In New York, Mob boss Corso (the wonderful Cyril Cusack) lays out a job for two silently attentive hitmen named Dave Catania (Henry Silva) and Frank Webster (Woody Strode). He wants them to fly to Milan, find a small-time pimp named Luca Canali (Mario Adorf), and kill him in as brutal a manner as possible. Their aim is to ensure that his death will be the talk not just of the city but the whole of Italy, and to let everyone know that the job was ordered by the New York Mafia hierarchy. This meeting is then narratively interrupted so the film can skip over to Milan and introduce us to Luca, whom we meet as he is asked by his cheerful friend Nicola (Gianni Macchia) to intervene in an argument two men are having about one of Luca's girls. Luca settles by smilingly approaching both men and then sharply headbutting them both to the ground. When one of them gets up and pulls a knife, Luca quickly downs him again and starts slapping him repeatedly around the face, slaps that soften to playful taps and the claim that his victim was feeling faint when the cops show up to investigate the commotion.

The film then returns to the meeting in New York, where Corso re-emphasises how violently and publicly he wants Luca killed. What, you might think, has this physically imposing but essentially jovial man done to so upset the heads of the New York Mafia? We soon find out when Corso reveals that a £6 million heroin shipment was stolen from them and resold, and Luca has been unequivocally identified as the culprit. Corso insists that when Dave and Frank arrive in Italy they must first meet with Milan mob boss Don Vito Tressoldi (Adolfo Celli), whose cooperation in locating Luca they must request before taking any action against him. He also encourages them to otherwise act like typical American tourists, and I couldn't help thinking that director and co-screenwriter Fernando Di Leo was getting something off his chest here. "You two pretty well fit the Italian idea of the American," Corso tells them. "So just remember to be yourselves. Dress American, act American, drink a lot, leave big tips, put your feet up on the table, that drives the Italians crazy." Then, as an afterthought, he adds, "Oh, yes, chew gum all the time."

Although selected for this job because they both fought in Italy during the war, Italian-American Dave Catania and African-American Frank Webster initially come across as serious-minded partners who work together on a regular basis. When it comes to their personalities, however, the two could not be more different from each other. When they reach Milan, Dave takes Corso at his word and is outgoing and jovial, accepting any proffered drink and cheerfully flirting with every woman he meets. Frank, on the other hand, doesn't touch alcohol, remains seriously stone-faced at all times, and only speaks when he feels the absolute need to do so. This disparity is first revealed when they are met at their hotel by hired agency guide Eva (Luciana Paluzzi) and shown to their suite, where Dave quickly slips into a bathrobe, flops into an armchair with a glass of whisky, and comes on to the disinterested Eva, while Frank stands immobile in his day clothes with his muscular arms folded, silently glaring at them both.

We are then shown what a decent man Luca is beneath that beefy exterior, when he keeps an arranged meet with his estranged wife Lucia (Sylva Koscina) and his young daughter Rita (Lara Wendel) in order to give Rita a present, and from the moment they first clap eyes on each other, it's clear that Luca and Rita adore each other. Luca's attempts at friendly conversation with Lucia fall on frostier ears, although she does reluctantly accept the money he offers to help with Rita's medical bills, bills you'd think Luca could easily pay for in full had he ripped off the Mob for millions of dollars as the New York Mafia bosses believe. Is it possible, despite Corso's conviction that his information is sound, that they had the wrong man? Either way, before making any moves against him, Frank and Dave follow Corso's orders and meet with Don Vito, whose heavily guarded office has that power-play arrangement of differently heighted chairs to ensure that the host always looks down on his guests. He promises to deliver Luca to them alive the following day, and encourages them to go out and have a good time, but after they leave, his smile quickly fades and he wonders aloud just why a smart guy like Corso would send two New York professionals to Milan to grab a relative lowlife like Luca.

