Tag: spaghetti western

Dir: Sergio Corbucci
Star: Jean Louis Trintignant, Klaus Kinski, Frank Wolff, Vonetta McGee

Damn. This is less of a Western than an anti-Western, turning many of the typical tropes of the genre on its head, from the basic setting through the characterizations of good and evil. And it works, to a remarkable extent, with the results capable of standing beside the very best of the genre, such as Leone’s Fistful trilogy. In particular, the ending is amazingly downbeat: you can’t possibly discuss the film without talking about it, and spoilers will inevitably ensure. I’ll tag those, but if you have not already seen this, go and do so first. I’ll wait here, and you can thank me later.

Right from the beginning, it’s clear this is not a normal Western, or even a normal spaghetti Western. Rather then the usual hot, dusty deserts, with Spain standing in for America, it takes place against a white, snow-covered backdrop: supposedly Utah in 1898, two years after the state was founded, but filmed in the Italian Dolemites. Even though it wasn’t shot in one of the super widescreen formats – it’s 5:3 ratio – there is still something of Lawrence of Arabia about the way cinematographer Silvano Ippoliti shot this. In particular, the way people are often dwarfed by the immensity of the landscape emphasizes their isolation. The chilly climate is also in line with the emotionless approach: there’s little warmth to be found in the characters or their actions.

It also reverses the usual roles. In most Westerns, the bad guys are the people whose faces are to be found on the ‘Wanted’ posters. But in The Great Silence, the outlaws are the victims. While it’s unclear exactly how this happens, it appears they have been unjustly targeted by Pollicutt, a local banker played by Luigi Pistilli. Corbucci remains vague on the details – perhaps because it would weaken the political point he wants to make about exploitation of the working class. One victim’s wife is told, Policutt “wouldn’t give your husband any work and forced him to rob.” I’d be inclined to argue no-one is ever forced into criminal behavior, and people should take responsibility for the consequences of their illegal actions. But maybe that’s just me.

Conversely, the hero in traditional genre entries is likely the man going after them. Not here: pointedly, they are called “bounty killers” rather than bounty hunters. The main such is the appropriately-named Loco (Kinski), who has teamed up with the banker: Pollicutt proposes, Loco disposes, under a thin veneer of both legality and morality. Loco proclaims. “They’re against God, humanity, moral and public order. Killing them is a good thing, believe me.” But there is, literally, a new sheriff in town. Gideon Burnett (Wolff) arrives, appointed by the new state’s first governor to bring an end to the pair’s dubious practice. Though even this is dubious, Burnett believing the governor is merely attempting to curry favor with the voters.

The final side of the film’s quadrilateral is Silence (Trintignant). He watched as a child, when his mother and father were killed by bounty killers under the direction of Policutt. They slit his vocal cords, to stop him from telling anyone what happened, rendering him mute. Though apparently, he is not called Silence due to this, but “Because wherever he goes, the silence of death follows.” Seems a tad over-complicated to me. Anyway, he is now on a relentless mission to exterminate all bounty killers, though does so in a heroic way. He’ll never draw first, which lets Silence claim self-defense and avoid prosecution for their deaths.

These four line up in the remote town of Snow Hill, where citizens with prices put on their head by Policutt have had to flee to the mountains, while Loco picks them off. Silence arrives in town on the same stagecoach as Sheriff Burnett, the latter being forced to hitch a ride after the outlaws ate his horse(!). Our hero is in town due to a letter sent by Pauline Middleton (McGee), whose husband was one of Loco’s recent victims. She tries to raise Silence’s fee by selling her house to Policutt, but he is more interested in another form of payment, shall we say. Silence attempts to provoke Loco, but the bounty killer is aware of the technique and initially refuses to draw.

After a fist-fight, Loco reaches for his gun, but Burnett intervenes and arrests him for attempted murder, much to the displeasure of both Policutt and Loco’s gang. When being taken to prison in Tonopah, Loco escapes and sends the sheriff into a frozen lake. He gathers his men and takes them back into town, first stopping to rape Pauline and badly burn Silence’s gun-hand. The outlaws have come to town in search of food, and are rounded up by Loco’s gang, and held as hostages in the saloon to draw out Silence. The tactic works, and Silence shows up outside the saloon, ready for a final confrontation with his nemesis which is likely the film’s signature scene.

[SPOILERS BEGIN] For in a traditional Western, even though wounded, Silence would shoot down Loco and ride off into the sunset with Pauline. Here, the exact opposite happens, with the bad guys triumphing completely and absolutely. Loco’s gang shoot Silence several times, before he administers the coup de grace. Pauline tries to return fire, but is also gunned down. The gang then massacre all of their hostages, on whom they can collect the bounties. Loco takes Silence’s specialist gun, the then newly-invented semi-automatic Mauser C96 pistol, from Pauline’s hands, and rides off. A caption announces the event “brought forth fierce public condemnation of the bounty killers”. Well, that’s alright then…

It’s easy to understand why, when the film was screened for Darryl Zanuck of 20th Century Fox, the ending allegedly made him swallow his cigar, and he refused to distribute it in North America. The Italian producers were similarly concerned, and to appease them Corbucci shot a radically different alternate ending. In this, Bennett turns out to have survived his icy dip, and rides to the rescue at the last minute. Together with Silence – whose hand is protected by an iron gauntlet – they kill Loco and his henchmen. Burnett then asks Silence to become a deputy, which he accepts with a broad smile, in sharp contrast to his taciturn demeanor over the rest of the film. It’s much more in line with Western tropes, and thus appears to have strayed in from a completely different movie.

Certainly, in its original form this has to be considered one of the bleakest films, not just in the Western genre, but of any. Few end with the side for which the audience has been rooting throughout, getting defeated in such a complete manner. Yet, you’d be hard pushed to argue this comes as much of a shock. Or, at least, it shouldn’t, unless you put greater weight to the standards of the genre than the signals Corbucci has been giving throughout his film. For the cynicism on view is clear, with even Silence acting here partly out of a desire for personal vengeance, partly for mercenary reasons (he quotes Pauline a $1,000 fee for killing Loco). Justice seems barely to enter the picture. [SPOILERS END]

Corbucci didn’t hide his left-wing sympathies in any of his films, and this is basically an allegory for the greed of capitalism, and how it grinds up and abuses people in pursuit of profit. While not my view, it’s one I can appreciate, because this works as cinema, regardless of whether or not you agree with it. The director was also inspired by 1960’s figures like Martin Luther King, Che Guevara and Malcolm X, who were prepared to take on the state in support of their beliefs. The movie also gets great support from Ennio Morricone’s score, which is surely among his best. It’s a shame the possibilities this demonstrates for the Western genre weren’t developed by other film-makers.

It’s definitely one of Kinski’s finest characters, though may be a little too restrained to be considered among his finest performances. In my opinion, he’s always at his best when there’s a sense of underlying insanity, bubbling just below the surface. For despite his name, fondness for violence and odd taste in attire, wrapping himself in a woman’s shawl, Loco is restrained and smart, as well as adept at pushing other people’s buttons, whether for advantage or merely his own amusement. Take, for example, his response after being introduced to the currently equineless Burnett as the sheriff. “So I gather from your star. I thought you sold horse-meat. But with that on, you look more like a sheriff – who sells horse-meat.”

Kinski was with his wife and daughter during the shoot, and wrote about the experience in his autobiography:

In Cortina d’Arnpezzo, I make the first snowbound Western. Biggi and Nasstja are happy and cheerful; they frolic in the snow, go sledding all day, skating, and ride jingly, horse-drawn sleighs to the mountains. But the instant I’m alone with Biggi, we argue and hit one another. This time the reason is the black American actress Sherene Miller [clearly Vonda McGee, and she is named as such in the All You Need is Love edition], who’s also starring in the movie. She’s got a boyish body, boyish haircut, boyish ass, and almost no tits. Her room lies directly over our apartment. In the morning, when I come back after fucking Sherene half the night, I sneak past a sleeping Biggi to get my toothbrush, razor, and fresh underwear. This way, we can’t fight. I kiss her and Nasstja cautiously, to avoid waking them.

Kinski Uncut, p.191

However, shooting apparently wasn’t quite as placid as Klaus’s account would appear to indicate. According to Corbucci (via Wikipedia), Wolff had to be restrained from strangling Kinski when the latter insulted his Jewish heritage by telling him “I don’t want to work with a filthy Jew like you; I’m German and hate Jews.” Following the incident, Wolff refused to speak to Kinski unless required to by the script. Kinski later declared that he insulted Wolff because he wanted to help him get into character. They would appear to have made up, at least on a professional level, as Kinski and Wolff would go on to work together again, on another spaghetti Western the following year, Sartana the Gravedigger.

Dir: Bitto Albertini
Star: Cheen Lie, Tommy Polgár, Klaus Kinski, Karin Field
a.k.a. Che botte ragazzi!

It took the makers of My Name is Shanghai Joe considerably less time to make a sequel after the original, than it took me to watch it. Turns out I covered the original more than six years ago, which probably explains why I don’t remember much about it. Re-reading my review, seems I enjoyed it, at least on an entertainment level. The same can not be said to the same extent for the sequel, which is trying considerably harder on the comedy level than either the kung-fu or Western ones. And not with a great deal of success, either.

It can fairly be said that this is a “Return”, in only the loosest possible sense. There’s a different director, Albertini (best known for the Black Emanuelle films, starring Laura Gemser) taking over from Mario Caiano. There’s a new star, Cheen replacing the similarly-named – not coincidentally, I’m sure – Chen Lee. Writer Carlo Alberto Alfieri does return: he’d go on to be an executive producer on both Paganini and Vampire in Venice. Klaus is about the only significant actor to be in both movies. But even he plays a completely different character – out of necessity, since ‘Scalper Jack’ did not survive his encounter with Joe in the previous film. At least there’s a good helping of Kinski here, unlike last time, when it was little more than an extended cameo.

