans of the actors or Italian cinema oddities.
Final Thought: Like a strange brew itself, No Thanks, Coffee Makes Me Nervous leaves a distinct aftertaste – a blend of laughter, mild suspense, and the bittersweet recognition of Troisi's singular talent, reminding us just how much charisma could be packed onto one grainy VHS tape. What more could a trip to VHS Heaven ask for?