Things quickly complicate from this point on, as Dave asks Eva where they might find someone like Luca and she takes him and Frank to the sort of groovy 60s nightclub that probably only ever existed in movies. Here, Dave pays a blue afro-wigged girl named Trini (Francesca Romana Coluzzi) a handsome sum to join them at their table in order to ask her about Luca, and after accepting the money and handing it to a friend (a cameo by then hugely popular singer Renato Zero) to buy drugs, she admits to knowing Luca but claims he rarely comes to this club. The following morning, however, she climbs over the naked and still sleeping remnants of an orgy to give Luca a call and warn him about these two Americans. It matters little, as almost as soon as Luca hits the street he's picked up by two of Don Vito's boys, who drive him to a deserted woodyard, where they call their boss to tell him that they have their man. They then proceed to beat the living hell out of Luca, at least that's the plan, but tough though the two goons undoubtably are, Luca is harder, and after a serious scrap he beats them both unconscious. Before making his getaway, he puts in a call to the hotel at which Dave and Frank are staying and lures them into a confrontational meeting with Don Vito at the woodyard, where the three men get into a pissing contest over who can most violently punish the two goons who were dumb enough to let Luca escape. Luca, of course, is now keenly aware that he is being hunted by both parties and that they mean him serious harm but appears to have no idea what he could possibly have done to warrant such powerful forces to be unleashed against him.

Fans of Italian crime cinema should be well aware of the work of writer-director Fernando Di Leo, notably for what has become known as his Milieu Trilogy, which began in 1972 with Caliber 9 [Milano calibro 9] and concluded a year later with The Boss [Il Boss]. The Italian Connection [La mala ordina] sits midway between the two, not directly connected to either through its story or characters but nonetheless bonded to both through its content, its style, its themes, and its creators. All three films were directed and written (or in this case, co-written) by Di Leo, produced by Armando Novelli, photographed by Franco Villa, edited by Amedeo Giomini, and designed by Francesco Cuppini. In addition, some of the actors – including Mario Adorf, Henry Silva, Giuseppe Castellano, Ettore Geri, Imelde Marani, Mira Vidotto and Alberto Fogliani – appear in two of the three titles, while Giulio Baraghini and Empedocle Buzzanca have roles in all three. Savvy writing and casting enables Di Leo and his cast to quickly create characters that may lack depth and complexity, but that are nonetheless instantly interesting and clearly defined. Thus, Corso's calm position of authority is established from the moment British actor Cyril Cusack delivers his first calmly spoken line, while the toughened features and stoic expressions of Dave and Frank tell you all you need to know about the threat they represent. And just wait until you get to the scene in which they visit Don Vito, where the likes of Pietro Ceccarelli, Peter Berling and Pasquale Fasciano as his henchmen make it instantly clear why Don Vito feels so secure in their company.

In common with Milano Calibro 9 and The Boss, the drama is compelling from the off, and is peppered with tough action that peaks in a superb showpiece scene, which here – as it would also be in The Boss – feels like an attempt to give the blistering car/train chase in William Friedkin's 1971 game-changer The French Connection (which doubtless inspired this film's export retitle) a run for its money. Triggered by a genuinely unexpected and shocking turn of events, it sees Luca chasing one of Don Vito's men through the streets of Milan at a hair-raising speed, ploughing through and colliding with other vehicles, with one (probably) staged crash looking as real at the famously accidental one in Friedkin's film. Then, when the fleeing goon is forced to abandon his vehicle and hijack a van, the stunt work moves into Jackie Chan territory, with Luca (and it's clearly actor Mario Adorf putting his life on the line for at least part of this) dangling precariously from the side window and clinging on to the front of the van like a splattered starfish as the vehicle weaves violently in and out traffic. It all builds to an almost nihilistic climax in a vehicle junkyard and an ending as downbeat by implication as anything in classic Hollywood noir, albeit one perfectly in-keeping with the overriding tone of the Milieu Trilogy.

