The character's backstory is an important exercise every film director must do to make up his mind about the psychology of the main character or characters and help the set designer, costume designer, make up artist and other members of the crew do their job at their best and deliver a truthful human being on the screen, and not just a puppet or a a stereotype. The director (and the screenwriter) has the responsibility of building believable characters and lend depth and meaning to their actions. Remember, a film is limited, but our imagination is endless, and the audience can identify with someone only when all the nuances of the character's personality and behaviour are in place. Characters must be so authentic to be able to stand alone in real life and exist before the movie - and keep existing after the movie is over. The film is just a fragment of their life.

This is the backstory I wrote for Romeo, the co-protagonist of the film Romeo&Julia.
In fondo, potete trovare la versione originale in italiano

Romeo is a 28-year-old boy, but he still believes to be far from 30 and closer to 20. He just cannot think of that 30 threshold, busy as he is to face his teenage ghosts and to consume the drum snare with his biting rage, which at times is only an automatism. Sometimes he still thinks of his ex-girlfriend, Beatrice, when she called a random afternoon to tell him that she was in love with another guy. Even now, after 5 years, he remembers that call with anguish, and even today he wonders who this other boy could be and if they are still together and in his head flashes the vivid image of Beatrice, lying languid beside him, or twisting from the pleasure that this other mysterious boy is giving her. Not that he is still in love with Beatrice, but he can spend hours, playing the guitar and composing lyrics in E-flat, about her, about love, the real one, that never dies until it is betrayed, that does not bend until it is broken.

His band kicked him out with the promise of taking him back only when he could find more time to go to the rehearsal space. But he has no time, now he has a job and the time he has he wastes it to feel disgusted by his job and to compose those Grunge lyrics, full of misses occasions and fading love. Some, the most optimistic ones, he sends them by mail to his girlfriend Giulia, who lives in Los Angeles, and has never expressed herself enthusiastically about them. On the contrary, she often askes him why he insists on singing in English, and repeatedly makes fun of him for this romantic attitude, his gloomy melodies and his nice guy's face, too different from the rock icons hanging on his wall, from Kurt Cobain and Jimi Hendrix. He laughs, but he feels awful. He rarely shows his weaker side to Giulia. He never wants to appear sad with her. When they meet on Skype, he always shows her his best side, and when she asks him how his day was, he strives to find a nice anecdote to make her laugh. He adores her smile, often the only source of joy of his days. He would do anything to get a smile from her. Romeo works as a seller in the insurance company Assicurazioni Generali and earns on the basis of how many people he can cheat. His jacket and his pants are slightly tight, because they were given away by a slim cousin who works in a bank. After work, he goes home straight away. He lives together with his mother. He greets her and asks her what they are going to have for dinner and if she still suffers from her headache. While she is still complaining, he heads to his room. He turns on the fan and takes off his tie, that middle class inheritance that oppresses him and disgusts him, and then all the rest, until he lays in his underwear to smoke a joint before a documentary about Colombian narcos or a Carmelo Bene's show.

Romeo
Romeo è un ragazzo di 28 anni, che però si crede ancora molto lontano dai 30 e più vicinoai 20. Ai 30 proprio non ci pensa, occupato com’è ad affrontare i suoi fantasmiadolescenziali e a consumare il rullante della batteria con la sua rabbia mordente, che atratti è solo automatismo. Ogni tanto pensa ancora alla sua ex ragazza, Beatrice, e acome un pomeriggio qualsiasi gli abbia telefonato per dirgli che era innamorata di un’altro. Ancora adesso, dopo 5 anni, ricorda con angoscia quella chiamata, e ancora oggi si interroga su chi potesse essere quest’altro ragazzo e se se stiano ancora insieme e nella sua testa balena l’immagine vivida di Beatrice, che giace languida accanto a lui, nel letto sempre sfatto della sua stanza, o che si contorce dal piacere nel letto di quest’altro misterioso ragazzo. Non che sia ancora innamorato di Beatrice, ma può passare ore, la chitarra in mano, a comporre testi in mi bemolle, su di lei, sull’amore quello vero, che non muore finché viene tradito, che non si piega finché viene spezzato. La sua band lo ha cacciato con la promessa di poter tornare solo quando fosse riuscito a trovare più tempo per andare in sala prove. Ma lui non ha tempo, adesso ha un lavoro e il tempo che ha lo spreca a provare schifo per il suo lavoro e a comporre dei testi Grunge, pieni di occasioni mancate e amori finiti, ed alcuni, quelli più ottimisti, li manda per mail alla sua ragazza Giulia, che vive a Los Angeles, e non si è mai espressa entusiasticamente al riguardo. Anzi, gli chiede spesso perché si ostini a cantare in inglese, e l’ha più volte preso in giro per la sua vena romantica, le sue melodie melense e la sua faccia da bravo ragazzo, troppo diversa dalle icone rock appese sul muro, da Kurt Cobain e Jimi Hendrix. Lui ride, ma ci rimane male. Raramente mostra il suo lato più debole a Giulia. Non vuole mai apparire triste o malinconico con lei. Quando si sentono su Skype, lui le mostra sempre il suo lato migliore, e quando lei gli chiede come sia andata la giornata, lui si sforza di trovare un aneddoto simpatico per farla ridere. Adora il suo sorriso, spesso l’unica fonte di gioia delle sue giornate. Farebbe qualsiasi cosa pur di strapparle un sorriso. Romeo lavora come venditore alle Assicurazioni Generali, e guadagna sulla base di quante persone riesce a fregare. La giacca e i pantaloni gli vanno leggermente stretti, perché le sono state regalate da un suo cugino smilzo che lavora in banca. Dopo il lavoro, torna subito a casa, dove vive insieme a sua madre. La saluta e le chiede cosa si mangia e come vada il suo mal di testa. Mentre lei si sta ancora lamentando, lui si avvia nella sua stanza. Accende il ventilatore e si leva la cravatta, quel retaggio borghese che lo opprime e lo schifa, e poi tutto il resto, finché rimane in mutande a fumarsi una canna davanti a un documentario sui Narcos colombiani o uno spettacolo di Carmelo Bene.