‘The Big Fake’ Review: Netflix Turns Italy’s Political Turmoil into a Crime Thriller
A painter becomes an art forger and is drawn into the turbulent political and criminal life of Italy in the 1970s and ’80s. A Netflix premiere.
Antonio “Tony” Chichiarelli was one of those real-life figures who seem too improbable not to be fictional. Viewers unfamiliar with his story may watch The Big Fake assuming he is a fascinating, enigmatic invention—a character conveniently woven into several of the most significant criminal episodes in Italy during the 1970s and ’80s. But Chichiarelli did exist. And despite the liberties Stefano Lodovichi’s film takes with historical detail, “Tony” (or “Toni,” as he is called in the film) was genuinely connected to everything portrayed here, from the country’s most consequential political crime to the largest robbery in Italian history.
Chichiarelli’s legend is told through the bond between three friends from Abruzzo who arrive in Rome in the late 1960s, hoping to make a name for themselves. Toni (Pietro Castellitto) is a painter who begins by sketching tourists in Piazza Navona, until his charisma and intensity grant him access to Rome’s nightlife and criminal underworld. There he meets Donata (Giulia Michelini), the woman he falls in love with—and who introduces him to a far more lucrative business: selling forged masterpieces to Rome’s high society. From that point on, Toni’s talent as a forger brings him both money and increasingly dangerous connections, including a politically connected criminal network that soon puts his skills to use for far riskier enterprises.
Running parallel to Toni’s rise are the divergent paths of his two friends. Vittorio (Andrea Arcangeli) becomes a respected priest, gradually sliding into a crisis of faith for reasons revealed later in the film. Fabione (Pierluigi Gigante), meanwhile, joins the radical leftist group the Red Brigades. It is Fabione who connects Toni with the most infamous episode of his Roman life: the kidnapping of Aldo Moro, former Italian prime minister and leader of the Christian Democracy party. During that national trauma—which held the country in suspense for months—Toni’s services are allegedly used by both sides of the conflict, aided by his ties to the Italian Secret Services. And this is only the beginning of a series of ever more audacious exploits—the legendary robbery comes later—in a life that seems almost designed for the movies.
The Big Fake is a large-scale production, impressive both in budget and period reconstruction. Rome in the 1970s is vividly and recognizably brought back to life: the clothes, the cars, the music (Cerrone, Boney M., Renato Zero), and the lavish set design evoke the Italian “Years of Lead,” a time equally shaped by political extremism and organized crime. Within this setting, Toni emerges as a young, arrogant, carefree figure who cares little about whom he associates with, as long as it brings financial gain and—above all—recognition within circles of power. This explains why, despite his closest friend being a revolutionary militant, Toni moves comfortably among criminals, mafiosi, right-wing politicians, and dangerous Secret Service operatives who rely on his talent to negotiate with the Red Brigades and, supposedly, to help save Moro.
Balancing political thriller, organized-crime drama, and the personal story of a sharp provincial operator who wanted—and for a time managed—to break into Rome’s big leagues, The Big Fake works particularly well as a sideways entry into a world Italian cinema has explored countless times. Directors like Marco Bellocchio, most notably in Good Morning, Night and the miniseries Exterior Night, have examined this period in far greater depth. While Lodovichi’s film lacks the emotional weight and dramatic complexity of those recent classics, it remains a solid and unsettling work, and one that stands out among Netflix’s original productions.
The film’s effectiveness owes much to the charisma of Castellitto (son of renowned actor Sergio Castellitto), who gives Toni an eccentric, contradictory presence—likely a more sanitized version of a man far darker than the film allows. The political intricacies of the era remain largely in the background, but are integrated enough for its core contradictions to register clearly. Against this dense and dramatic backdrop, Chichiarelli’s roguish adventures may seem minor, yet they fit seamlessly into the spirit of a time when ambition, risk, crime, political commitment, and an almost reckless desire to become someone were inextricably intertwined.
