Southern Italy, for centuries the scene of alien invasions, once again played out the ancient game of conquest and plunder. This time invaders arrived in the guise of children, celebrities, and media, and the plunder was mainly stolen hearts. The Giffoni Film Festival, for four decades educating children with international films, stages this invasion every year. In the end everyone is victorious and everyone is conquered.

Thanks to a generous grant from the Linnie Cooper Foundation, the San Diego Italian Film Festival sent four teens to be jurors at Giffoni, which is also a town in an emerald valley about 15 miles northeast of Salerno, Italy. Towns in this valley provide the host families for jurors from over 40 countries, selected to pick winning films at the festival.

Giffoni offered a special way to attract younger people to SDIFF. Our teens all fell into the Generator + 13 group, and the young people who spearheaded our part of the invasion were Fabrizio Ellis, Joe Fabiani, Roby Ruocco and Giuliano Verdicchio, ages 13 to 15, all proud representatives of San Diego. Their Italian roots also opened hearts wide for them.

Each group of jurors had one series of tasks: watch all films in contention, discuss them, meet celebrities, and ultimately vote for their favorites. Our group was split three to one for the main winner, Broken Hill, an American/Australian production.

The travel was exhausting, of course, but when we met a child actor from India or a juror from Korea, who endured even worse travel conditions, it was clear that the exhaustion, like boot camp, simply softens up the kids for a new way of life. And while all our teens came from families with Italian roots, the roots didn't look or feel much like the Italian host families.

Most of our teens had some familiarity with Italian, but only enough to whet appetites. Giuliano listened to his family's Nonno describing Salerno during the 1943 Allied invasion; Giuliano understood some but wanted it all. He laughed as he told us of another story: The paparazzi flew around in hordes. One group cornered Giuliano. Thinking they were asking him what he thought of Italy, he said, “Beautiful and hot.” Later he learned they were asking what he thought of Eva Mendes, who in fact is beautiful and hot.

Some misunderstandings, however, would be familiar to any Italian parent. For example, one morning the San Diego chaperones got a frantic call: “You must come quick, speak with Signora De Cristofaro, emergency with your juror Joe Fabiani.” Hustling to Giffoni from Salerno is not easy; this had to be critical. Chaperones Janice and Victor Laruccia stumbled breathless into the Jury Office. “How bad is the wound?” The “wound?” The host mother's worry that Joe was not eating, a catastrophe for an Italian mother! Joe's response was “What?!? I eat what I always eat, what's the problem?” Tranquility reigned when Signora De Cristofaro, a great cook, hit upon carpaccio; Joe devoured a dish meant for the whole table.

Days were jammed, early rising to watch movies, run around in lunch time packs, then back for more movies at the Cittadella di Cinema, buildings and park spaces for theaters, offices and play areas. Young people tumbled out of every space, and when a movie finished, jurors inundated the piazza in tidal waves, wearing the T shirts of their particular group, blue, yellow or purple. Only a microphone in the face made a juror still.

Cameras and microphones stalked the jurors everywhere. National, local, and international reporters transmuted the peaceful valley into an electrifying spectacle. Roby handled her TV interview like a pro; we even got calls and emails from the states - she looked good!

Though Joe didn't eat that much food, he filled up on his movie-making dreams, enthusing about his own film and plans for working on it. “I'm a great editor,” he said, “I'm ready right now. I see just how I want to start.” His opinion of the movies he saw suggested his movies would be optimistic; when asked what his thoughts of movies there, he said, “They're depressing! Everyone dies in them.”

Fabrizio agreed, “Yeah, they're pretty much all like that, everyone dies.” But Fabrizio, oldest in the group, was not concerned about people dying; he always had admiring Italian beauties around him, several of whom gave his chaperones the evil eye for taking his time. The yellow in his T shirt almost disappeared under the love notes: I love you, Fabrizio. Ti voglio bene, Fabrizio.

Movies in the morning, lunch, soccer or chatting in the park, movies in the afternoon, celebrities to discuss filmmaking, then home for dinner. What next? Parties, of course. Every night the kids danced in the park, bands and performers blaring. Giffoni being a small town, kids freely wandered packs of yellow and purple teens flowing through every store and food joint.

When the Festival ended with a boisterous party, the San Diegans stayed in Giffoni for a beach day, a ferry trip to Positano and, basta. Monday night the families brought the teens to the chaperones’ hotel. With tears they tore themselves away. The teens and chaperones settled in for a long trip, which ended with a fatigued sigh back home where families greeted their treasures, returned to them richer than they departed.