He was on the censorship board and yet collects Playboy magazines; he writes a hard-hitting, abrasive column and yet in person he stammers; and while he has the height of a basketball player, his passion is films

This interview was first published in 2000. Sadly, Lino Cassar passed away in 2012 at the age of 78.

The covered terrace of San Giulliano, overlooking the luzzi at Spinola Bay, could not have been a more suitable setting for my interview with Lino Cassar on this hot summer’s day.

“Peter Darmanin, the owner, is an old friend” Lino says. “When he does something, he does it well; he’s meticulous. The food is always very good. When I was the manager at the film studios, I used to like bringing foreign producers and actors here.

Restaurant manager Andre Depasquale Schranz could not have been more attentive. He quickly helped us to decide on our order: the first course would be Penne con tonno fresco e pesto genovese for Lino and carpaccio di tonna marinated with lemon for me. As Andre promised, mine was a very light dish, perfect if you find two courses much too filling.

“I’ve been living in the same street in Sliema since I was two. That’s 63 years! I remember a time when there was nothing here except a few old buildings. That’s another reason why I chose it, it’s nostalgic for me.”
Lino Cassar has made it easier for people who stammer to talk openly about their speech impairment because he has always been so matter-of-fact about it. I asked him if he remembers when and how it started.

“Up to the age of five I didn’t used to stutter. In June 1940, the war broke out and everyone started to move inland. We went to live with my aunt in Lija and that’s where it started, but I don’t remember why or how. I can still recall my aunt telling my mother ‘Cikka, did you notice how the boy is talking?’ My mother had noticed but was trying to overlook it. After the war, she took me to about five doctors but there was nothing they could do as there were no speech therapists at the time. I overheard one doctor telling her “Sinjura, if King George VI couldn’t be cured, do you really expect me to cure your son?” I was ten. At school, teachers never used to call on me to answer questions, except for one teacher, Mr Gauci. Everyone used to say he was cruel, but now I realise that he was trying to push me to make an effort.”

When Lino was 15, he visited a specialist who told him that part of the problem is that he speaks too fast, an observation with which Lino agrees. He even types faster than his typewriter.

Yes, a typewriter. Lino’s adamant refusal to go hi-tech is quite well-known, but he admits that it is now time he takes a quantum leap into the world of the computer. “I have started to feel illiterate when compared to others, especially when I write about films.”

While his renowned encyclopaedic memory for film facts and history has served him well, there is obviously only so much information the brain can store (Kemm jiflah mohhi?). Although he acknowledges the necessity of Internet, Lino is still very much a book lover. “Nothing can replace the feel and smell of a real book which you can thumb through yourself. I believe in the book.”

As he speaks, he gestures expressively with his hands; his long arms swishing through the air as he makes his point. I ask whether he is highly strung (nervuż), but he finds it difficult to describe himself. What he does tell me is that for most of his life he was a workaholic, “doing six jobs a day, and working 20 hours daily, ta. There were times when I didn’t even sleep”. His tone is one of regret at not seeing enough of his family, proof that there is truth in the adage ‘no one ever looks back on their life and regrets not spending more time at the office’.

Lino Cassar’s introduction to journalism came as a result of his boredom with his ‘’cushy’ government job and, ironically enough, as a result of his stammering. “While I loved meeting people, I was never at ease when it came to conversation. So I started writing for the Union Press.”

His extensive collection of magazines is well-known. He first started by collecting old comics such as Dandy and Beano, which today are worth “a fortune.” The amount of books he has on the cinema is probably unequalled by anyone on the island, and I asked whether he has ever thought of turning it into a museum. He admits to having a problem because his children don’t want them. “I’ve seen what happened to other people’s collections. Priceless collections which have ended up on the scrap heap. I haven’t made up my mind yet. It’s always at the back of my mind and I’ve done nothing about it. I’m making contacts with England to perhaps sell the colllection, but I don’t know.”

But of all his collections, his most notorious is, of course, his hoard of Playboy magazines.
He has always maintained that his interest is purely that of a collector (yeah right! I have invariably thought to myself sceptically). There are very good interviews and articles in them, he insists (which is true). But come on, I tell him, tell the truth, don’t tell me the luscious centrefolds have nothing do with it? “What’s wrong with looking at beautiful naked women?” he retorts. Well, at least he’s honest. He points out that he always kept the collection locked away when his children were young.

