I don't go to the theater much because it costs a lot, but when I do go it's a beautiful thing. I don't have much free time, and when I'm in the mood I go in because it helps me learn how to carry myself on stage. It was a very pleasant evening. I could see this wasn't meant to be funny, and there was silence and seriousness—you could hear a pin drop. That suits my nature and that's how I like it. The Teatro Quirino has seats on every floor. My mother and I sat in the upper section, center. I've seen other actresses at that same theater—Pandolfi and Caprioglio. There was a large audience. Paola Pisenti and I get along well in silence, though I don't like it when she's upset in the morning. In the evenings she watches soap operas. I've seen those actors in various episodes—endless ones.
The story of this play was sad and compelling. They captured the world of Caltanissetta and the morality of those troubled times. I'm sorry so few young people go to the theater anymore. They should go much more often. I don't care about getting an autograph. If I have the chance to be near them, that's something wonderful that rarely happens—and only with the actor's permission, of course, because they have their privacy and their own moral code. Being an actor isn't a game. There's training behind it, a whole career path, and we're the ones who support them by applauding their work. Someone who does serious theater isn't like a comedian joking around—it's a different kind of importance. And doing screen tests to land a role, getting accepted—that's a real satisfaction. And having people who love what you're trying to say and share with them, that matters. Walking back through Rome afterward, I noticed how run-down things are. I can't clean the streets by myself, but with help it would be better. The hidden side streets are filthy, and Rome should be cleaning its streets much more often.