In an Italian prison, Cossimo (Memmo Carotenuto) sits stewing in anger – a career criminal known for his elaborate heists, he has been caught before managing to achieve the riches he had always envisioned for himself – and the fact that he was sent to prison for attempting to steal a car only increases his fury. He is desperate to get out, so he convinces some of his former gang members to find a scapegoat, who would confess to the crime (for a hefty payout), allowing Cossimo to be set free. The only person who agrees to it is a well-meaning boxer, Peppe il Pantera (Vittorio Gassman), who has yet to amass a criminal record, and thus can expect a very brief jail sentence. While there, he converses with Cossimo (who hasn’t been allowed to have his sentence reduced, despite Peppe’s confession), and it is revealed that he was planning an elaborate mission – another inmate had mentioned how he built a very thin wall between an apartment and a pawn shop, with the intention of returning at a later point to knock through the wall and steal the contents of the shop’s safe. This idea allures Peppe, who reveals that he was actually given a year’s probation, and is allowed to leave. He assembles Cossimo’s crew (Renato Salvatori, Carlo Pisacane, Tiberio Murgia and Marcello Mastroianni), who are reluctant to follow the lead of someone as inexperienced as Peppe, but when they realize how much they stand to earn, they gladly agree to take part. However, they’re not the most effective thieves, and even with an apparently foolproof plan, they run into many unfortunate obstacles that only serve to make their mission all the more difficult – but tenacity is something that drives them forward, and they’re committed to accomplishing the mission, by any means necessary.

The career of Mario Monicelli is nothing to dismiss – one of the most versatile filmmakers to ever work in the medium, he helped define a very particular era in Italian cinema, directing many fascinating films that normally aligned themselves with the commedia dell’Italiana school of thought (represented by absurd plots that are heavily rooted in postwar social and political unease), and captivated audiences through their amusing storylines and vaguely sinister undertones that constantly hinted at something deeper existing beneath the surface of what are usually very exuberant and lovable comedies. I have previously written about his incredible An Average Little Man, which stands as one of the finest films of the 1970s, but his masterpiece is most certainly Big Deal on Madonna Street (Italian: I soliti ignoti), a daring and provocative crime comedy that doesn’t only pay homage to the many fascinating caper and heist films that inspired it (both those produced in the United States, and those made a bit closer to home, such as in France and the United Kingdom), but go above and beyond the confines of the genre, delivering a deliriously deceptive story about five men trying to conduct a heist, but finding themselves getting further into the midst of misadventure, several obstacles standing in their way between successfully completing their mission, or being thrown in prison for the umpteenth time for many of these criminals. Beautifully-made, hilariously irreverent and put together as if Monicelli was composing a grand opera, Big Deal on Madonna Street is an absolutely magnificent work, and one of the greatest comedies of the 1950s, an era that essentially defined cinematic humour and developed it from simply being for amusement, showing that even the most outrageous films can have something profound to say.

As made evident by the plot synopsis above, Big Deal on Madonna Street is a very compelling film that seems to be paying homage to a long lineage of crime films that centre on a rag-tag group of individuals working together to accomplish a particular goal, normally taking the form of an elaborate heist that will result in a considerable payday for each of them. However, the limits of this film go far and beyond mere parody, as Monicelli is far more interested in getting to the root of what precisely makes these stories so exceptionally interesting, and how they manage to captivate a universal audience. We see two very distinct styles colliding as a result – on one side, there is a genuinely loving tribute to the heist films of previous years, which Monicelli being intrepid enough to directly lift many of the more notable tropes from films such as Rififi and The Killing, which he then throws against a strong foundation of home-grown comedy, the kind of humour that came about in Italy towards the end of the Second World War, concurrent (but not exclusive) to the neo-realist movement that is most fondly remembered. Without one or the other, Big Deal on Madonna Street would simply not have worked at all, with everything that makes this such an interesting film comes from both the director’s fascination with the genre, and his ability to filter many of these ideas through the lens of domestic comedy, which eventually extended out of Italy and into many other countries, which took a cue from these exemplifications that hilarious films could be made from the most dour and serious subject matter – even something as intimidating as being sent to prison, which is not shown to be particularly pleasant, in spite of the film’s exceptionally upbeat and absurdist tone.

