A banal misspelling for Bret becomes a
valid reason for derision and insult; as a street predator he hides
behind virtual bushes to jump out and hit with his hopeless
affirmations and arrogant presumptions.
It would be a far better use of time
for Bret to have revised his own translation into the language of
Dante and Manzoni, which he claims to know so well. I laughed loudly
as I read the title of his book, “Rudolph Valentino: L'uomo Ei Suoi
Uomini”. Even his title contains two delusional and glaring mistakes.
The subsequent reading of his book's
blurb, written in a way even an illiterate could not conceive, proves
that the translation was done without any knowledge of Italian
grammar and of the semantic values of the words used. Above all, it
reads as if it was written under the influence of hallucinogenic
potions and with the contribution of the worst possible automatic
translator and obviously without even the slightest revision by a
native speaker of the language.
I am truly amazed that Tracy Ryan
Terhune continues to offer a stage for Bret's exploits, because in
this way, in addition to being an accomplice aware of judicial
ordinances, he proves to be equally as much of a mean-spirited
nit-picker. And I do not understand how such a petty character like
that can claim the right to pontificate authoritatively before the
earthy remains of Rudolph Valentino and with the approval of the
actor's family who, in this way, show remarkably little respect for
the one whose reflected light grants them such undeserved attention.
How low you have all fallen as you
create your own sad fate.
With all my sympathies,
Renato Floris
