Review: Coffee For All
Dawn is breaking on the backstreets of Napoli. A man navigates the darkness and enters the back of a building to begin his working day. At street level shutters are released and raised; the neon lights of the sign above flicker on: ‘Caffe Diaz’. It is a typical, unremarkable morning: a truck slowly reverses; shop keepers give one last sweep before opening; tired-looking people, early risers, shuffle along in the half-light. Caffe Diaz, from its facade, is like hundreds of cafes across Italy. It is both unassuming and welcoming, but the advertising board placed outside is unique, it serves no commercial benefit to the business. Pointedly, it offers something to the customer who has no money to give. The board contains a list of names, of donors to the cause of ‘Caffe Sospeso’ (literally, ‘suspended coffee’), a tradition dating back to the early 20th Century. It is a simple concept, one that relies on the generosity of people: a customer pays for two coffees and takes one; the remaining coffee is ‘suspended’, set aside for someone who cannot afford it. The board is a pledge of allegiance to the cause, a continuation of the tradition, an offering to people, regardless of their social status or background, in the city in which it was born.
The first customer of the day appears at the entrance to Caffe Diaz. The owner recognises him and they both enter. A small bar made of marble runs along the right-hand side; a coffee machine stands in the corner; there are two small tables and the man sits at the one nearest the door. ‘Everything all right?’ Asks the owner as he polishes the bar with a duster. The man at the table has his head in his hands. Perceiving no response the owner answers for him: ‘Nothing’s right!’ The man at the table lifts his head and takes the coffee, his hands shake uncontrollably - the effects, no doubt, of a night on the streets. He lifts his hands to his mouth and gratefully drinks from the cup. Later, in a monologue to camera, the owner explains the power of suspended coffee: ‘[it] is a great thing because it’s offered to needy people. They don’t have family, home, nothing. A coffee can relieve them.’ Elsewhere in the documentary, a lecturer calls it ‘a humanitarian tradition, solidarity linked to coffee... for unknown people, by unknown people.’ A simple premise, but no surprise that in a nation - and indeed, a world - of coffee lovers, lectures and whole documentaries have been produced, not just about the tradition of Caffe Sospeso, but around the philosophy of coffee itself...
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Coffee For All, though relatively niche in its target audience as a Netflix documentary (for lovers of: coffee, community, the interiors of cafes), cannot be accused of being narrow in its research. This sentimental, unapologetic love letter takes us to three continents, to Europe (Napoli), North America (Brooklyn), and South America (Buenos Aries). It follows three individual stories - three lives shaped in different ways, naturally, but connected by their experiences with coffee that stretch far beyond the rudimentary act of consuming a morning, caffeinated pick-me-up.
It begins in Napoli, where the viewer learns about Associazone Scugnizzi, an organisation that aims to reform Scugnizzi - ‘street kids’ - by offering free professional courses to young people with criminal records. Two prominent courses are affectionately titled ‘As Long as There’s Pizza There’s Hope’, and, more predictably, ‘Suspended Coffee’. On the wall is a painting of Christ with the inscription ‘it seems impossible to save Napoli... but we try by praying to St Jude Thaddeus.’ St Jude is, fittingly, the patron saint of desperate cases and lost causes. The tradition of Caffe Sospeso is personified aptly on another plaque as ‘suspended like anyone in this beautiful and cursed city.’ Coffee and the city are synonymous, and the theme of redemption is entirely intentional, though the course leader concedes that many who complete one of the courses will return to a life of crime. But hope exists, and this is echoed in another reflection of a city in flux: ‘Napoli is a complicated city. There are no jobs, so people break the law. But there are people who want change, who want to work to get ahead.’ Giancarlo, 22, represents this desire for change and his story is fundamental to the documentary as a whole. After a conviction and prison term for a crime he claims he didn’t commit, Giancarlo enrolled on an Associazone Scugnizzi course and soon began working as a trainee barista in a cafe ran by the organisation itself - positioned, ironically, in the courthouse that convicted him. This act of ingenuity by the organisation is a chance for the Scugnizzi to show they are reformed through their service, work ethic and crucially, good coffee. The role of barista changed Giancarlo’s life, offering him stability that otherwise would have perhaps been difficult to obtain. He explains he wants to ‘stay on the right path’ for his daughter, adding ‘freedom is the most important thing in the world. I will never have a ‘suspended’ life again.’ Giancarlo is now defined not by a criminal past, but by the coffee that he makes.
