“Society”, opines Reinhard Kolldehoff’s gleefully shady lawyer, “has many ways of defending itself: red tape, prison bars and the revolver”. His line serves a dual purpose. On a narrative level, it suggests to the key protagonist Vito Cipriani (Oliver Reed) the futility of resistance against the state apparatus facing him. Additionally, it provides an extra-diegetic platform upon which director Sergio Sollima encapsulates the political agenda driving his enigmatic contribution to the poliziesco filone [1] : Revolver (1973).

The poliziesco can be – and has been [2] - read as a collective response to the traumas surrounding the anni di piombo (a phrase – literally “years of lead” – referring to the wave of political violence which scarred the Italian national psyche between the years 1969 and 1983). This said, these violent tales of maverick cops refusing to play by the rules of an ineffectual state are more commonly seen to be no more than transatlantic parasites: reactionary facsimiles of such globally visible phenomena as Don Siegel’s Dirty Harry and William Friedkin’s The French Connection (both 1971). This reductive interpretation overlooks the extent to which this filone frequently registers nuances inherent to Italy’s post-war transatlantic relationship: a point underscored by Revolver. Sollima’s film in fact displays the complex ways in which popular cultural manifestations of US-led modernity were negotiated with and appropriated as a means by which to view, dramatise and resolve neuroses surrounding extremism, terror and the individual’s fraught relationship to societal power structures.

From the late 1960s onwards, Sollima’s eclectic oeuvre repeatedly acted as a repository for socio-political outlooks which accorded with the belief systems of the Italian New Left (that is, broadly speaking, the student movement in and around 1968, and related groupings with aims of protest and/or revolution), but also gave voice to widespread contemporary unease concerning the operation of the modern state. In particular, the sense of mistrust - known colloquially as dietrologia - of instruments of government is palpable through his didactic manipulations of the cinematic medium. Sollima’s most accomplished Westerns La resa dei conti and Faccia a faccia (both 1967) depict a corrupt, labyrinthine Wild West ruled by a murky cabal of ruthless capitalists. In the modern-day Città violenta (1970), Charles Bronson’s hit-man finds himself similarly caught in a web of intrigue, on the run from a brutal yet powerful criminal network. Revolver belongs firmly within this paranoid continuum, displaying Sollima’s filone-hopping deftness with yet another tale of men on the run from a malevolent and apparently omnipotent “system”. Its structural and thematic resemblance to his earlier films, indeed, is striking.

Franco Solinas’ original screenplay for La resa dei conti was set in contemporary Sardinia. In it, a police officer pursues an elderly peasant accused of molesting a child, but the climax reveals the peasant to be innocent, framed by corrupt local officials to cover up their own misdeeds. The policeman, awoken to the corrupt nature of the system he has served, still sees no alternative but to shoot the innocent man in cold blood and protect himself. Sollima’s Wild West version of the tale reversed the ending into a crowd-pleasing, if politically anodyne, rebellion against the bourgeois conspiracy, but with Revolver he makes amends, at last staging the bleak ending denied the earlier film. Its cat-and-mouse relationship between an ex-lawman and a petty crook with powerful enemies closely follows the structure of La resa dei conti, until retired cop Vito Cipriani finally laments that “we’re up against something far bigger than ourselves” and shoots his roguish companion Milo Ruiz (Fabio Testi) in the back to save his own skin. This time, “The Man” has won.

These two films are therefore effectively in dialogue with each other: opposing resolutions to the filmmaker’s countercultural neuroses, and personal expressions of the alienation of the subject in late capitalism. Yet the relationship between them goes deeper than merely giving voice to this internal dilemma. Alan O’Leary identifies in Italian cinema which seeks to deal with the anni di piombo through recourse to conspiracy theory “the mythically-inflected manifestation of an inability to orient oneself in a complex social system”. [3] By turning to transatlantic formats as means through which to filter the traumas of contemporary Italy, both La resa dei conti and Revolver enact just such a need for a coherent narrative in a time of  cultural and political disorientation. In each, Sollima requisitions a popular US format and projects contemporary Italian neuroses upon a mythic icon of Americana (firstly the Western, then the cop thriller).

That the poliziesco is, on a formal level, indebted to such international successes as Dirty Harry and The French Connection is beyond doubt. True to the reactive, opportunistic nature of filone cinema, this spate of Italian films appeared directly on the back of the lucrative US trends spawned by these box-office behemoths. While Dirty Harry seeks to dramatise and resolve Nixon-era fears over increasing urban violence in the US, however, the poliziesco appropriates the form and adds a distinctively Italian twist of paranoia. In this way, Revolver is an exemplar of its filone.

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[1] Italian for ‘tradition’ or ‘vein’, the filone (singular form) reflected a more formulaic and rapidly-produced set of production practices than that signified by the more conventional appellation ‘genre’.

[2] See Barry, Christopher, ‘Violent Justice: Italian Crime / Cop Films of the 1970s’, in Ernest Mathijs and Xavier Mendik (eds), Alternative Europe: Eurotrash and Exploitation Cinema Since 1945 (London: Wallflower, 2004).

[3] O’Leary, Alan, ‘Moro, Brescia, Conspiracy: The Paranoid Style in Italian Cinema’, in Pier Paolo Antonello and Alan O’Leary (eds), Imagining Terrorism: The Rhetoric and Representation of Political Violence in Italy 1969-2009 (London: Maney, 2009), p. 54.