It was inconceivable to me that Giovanni would tell Maria a lie
that so easily could be refuted.
Besides, it was clear that he intended to keep it secret forever. But maybe when he picked her up at the
hospital in Naples someone made up the story, just to ensure that the baby
would find a home.
In my mind, evidence that the
story was bogus wouldn’t be hard to find.
A good place to start was Maria’s birth date. January 14, 1964. Where was Sophia at the time?
One of her authorized biographies, “Sophia,” by Stefano Masi,
published in 2001, said she was in Naples, making a movie that won an academy
award in 1965 for Best Foreign Language
Film. In it she played
a pregnant woman.
“The
Neapolitan episode [of Sophia’s 1963 film “Ieri, oggi, e domani”] was, in some
way, prophetic: during the shooting
Sophia realized that she was pregnant for real. After the earlier problems, the
gynecologist had advised her to spend several days in bed and to absolutely
avoid all automobile travel…Accordingly Sophia took the train to go from Naples
to Milan…Unfortunately the major part of the Milanese episode took place in an
automobile, and was filmed in a studio, with…a stage car mounted on a hydraulic
lift which simulated the jolts: it was
worse than being in a real car. The
actress lost the baby in the fourth month of her pregnancy.”
This, I thought, was a refutation of the adoption theory.
I found another authorized biography, “Sophia, Living and Loving,”
a 1979 book by A.E. Hotchner. In
Chapter 14 he goes into detail about her realizing that she was pregnant, and
then losing the baby. He describes Marcello’s
silent reaction to the bad news, and also a visit to the hospital by Sophia’s
sister Maria.
But then, let’s assume there was no miscarriage, as she
claims. She was married to Carlo Ponti
at the time, and Carlo was perfectly aware of his wife’s involvement with
Marcello. She knew bringing the baby to
term would cause enormous problems.
Clearly she could not expect Carlo to help her raise a child fathered by
another man. Her daughter would be a
daily reminder of his being cuckolded.
In the early 60s abortion was most certainly not an option. Giving her daughter up for adoption was her
only available choice.
Both Sophia and her sister Maria were raised by their unwed mother
in Pozzouli, not too far from Naples. Their father was
Riccardo Sciolone, a shiftless small-time con artist who claimed to have movie
connections. Shortly after Sophia made
a lot of money as an international film star she made what her biography calls
“a strange purchase.”
“Her sister Maria suffered a great deal
over the fact that she was an illegitimate child: she would have done anything to bear her natural father’s
surname. Riccardo…fearful of incurring
expenses he couldn’t handle, had no intention of recognizing her as his
daughter. But when he realized that
Sophia was earning well, he proposed a deal to mamma Romilda: for the modest sum of one million liras he
would agree to give his surname to the rising star’s little sister. In 1953 a million was no laughing matter,
but Sophia did not care about the expense.”
It’s greatly
significant that Sophia’s sister is named Maria, because Italian custom demands
children be named after parents, grandparents or other important
relatives. There are no other Marias in
her adoptive family.
Sophia’s most recent movie, released in
2002, entitled “Between Strangers,” is written and directed by Edoardo Ponti,
her son. In it she plays an unhappily
married woman who reveals a dark secret:
That many years ago she gave up a daughter for adoption.
Here are a few
scenes that appear to be relevant to the question of whether Sophia gave up a
daughter she named Maria for adoption:
Sophia as Olivia
crumples up her charcoal drawing, tosses it away, a look of anguish on her
face. Max, the gardener, tries to console her. He takes her to his greenhouse
and offers her a drink of berry liquor.
“Yesterday,” Max
says, “I saw this light in your eyes. And I felt…I felt finally I’m seeing the
real Olivia. That light. That’s how it always should be for you. That’s what
you deserve.”
Olivia looks at
Max coldly.
“You don’t know
what I deserve,” she says. Then she turns, walks away.
* * *
John, Olivia’s
invalid husband, calls her into the room to see what is on TV. It’s a news
interview of Amanda Trent, a famous sculptor, who as a child was sent from one
foster home to another. She’s asked about how it felt not having real parents.
“When you have no
roots,” Amanda replies, “you’re always searching for an identity. And as a
child I found mine through my dreams.”
“Can you tell us
about those dreams?” the interviewer asks.
“Well, I had two
big ones. First, I wanted to be adopted.”
“Which at seven
came true for you.”
“Yes, indeed it
did. I’m very lucky. I have wonderful parents.”
“And the second
dream?”
“I always wanted
to be an artist and live in Florence.”
Olivia turns to
John. “She’s my daughter. The artist Amanda Trent. We were just kids, you know?
When my father found out about it, that was it. He locked me in my room. All I
have of my baby was her first cry. Then my father took her away from my arms.
Gave her up for adoption.”
John angrily says,
“Olivia, this joke is over.”
“It’s not a joke,”
Olivia replies. “It’s my baby.”
* * *
Later, in another meeting
with Max, Olivia says: “You don’t know how I felt holding my daughter in my arms.
If only I didn’t let her go that day.” She pauses. “My father didn’t take my
daughter away from me, Max. I gave her up myself.”