From a modern perspective, the idea of a comedy being made from such stories seems almost commonplace, since we’ve seen works like Ocean’s Eleven and Reservoir Dogs repurpose heist dramas as buddy comedies, filled with eccentric characters and exhilarating storytelling that lends itself to the lighter side of entertainment. However, despite being an exceptionally funny film from beginning to end, Big Deal on Madonna Street isn’t against traversing some darker narrative territory, especially in how it shows the social disorder that persisted at the time. Made just over a decade since the end of the Second World War, this film shows an Italy that is still under reconstruction after the fall of fascism, and Monicelli isn’t averse to using this as a backdrop to the story, which gives serious depth to the comedy and grounds it within reality. Whether it be the decrepit, war-torn buildings that the characters make their way through, or the overpopulated prison that evokes disturbing memories of Michel Foucault’s writing (one has to wonder whether there was some correlation between what was shown here and the philosopher’s existential ponderings – perhaps they both have a common origin in how they perceived post-war incarceration and how it related to society as a whole), there is a clear sense of sobering honesty that persists throughout the film. However, there isn’t a single moment where Monicelli seems to be intent on pulling us out of the enjoyable nature of the film – from the first frame until the last (which has to be one of the funniest endings to a film ever made), there is a sense of heightened comedy that just doesn’t abate, using the socio-cultural context as the platform for some deliriously funny, frantic comedic hijinx that simply keeps us more engaged than even the most harrowing neo-realist demonstration of the ravages of the post-war period. It’s a tricky task, but the director strikes the right balance between comedy and tragedy, which keeps us entertained while still provoking some serious thought at the same time.

There is a tremendous cast, and just looking at the credits, anyone with even a slight knowledge of Italian cinema will be absolutely entranced by the names that appear. Vittorio Gassman, one of Italy’s finest actors (and the star of what I consider to be the single greatest commedia all’Italiana of all time, the incredible Il Sorpasso), is the de facto lead, the charming boxer who becomes the mastermind behind the heist, shepherding his eccentric crew forwards, while still planning what he hopes will give them enough reward to retire from the criminal life once and for all. Charming, debonair and effortlessly funny, Gassman was an exceptional talent, and while he is more of a reactionary to the madness occurring around him (most likely a result of this being one of his first comedic roles, after there were doubts that he could play such a part based on his previous work), his performance as the straight-man to his motley crew of idiots is wonderful. Renato Salvatori and Carlo Pisacane are also tremendous, playing supporting roles that are able to blend into the background, or burst into focus, depending on when they’re necessary. This film was also a great moment in the early career of Marcello Mastroianni, who wasn’t quite yet the dashing, world-renowned star he would become in the coming decade, but who had the kind of movie star charm that simply can’t be manufactured. He gives perhaps the funniest performance in the film, and is surprisingly generous to his co-stars, never demanding to be the centre of attention, while still stealing nearly every scene he is in – only an actor like Mastroianni could be so inherently charismatic, even a supporting role feels like a leading one. The film is also worth watching for smaller roles by Claudia Cardinale (now at the start of her career), and Totò (in the latter stages of his), who may be limited to only a few minutes on screen, but do their best with what they’re given, leaving a profound impression. The casting of Big Deal on Madonna Street is absolutely impeccable, and its the rare kind of ensemble film where everyone is valuable – there isn’t a single person in this cast that feels unnecessary, each one playing a vital role in the creation of this film, and bringing such a vivid energy to their individual roles.

Big Deal on Madonna Street is a very special film, especially since it is one that is so deeply in control of its various components, it’s difficult to argue against anything being close to a weakness. The cast is incredible (and is worth watching for the performances alone – these are actors operating at their absolute peak, and it’s a delight to see how they can derive so much depth from seemingly stereotypical roles), and the writing services both the characters and the premise so well. Monicelli is a director who doesn’t avoid inserting a few well-placed twists and turns throughout his films, and working with screenwriters Agenore Incrocci and Furio Scarpelli (operating under their professional title of Age & Scarpelli), and Suso Cecchi d’Amico, the director handcrafted a delightfully irreverent crime comedy that had an equal amount of heart and humour, each frame brimming with a peculiar energy that comes across authentically and with a genuine fondness for the material. A loving homage to the very serious heist thrillers that Monicelli clearly had a fondness for (parody is one of the greatest compliments an artist can hope to achieve, since it implies that their work was notable enough to deserve subversion), and made with a lovable conviction that manages to be simultaneously enthralling and thought-provoking, Big Deal on Madonna Street is one of the greatest comedies of its era, and a firm reminder that all one needs to create something worthwhile is a strong story, a dedicated cast, and the willingness to go to unexpected lengths to deliver something that audiences may not always be able to predict. All of this is embedded in the fabric of this film, which never falters in its incredible commitment to extracting laughs and stirring conversation, even if they may overlap with one another, which may be the point entirely.