Film Review: A Fistful of Dynamite (Giù la testa, 1971)

If there is one name synonymous with the Spaghetti Western, it is undeniably Sergio Leone, whose Man With No Name trilogy—A Fistful of Dollars, For a Few Dollars More, and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly—redefined the genre’s aesthetic and thematic scope. Beyond these landmarks, Leone’s filmography ventured into lesser-explored territories, including the Zapata Western, a subgenre that transposed the mythos of the American frontier to the Mexican Revolution. His 1971 film Duck, You Sucker!—alternatively titled A Fistful of Dynamite and Once Upon a Time… The Revolution—stands as the most celebrated entry in this niche category. Though overshadowed by the towering success of his earlier films and his final masterpiece Once Upon a Time in America, A Fistful of Dynamite remains a compelling, if polarising, work that underscores Leone’s versatility and willingness to tackle politically fraught subject matter.

Co-written by Leone and Sergio Donati, the film is set in Mexico during the turbulent years of the Revolution, specifically around 1913. The narrative introduces Juan Miranda (Rod Steiger), a ruthless bandit and patriarch of a sprawling family gang, whose primary aim is to orchestrate a heist on the bank of the city of Mesa Verde—a lifelong ambition. After robbing a stagecoach transporting wealthy passengers, Juan encounters Sean H. Mallory (James Coburn), an Irish explosives expert using dynamite to search for silver in the mountains. Juan’s audacious plan hinges on Mallory’s skills, and the two form an uneasy alliance. Upon arriving in Mesa Verde, however, Juan discovers the city is garrisoned by the tyrannical Governor Don Jaime (Franco Graziosi) and his brutal soldiers. Meanwhile, Mallory—adopting the alias “John”—joins revolutionary forces led by Dr. Villega (Romolo Valli), who seek to overthrow the regime. The bank heist, intended as a criminal venture, becomes a pivotal moment in the revolution. After a successful raid, Juan learns the bank holds political prisoners rather than gold, dashing his financial hopes. The duo must then evade relentless pursuit by Colonel Günther Reza (Antoine Saint-John), whose armoured columns represent the regime’s relentless cruelty. The plot spirals from a heist into a full-scale revolutionary conflict, blending personal ambition with ideological fervour.

Leone’s Spaghetti Westerns often dismantled Hollywood’s romanticised vision of the American West, prioritising moral ambiguity and visceral realism over heroism. In A Fistful of Dynamite, he turns his critical lens toward another myth: the revolutionary idealism popularised by European left-wing filmmakers during the politically charged 1960s and 1970s. The era’s anti-establishment movements, fuelled by Vietnam War protests and the 1968 global uprisings, elevated armed revolution as a panacea for societal ills. Leone, however, interrogates this notion with characteristic scepticism. By situating his narrative within the Mexican Revolution—a conflict rife with real-world complexities—he questions the efficacy and morality of violent upheaval.

Leone’s critique is embodied in his protagonists. Juan begins as a pragmatic outlaw, driven solely by greed and the desire to secure his family’s future. Mallory, meanwhile, is a disillusioned intellectual haunted by his involvement in Ireland’s struggle against British rule. Both are drawn into the revolution reluctantly: Juan by circumstance, Mallory by a search for purpose. Though the film opens with Mao Zedong quote of revolution as “an act of violence”, Mallory later privately calls it “confusion,” torn between his principles and cynicism. Juan’s worldview crystallises in a pivotal speech, where he dismisses revolution as a charade orchestrated by “people who can read” to manipulate the uneducated into fighting, only to leave the poor dead and the powerful unchanged. This nihilistic view is tragically validated as the revolution devours its own, culminating in Juan’s family being slaughtered—a personal catastrophe that underscores the cost of ideological fervour. Post-release anecdotes suggest the film’s bleak message resonated with parents whose children abandoned revolutionary ideals after viewing it, a testament to Leone’s unflinching realism.

