We Still Kill the Old Way

Goodish blend of Mafia movie (still pretty much uncharted territory at the time) and political thriller, with a hesitant romance thrown in for good measure; the result is generally absorbing, thanks largely to uniformly excellent performances, gleaming location photography (Sicily, of course) and a wonderful score by the ever-reliable Luis Enrique Bacalov. Heading the cast is Gian Maria Volonte': the film launched the political/social conscience phase of his career after a stint doing Spaghetti Westerns. His character is that of an intellectual loner who finds himself in over his head when he starts probing into the assassination of two friends – including philanderer Luigi Pistilli – which leads to his falling for the other's wife (Irene Papas). Though the identity of the villain (as ever, an eminent member of the community and far closer to the hero than he envisaged) comes as no real surprise, the investigation – involving, among other things, the hushed participation of cleric and senator alike – and the disquieting revelations that emerge from it, lends the whole a deeply cynical tone (culminating in the downbeat climax depicting Volonte''s own extreme fate) while cementing the Mafia's reputation as strictly a 'family business'. The Italian DVD includes an interesting half-hour featurette detailing the making and reception of the award-winning film (including the fact that the author of the source novel, Leonardo Sciascia, was dissatisfied with how the script turned out); the interviewees are co-scriptwriter Ugo Pirro, the wife of the late Elio Petri, and composer Bacalov (who is regretful that, given his felicitous working relationship with the director here, the opportunity never arose for another collaboration).

A left-wing professor stressed by moral doubts (Gian Maria Volonté) has the rather strange idea to try to break the ambiant omerta in order to clear the violent death of two friends, honor issues happening just to conceal quite more material interests. But Sicily and its little folk of mute but watchful characters don't seem ready to accept this kind of trouble. Bound with beauty but ungraspable like the doctor's few disconsolate widow (Irene Papas), the island and its stifling sun know how to subdue the one who dares to upset their immutably established order, between a conspicuous church and an invisible mafia.

Paolo Laurana is a kind of leftist intellectual who chances to be intrigued by a mysterious double murder in the Sicily of mid Sixties. In his personal detection for murder's instigators, he will run into a plot in which both politicians and mafia racketeers are involved. So curiosity will become a very dangerous affair. Taken from a novel by Leonardo Sciascia (1921-1989), A ciascuno il suo (1967) is a film where high rank acting is at its top. Cast (Gianmaria Volonté, Irene Papas, Gabriele Ferzetti, Salvo Randone, Luigi Pistilli. Mario Scaccia, Leopoldo Trieste) is perfect and well-combined, direction (Elio Petri, 1929-1982) is powerful and impressive. If compared to the novel, Elio Petri's film (written with Ugo Pirro) may seem short of that illuministic pessimism that breathes through Sciascia's books, but Laurana's rationalistic search for truth retains that `bitter taste of intelligence' which is one of the major feature of Sciascia's characters. A key film to understand historical condition of Italy in the Sixties.

Although drawn from a powerful novel by Leonardo Sciascia, this results in an oversimplified, well-meaning social mystery set in 1965 Sicily, where two men are killed during a hunting party. A leftist professor (Gian Maria Volonté, a much better actor in the later Petri offering "Indagine su un cittadino al di sopra di ogni sospetto") decides to investigate the murders, only to find himself entangled in a spiderweb of corrupt politicians, "mafiosi" killers and sinister Church connections: the anonymous letters received by the victims - and, in due time, by the professor himself - were made with clippings from the Vatican newspaper "L'Osservatore Romano". There is also a fascinating dark lady character, a victim's widow, played by the splendid Irene Papas, whose black-stockinged legs wink through the whole film to the shy, undecided professor. When he resolves to take the woman, in a love scene near the end of the movie, it is unfortunately too late... The film can still be seen with some fun, but it's far from a serious rendition of the novel and it's not perhaps among the best Mafia movies made in Italy at the time. It's curious to note how so-called "spaghetti westerns", for instance, were often much more effective in describing corrupt politicians and Mafia-governed southern towns than their "mainstream" counterpart, like this typically engagé movie. I found also irritating the use of Cinemascope combined with low angles, continuous camera movements and extremely close shots, so that the narrative pace is fragmented and, more often than not, disturbed.

This marks the first collaboration between director Elio Petri, writer Ugo Pirro and actor Gian Maria Volonte which was to bear fruit in the extraordinary 'Indagine su un cittadino al di sopra di ogni sospetto' and is loosely adapted from the novel by Leonardo Scascia who was again to provide the source material for Rosi's stupendous 'Cadaveri Eccellenti'.

Scascia's novel was inspired by the assassination of a policeman by the Mafia and here Petri and his cinematographer Luigi Kuveiiller have created a striking contrast between the ravishing Sicilian scenery and the all-pervading corruption although there is perhaps a little too much use made of the 'zoom'.

Excellent script and taut editing with strong performances from Volonte, Gabriele Ferzetti, both of whom were awarded Silver Ribbons, the striking Irene Papas whose role does not really do justice to her talents and a marvellous cameo by Petri regular Salvo Randone as a blind oculist!

Petri's customary Left-leaning social criticism is in evidence here but what should have been a top class film is alas, for this viewer at any rate, weakened by imperfect post-synchronisation and some distinctly dodgy dubbing. The genius of Ennio Morricone is conspicuous by its absence here as the score by Luis Bacalov is intrusive, badly integrated and undermines rather than underlines the film's effectiveness.