At the foot of the Lombardy Pre-Alps, where glacial lakes shape a landscape that seems suspended between rural memory and Alpine imagination, the story and vision of Giorgio Martignoni take shape. His career does not follow a linear path, but rather an accumulation of experiences deeply rooted in the land: from animal husbandry to cheese-making, from working with farmers to writing scripts for Disney. An unconventional journey which, nevertheless, reveals an essential coherence: the need to tell the story of the rural world from within, with authenticity and sensitivity.
Based in the Piedmontese Apennines, far from major urban centres and the media spotlight, Martignoni has built a creative universe where the mountains are not merely a backdrop, but a living entity. As an author, screenwriter, educator and director of the Voci dei Boschi Film Festival, his work occupies a unique intersection between popular culture, contemporary storytelling and environmental activism. It is in this hybrid territory that ‘Sembra Yeti’ is born, a character who embodies much more than a fictional figure: he is the voice – at once naive and profoundly lucid – of a nature that observes humankind with detachment, irony and a certain tenderness.
Far removed from institutional discourse or stereotypical narratives about the mountains, Giorgio Martignoni offers a different perspective: one that is more intimate, more sensory, and above all, more human. His approach breaks with the classic imagery of Alpine tourism to delve into a dimension where humour, childhood and collective memory become tools for cultural transmission. At a time when the snow industry is seeking to redefine its narrative in the face of climate and social challenges, his voice emerges as particularly relevant.
This interview is not merely a journey through his work, but an invitation to rethink our relationship with the mountains: less as consumers of the landscape and more as part of an emotional, cultural and narrative ecosystem that still has much to tell.
Before we begin the interview, Giorgio reminds us that the Voci dei Boschi Film Festival, a festival of films, short films and documentaries on rural and environmental themes, now in its 6th year, will take place in Costa Vescovato (AL) from 30 July to 2 August.
How did the character ‘Sembra Yeti’ come about, and what does it represent in your view of the mountains?
During a comic-drawing workshop with the children at a ‘forest nursery’, some of them surprised me by claiming that only adults don’t believe in the Yeti (apart from Reinhold Messner, of course).
The Abominable Snowman is a recurring character in comics and animated films (Monsters, Inc., Hotel Transylvania, The Little Yeti) and, in children’s imaginations, there is nothing abominable about him; on the contrary, he is kind, sensitive and marvels at every manifestation of nature. Like wild animals, he is wary of human beings who, often in the name of progress, cause a great deal of trouble. Who wouldn’t be?
For me, the Yeti is the embodiment of homo selvaticus, a myth found in many popular cultures, the archetype of the primitive man who experiences nature as an integral part of himself, in an intimate and all-encompassing way. A part of our being remains like this, and we must do everything we can to preserve it and listen to it. I imagine him as a little Yeti who is eager to play with us. My Yeti appears whenever I look at a snowy landscape. He’s a fantastic chap and, whenever I can, I follow his advice (though I’m not quite ready to run naked through the snow yet!). He has such a pure and profound vision of the mountains and the environment that he has convinced me to share his ideas with others…
Why have you chosen humour as a tool for addressing environmental and rural issues?
Humour is a powerful tool for overcoming barriers built on mistrust and socio-cultural differences. It is a rare form of narrative intelligence, difficult to master, and one that requires daily practice by nurturing our inner child and not taking ourselves too seriously.
In my work as an author, I’m aware that a text works when I manage to make the reader smile, whereas sometimes sophisticated vocabulary or overly refined syntax don’t strike quite the same chord. I’m lucky enough to be a very friendly sort of person, and so it comes quite naturally to me to use this style of communication, even when I’m tackling dramatic subjects.
When discussing the environment and rural issues, for example, people often fall into the trap of scaremongering, but this risks alienating the reader or viewer, thereby undermining the message’s effectiveness and purpose.
But what can humour offer that traditional communication about the mountains fails to convey?
Traditional communication—and institutional communication in particular—gives me the impression that it is produced by older people (not necessarily in terms of age!) and aimed at other older people. It is a rather unempathetic form of language. Empathy, in the sense of sharing emotions, is really in short supply, and humour can be a powerful tool in that regard.
‘Rejuvenating’ language by avoiding clichés and stock phrases is the first step; but I admit it’s very difficult. I myself have tried to stop using phrases like ‘this is a fairytale landscape’ or ‘the fresh air of the Alpine valleys’, but every now and then I slip up and have to urgently seek the help of my children (aged 8 and 11), who very patiently try to steer me away from that.
I believe we must tackle stereotypes by poking fun at them and breaking with convention. The landscape may be like something out of a fairy tale, but if I’m any good, I have to draw you into the story without you even realising it. The air may be fresh, but if I’m any good, I have to make you smell the scent of the grass, the fragrance of the larch trees, and appreciate the faint whiff of manure.
How have your experiences in mountain refuges influenced your creative process?