For viewers disinterested in political allegory, A Fistful of Dynamite thrives as a visceral action spectacle. Leone’s baroque direction transforms the narrative from a confined stagecoach encounter into an epic clash involving hundreds of combatants. The film’s escalation—from Juan’s banditry to the revolution’s chaotic climax—is mirrored in the cinematography, which evolves from tight close-ups of grizzled faces to sweeping vistas of desolate landscapes and sprawling battlefields. The script, rich with Leone’s signature blend of moral ambiguity, dark humour, and operatic pathos, ensures that even the film’s quieter moments brim with tension. Scenes such as the bandits’ jovial campfire banter or the sardonic dialogue between Juan and Mallory highlight Leone’s ability to balance action with human-scale storytelling.

Produced during a cultural moment when censorship norms were collapsing, the film adopts a starkly unfiltered tone. Explicit violence—such as the mass execution of civilians by Don Jaime’s forces—contrasts with the stylised brutality of Leone’s earlier work. The script’s profanity and sexual content, including Juan’s implied rape of aristocrat María (Maria Monti), reflect the era’s liberated screen standards. Modern audiences, however, might find such sequences problematic, particularly the rape scene, which, though brief, lacks the nuance to avoid appearing exploitative.

Despite its political edge, A Fistful of Dynamite bears the unmistakable hallmarks of a Leone film. Extreme close-ups of sweat-drenched faces, meticulously composed wide shots of sun-scorched terrain, and enigmatic flashbacks - such as Mallory’s haunting recollection of his relationship with fellow Irish revolutionary Nolan, played by David Warbeck, and Coleen, young woman, played by Viviane Chandler, whom two friends apparently shared) establish the director’s visual lexicon. Ennio Morricone’s score—a mix of haunting whistles, thunderous percussion, and the film’s iconic theme—anchors the narrative in emotional grandeur. The soundtrack’s recurring motifs, particularly the mournful flute during moments of introspection, elevate the film’s thematic depth.

Leone subtly infuses the film with personal and historical resonance. The massacre scene, where federales execute civilians en masse, mirrors Italy’s Ardeatini Cave atrocities committed by Germans during WWII. Don Jaime’s resemblance to Mussolini draws direct parallels to Italy’s fascist past. Colonel Reza, with his blonde hair and armoured car, evokes Nazi imagery, further cementing the film’s subtext as a critique of authoritarianism’s cyclical nature. These nods suggest Leone viewed the Mexican Revolution as a microcosm of Europe’s own turbulent history.

Critics often cite anachronisms as a flaw, most glaringly the inclusion of World War II-era MG42 machine guns, which did not exist in 1913. While such inaccuracies might jar purists, they are minor compared to the film’s broader ambitions. A more pressing issue is pacing: at over two-and-a-half hours in its restored cut, the film drags in stretches. Yet, the runtime is justified by the epic scope of its themes—the rise and fall of empires, the birth and betrayal of ideals—which demand time to unfold.

Rod Steiger, who replaced Eli Wallach at the last minute, delivers a performance of volcanic intensity as Juan. His portrayal—combining paternal warmth, ruthless pragmatism, and tragic despair—anchors the film’s emotional core. His dynamic with James Coburn’s wry, weary Mallory is a highlight, their banter balancing wit and existential dread. Wallach, known for his role as Tuco in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, might have infused Juan with a different tone, perhaps more sly and opportunistic. Still, Steiger’s performance is indelible, particularly in the film’s heart-wrenching final act.

While many Leone purists rank A Fistful of Dynamite among his lesser works, its status as a classic remains unassailable. Compared to the mythic grandeur of Once Upon a Time in the West or the flawless pacing of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, it is indeed uneven. Yet, even in its flaws—its meandering runtime, occasional tonal whiplash, and anachronisms—lies the mark of a director unafraid to experiment. For Leone, “lesser” never meant “insignificant”; it meant a work that dared to confront its era’s contradictions with unflinching honesty. In dissecting revolution’s illusions, A Fistful of Dynamite transcends its subgenre, offering a timeless meditation on power, violence, and the futility of utopian dreams. For audiences willing to endure its length and complexity, it remains a testament to Leone’s singular genius—a film that challenges as much as it entertains, and whose legacy endures precisely because it refuses to offer easy answers.

RATING: 8/10 (+++)

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