“Olivia, you were
only a child,” Max says.
“I could have held
on tighter. You can’t imagine what a strong and beautiful woman she is now.”
“Where do you
think she got it from? Hmmm? Where do you think she got it from?”
* * *
Now, as a novelist I see
this as extraordinarily fertile ground for speculation. Especially the
admission Olivia makes that she lied earlier that her father was responsible
for giving up her daughter.
In real life
Sophia could have married any number of co-stars her age who fell in love with
her, Cary Grant and Clark Gable among them. Yet she chose Carlo Ponti, a man 20
years her senior.
On one of her fan
websites, Sophia doesn’t hesitate to explain her penchant for older men in
wholly Freudian terms:
"I needed a
father. I needed a husband. I was adopted by Carlo and I married my
father."
[Source: http://www.geocities.com/loren_sophia/bio.html
]
Much less of a
speculative stretch is that Sophia obviously has a great interest in advancing
the writing and directing career of Edoardo. She very likely gave her son input
for the screenplay. And she knew that drawing upon personal experience would be
useful in giving a powerful and convincing performance.
Playing the role
of Olivia also can be seen as an oblique expression of Sophia’s guilt and
longing to reconnect with her daughter.
Here is a URL for
a site that has links to reviews of “Between Strangers.”
http://www.mrqe.com/lookup?between+strangers
Despite extensive media coverage
throughout Europe and America, Sophia has neither confirmed nor denied the
maternity allegation. Her silence may
appear to be calculated, but in my view it’s more likely an involuntary
reaction, much like what happens to people who have Attention Deficit Disorder.
A barrage of
information—or a perceived threat—brings on a sort of mental paralysis most
others don’t experience, and ADD sufferers know in this state they’re
dangerously vulnerable. So they immediately retreat. Maria has always reacted
in this defensive way, so it’s no surprise that Sophia does as well.
An example can be
seen in a recent interview Sophia and her son Edoardo gave to a reporter from
The New York Times.
Mr. Ponti tries to
explain: "It is for me this great, great sensitivity that she has in a
way. I think that what we have to talk about is the hair-trigger emotionality
of this person, of really being so honest with her heart, with her feelings,
which in essence makes a person vulnerable."
He gestures to his
mother, who is sitting with her hands clasped in her lap.
"Look at her
body language now," Mr. Ponti says.
Ms. Loren laughs
nervously.
"Please,"
she says softly, in a way so that one is not certain this should continue.
"What does
that say?" the son presses.
That she is trying
to keep herself from speaking and let her son have the floor?
"I think she
is bracing herself, because we talk about her and it makes her shy in a certain
way," Mr. Ponti says.
* * *
“…shy in a certain
way…” is another way of describing paralysis, no?
Sophia’s hands are
clasped in her lap. She says nothing. It’s clearly passive, defensive behavior.
Her vulnerability is touching.
“Look at her body
language now,” Edoardo says, as if she were not a person but an object.
Are these the
words of a loving, adoring son?
* * *
All this, of course, more
interesting to a novelist than it is to a journalist. The University of
Chicago’s Harold Bloom says, "The representation of human character and
personality remain always the supreme literary value."
In Vittoria’s
Island I’m painting a portrait of Sophia, and I’m trying hard to interpret what
lies beneath the surface of her stardom. It’s not unreasonable to seek clues to
the meaning and motives of Sophia’s behavior by examining Maria’s. They
obviously look alike, so perhaps they act alike as well.
Early on my
initial conclusions about Maria’s intentions turned out to be wrong because I
fell into the fallacy of shared assumptions. It’s a cultural thing, mostly.
She’s wholly Italian, even though she’s been in America for 29 years.
When I say I’ll do
something, I feel obliged to do it. When Maria makes a promise very often she’s
merely telling me what I want to hear—an Italian specialty. Her motive is not
to deceive, but rather to meet my expectations, at least for the time being.
Which is why after a great number of disappointments I still regard her as the
most guileless woman I’ve ever known.
Critics see this
as an unsupported rationalization. Why should Maria get a pass for what’s
clearly outrageous and thoughtless behavior? Everyone ought to be fully
accountable for what they do, don’t you think?
But then, they don’t know her as I do.
* * *
Photos of Maria show an unmistakable resemblance to those taken of Sophia and Marcello in the 60s. Chiara
Mastroianni, daughter of Marcello and Catherine Denueve, also looks like Maria.
* * *
And finally, this:
“I just spoke to a man who runs a spa
in Casamicciola,” one of my friends recently said. “I told him that I’d heard that Sophia Loren had given up a baby
for adoption in the early 60s.”
“And?”
“The old man said, ‘Yes, of course, it’s common knowledge on
the island that she gave up a daughter.
But we do not speak openly about it out of respect for La Prima Donna.’”
“Common knowledge?”
“Absolutely. The old man said he regularly goes out in his dinghy to Sophia’s
yacht and brings her to a hot thermal spring near his spa, where she takes her
cure in the nude. ‘This woman may be in
her 60s, but…mamma mia! She’s still got
it!”
* * *