Sergio Leone, born on January 3, 1929, in Rome, came from a family steeped in the early days of Italian cinema. His father, Vincenzo Leone, a pioneering filmmaker known professionally as Roberto Roberti, and his mother, silent film actress Bice Valerian (Edvige Valcarenghi), instilled in him a passion for the screen. Leone's upbringing in this creative environment set the stage for his later innovations in film.
Interestingly, as a child, he shared a classroom with Ennio Morricone, who would go on to be his most important musical collaborator, shaping the soundscapes of his most famous films.
Leone's foray into the film industry began early. After watching his father on sets, Leone quickly dropped out of law school to immerse himself in cinema. By the age of 18, he was already working behind the scenes in Italian cinema. In 1948, he served as an assistant to Vittorio De Sica on Bicycle Thieves, a cornerstone of Italian neorealism. But Leone’s interests veered away from kitchen-sink dramas or the gritty realism of post-war Italy and toward the spectacle and grandeur of historical epics.
Throughout the 1950s, he built his reputation by writing screenplays for Sword and Sandal movies—lavish films set in antiquity—and working as an assistant director on large-scale productions like Quo Vadis (1951) and Ben-Hur (1959), filmed at Rome's famed Cinecittà Studios.
These projects exposed him to the high-pressure environment of Hollywood-style filmmaking, honing his skills in staging vast, elaborate sequences on tight budgets.
Leone's big break came unexpectedly. In 1959, while working as an assistant director on The Last Days of Pompeii, the film's director, Mario Bonnard, fell ill, leaving Leone to step in and finish the project. This opportunity led directly to his solo directorial debut with The Colossus of Rhodes in 1961.
Here, Leone presented us with the awkwardly miscast Rory Calhoun, whose discomfort was palpable. Following that, he was relegated to another second unit job on Robert Aldrich's Sodom and Gomorrah, a fate that might have seemed like a comfortable slot in the annals of cinema—though it was far from the kind of distinction most directors dream of.
It would have appeared that Leone was destined to become a mere footnote, a solid yet unremarkable director trapped in the biblical and historical epic craze that was already waning. But while the grand narratives of the past prepared to bow out, replaced by the raw audacity of the French New Wave and revolutionary works like Bonnie and Clyde and The Wild Bunch, Leone refused to fade into the background of comfortable craftsmanship.
Sergio Leone found a new creative frontier in what would come to be known as the "spaghetti Western"—a raw, revisionist take on the American Western. With A Fistful of Dollars (1964), Leone didn't just breathe life into this subgenre; he redefined it. The film, as I've mentioned in the Yojimbo notes was an audacious “reimagining” (ripoff) of Akira Kurosawa’s Yojimbo (1961), embroiled Leone in legal disputes with Kurosawa, who recognized the near-direct borrowing of his samurai tale. Ironically, Kurosawa’s Yojimbo itself was likely influenced by Dashiell Hammett’s hard-boiled crime novel Red Harvest, creating a fascinating loop of creative adaptation across cultures.
More importantly, A Fistful of Dollars launched the career of a then-unknown American TV actor named Clint Eastwood, who would soon become the epitome of the modern Western antihero.
Il cinema deve essere spettacolo, è questo che il pubblico vuole. E per me lo spettacolo più bello è quello del mito.Cinema must be spectacle, that's what the public wants. And for me the most beautiful spectacle is that of the myth.— Sergio Leone
Leone's talent was his radical departure from the clean, moral binaries of the classic American Western. His characters, and the world they inhabited, felt dirtier, harsher, and far more morally ambiguous. Filming in the desolate Spanish landscapes, Leone cultivated a vision of the American West as a sun-scorched purgatory—a place where men’s ethics bent to the winds of self-interest and survival. Unlike the pristine, heroic cowboys of old, Leone’s characters rarely shaved, sweated through their worn clothes, and exuded menace and unpredictability. Even the iconic "good guy" of the genre—the man with the white hat—was absent in Leone’s films, replaced by Eastwood’s nameless, stone-faced drifter, whose only clear motivation was the promise of money.
