Banging and suffering: that is the life of Rocco Siffredi (series).

In short, I’m interested in nothing less than the life of a man who fucks all day long. But what did I do all day yesterday?

I’ve been watching Rocco Siffredi fuck all day. Actually Alessandro Borghi, who plays the porn star Rocco Siffredi in the Italian Netflix series ‘Supersex’.

And that’s why you should read what someone who watched him fuck all day wrote about it.

The good thing about it, though, is that Rocco doesn’t just fuck. He talks too. He says things like, “Life is porn.” And then he suffers.

In many beautiful photos. The whole thing isn’t that bad.

‘Supersex’ is the story of a man who fails to sublimate his Eros, the primal force of all life that is supreme within him. He doesn’t even try.

Because Rocco is desire itself incarnate, he is super sex, the hero from the filthy magazine of the same name, which fate blows towards him at the age of eight. Sex as a superpower. This is Francesca Manieri’s very poetic script version of how Rocco came to his art of living. The more mundane one is: it was his sex addiction.

Either way, he is destined to become a porn star.

With the biggest cock in the world – a whopping 24 cm! – Anyway.

But it has to get that big first. Together with the rest of Rocco. They grow up together in the small Italian coastal town of Ortona, in a social apartment with four brothers, one of whom, Tommaso, is only half, rumor has it, the son of a whore who left him behind.

But to little Rocco he is God. He has everything, beauty, strength, but above all he has Lucia with the long legs under the airy summer skirt. Rocco emulates him, pursuing him when he meets her in the evening for an appointment. He does not yet understand what he sees, he only suspects it, his super strength is still deep in his sleep, it is too early for the outburst, which only comes at the moment of pain.

When his brother has a seizure and can’t get up. 12-year-old Claudio, who walked fearfully through his short life wearing a red and white helmet after being hit in the head by the Roma boys next door. He wasn’t the same after that.

But to his mother Carmela, that was exactly why he was a saint. One without language, the most delicate and vulnerable among her sons, whom she could shower and wash with her love like a baby that never grows up. Furthermore, she mainly washed the laundry, hung it up with a smile and never looked at Rocco.

In the end, it’s always the mothers that men in general and “Supersex” in particular never get over. Tommaso carries Carmela’s insults with him throughout his life as trophies that he then uses to attack other women. He marries Lucia against his family’s wishes, right after she shows her breasts to the postman. He takes her to Paris – and sends her on a hunting trip there. “If she wants to fuck, she should do it there,” he will say later, and take the money from her every night.

Tommaso will lose himself and live in an unbearable way, become a criminal and murderer, and yet always remain the victim, the victim of his love for his fornicating wife Lucia, whom he “loved like a knight” with those eyes that are constantly moist goods. with tears, which always became smaller and sadder until they closed completely after they grew tired of looking at their own failures at all levels of human life.

So while Tommaso drowns himself in the sea of ​​booze of his self-imposed suffering, Rocco’s pain is much more fruitful. That makes him successful. In general he seems to rock restlessly back and forth in a triangle of pain, death and sex, he only really comes alive during sex, but then dies a little during orgasm, and at some point this leads to him turns to sex At his mother’s funeral, in front of her newly dug grave, he gets a blowjob from another mother figure. “A man without a mother is no longer a son,” she says and kneels in front of him.

You don’t always get hit by sledgehammer Freud. But in the end, the psychogram of the two men is drawn very simply. Two people rejected by their mothers, one ends up as a violent drunk, the other is gentle and kind by nature, takes refuge in the comforting arms of countless women, turns his addiction into a profession, learns to climax in 10 seconds to reach and fucks herself Millions of upward thrusts, only a few of which are so hard that the girls on set complain. “That’s just how I fuck!” – is Rocco’s answer to that.

And so with his trademark, that celebrated, unaffected roughness, that indomitable animality, with death lurking in his ejaculate that he bestows on each of his partners, all criticism also dies.

Only once, in a remote spot on a nameless island, does a nameless woman scream in his face that he fucked her to death. They live together in a house for weeks and explore their bodies like landscapes, feeding on cold rice, but especially with each other. Until she becomes pregnant and reality destroys the idyll of that mine cave. He wants to go back to work, she says he just wants to fuck again. She says:

“You put so much effort into it when I told you I was pregnant. What were you planning to do? Did you want to kill our child? Again and again? You are a murderer […] You have no idea what feelings are. You push in, empty yourself and leave. That’s all you can do. You only know how to destroy those who love you with your cock.”

And he goes. Back to his life, which is porn and in which his search for identity seems to have exhausted itself.

Until, and then suddenly everything happens very quickly, Rocco finally falls in love. First in a photo, then in the woman in it: Rosa Caracciolo. They make a movie together, she cries afterwards, he tells her to piss in his face, she laughs, he apologizes, holds her hand and fucks. Rocco has been tamed.

He learns to make love and his deadly ejaculate ends up in a cup with his name on it, ready to create new life.

Now he knows that this is life and the rest is porn.

Is this Rocco Siffredi the real Rocco Siffredi?
What is real? At least it’s not the name, he was born Rocco Tano. The truth is always a matter of perspective. Francesca Manieri’s is ultimately kind, forgiving and psychoanalytically explanatory.

And Rocco Siffredi himself likes it because he sees himself in it 98 percent of the time.

Perhaps we can simply answer this difficult question with Rocco’s quote, which contains at least a fairly general truth: