Review: Panerai Radiomir 1940 PAM00519

When I think of Panerai, I think of the brute of watchmaking, the Incredible Hulk to Patek Philippe’s Bruce Banner. Big, thick and virtually indestructible, a Panerai takes the “smash first, ask questions later” approach to building a watch, an almost medieval application of technology designed to simply never fail. But what if you could have both Hulk and Dr. Banner in one watch? Welcome to the Panerai Radiomir 1940 Chronograph Oro Rosso PAM00519—and the name isn’t the most complicated thing about it.

The Incredible Hulk

Don’t let the rose gold fool you: measuring in at 45mm across and 15.4mm thick, the PAM00519 is every bit a full-blown Panerai. Buried in a name longer than the wait for The Winds of Winter is a date: 1940. That’s where you’ll find the inspiration for this watch, somewhere between the original Radiomir and the updated Luminor. Notice there’s no crown guard yet, however the flimsy wire lugs have been replaced for the Luminor’s beefier items.

Really, as the Radiomir 1940 shows, the Radiomir and the Luminor are one and the same watch, an evolution of a bloodline as opposed to two separate threads. I’ll level with you: the thing I find most fascinating about Panerai is this very evolution, a journey forged in metal that measures just exactly how tight at any given time the Italian Navy’s purse strings were.

It’s military penny-pinching that steered Panerai through its phases of growth. There wasn’t enough money for a wristwatch and so wire was soldered onto a pocket watch to fit a strap. They wouldn’t cough up for automatic movements, so a screw-down crown was overlooked for the lever mechanism of the Luminor to prevent cross-threading. Any time there was a little extra to spend, small, incremental improvements could be made, like the proper lugs seen here on this Radiomir 1940.

There’s nothing elegant or innovative about it. Instead, it’s plucky, resilient, doing the best it can with what it’s got, and as a Brit with a stiff upper lip who walked to school and back in the driving snow every day, uphill both ways, it brings a solitary tear to my eye in admiration. Compared to Patek Philippe in its lofty mountain workshop, the Panerai boys were grafting to make the best watch they could with the budget they had.

Things are obviously a little different now. Your arm won’t fall off from radiation poisoning from the luminous paint that gave the watch its “Radiomir” name for one, but nevertheless the dial still borrows its look and feel from the period—albeit now painted with non-toxic Super-Luminova. Instead of being brown from years of radioactive decay, it’s simply been tinted that way with a bit of harmless dye.

So, you might be wondering, how does all this hardy determinedness result in a dial that’s different top to bottom? There are a number of theories for why Panerai placed Roman numerals in the upper half and Arabic in the lower, and it’s to a 1942 Rolex patent we turn to find the answer: yes, it’s clearer in difficult conditions, yes, it can be used to orientate the watch easily—but, most importantly, it’s easier to make with luminous paint. Simple as that.

Rolex, Panerai’s watchmaking partner, had actually been making these split dials since the early 1930s, most likely for similar reasons. Some say the original was simply a sample version that caught on that showed both options in one. Whatever the truth, by the time the dial made it into a Panerai, it was for the reasons listed in the patent.

That’s not the only thing this dial does differently; it’s also a chronograph. Two big pushers sit perpendicular to two big sub-dials, one for the running seconds and the other for the chronograph minutes. Chronograph seconds take centre stage, as you would expect. Here’s where things start to take a turn for the interesting: we’ve seen chronographs from Panerai before, but not like this. This one adds the brains to Panerai’s brawn.

Dr. Bruce Banner

Meanwhile, in 1923, expert Swiss watchmaker Minerva revealed a new chronograph calibre, the 13-20. So-called for being 13 ligne across—a pinch under 30mm—and being number 20 in Minerva’s sequence of movements, the 13-20 was originally born a monopusher. Later it grew a second pusher to separate out the start, stop and reset functions—around 1940, the same time this watch’s inspiration sprouted a set of proper lugs.

The 13-20—like Minerva itself—was known for its high quality and superior finishing, a true contender to Patek Philippe when it came to watchmaking. In fact, you could say Minerva was one step ahead; where Patek Philippe was casing Lemania movements into its chronograph watches—beautifully finished by Patek Philippe, of course—Minerva’s chronographs were built right under its very roof, including the trickiest components like the hairspring, a rare feat even today.

Unfortunately, as prestigious and accomplished as Minerva was, its legacy wasn’t to last, with sales dwindling and costs rising. But after a long period of faltering performance came salvation of a most unexpected kind: Montblanc, the manufacturer of pens. Minerva had just been purchased by luxury group Richemont, placing care of the fragile brand under Montblanc to sow the seed for a new line of high-end watches to rival the likes of Patek Philippe.

The picture all begins to make more sense when you learn that Panerai too is part of the group. It’s not the first time Panerai has looked elsewhere for power, the very first watches fitted with Rolex movements, and so, when a special calibre was needed to celebrate the new Radiomir 1940 Chronograph collection, the answer couldn’t have been more obvious. There was a class-leading, twin-pusher chronograph from the same 1940s era right there, on-hand within the group.

It’s been evolved a little to the 13-22—known in Panerai parlance as the Calibre OP XXV—but the basics are still very much the same. Being hand-wound, everything is exposed, from the 18,000 vph balance wheel—a slow, vintage beat— to the vertical clutch, column wheel and swan-neck regulator.

A similarly vintage 55 hours of power reserve is all you’ll get, but when a movement looks this good, it can be forgiven. Despite new ownership, the Minerva workshop is almost entirely unchanged, a preserved slice of history making mechanisms like this just the way it always has. It’s practically a time warp, with this Panerai a travelling museum in its honour. It certainly helps to compensate for the meagre 50m of water resistance.

All 239 components have been meticulously sculpted and finished to the degree you’d expect from some of the best watchmakers in the world. It’s just a gorgeous thing to look at, elevated by such rare details as polished bevels that shine brighter than a toothpaste commercial. The fact that these are applied by hand—as indicated by the especially tricky internal angles—is what makes this movement such a prime example of watchmaking mastery.

How this Panerai ended up with this movement and whether or not it makes sense doesn’t really matter. There are just 100 examples of this rose gold version—there’s another 100 in white gold and 50 in platinum—limited by the output of the Minerva workshop, making it rare enough to elevate it from oddity to curiosity. It’s an interesting origin story: a dangerously radioactive background that created a monster of a watch that’s since tamed itself with the finesse of a Minerva movement. It really is the best of both worlds whether it’s a hulking brute or a delicate ornament. The secret? It’s always Panerai …

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