My Brilliant Friend Recap: Proving Everyone Wrong

As someone who has delved into the captivating world of Elena Ferrante and her masterful Neapolitan Novels, I find myself deeply moved by the profound exploration of human emotions that these stories embody. The characters’ experiences, particularly Lenù and Nino’s tumultuous journey, resonate powerfully with my own life experiences.


To refresh myself before summarizing this season of “My Brilliant Friend,” I re-read “The Story of the Lost Child.” Although I recalled significant events such as the earthquake, I had forgotten just how startling Nino’s infidelity was, given his history of unfaithfulness. When I reached that section in the book, I let out a surprised gasp on the subway – the hand-over-mouth, murmuring under my breath, nearly missing my stop kind. Given my dissatisfaction with the show’s earthquake portrayal, I was eager to see how Bispuri and her team would handle Nino’s abhorrent actions. I appreciated that they shared a similar intensity as last week’s excitement over Immacolata’s hospital admission. The continuity is noteworthy in that Lenù’s doubts preceding that afternoon turn out to be accurate, if not even more severe than she had imagined. Using the same visual style to link the events highlights the plot’s driving mechanism, which persists regardless of how much Lenù may want to look away.

Previously, Lenù was starting to acknowledge that her situation with Nino might be more complex than she initially believed, yet the responsibilities of her life make it challenging for her to re-evaluate her situation. She has been devoting significant time to Immacolata, whose health has deteriorated significantly, leading to final thoughts, discussions, and requests – or perhaps demands. Regarding her sons, she insists they accept the job that Lila discovered in Baiano. If they genuinely care for her, they’ll comply with this request and allow her to pass away peacefully. As for Marcello, she requires him to marry Elisa, her daughter. Lenù struggles to comprehend why her mother would release her brothers from the Solaras’ control and let Elisa seek refuge there, but Immacolata seems to possess some higher understanding, as if she has uncovered a divine plan and knows how everything will unfold. Despite their differences, there is a surprising tenderness and happiness between Lenù and her mother, as they reconnect. Dede and Elsa visit, causing Lenù to ponder the swiftness and relentless nature of time.

As I watched Lenù cradle Imma on a chair beside her, Immacolata took her final breaths and passed away peacefully. It was a melancholic moment, yet there was a glimmer of hope in the healing bond between mother and daughter before she left us. The act of forgiveness showed that all it takes is the will to do so for two people to mend their relationship. Pietro and Nino were among those who attended Immacolata’s funeral, as well as the Solaras, and the neighborhood’s familiar faces filled the room. Among them was Fernando Cerullo, Lila’s father, whose presence cast a somber tone over the gathering. He offered his condolences to Lenù, saying, “This is who we are – people of this neighborhood, born and dying. We can’t pretend to be something greater,” reminding me that even though death is inevitable, it’s disheartening to believe that one cannot rise above their fate.

From a cinema enthusiast’s perspective, I’d like to offer an alternate, perhaps more compassionate take on Fernando’s blunt statement: People, it seems, rarely undergo dramatic transformations. If Immacolata showed leniency in her final illness, she merely saved Lenù from the remaining bits of her anger. Lenù herself is puzzled by the unyielding nature of life with Nino, yet this doesn’t shake her deep-rooted trust in him, a faith nurtured since childhood and intrinsically woven into her identity. Lila, on the other hand, remains unyielding. While Lenù grapples with the end of her mother’s life, Lila welcomes new one: she gives birth during Lenù’s hospital stay, right before Immacolata’s passing. Mirroring Lenù’s own actions a few weeks prior, she leaves the newborn in the cradle and asks the neighbor to look after her. It’s Lila who is usually seen as strong, but when facing pregnancy, she becomes vulnerable. She hails down passersby for rides, but Enzo happens to arrive just in time to take her to the hospital. On the delivery table, she appears possessed: “Cut open my belly, bitch!” she snaps at the nurses. This seems to corroborate Gigliola’s claim of weeks past, suggesting she was reluctant for the baby to be born. Yet, finally, little Tina arrives: a girl, an unexpected surprise to everyone.

