‘Sicilian Letters’ Review: Toni Servillo and Elio Germano Correspond in a Bloodless Mafia Manhunt Drama
Though doubtless a crucial aspect of many of the most dramatic occurrences in human history, letter-writing is not the most cinematic of activities. And so it unfortunately proves once again in Fabio Grassadonia and Antonio Piazza’s “Sicilian Letters,” a heavily fictionalized riff on a real-life mafia tale, which sets up a battle of wits between a ruthless mob boss and the family friend working with the authorities to bring him down, but struggles to maintain any kind of momentum when the duel is merely a case of epistles-at-dawn.
Elio Germano plays Matteo, a character based on notorious Sicilian mafioso Matteo Messina Denaro who was the subject of a 30-year manhunt which only ended in 2023 when he was finally caught. Toni Servillo (“The Great Beauty,” “Loro”) plays invented character Catello Polumbo, whose correspondence with Matteo gets the authorities closer to his apprehension than ever before. As the film begins, Catello, a well-read, cultured ex-mayor referred to by all as professore, is being released after a six-year stint in prison for unspecified crimes, which cannot be as grievous as the tonsorial offences committed against Servillo here. Sporting a majestically unflattering grown-out dye-job greased into a slick, straggly combover, Catello cuts a vaguely ridiculous figure, which bolsters the film’s comic credentials but does rather detract from its dramatic heft.
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Catello discovers that in his absence his prickly wife Elvira (Betti Pedrazzi) has fallen on financial hard times, and his newly pregnant daughter is engaged to the gormless but obliging Pino (Giuseppe Tantino) whose puppyish reaction to Catello’s evident disdain is to fling his arms around the older man and insist on calling him “Dad.” Pino is not the only one with daddy issues. Far away, directing his murderous operations from a hideout in the house of an attractive widow, Lucia (Barbora Bobulova), Matteo is beset by memories of his own, recently deceased mafia-don father.
In particular, in the kind of flashback that is carefully costumed to ensure we’ll recognise everyone’s older versions because they will be wearing the same style of glasses as 50 as they were at five, Matteo recalls a day at the beach with his siblings. His father challenges all three kids to slit the throat of a sheep, and when his elder brother blubs and refuses, and his scowling sister is disallowed on account of being a girl, Matteo steps up. The animal’s blood spurts across his face, and the little ghoul’s smile muscles appear to twitch. Dad has found his heir apparent, and bestows on him the familial totem of power, a stolen antique statue they call “Pupu.”
All these years later, Matteo is controlling his nefarious operations (though the film is largely uninterested in those) using pizzini, which are tightly folded and taped paper letters that make their way to and from Matteo via a network of front businesses and mafia-friendly locals. But the mob boss, who is less enigmatic than he is thinkly drawn, is also an avid reader with a fondness for a literary turn of phrase. So when pizzini start coming from the erudite Catello — who was one of Matteo’s father’s best friends — Matteo responds in kind, unaware that the letters are part of a sting set up by ornery police captain Schiavon (Fausto Russi Alessi). That operation will end up teaming Catello with the weirdly antagonistic Inspector Rita Mancuso (Daniela Marra) who delivers even the most innocuous dialogue as though her scene partner has just murdered her dog, and who has her own reasons for trusting no one, not even her own superiors.
This is a strangely self-defeating film, jumping at themes that remain beyond its imaginative reach, and when they prove elusive, masking the resultant stumble with a joke. Often the humor lies in the counterpointing use of Colapesce’s grab-bag score. Or elsewhere, one of Servillo’s hangdog reactions lightens the mood, though considering his character is designed as a sort of lovable rogue, it’s a shame he is not that lovable nor particularly roguish, and that the frequent references to his intelligence are undermined by the failure of basically every one of his enterprises. And while, quoting the Ecclesiastes passage about “evil under the sun,” Matteo muses “And we have so much sun here in Sicily,” you really wouldn’t know it from the shadow-shrouded interior locations that limit the expressive potential of expert Sorrentino collaborator Luca Bigazzi’s cinematography. Mostly though, the disappointment lies in the film’s tonal incoherence, when the directors last outing, “Sicilian Ghost Story,” is a small gem that masterfully melds mafia drama with horror and fantasy elements. That film, also inspired by a real-world incident but unfurling in entirely unexpected directions, truly earns the rather grand text that opens this one: “Reality is a departure point, not a destination.” “Sicilian Letters” however, goes on a journey that could adequately be outlined on a postcard.
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