The first film in Fernando Di Leo’s so-called Milieu trilogy, Caliber 9 explores the criminal underbelly of Milan, a city more typically associated with the modish institutions of high finance and haute couture. The film’s full Italian title, Milan Caliber 9, emphasizes the centrality of location, while also referring to a collection of stories by crime writer Giorgio Scerbanenco, several of which Di Leo loosely adapted for the film. Generically, Caliber 9 is a fascinating mashup of the gritty poliziotteschi genre and stylish neo-noirs in the vein of Jean-Pierre Melville. Its tight-lipped protagonist certainly seems patterned after Alain Delon’s buttoned-down hitman in Le Samouraï, right down to the brown trench coat.
Di Leo’s film opens with a brilliantly executed pre-credits sequence that details a laundered currency handoff gone wrong, as well as the mob’s violent reprisals, along the way providing a handy cross-section of Milan’s criminal demimonde, from low-level street couriers to highly placed enforcers like Rocco Musco (Mario Adorf). The story proper begins with the release of petty criminal Ugo Piazza (Gastone Moschin) from prison after three years. He soon finds himself caught between the local police commissioner (Frank Wolff) and the mafia boss known only as L’Americano (Lionel Stander), both of whom suspect that he stole and stashed $30,000 dollars from L’Americano before he went up the river.
Caliber 9 is a study in contrasts. Some of them are purely physical, while others play out at the thematic level. Milan itself seems divided between neglected slums and opulent new constructions. The rundown tenement abode of Ugo’s former patron, Don Vincenzo (Ivo Garrani), stands in stark opposition to the spacious, shiny metal abode of L’Americano, located in a newfangled high-rise apartment block. On a different level, the honor-bound code of conduct embraced by Ugo and his old capo, Chino (Philippe Leroy), seems almost quaint compared to the treacherous individualism espoused by L’Americano’s underlings.
Another sort of dichotomy comes to light in the ideological debates between the commissioner and his newly appointed deputy, Mercuri (Luigi Pistilli). The former makes a fascistic case for enacting harsh and punitive measures, all in the name of law and order, while the latter argues that, under the capitalist system, the behavior of society’s upper crust isn’t that much different than a criminal’s. Not for nothing is the deputy commissioner ultimately transferred to a shit position in the boondocks. Though these exchanges do tend to stall the narrative momentum of the film, they clearly represent Di Leo’s deeply held liberal convictions.
Like many a classic noir, Caliber 9 gets a lot of mileage out of its location shooting. Very little of it appears to have been filmed on set, with a couple of noticeable exceptions: L’Americano’s steel-lined office, and the swanky monochrome apartment owned by Ugo’s go-go dancing moll, Nelly (Barbara Bouchet), both of which are triumphs of modernist set design by Di Leo regular Francesco Cuppini. Di Leo’s emphasis on authentic settings owes as much to the docudrama technique of Jules Dassin’s The Naked City as it does the influence of Italian neorealism.
Di Leo handles Caliber 9’s numerous action set pieces with aplomb, whether it’s an explosive reprise of the opening package exchange that happens smack in the middle of the film, or the bullet-ridden shootout at L’Americano’s country estate that serves as its action-packed climax. The next installment of Di Leo’s trilogy, The Italian Connection, pushed the envelope of its action scenes into the outrageous, but Caliber 9 feels comparatively more grounded, despite Chino’s Bronson-like ability to mow down his enemies with almost ludicrous ease.
What would any self-respecting noir be without a proper femme fatale? Only in the film’s double- and triple-cross-laden endgame does Nelly emerge as anything more than mere window dressing. The scene gives genre stalwart Barbara Bouchet the opportunity to play both foxy temptress and vengeful vixen. With its corpse-strewn finale, Caliber 9 comes close to resembling a Shakespearean tragedy, precisely the sort of high-toned reference that the cultured Di Leo liked to season his films with. Then again, Caliber 9’s very last shot couldn’t be any more modern: a cigarette stub perching on the edge of a coffee table, slowly burning down to ashes. It’s the perfect objective correlative for Di Leo’s notion that nothing in this world can stand against what William Butler Yeats called “the blood-dimmed tide” of time and change.
Image/Sound
Raro Video’s 4K restoration of Caliber 9 looks really fantastic, a major improvement over the distributor’s 2012 Blu-ray release on pretty much all counts: colors nearly pop off the screen; clarity of fine details are greatly improved, down to beads of sweat on character’s faces; and grain levels are well regulated. Overall, there’s a nice sense of depth to the image. Audio comes in both Italian and English Master Audio mono mixes. Either option sounds fine. Some of the names are changed in the English dub, but most of the actors seem to be delivering their lines in English, so it’s a toss-up as to preference. Both tracks excellently convey the funky, propulsive score written by Luis Enriquez Bacalov and performed by prog rock band Osanna.
Extras
Raro carries over the extras from its 2012 Blu-ray release of Caliber 9 and adds to them an excellent and in-depth new commentary from film critic Rachel Nisbet. She delves into the film’s source material, changes that Fernando Di Leo made during the adaptation process, filming locations, sociopolitical background, and provides some interesting cast and crew bios. Along the way, she also touches on Bacalov’s score, Francesco Cuppini’s production design, and the film’s legacy (a Di Leo-helmed remake and a belated sequel from 2020).
The making-of documentary from 2004 features contributions from Di Leo, cast and crew including Bacalov and actress Barbara Bouchet, and several film critics. Topics include the work of writer Giorgio Scerbanenco, Milan as a setting, the influence of American noir novels and films on Di Leo’s work, censorship problems with Caliber 9’s violence, and Di Leo’s regret over not cutting some of more overt ideological debates. Many of the same participants return for the Di Leo profile “The Genesis of the Genre,” which covers his early years as a screenwriter for key spaghetti westerns like the first two entries in Sergio Leone’s Dollars trilogy, his left-wing political beliefs, and his approach to nudity and eroticism.
Elsewhere, the documentary Scerbanenco Noir provides a thorough overview of the life and work of the writer, his depiction of the dark side of Italy’s economic boom, and the various adaptations of his stories and novels. Finally, there’s a very short audio interview with actor Gastone Moschin, who shares an anecdote about being burned by a misplaced bullet squib.
Overall
Boasting a stunning 4K restoration, Raro’s release of Caliber 9 will stand as the definitive edition of Fernando Di Leo’s grim yet propulsive neo-noir for some time.
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