He recalls how he was introduced to the world of the infamous bunny. “Playboy started being published in 1954 and I bought my first copy in Israel in 1965; I was 30 years old, already married, and I had never seen anything like it. It never came to Malta obviously, but any time anyone went abroad I would ask them to bring me back a copy. I was invited as a special guest to Chicago in June 1973 to visit the Playboy building and see how it is put together – exactly 27 years ago, I can’t believe it! There I found shops which sold back numbers and I bought a lot. One shop had the first issue in mint condition, pristine, Playboy number one with Marilyn Monroe on the cover. It was $150, which was about Lm50 in those days. I couldn’t afford it and I didn’t buy it. It was a big mistake. Recently there was an auction, and Playboy number one went for $16,500!”

Point blank: how much is your collection worth? Lino hedges: “Well, if I had to sell it all at one go, I’d get less for it. If a collector had to buy it, he would pay handsomely for it but if I had to sell it to someone for re-sale, he’d give me half the price.” In other words, he wasn’t going to tell me how much it’s worth.

If there was ever any anomaly, it is the fact that the same Lino Cassar who has compiled this considerable collection of nudity, is also the same Lino Cassar who sat for 15 years on the Censorship Board. How does he reconcile the two?

“Well, I don’t think Playboy should be banned. Last year there was a breakthrough when the Playboy videos started being allowed in, so why not the magazine? Especially since so many magazines are being allowed in Malta with nude women on the cover. All Playboy has is the name.”

He is adamantly against censorship. No one, he believes, has the right to tell you what you can see. The Censorship Board as it is today, he points out, is merely used for film classification purposes. But what about The Duchess of Malfi and the Reduced Shakespeare Company’s production on the Bible, two cases where the Censorship Board definitely did prevent the public from watching what it wanted? Compared to the censorship of the 50s and 60s, Lino insists, that is nothing. He tells the anecdote of how Archbishop Gonzi went to see Meet Me After the Show by Betty Grable and made them immediately withdraw it from the cinemas.

I asked him about the U12 rating given to Gladiator. “Well, I was on the board when we gave a U12 rating to Saving Private Ryan. Our reasoning was that it was based on history, a classic example of the futility of war. Maybe someone else would have given it a 16 rating because of the violence, but it wasn’t like a gangster film. Steven Spielberg wanted to make a point. Three of us watched it, including a priest and it was unanimous.

But surely violence is violence? We agreed to disagree.

What Lino Cassar disapproves of is that when his former deputy Therese Friggieri was made chairman, she publicly said she did not agree with the U12 rating given to Saving Private Ryan. “That is not done. You don’t cricitise your former colleagues, it is against all ethics. Now, she gave a U12 to Gladiator. Although, to be honest, I would have done the same, because it was filmed in Malta and you have to bear in mind that everything was staged. In fact, there were certain scenes of people, even children, being eaten by the tigers which were left out. The producer can’t afford to have a high rating.”

Precisely, I said, it’s all about money. Again, we could not agree.

It was time, I felt, to talk about Daphne, whom Lino refers to in his column as Is-sahhara tal-Bidnjia (the witch of Bidnija, the village where she lives). Why does he get so upset at what she writes?
“I don’t like all these attacks on Alfred Sant. It’s political assassination. Dr Sant has a certain integrity, I doubt whether you can find any real faults in him. I never mention Guido de Marco, or Joe Borg, or Michael Refalo. My pet targets are those who constantly attack Dr Sant. I genuinely feel that they are unjust.”

He agrees that when they meet socially, he is always very nice to Daphne. In fact, someone recently took photos of the two of them together. So why all the name-calling? “No, no, it depends how you interpret the word sahhara” (here, I start to laugh) “it can mean a witch” (and…?, I couldn’t wait for the next definition) “or it can mean a fairy” (oh really?). By now I’m laughing so hard, I can hardly speak, but Lino is perfectly serious. “In fairytales there is the good witch and the bad witch.” So you’re saying Daphne is the good witch? He hems and haws a bit. Not one to be side-tracked by vague definitions, I went home and headed straight for my Kalepin. Sorry Lin, sahhara means witch, although one dictionary also give it the meaning of a very charming woman.