Even after the birth, Lila can’t find the beauty in delivering: it’s awful every time, and she swears she’ll never do it again. Lenù, for whom the creation of life is more natural, thinks her friend exaggerates. She wonders if Lila realized that she had given her daughter the same name as Lenù’s doll, the one that had been so instrumental in the beginning of their friendship. Lila marvels at the coincidence but insists it’s just that. The presence of the babies becomes a new pathway into a deeper, more mature intimacy between the two women that nevertheless retains the fierce loyalty of adolescence. When, in the clinic’s hallways, the gynecologist — Nino’s friend — describes Lila’s labor as “a fight against nature, a battle between mother and child,” Lenù becomes sharp: don’t talk about my friend that way. (It truly is inappropriate how comfortable this doctor is discussing Lila’s medical situation with another patient.)

Time moves on, as evidenced by the passage of a year since Immacolata’s demise and the births of Imma and Tina. This is also clear from Lenù’s new hairstyle, which she finds quite appealing. Remarkably, her hip pain intensifies, and she now walks with a slight limp, as if Immacolata’s spirit has taken up residence in her body. During a dinner party they host for one of Lenù’s publishers, we observe Lenù hobbling around in a midnight blue sequined dress. Meanwhile, Nino schmoozes with the editor, Enrico, pushing his collection of essays on the robotization of Fiat and its impact on capitalism. He is adamant about reform, believing the system should be transformed from within, implying that he himself should ascend in power. Although Enrico’s wife feigns interest, he finds Nino’s boisterousness and unabashed ambition unsettling. Eventually, he informs Nino that it is not an opportune time for essays and turns to Lenù instead, asking if he can schedule her book for fall publication.

Lenù stumbles, finding the upcoming autumn arrival premature; she’s not prepared yet. The cunning Nino intrudes, boasting about his swift writing skills; if Enrico requested a book by October, he claims he could deliver it. Lenù appears queasy, which I believe is a significant sign of her growing disenchantment with Nino. Previously, she admired his debating talent and his ability to persuade others of his intelligence, but now his arrogance seems crass and selfish. She’s moved far from being infatuated by a man who faces boos at conferences. Enrico advises her that readership must be cultivated: if she doesn’t publish more frequently, people will soon forget about her presence. Eventually, she consents to meet his fall deadline. They celebrate with a toast to the positive news. Having obtained what he desired, Enrico and his wife depart, leaving Lenù to ponder how on earth she will complete a manuscript for publication in such a short span of time.

Lenú suspects Adele is orchestrating Enrico’s ambush from behind the scenes at the publishing house, attempting to corner Lenù. She realizes it will be challenging for Lenù to find time to write, as she must care for Dede and Elsa, tend an infant, and manage their household. Nino, known for his big talk, won’t offer assistance, while Pietro is more involved than ever but still resides in Florence, with Dede and Elsa based in Naples. Overwhelmed, Lenú vents this frustration to Nino. In truth, she feels disgusted with her circumstances. She makes countless sacrifices for him, yet he never seems to struggle with time management – a luxury she does not share, and he remains entangled with Eleonora. He argues that hiring Silvana, the housekeeper, is meant to free Lenù for writing, but women know domestic work goes beyond cleaning and cooking. Silvana doesn’t help the girls with their homework. Dede and Elsa listen to the argument from their bedroom door, as it reaches an impasse.

Enrico had questioned if she desired to disprove everyone, particularly Adele. However, her argument with Nino inspires her. She feels compelled to vindicate her former mother-in-law and honor her late mother’s memory: the self-discipline that has guided her life will now aid her in writing a novel, and a good one, within a few months. The intense focus she developed as a child had been misdirected towards her relationship with Nino, but it’s time for her to regain control. Slowly, she recognizes that the drama of her life with him is insufficient, so she starts to draw back the curtains. When Nino praises Enrico’s wife, she ponders if he believes there are foolish women. What purpose does it serve, this false notion that women are always superior to men? Certainly, it doesn’t contribute to raising children or managing a household. It’s simply another way of dehumanizing women, turning them into objects of admiration. Has he ever encountered a woman, with flesh and blood? Has he ever come across a real bitch? With a serious expression, Nino confirms: Lila is one. This moment provides a rare touch of humor in the play; indeed, Lila can be quite the bitch.

