For him, Rino Barillari, ‘war is war’. Always. Even at almost 80 years old (he is 79). He is simply ‘The King’: the king of paparazzi. The man who ‘snaps’ before thinking. Even today, as yesterday and as tomorrow, he was hunting for a ‘scoop’, a character to immortalize in a restaurant, walking through the chicest streets of the city, at the exit of a night club or why not, a church. And this time Gerard Depardieu thought (wrongly) to attack him. Rino Barillari attacked by Depardieu in via Veneto, The King of paparazzi in the hospital. Who is Rino Barillari? He has eyes faster than a pinball, impeccable look, always with a lit cigarette, a smile, respect for those who work but also the desire to never stop. That’s who The King is. That boy who was 16 years old when he began delivering photographs taken at the Trevi Fountain and then developed by hand in hotels, and that which has accompanied him all these years and has led him to immortalize the most important characters of the last half-century from popes, to presidents of the Republic, from Italian and foreign prime ministers to actors like Sylvester Stallone, Sharon Stone, Liz Taylor, Alberto Sordi, Marcello Mastroianni, Frank Sinatra (just to name a few). Because, as Achille Bonito Oliva wrote, ‘God Forgives, Barillari Doesn’t’. The assaults. He has taken many beatings: there are almost two hundred times he has ended up in the emergency room (once with the undersigned) after the assault of those who were not exactly happy to be photographed. And then the shootouts with robbers and terrorists during the years of lead: ‘They never caught me – he remembered when he turned 70 – However, the hooligans stabbed me. From that day I hated football.’ With Frank Sinatra. How to forget the epic argument with Frank Sinatra and his gorillas, which only the obstacle of the tables of the Café de Paris avoided degenerating into a violent brawl? And what about the famous slap from Aldrin, the astronaut jealous of his ‘lunar’ privacy? He did not even stop in front of the irascible Mickey Rourke (blasted by the flash in a well-known disco) or the ice-cold water from the champagne bucket thrown at him by Claudia Schiffer’s hairdresser photographed at the Dal Bolognese restaurant. A war bulletin that today counts 82 smashed cameras, 11 broken ribs, a femur shattered by a thug who was beating his girlfriend in Piazza Navona. Piazza Navona. Yes, Piazza Navona. This is his headquarters. A little house that is a gem. Where Barillari has everything he needs: cameras, lenses, cigarettes, and a series of ties all already knotted: ‘I know it’s crazy – he always repeats – that every time I could tie it in twenty seconds, the knot. But twenty seconds here, twenty seconds there, and goodbye, emotion, you lose the service. Better to arrive first, right?’ And so, since he works at the Messaggero, he has collected serious scoops. Especially at night. Because for Rino, Roman nights have no secrets. His way of speaking is unmistakable: a mix of Calabrese, English, and Roman. ‘Privacy? – he jokes – for me, it means give it a try.’ So try again. Always try again, great King. And what does he say? ‘Hey, I always feel like a kid the important thing is to exist because war is war.’
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