Revolver (1973) Hard-edged, Pessimistic, Buddy Cop Crime Thriller (Review)

Current wisdom in the literary world of the thriller genre is that you must immediately hook your reader in with some violence right from the first page. After that, you can focus on character, setting etc, but the bloody stuff has to be placed right up front.

Released to Blu-ray this week by Eureka, Revolver (also sometimes known as Blood on the Streets) is a 1973 poliziotteschi from director Sergio Sollima that most definitely understands this logic. Before the title sequence one criminal will succumb to a fatal (though unseen) gunshot wound to the stomach, whilst immediately following the titles we’ll see an establishment figure gunned down in the street. From there, Sollima’s film is unusually restrained in some ways for a poliziotteschi; preferring to focus instead on character in terms of the uneasy alliance between Oliver Reed’s prison warden Vito Cipriani and Fabio Testi’s petty crook, Milo Ruiz. Like many examples of the genre, however, Revolver is very keen to explore the sociopolitical climate of 1970s Italy, a tumultuous period in history in which political violence and assassination were frequent, everyday occurrences enough to warrant being given an era-defining name – the ‘Years of Lead’. Here, Sollima provides enough action to keep the masses entertained, most notably a thrilling shoot-out on a Parisian crossroad, whilst simultaneously asking them to consider the principle of law and order within society and the character of those tasked with keeping it.

The plot is a relatively straightforward one. When Vito’s wife (Agostina Belli) is kidnapped by the Sicilian underworld, he receives a ransom demand instructing him to release Milo, one of his prisoners, who has no real idea why he’s been targeted by the mob for his freedom. Fearing for the safety of his wife, Vito feels he has no option but to facilitate Milo’s escape from gaol but, being smarter than the average bear, he promptly kidnaps him for himself as a bargaining chip to use against the bad guys. Determined to get to the bottom of everything, our two mismatched heroes then set out across the snowy mountainous regions and across the border into France, with all sides hot on their tail and out to get them. The film takes a suitably pessimistic 70s conspiracy thriller turn when, revealing all to the Paris gendarmerie, Vito discovers that an official story has already been promulgated which paints the errant pair in less than glowing terms.

At the time of Revolver‘s release, the premise of a mismatched dynamic was an original one (for the Poliziotteschi at least; that other Italian exploitation staple the Spaghetti Western had already delighted in such central relationships with films like Sollima’s own offerings The Big Gundown, starring Tomas Milian and Lee Van Cleef, from 1966 and Face to Face, starring Milian and Gian Maria Volonté from the following year) but it was subsequently explored further in the genre with films such as Umberto Lenzi’s Free Hand for a Tough Cop from 1976 – which paired that man again Tomas Milian as a low life crim with Claudio Cassinelli’s detective Sarti in the job of taking down Henry Silva’s mobster; so successful was Milian’s character Monezza, a roguish lumpenproletariat with an avowedly working-class soul, that he returned to the character again and again – before achieving its Hollywood pinnacle in 1982 with Walter Hill’s 48 Hours. However, if you expect Reed and Testi to wisecrack their way through Revolver, think again; this is a dour, downbeat and ultra-macho offering as befits Italian cinema in the 1970s. Sollima doesn’t want to contribute to the growing buddy movie format, preferring instead to explore the characters of both men; opposites in law but, as human beings, not so different. Both Vito and Milo are loners and somewhat lonely, thrown together by a peculiar and unjust twist of fate. It is the character development that Sollima is most interested in and, when the roguish Milo discovers his social conscience, Vito finds he must rid himself of his own moral principles, with devastating consequences.

Revolver also boasts a fine and committed performance from Reed, even if he sometimes looks like he’s enjoyed a fair few between takes (indeed Sollima would later recall that working with Reed was fine “up until two or three in the afternoon, after the 25th or 26th bottle of wine”). Unlike some other British or American actors who sought work in Italy around this time, you don’t get the feeling here that Reed believes he’s slumming it and, in order to blend in with his fellow dubbed actors, he employs an American accent. It’s not a greatly convincing effort I’ll grant you, but it doesn’t in any way detract from your enjoyment of the movie either. The handsome and physically prominent Testi makes a good cheese stooge to Reed’s chalk lead, his more easy-going nature complimenting the latter’s brooding intensity. The other star of the film however is unseen but unforgettable. I’m talking of course of Ennio Morricone’s score which, unsurprisingly, a good deal was lifted by Tarantino (naturally) for Inglourious Basterds.

MARK on Revolver