It's been a few years since I first saw The Italian Connection, whose original Italian title La mala ordina actually translates as The mob orders, and coming back to it after also being able to revisit Milano Calibro 9 and The Boss in newly restored form on Blu-ray proved a real pleasure. In common with its companions, it tells a riveting story built around characters whose distinctiveness and offbeat charisma easily compensate for any perceived lack of depth and backstory. It's a close call, but of the three films in the trilogy it may also just have the most impressive pool of actors. The bear-like Mario Adorff (a key antagonist in Milano Calibro 9) makes for a nicely unconventional lead who really is put through the emotional ringer, while the expressive edge that Adolfo Celi brings to the role of Milan Mafia boss Don Vito is nicely counterpointed by the icy cool of Cyril Cusack's portrayal of his New York counterpart. And then there's Henry Silva and Woody Strode as mafia hitmen Dave Catania and Frank Webster, two seemingly mismatched individuals who nonetheless instinctively work together as one when required. Both qualities are best captured in an early scene in Milan when their car is surrounded by a group of cheerful sex workers looking to make money off these visiting Americans, something that delights Dave but leaves Frank coldly unmoved. This initially upbeat encounter quickly turns sour when one of the girls playfully snatches Dave's wallet and he responds by slapping her, which attracts the attention of a nearby group of bikers, who roll over with the intention of teaching this arrogant foreigner a sound lesson. Dave quickly puts them in their place, but as others arrive and look set to overwhelm him, the previously static Frank flashes a small "here we go again" look of exasperation and calmly exits the car, takes off his coat, and walks over to show the locals how dangerous these two visitors can be.

The social subtext is effectively integrated, and for me is at its most subtly disturbing when Luca leaves his building after spending the night (and arguing) with one of the sex workers that he pimps for. As he reaches the entrance he encounters a girl who is barely in her teens, and whose body language suggests that she has been waiting there for some time, perhaps specifically for his arrival. As he pauses to look at her, she looks back in quiet expectation and greets him with a simple “Buona sera,” to which Luca react with a look of clear discomfort. Although on the surface an innocent encounter, the awkwardness of Luca’s response tells a somewhat different story, of an underaged sex worker looking for her next client, or an adolescent girl hoping to catch Luca’s eye and become his latest (and by far youngest) recruit. It’s a quietly uneasy encounter either way you read it, and the fact that Luca ultimately responds by smiling and tapping the girl almost fatherly on the cheek and heading on his way suggests that, despite the grubby way he makes his living, there are some lines he will absolutely not cross.

Given his fondness for Italian genre cinema of the 60s and 70s, it perhaps shouldn't come as a surprise that Quentin Tarantino is a big fan of the cinema of Fernando Di Leo, or that Dave and Frank were the inspiration for mob hitmen Vincent Vega and Jules Winfield in the director's 1994 Pulp Fiction. And Di Leo really shines here, working in close collaboration with cinematographer Franco Villa, editor Amedeo Giomini, and his stellar cast to create a tightly structured, grippingly told, if ultimately downbeat crime drama with a social commentary subtext and a nailbiter of a centrepiece chase. Whether it's the best film in the Milieu Trilogy is not something I'd be prepared to commit myself on either way, and even if I did there's a good chance that I'd change my mind the very next time I sat down to watch these three exceptional genre movies. But be warned, although all three are stand-alone works telling separate stories with different characters, there are damned good reasons why they're classed as a trilogy, and if you find yourself gripped by one of them, there's a strong chance you're immediately going to want to see the other two.

Sourced from a 2020 4K restoration from the original negative and framed in the film's original aspect ratio of 1.85:1, the 1080p transfer on Raro Video's Blu-ray is well up to the high standard expected of any film released under the Radiance Films banner. The image is sharp and the detail consistently well-defined, the contrast has been expertly graded to nail the black levels without punishing the shadow detail, and despite a slight earthy leaning in places, the colour is attractively rendered, particularly the brighter, pastel-leaning hues of the lighting and costumes (and in the case of Trini's blue wig, hair) in the nightclub scene. The image remains stable in frame throughout, dust and damage have all but been eliminated, and a fine film grain is visible. Nice.

As with Raro's release of The Boss, both the domestic Italian and export English language tracks have been included, and in common with that earlier release – and seemingly against all logic – I'm once again going to suggest that the English language track is the way to go. In common with most Italian genre works of the day, all of the dialogue has been post-dubbed, but it seems clear that almost all of the actors delivered their dialogue in English here, which makes the English language track a better fit than the more visibly dubbed Italian. And while some of the local actors have been rerecorded on this track by unnamed others, it does sound as if Cyril Cusack dubbed his own voice, which alone is a serious thumbs-up for the English language track. Sonically, both tracks are Linear PCM 1.0 mono and show their age in the relative narrowness of their tonal range, but the dialogue is always clear, and thankfully there is no shrill distortion on the higher notes of Armando Trovaioli's jazzy score. There are no obvious signs of any former damage, but there is some audible background fluff on the English track that that is absent from its Italian equivalent.