Mountain huts have always been a wonderful source of inspiration for me. I believe that huts are the prototype of social media, where people share experiences, make new friends and decide whether to accept or reject the ideas put forward by others.
All the cartoons and jokes in ‘Sembra Yeti’ stem from relaxed evenings spent with complete strangers who have launched into long and surprising philosophical debates. With the help of the fresh mountain air (oops!) and the aroma of soup (with barely perceptible odours), you often find yourself caught up in lengthy discussions on life’s big questions. A love for such a wonderful yet fragile landscape often calls into question our relationship with progress, ethics and sustainability, and when, towards the end of the evening, the Yeti within us emerges, all I have to do is capture on paper their pearls of wisdom and enlightening reflections.
Based on your experience as artistic director of the Voci dei Boschi Film Festival, what are the most common mistakes made when communicating about rural and mountain life? What stories do you think are still not being told enough today?
Over the past six years at the helm of the festival, I have had the pleasure of watching more than a thousand short films, documentaries and feature films from many countries around the world.
The issue of rural life often overlaps with that of mountain regions and the environment in general. It is a deeply felt issue, one of dramatic urgency. The cultural heritage of farmers and mountain dwellers is being inexorably lost and, with it, all the knowledge that has, over the centuries, enabled humans to live in a symbiotic and functional relationship with nature.
A longing for times gone by and the last survivors of a bygone era are the defining features of most of the works screened at the festival, and every year, as the festival draws to a close, we work alongside the filmmakers present to imagine how we might portray this world more effectively.
The main problem that stubbornly persists is, as we said earlier, that of stereotypes and clichés. The media narrative is one-dimensional, banal and incapable of looking beyond the surface of things. Our task, as authors, is, on the other hand, to dig our hands into the earth and tell the stories from within, with passion, without prejudice and with our senses wide awake. There are stories of revenge, passion, love, solidarity and magic that must be told with greater courage.
This year marks the twentieth anniversary of the release of Giorgio Diritti’s *Il Vento Fa Il Suo Giro*, and we have recently seen Sorogoyen’s *As Bestas*; both are excellent examples of cinema with great expressive power.
In my own little world, I dream of seeing a film at the festival that tells the story of the time Heidi was arrested for organising an illegal rave on her grandfather’s pastures. How much would it make us reflect on the importance of seeking cultural alternatives for young people living in the mountains, on the importance of finding a balance between personal freedoms and environmental protection, and on the sustainable management of the delicate Alpine ecosystem?
So, rather than focusing on stories that are still rarely told, I would place the emphasis on how they are told: using fantasy, imagination and humour to surprise the audience.
How could ski resorts develop a more authentic and sustainable narrative?
I believe that the path taken by I Love Ski is the right one. I fully agree. Ski resorts cannot be treated as if they were amusement parks, but rather as places that offer unforgettable experiences and thrills. I am thinking above all of the welcome and the socialising. I learnt to ski in Macugnaga, the ‘Pearl of Monterosa’; I don’t remember the names of the slopes, but I do remember the lift operator, Mr Ernesto, who suffered from sciatica and so couldn’t help us get off the chairlift (was that true?), Maura, who ran a mountain hut bar full of comic books, the ski instructors with their plaits, the black bread, the new friendships and the hot chocolate.
Genuine and ‘sustainable’ people. Spending time with the mountaineers made us feel like mountaineers ourselves; we scanned the eastern face of Monte Rosa like mountain guides, ate snow like Eskimos, talked about the weather like climbers, and even our parents seemed as strong and beautiful to us as polar explorers. That’s no small thing.
How do you envisage ‘Sembra Yeti’ being integrated into the mountain tourism sector or the snow sports industry?
Sembra Yeti is a pure and innocent soul, driven by nothing but an unconditional love for the natural world. He is the perfect ambassador; he is accountable to no one, nor does he seek to please anyone. He belongs to the mountains.
I hope that its simple philosophy and its original, playful vision of the world will make it so compelling that it becomes an emotional bridge capable of transforming information into a magical experience to be lived. A light-hearted visual narrative, with a familiar, pop-inspired approach, which suggests new paths to us and accompanies us as we discover games and desires that are anything but abominable.
In a world shaped by artificial intelligence, what unique value do you attribute to human creativity?
Although the Yeti may have some doubts about the unique value of human creativity, I believe that our brain, when carefully nourished with high-quality raw materials, is unrivalled. As is well known, it is divided into two hemispheres: the left, responsible for rationality and analytical ability – and here artificial intelligence gives us a run for our money –; and the right hemisphere, which is irrational, intuitive and creative, and is unique to animals. Artificial intelligence cannot process emotions: it is not sincere, it is not empathetic, it is not authentic and it has no sense of humour.
That’s why I feel compelled to advise you to look after your mind properly, because it’s unique and irreplaceable: long walks in the mountains, a book now and then, a bit of music, a friend who doesn’t talk too much, and, whenever we can, let’s unleash the blessed Yeti within us!
