This movie, for which the English title should be My Tennis Coach and it’s weird that it isn’t, is an affable Italian road movie about the coming of age of a wannabe tennis player. The entire thing is built around the nuclear-level charm of Pierfrancesco Favino (who previously worked with the director Andrea Di Stefano on the much more successful The Last Night of Amore), and in fairness that gets you pretty far. Unfortunately the plodding plot and the choice to cut the action short right as things get interesting means it’s a double bagel.
It’s the early 80s and Felice Milella (Tiziano Menichelli) has been instructed into decent tennis-playing shape by his phone engineer dad (Giovanni Ludeno) who has learned the basics from books. The other kids think Felice is nothing but a baseliner, and he’s not at all an imaginative player, but his hard work and determination make him good enough to rank in a national tournament. The family empty their savings and hire a coach whose ad they find in a magazine: Raul Gatti (Mr. Favino), who used to be a big star but has had a low profile for a while. Felice dutifully packs his bags and his father’s instruction manuals and the boy and the coach get on the road, going from tennis club to club around various parts of Italy to see if Felice has what it takes to level up.
Director Di Stefano, who cowrote the script with Ludovica Rampoldi and who in a fun little disclaimer at the start makes it clear he has personal experience of youth tennis, sadly never quite makes up his mind what his movie is about. Gatti is on the run from some mistakes in his past but Felice is still too immature to figure this out for himself. Gatti is also not remotely interested in proper coaching, instead diligently following Mr. Milella’s routine and waiting for the kid to use his initiative. But Gatti’s not a bad guy, even when he’s having sex all afternoon with a nice lady tennis coach or teasing Felice about his terror of girls. The kid is fine, even if his parents would be unhappy to learn about all the shenanigans. But it takes so long for the stakes to be raised that all momentum and interest has been lost even before the surprisingly rushed ending. If the point had been Gatti using the trip with Felice as a distraction from his demons, the demons should have come out to play much sooner. If the point was Felice learning that emotions are very valuable tools in the sport of tennis, then there should have been more coaching and more direct use of the sport as metaphor. As it is, this is a pleasant little road trip full of accurate 80s vibes (and haircuts), but not much more.
This is a shame, because young Mr. Menichelli is a winning presence, and not overshadowed by the purring presence of Mr. Favino. His ability to show a thought process and react with attractive unpredictability is the main reason to see this movie. But sorry to say when it’s done you won’t be shouting “Bravo!”
My Tennis Maestro (Il Maestro) recently played at the Venice Film Festival.
Learn more about the film at the Venice site for the title.
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