Optional English subtitles kick on by default for the Italian track, but optional English subtitles for the hearing impaired are also provided for the English language track, which I warmly salute.

…And a Tiny Bullet for a Tiny Kitten (47:02)
Subtitled Absurdist Farce Meets Social Critique in Fernando Di Leo's Underworld Grindhouse, this visual essay on Fernando Di Leo's Milieu Trilogy, by Kevin Marr and Howard S. Berger under the colourful nom de plume of 'The Flying Maciste Brothers', kicks off with a captioned warning of upcoming spoilers for all three films and the advice not to watch this until you've seen them all in their entirety. While this may seem like an unfair condition given that only one of the films is included on this disc, I'd argue that if you're going to produce work that covers all three of the films, this is the disc you'd logically put it on, as despite being the middle film in the trilogy, The Italian Connection is the last of to be released on Blu-ray in the UK. The essay itself takes the form of an in-depth look at the three films and the thematic and stylistic links between them, the jumping-off point being the crucifix displayed on the desks of the Mafia Dons in each story. As is often the case with such analytical works, there are a few times here where I couldn't help suspecting that deeper meaning was being read into elements that were more the result of filmmaking pragmatism than subtextual intent. That said, this still makes for intriguing and impressively detailed viewing, and it made me want to immediately watch all three films afresh with the often pertinent observations and points made here in mind.

The Roots of the Mafia (20:36)
A 2004 documentary on the making of the Italian Connection, framed 4:3 and sourced from what looks like a standard definition original, which matters not a jot given that those interviewed here include writer-director Fernando Di Leo, producer Armando Novelli, assistant director Franco Lo Cascio, editor Amedio Giomini, cinematographer Franco Villa, actress Francesca Romana Colluzi, and writers and essayists Maurizio Columbo and Luca Crovi. Although all are of considerable interest, it's perhaps unsurprising that some of the best material is supplied by Di Leo, who recalls his youthful fondness for the "shootout movies" made by Warner Brothers in the 1930s and 40s, his experience of the real mafia gangsters when growing up, and how he was allowed to make what he wanted after his first films made money for the studio. He also counters criticism that he has painted an unrealistic picture of Mafia activity in the nation's capital by reminding us that Rome's Banda della Magliana gang is one of the most vicious in the country. He praises Henry Silva's "marble face," then perhaps inadvertently disses him by suggesting he only has three expressions, and although he claims to have already edited each film in his head when he writes the script, he reveals that Mario Adorf's interaction with a small kitten in the final scene was changed on the spot when the animal unexpectedly appeared at the location. We get some revealing information about the shooting of the showpiece car chase scene from cinematographer Franco Villa, the razor-sharp assembly of which editor Amedio Giomini is almost sweetly humble about, praising the footage he was given and stating that "The merit goes to Fernando, and maybe a little bit to me too."

Also included with the release disc is a Limited Edition Booklet with new writing by Italian crime expert Austin Fisher but this was not available for review.

That the second film in the Milieu Trilogy is the third to be reviewed by this site is down purely to the complexities of home entertainment rights and release dates, and if you're UK based and wondering when the best time to get your hands on all three films, I would suggest it's right now. Milano Calibro 9 was released as a Blu-ray/DVD dual format package by Arrow Video back in 2015, and while not a limited edition, there's always the possibility that it will eventually go out of print and stocks will dry up. The Boss came to Blu-ray earlier this year courtesy of Raro Video via Radiance Films, who are also responsible for this Blu-ray release of The Italian Connection, and both discs are limited to 3,000 copies apiece and Radiance releases do have a habit of selling out (I can't tell you the trouble I have had tracking a couple of their past titles down), so I'd get them while you can. All three titles are worth it, sporting as they do top-notch restorations and transfers of the films and backed by some excellent special features. I sang the praises of the Raro/Radiance Blu-ray release of The Boss when I reviewed it back in June, and this new Blu-ray of The Italian Connection is every bit its equal, and thus comes highly recommended.