One morning, Lenù hands Imma over to Silvana, as she takes Dede and Elsa to school while Nino sleeps. On her return journey, instead of stopping at the store for diapers, she ponders the gap between the boy she adored in her teenage years and his current self. She muses that the decisive rift between these two characters was caused by Lila’s influence on Nino. Lenù doesn’t explain the details, but I infer that this means Nino experienced a different world when with Lila, one where he wasn’t the center, and that world disintegrated after they separated. Now, Nino is always vigilant about avoiding such a situation again. In an unexpected manner, Nino and Lenù have had similar experiences of adolescent love: the letdown from it was so profound that it echoed through their adult lives, altering how they perceived themselves and each other.

In Elena Ferrante’s sweeping narrative, even the smallest desires have profound consequences that echo throughout the story. It delves into melodrama as uncontrolled emotions are the dominant force shaping the characters’ lives, leading them to various predicaments, either saving or dooming them. At the onset of the tale, Alfonso confides in Lenù about his internal battle with his sexual identity, describing it as an intangible power within him that required self-control and resolution. Lila was instrumental in teaching him this skill, offering more than mere aesthetic guidance; she empowered him. Alfonso wasn’t only required to acknowledge his truth – he had known since childhood that he was different – but to live authentically, following the lead of his unruly feelings. Ferrante masterfully portrays the immense impact of human relationships on a person’s emotional landscape, making it feel all too real; I can recall instances where I felt my world crumble when faced with accepting an unwelcome truth about someone I cared for deeply.

In Ferrante’s world, Nino’s significant impact on Lenù’s life becomes comprehensible only when we acknowledge the potent influence of a deep-seated desire; it’s a similar logic that explains Lila’s grandeur. The moment Bispuri portrays Lenù entering her home to find Imma alone in her cot is eerily quiet, and it’s not until she encounters Nino having intimate moments with Silvana in the bathroom that we sense the intensity mirroring Ferrante’s prose. Lenù catches Nino’s gaze through the door, but before he can speak, she swiftly shuts the door, grabs Imma, and flees the scene. Forgetting to bring a diaper for Imma, Lenù only realizes her daughter is half-naked when Imma soils her jeans in the car. Lenù breaks down, grappling with reconciling the man Nino has become with the boy she once loved. What links the childhood sweetheart to the adolescent who captivated Lila in Ischia and the adult resembling, disturbingly, his father, a rapist? This sequence showcases Lenù’s difficult time in Ischia interspersed with her efforts to maintain normalcy: picking up Dede and Elsa from school and ensuring someone is holding onto Imma in the car. I found the incorporation of images from past seasons particularly effective — they underscore the merits of adapting this story into a television series. If these scenes had been condensed into a movie’s brief runtime, the flashbacks would have felt contrived, but here, with ample time to develop, they feel like history.

Accompanied by her three daughters, Lenù seeks refuge at Lila’s place. It transpires that Nino had previously contacted Lila, imploring her to persuade Lenù to dismiss the matter. “This is how we exist today,” he contended irrationally, and Lila terminated the call. Overwhelmed, Lenù inquires of Lila, “What should I do?” The only course of action is clear: she must leave him. Aware that disclosing this truth might be the key to helping Lenù move on permanently from Nino, Lila eventually reveals what she’d hidden for a long time – the subtle hints and sidelong remarks that Lenù had been anxious about, whose significance vanished when the earthquake occurred. Prior to his relationship with Lenù, Nino persistently chased Lila – and continued doing so even after. Regrettably, Lenù’s apprehensions regarding the hospital were confirmed: Nino admitted to Lila that he was only with Lenù to be near her. The babies cry out loudly. Lenù cups her hands over her ears. Her expression suggests that the ground beneath her has just given way.

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2024-10-15 06:54