Milan, December 1969 unfolds through the intertwined lives of two central figures: Giuseppe Pinelli, Pierfrancesco Favino a Milanese railway worker who is also a husband, father, and an active participant in the Ponte della Ghisolfa Anarchist Circle, and Luigi Calabresi, Valerio Mastandrea, the deputy head of the Political Police at Milan’s Police Headquarters, a devoted family man and a meticulous, cautious investigator who relentlessly monitors the evolving currents on the extra-parliamentary left. Their worlds collide in a city pressed to its breaking point, where intelligence, duty, and conscience pull in opposite directions even as they share a stubborn sense of duty.
The film places us at the heart of a nation unsettled by violence and upheaval when the bombing at the Banca Nazionale dell’Agricoltura in Piazza Fontana erupts, claiming 17 lives and injuring 88 others. The attack shatters a fragile trust and tests the limits of political civility, exposing a tense, oft-fractured relationship—what the film calls a “cordial correspondence”—between those enforcing the law and the movements pressing for change. In the wake of the blast, Pinelli and Calabresi move through a maze of questions, suspicions, and public pressure that seem to blur the lines between right and wrong and between accountability and the specter of scapegoating.
Pinelli is summoned on the evening of the assault and confined to three days of questioning, a period that becomes the fulcrum of a tragedy etched into Italian memory. His later death, inexplicably linked to the fall from the window of Calabresi’s office, casts a long shadow over both men and over the institutions that are called to protect the public. The narrative treats his death not just as a personal tragedy but as a catalyst that intensifies the scrutiny of power and its uses in a time of crisis, leaving viewers to weigh the costs of secrecy, surveillance, and state pressure.
Calabresi’s path through these events is portrayed as a double ordeal: he is depicted as both a public servant implicated by the very system he serves and a man whose personal integrity is tested by relentless pursuit and intense public scrutiny. Relentlessly questioned by members of the activist group Lotta Continua and scrutinized by police circles, he faces a mounting sense of isolation as leaders within the system appear to withdraw or distance themselves from him. Yet amid mounting pressure and mounting questions, he remains focused on uncovering the truth behind the massacre, stubbornly pursuing revelations that might illuminate who was truly responsible and how deep the network of accountability runs.
As the investigation unfolds, the film suggests a troubling web that links the neo-fascist right to actions far beyond Veneto, hinting at broader connections within state apparatuses that allowed or obscured the violence of the era. The tension between pursuing justice and navigating institutional boundaries becomes a central throughline, challenging viewers to consider where loyalty, truth, and moral courage belong in a landscape saturated with fear, propaganda, and competing narratives.
In the end, a rejected promotion and a stalled transfer become more than mere career setbacks; they symbolize the enduring moral choices faced by public servants under pressure. The film posits that these refusals, coupled with the unresolved questions surrounding Pinelli’s death and the Fontana massacre, define Calabresi’s fate and frame a legacy about integrity in the face of systemic complicity. What emerges is a nuanced portrait of a pivotal, painful moment in Italian history—one that invites reflection on responsibility, memory, and the price of staying true to one’s convictions in a climate of suspicion and upheaval.
