The Sicilian (Director’s Cut) | Blu-Ray Review

Conversations on the intense and onerous auteur Michael Cimino tend to target his earlier career, particularly his iconic sophomore film The Deer Hunter (1978) and his notorious 1980 title Heaven’s Gate, which bankrupted a studio and galvanized critical consensus for decades prior to being resuscitated as a misunderstood masterpiece. Many don’t seem to realize Cimino’s directorial career continued, and he completed four more titles throughout the 80s and 90s (though none of them seemed to receive the attention all is failed projects seemed to). One of these was 1987’s The Sicilian, an adaptation of a novel from Mario Puzo (of The Godfather fame), and adapted by Steve Shagan (with some uncredited tinkering from Gore Vidal). Suffice it to say, the title is not an obscure gem waiting for the correct climate of consideration. Clunky, and willfully discordant, it’s a strangely revisionist portrait of one of Italy’s most notorious post WWII criminal, Salvatore Giuliano, sold here as a sort of politically geared Robin Hood folk hero, played improbably by a soulless Christopher Lambert.

After WWII, the inhabitants of the island of Sicily are eager to escape Rome’s oppressive laws dictating access to land and fortune. Between the inheriting landowners, the Church, and the Mafia, the Sicilian peasants are unable to master their own destinies. But Salvatore Giuliano (Lambert) deigns to change this unbalanced system, first by robbing and murdering the rich with the assistance of his men, including best friend Pisciotta (John Turturro). The head of the Sicilian Mafia, Don Masino (Joss Acklund) wants Giuliano stopped, but he also has admiration for the young man, viewing him as the son he never had. But as Giuliano’s power grows, so does the growing backlash against the outlaw, leading to a bloody manhunt to capture him.

Particularly atrocious is the film’s dialogue, which is rather paint-by-numbers with chewy exposition and grand ideas when characters aren’t engaged in overblown approximations of lust, love, or noble ideations. Lambert isn’t so much horrendous as inescapably dull, his distinct accent a notable distraction from a number of wooden interactions (a sex scene with Sukowa is particularly uncomfortable). Likewise, Joss Acklund’s ceaseless sneering and overly mannered line delivery hinges on camp while neither John Turturro nor Terence Stamp are distinctively utilized.

As the film’s other female transfixed by the supposed swashbuckler, actual Italian Giulia Boschi (who would appear in Claire Denis’ excellent debut Chocolat a year later and retire from acting in 2001) has the tiresome task of generating protracted chemistry with Lambert. Composer David Mansfield (who worked on four of Cimino’s seven features) crafts an insistently melodramatic score often suggesting the notion of significant emotional substance, but there’s none to be had. Instead, it’s full of misnomers and misplaced energy (as an early tracking shot of a beautiful Barbara Sukowa tossing off her clothes as she prowls to her bath indicates), and squanders the short-lived bursts of visual artifice DP Alex Thomsen manages.

Disc Review:

Shout Factory mounts Cimino’s forgotten title in 2.35:1 with DTS-HD Master Audio. While it’s certainly a film which seems concerned with delivering spectacle, everything about the title seems frivolous. In the effort of resuscitating interest, the release is advertised as capturing Lambert “in the most powerful performance of his career,” but such a proclamation is either facetious or crafted by someone who hasn’t watched it recently. Surprisingly, there are no bonus features.

Final Thoughts:

For a more prudent examination of the famed criminal Salvatore Giuliani, one should revisit Francesco Rosi’s 1962 title named for him. Cimino’s euphuistic portrait of misplaced romanticism is barely durable.

Film Review: ★½/☆☆☆☆☆
Disc Review: ★★★/☆☆☆☆☆