In the hands of Leone, morality was blurred. Heroes and villains alike were driven by greed, revenge, or simple self-preservation. This shift from clear-cut ethical narratives to a grittier, more cynical exploration of human behavior was revolutionary, marking Leone's A Fistful of Dollars as the first of many Westerns to break from the romanticism of the genre. Notably, Leone hadn’t even visited the American West, yet he became one of its most influential chroniclers, crafting a vision of the frontier that resonated as much with its sense of myth as its sense of grit.
From the haunting, unmistakable whistle of A Fistful of Dollars to the operatic heights reached in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966), Morricone’s scores were integral to the films, often composed in advance and played on set as Leone filmed. It was a rare and highly personal working method, allowing Leone to choreograph his action and performances to the rhythm and mood of the music, enhancing the emotional and visual impact of each scene. It may explain why the pacing in some of his films is so unusual.
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Following A Fistful of Dollars, Leone's next two films, For a Few Dollars More (1965) and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966), expanded upon the themes and stylistic innovations of their predecessor.
Sergio Leone’s Westerns, particularly the "Dollars Trilogy," feel as contemporary today as they did upon release, which is a testament to their timeless appeal and the way they reshaped cinematic conventions. Their continued relevance stems from Leone’s innovative approach to filmmaking, blending stark realism with mythic grandeur, as well as his exploration of moral ambiguity—a theme that resonates even more in today’s world of complex, anti-hero narratives.
Visually, these films still stand out for their bold stylistic choices. Leone's use of extreme close-ups, especially during moments of tension, and his sweeping wide shots of desolate landscapes have been imitated endlessly, but rarely equaled. Even with the evolution of visual effects and digital enhancements in modern filmmaking, the raw power of Leone’s compositions—now restored in 4K with vivid clarity—feels just as visceral. In an era where we’re accustomed to sleek, CGI-laden visuals, the sheer tactile reality of Leone’s West, with its sweat, dust, and grit, is refreshingly grounded.
Moreover, Leone’s rejection of clear-cut good versus evil archetypes feels particularly contemporary. In a time when audiences crave complexity and nuance in their protagonists, the morally grey characters of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966) and For a Few Dollars More (1965) resonate more than ever. The anti-heroes, often driven solely by financial gain, are the precursors to today's characters like Walter White and Tony Soprano. These defy traditional heroism, making Leone’s Westerns feel modern in their cynicism and their portrayal of flawed, conflicted men.
Leone’s films as I've mentioned contain unusual pacing and structure, which, despite being slower than the rapid-fire editing of contemporary blockbusters, remain engrossing. He was one of the first directors to experiment with long, suspenseful sequences—particularly in shootouts—turning moments of silence and stillness into nerve-wracking tension. This slow-burn approach has since been adopted by many filmmakers, most notably Quentin Tarantino, whose work echoes Leone’s method of drawing out dramatic moments to almost unbearable lengths.
His partner in this was undoubtedly Ennio Morricone’s unforgettable scores, which, far from sounding dated, still feel fresh and avant-garde. The blending of operatic melodies with unsettling, unusual sounds (whistles, twangs, and gunfire-like percussion) raised it above the traditional orchestral scores of the time and has since become iconic. Morricone’s music, which often served as a character in itself, continues to influence contemporary composers and is often sampled in modern media, underscoring just how forward-thinking these collaborations were.
Even the themes of Leone’s films—greed, betrayal, and survival in a brutal world—continue to feel relevant. In a modern context, his bleak, cynical take on humanity doesn’t just reflect a revisionist view of the American West; it mirrors the world we see today, where moral ambiguity is the norm, and power dynamics dominate relationships, personal or otherwise.
In the next notes from the sketchbook, we’ll dive deeper into The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, the crown jewel of Sergio Leone’s "Dollars Trilogy" and the final Leone movie in the Clint Eastwood season.
Looking how Leone took everything he’d learned from A Fistful of Dollars and For a Few Dollars More and amplified it—creating a sprawling, operatic tale of greed, betrayal, and survival.
From its iconic trio of characters to Ennio Morricone’s unforgettable score, The Good, the Bad and the Ugly Leone’s magnum opus.
'Il Triello' by Basesketch