In Brooklyn, Elisabeth Cardiello was taught the fundamentals of business acumen from an early age - she had business cards at the age of 6 with the word ‘owner’ beneath her name; her father, an Italian immigrant, empowering her to think differently, as a visionary beyond her years. Upon discovering a collection of unsold Unilever coffee pots - 5,000 units - following her father’s death, the younger Cardiello continued the family business as CEO. It proved to be a defining moment, prompting her to abandon her previous job in finance and dedicate her career and life to coffee. ‘Knowing where you are from and who you are is important for knowing where you’re going,’ she reflects, the historical connection with coffee informing her identity, and the existence of the coffee pot keeping her father’s memory alive. ‘This company and this little coffee pot has actually allowed me to do something that makes me feel like I’m becoming who I want to be,’ she adds poignantly. The preservation of her father’s legacy sees her return to his hometown in the south of the country, where she shares coffee with locals: ‘coffee to me always meant family, and it meant sitting around the table, talking for hours.’ The tradition of sharing coffee as social and familial interaction is emphasised throughout. For Cardiello, the effects of those long, kitchen table conversations with her father are re-enforced, a positive affirmation long after her father’s death driving her forwards, and one based entirely on her personal relationship with coffee - her heritage and her future - that cannot be underestimated.
The documentary’s philosophical stance towards coffee - the idea that coffee is a powerful connection between past and present, and an opportunity to shape the future - is no less apparent in Buenos Aries. There is a cafe, Bar Británico, in the Argentine capital, a key source of inspiration for the crime writer, Martín, who chooses the same table to write his novels: ‘a cafe does not isolate you. A cafe immerses you in its surroundings. This interaction between the environment and writing is a great experience.’ In Buenos Aries, the narrative focuses on the importance of solidarity in society and its relationship with coffee. ‘Solidarity is fundamental for coffee,’ Martín observes. ‘Without solidarity, coffee could not exist. Coffee contains everything: brotherhood, friendship...’ For Martín, coffee is an opportunity to write and fuel his narratives, but unlike the majority of writers, who desire anonymity when working - JK Rowling reportedly slipped undetected in and out of the same cafe in Edinburgh to write the Harry Potter books - Martín appears to welcome the attention. Not only does he pick his characters from the street, but people approach him to be written in. To remain incognito would deprive him of the interactive experience that he appears to revel in, a personable approach where art literally imitates life. In one scene, he explains that the cafe’s barista, Glodier, asked him to create a character based on his drag persona, Victoria Secret. When Martín obliged - ‘nobody in the cafe knew about his alter ego’ - he asked him to read what he had written, and Glodier began to cry. Martín’s words, and his depiction of a character that was very real, the alter ego of someone who served him coffee every day, produced a powerful emotion in Glodier that was previously unseen, stretching beyond cafes and coffee and cold streets - like the other narratives in the documentary, it was the evocation of an untold story, a hidden but tangible existence brought to life.
As the story switches between the three cities, the makers of Coffee For All refreshingly decided against a narrator. There isn’t a constant explanation of events; thankfully, it would seem there is no coffee world equivalent to Clive Tyldesley (for the uninitiated see: football commentators). In the spirit of Caffe Sospeso, it is the everyday people on the streets and in the cafes and in an organisation striving to exact positive change and make a difference to young lives who tell the story; one voice unified by a love of coffee and, essentially, a shared affinity with people. The results are artfully orchestrated and aesthetically pleasing. Instead of a barrage of dialogue, there are considered shots of everyday streets, cafes, and neighbourhoods, and an understated soundtrack of classical music, accordions and jazz, intricately woven into the fabric of the film. It is a reminder that silence is necessary and imagery sometimes needs no words.
The conclusion brings some surprising updates to the lives of the people at its centre. It creates an unforeseen dramatisation of the real, a reminder that whatever situations people are thrown into, coffee is a reassuring constant - ‘essential,’ as the lecturer at the beginning summarises, ‘because it is an identity marker... nobody must be excluded from consuming coffee.’ This is at the heart of Caffe Sospeso, this enduring message of inclusivity. Suspended coffee, from its modest beginnings in post-war, impoverished Napoli, is now prominent in cities worldwide; maintaining identity, individual and collective; still presenting opportunities for people who want to give, to people grateful to receive. Clocking in at just over an hour, Coffee For All is an emotional, educational, and unexaggerated portrayal of three societies that are as hope-filled and giving as they are broken. The tragedy is that Caffe Sospeso, despite its humanity and generosity, is still necessary.
Coffee For All is available now on Netflix.
Luke is a thirty-something living in exile on the Bedminster/Southville border. Luke was born in Barnsley. His grandfather was a miner. Luke was born in the 80s, grew up in the 90s, and reached some form of adulthood in the 00s. Luke graduated in English. His passions include (but are not limited to): dogs; books; Barnsley Football Club; hedgehogs (RIP Winona; 2016-2019); Italy; coffee; pizza; the NHS; anything ever recorded by Bradford J. Cox.