He insists that his criticism of Daphne is against what she writes and not against her personally. “It’s not in me to attack a pretty woman.” Here I had to object, recalling various times he’s attacked her on her looks. Lino waves his hand dismissively.

“Look, she’s been writing for ten years. At first she used to write about everything; she was very good. She made a hit because she was writing in The Sunday Times where an opinion column like hers had never appeared before. In those days, she used to criticise the Nationalists as well, but then I don’t know what happened. Up to 1996 she never even mentioned Alfred Sant, and when asked why, she said it was because they were related by marriage. But when he became Prime Minister she was all out against him from his very first press conference.”

Anyway, he concludes, he does not mention her that much anymore, “only when she is a bit out of order.” Aren’t you ever out of order, I ask. After all, his Sunday column in It-Torca is hardly mild. Renowned for its !!!!! and its CAPITAL LETTERS and it’s BOLD PRINT, Hadd Wara Hadd jumps out at you like a loudspeaker at full volume.

Lino explains his style: “I try to put in the human touch. So I take a situation and put it into layman’s terms. Just like Daphne is harsh in her writing, but socially is a very nice person, they say the same thing about me. When I go on my typewriter it’s like I’ve entered my own little world. I think I’m sincere in what I write. Both Labourites and Nationalists read my column. I don’t wish to brag, but many people tell me they buy It-Torca because of me. Don’t forget I’m 65 now and I know the history of the Nationalists for the last 50 years. I remember what they said before and what they’re doing now.”

Not for the first time, Lino mentions his age and admits to feeling very tired. Maybe, he sighs, it’s time to pack it in. But his readers always urge him to keep on writing. He wishes he had the energy of 20 years ago to write more, on all sorts of different topics.

The second course had arrived – I had ordered a seafood salad: octopus, prawns, mussels, calamari and scampi on a bed of lettuce, while Lino chose the Red Mallet which was filleted, breaded with seasoned bread crumbs and then barbecued, with a side order of potatoes, rocket salad and tomatoes. Andre came to check on us solicitously, asking if everything was OK. It was.

Exclamation points aside, another uniquely Lino touch is his colourful choice of phrase. For a long time, the Nationalist newspaper In-Nazzjon was referred to as Beano. Lately, he has been calling it il-gazzetta tat-tilqit (the newspaper filled with leftovers). A politician is never simply called a has-been, but mouldy (immuffat) and past his sell by date (skadut).

“I’m the only one who writes like that” he says unnecessarily. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been writing a long time. I also had the best teacher ever – Gino Muscat Azzopardi, the best journalist in Malta. He had such a way with words!”

He laments the state of the Maltese language which is being butchered on radio and TV by those not speaking it properly. “They say niffollowja when they mean to follow, relatives are called familjari when the word is qraba. Meanwhile the Akkademija tal-Malti are bickering about whether to use one ‘w’ or two in jiżżewwegu! Instead of this silly squabbling they should pay attention to the far more serious corruption of the language.”

Lino asks me what I think of his column and I confess that my first reaction is to start laughing at his expressions. You’re obviously very passionate about what you write, but perhaps rather over-dramatic? I suggest. Those bombastic adjectives! It’s like you’re trying to find the most shocking word possible.

He is unperturbed: “Well, what is the best weapon? When you ridicule or when you shoot? I think ridicule is more powerful. When I say someone niten (he has started to stink) it’s better than simply saying he’s finished.” It bothers him that when journalists go to a press conference to report on a project which is always ‘about to start’, none of them ever question the Minister concerned about all the delays.

“Cottonera, The Royal Opera House, Manoel Island…when are they going to start? Has anyone realised that this has been going on since September 1998? Journalists don’t ask the right questions. When Dr Sant was in government they always sent their most vicious reporters to bombard him with questions. Now, I’m sorry to say that with the exception of one, the Labour party isn’t sending good enough reporters.”

The talk turned back to one of his favourite topics: women. Lino openly admits that he has an eye for the ladies; one of those men who is forever showering flowery compliments on the opposite sex. Doesn’t your wife mind?

“She’s used to it by now, she has lived with it all her life. I love women. I think a woman reaches the peak of her beauty and intelligence at 35. However, nowadays women have succeeded in keeping themselves looking good until 55 and even more. I see women my age, old friends of mine, and I think they look much better than us men!”

And with another wave of his large hand, he adjusts his thick glasses and grins.