Film festivals exist to establish objective standards in an industry driven by subjective taste. Directors and producers undertake the elaborate process of transporting their casts to the red carpets of Venice, Cannes or Sundance seeking tangible proof of quality: a prestigious award, critical acclaim, or a standing ovation long enough to silence any sceptics about a film's merit.
Yet these annual celebrations of cinema face an inherent tension. Festivals depend on major stars and media attention to secure sponsorship and coverage, creating pressure for the events to function as marketing machines where mediocre films receive inflated praise and forgettable performances are hailed as revelatory.
This structural conflict explains why one of global cinema's most vital institutions may be the Venice film festival's Ridateci i soldi—meaning "Give us our money back." A simple chipboard wall positioned beside the Palazzo del Cinema invites visitors to inscribe unfiltered complaints and savage critiques, with the festival's explicit encouragement. The tradition, which dates to 1997, was created as a deliberate counterweight to the uncritical enthusiasm that dominates professional reviews.
How does the wall challenge festival hype?
The wall operates as an institutionalised check on the film world's self-regard. Festival director Alberto Barbera personally awards a prize to the harshest and most inventive complaint, transforming Venice's wall of shame into a sanctioned space where audiences can puncture the industry's pretensions. The 83rd Venice International Film Festival ran from 2 to 12 September 2026, and the wall remained a focal point for public expression throughout the event.
During this year's festival on the Lido, grievances extended beyond the films themselves. Visitors complained about rising costs for entry badges, water taxi fares and accommodation—with one sardonic note suggesting that by 2030, attendees might need to pay for the air they breathe. Complaints also targeted queue lengths, uncomfortable seating and cinema staff switching on ceiling lights during screenings.
The majority of inscriptions, however, focused on the films in competition. One message attacked the Russian biographical epic for its documented history of cast and crew mistreatment, calling it "a disgusting, abusive (!!), pointless film!!" Another appealed directly to Trainspotting's director, requesting he make another film centred on narcotics. Some notes made accusations about a child abuse drama so inflammatory they cannot be safely printed. Others played with wordplay based on a Werner Herzog title.
Which films drew the sharpest criticism?
Italian productions in the lineup faced particularly harsh scrutiny. Andrea Pallaoro's romantic drama The Echo Chamber, adapted from a script attributed to Bernardo Bertolucci, prompted a note suggesting the late director "will be turning in his grave." Luca Guadagnino's seven-hour documentary Joie de Vivre received a terse demand to "Arrest him!" The Gerda Taro biography The Girl with the Leica was dismissed as "Insípido!"—bland.
This style of unvarnished audience response would be unthinkable at Venice's more formal competitors. The wall tradition returned this year near the Palazzo del Casinò, with Gianni Ippoliti again overseeing the display. According to John Bleasdale, a British critic and novelist based in Italy, Italian audiences engage with cinema more openly than their counterparts elsewhere. "The boos are vociferous, as is ironic laughter and applause," he explains. "Jonathan Glazer's Under the Skin got booed at Venice, while other films split an audience and half of them boo while the others cheer."
Who created this tradition and why?
Gianni Ippoliti, a former football referee and television presenter, established Ridateci i soldi in the late 1990s as a protest against the uncritical tone of festival reviews. Standing guard at the wall, he observes that professional critics routinely treat every film as exceptional. "If you read the reviews, you would believe that all 150 films shown at the festival this year are masterpieces," he says. "That's not possible."
The wall's rules remain deliberately loose. While visitors are technically permitted to write positive comments, Ippoliti notes that most people emerging from screenings want to express frustration rather than praise. The tradition has become so established that the festival formally recognises the most cutting remark with a prize: the Coppa Codacons, a wooden sculpture sponsored by Italy's consumer protection organisation and carved by artist Ferdinando Codognetto. Many would argue this award is more meaningful to display than the Golden Lion itself, which goes to the best film in the 21-film competition.
Who won this year's prize?
Cristian Poletti claimed this year's Coppa Codacons for a comment on The Echo Chamber, in which he proposed that a more fitting title would be "The Echo Bathroom," given how many scenes depicted characters bathing. If Bertolucci truly authored the script, Poletti suggested, perhaps the film was intended as a shampoo advertisement.
Despite his caustic wit, Poletti remains a devoted festival enthusiast. He has attended Venice annually since 2015, typically watching between 30 and 40 films. "Even watching a bad movie is better than not watching a movie at all," he says.
What does the wall reveal about cinema's future?
The wall's existence reflects a broader shift in how the film industry operates. In recent years, major Hollywood studios have begun withdrawing from the festival circuit, recognising that social media campaigns can generate more effective marketing than critical endorsement. A negative review at Venice or Cannes can establish the wrong kind of irrefutable facts—the very thing festivals were designed to prevent.
Yet the persistence of Ridateci i soldi suggests that audiences still value spaces where honest judgment can flourish. The wall offers something increasingly rare in contemporary culture: permission to voice dissent without fear of commercial consequences, and an institution willing to amplify rather than suppress that dissent. In a landscape where studios retreat and algorithms determine visibility, the wall's chipboard surface remains a stubborn assertion that cinema belongs to its viewers as much as to those who make it.
Key Facts
- The Ridateci i soldi wall was created in 1997 by Gianni Ippoliti as a reaction against overly enthusiastic festival reviews
- Festival director Alberto Barbera personally awards the Coppa Codacons prize to the harshest and most inventive complaint each year
- The 83rd Venice International Film Festival took place from 2 to 12 September 2026 on the Lido di Venezia
- Italian audiences are known for more vocal and unfiltered responses to films, including booing and ironic applause, compared to audiences at other major festivals
- Major Hollywood studios have increasingly withdrawn from the festival circuit in recent years, viewing social media campaigns as more effective marketing tools