Proceedings here open with general charlatan, Bill Cannon (Polgár), trying to detect water with a divining rod for a Mexican village. He actually finds oil instead, which brings the place to the attention of Pat Barnes (Kinski). Barnes is a land shark of the most vicious kind, who had used threats and flat-out violence to acquire a large portfolio of territory and businesses, in and around the city of Glenwood. However, it’s not all plain sailing. When his men try to muscle in on the Mexicans, Shanghai Joe (Cheen) sends them off, in no uncertain terms. Worse still, after Barnes’s pet magistrate dies suddenly, a replacement, Judge Finney, is on the way to town with his pretty daughter, Carol (Field). And there’s no guarantee he’ll be as malleable as his predecessor.

Meanwhile, Bill has returned to his day-job as a snake-oil salesman. On the road, he helps an injured Mexican bandit, Pedro Gomez, who had been allied with Barnes until being betrayed by him. Before dying, Gomez proves a wealth of information about Barnes and his operation. He bequeaths his corpse to Bill, so he can collect the $1,000 bounty. But doing so puts Bill on Barnes’s radar as a possible threat, and has to be disposed of. Fortunately, Joe is in the right place at the right time to stop the fake robbers from dangling Bill. This is not the first time Joe has run interference against Barnes: he had previously stopped an assassination attempt on Judge Finney, and won big on craps at the saloon. So he joins Bill on the businessman’s hit-list.

Finney is beginning to ask some uncomfortable questions about Barnes’s business practices. When his lawyer, Jonathan Smith, proves a potential weak-spot following an interview by the judge, Barnes decides to kill two birds (somewhat literally) with one stone: have Smith murdered and frame Joe for the crime. Bill repays his debt of life by alerting Judge Finney, just in time to save Joe from a lynching. And it turns out Smith had already given a full confession, incriminating Barnes. Bill helps Joe escape jail, and when the sheriff tries to arrest Barnes on Finney’s warrant, he’s shot for his pains, though this does make him realize Joe’s innocent.

Barnes abducts Carol and tries to make a stand at his hacienda, with her as a hostage. When forced to flee from there, Joe gives pursuit, but discovers that no matter how good your martial arts, a bullet will always be quicker. Fortunately, Bill is there to lend support with a weapon of his own, and Barnes gets gunned down just as he’s about to administer the coup de grace to Joe. This feature a surprisingly good stunt fall by Kinski, head first over a boulder onto what looks like a thoroughly unyielding surface. There doesn’t appear to be any opportunity for a stunt double either, since the shot begins with a medium close-up of Klaus.

To be honest, I didn’t think much of this at the time. But it got a second go-around during this write-up, and it seemed to play a bit better that time. Oh, there are still substantial flaws, such as the abominably jaunty theme-song, which appears to break out every time Joe goes in battle. And that happens a lot… It also doesn’t help that the martial arts on view here are feeble, even by the low standards of Italian comedy Westerns. The IMDb says this was the only role for Cheen, and it’s easy to understand why (though that may also have been a pseudonym adopted purely for this production*), since he possesses no screen presence at all. Meanwhile, Polgár is channeling Bud Spencer so hard, my teeth began to hurt, and the final revelation, that Joe is a federal agent… “I didn’t see that coming” is the kindest comment I can make.

The big positive is the sharply-increased quantity of Klaus – the Kinski Kuotient, if you will. As the main antagonist, he seems to pop in about every 10 minutes. Things inevitably liven up when he does, though the love triangle between Barnes, Carol and a previous victim of Barnes’s shenanigans, Manuel Garcia, doesn’t go anywhere. But it’s always fun to see him berating and slapping around his hapless and incompetent minions after they have, once again, failed in their allotted tasks. While unlikely to make it onto anyone’s list of ten greatest Kinski performances, this did help stop the film from becoming the painful dud it occasionally resembles.

* According to the Spaghetti Western Database, this is indeed a pseudonym, and was the final film of Ernest Van-Mohr.

Dir: Demofilo Fidani
Star: Jeff Cameron, Klaus Kinski, Gordon Mitchell, Hunt Powers
a.k.a. A Barrel Full of Dollars

No prizes for guessing the spaghetti Western classic series the makers here are attempting to evoke. Not just in the title though: the significant role played by a watch with a musical chime seems inspired by For a Few Dollars More – which, of course, also included Kinski. Let’s be generous and call those “homages”, since this has a good number of original aspects that can be appreciated. The film doesn’t really need to ride on anyone else’s coat-tails, and is quite capable of standing on its own merits.

It’s a tale of revenge, opening with the brothers of Hagan (Kinski) being returned to him as corpses. He takes revenge on the Hamilton clan he blames for his brothers’ deaths. But he manages to miss George Hamilton, a.k.a. The Nevada Kid (Cameron). When the Kid returns home to find his family slain – and a musical pocket watch at the scene – he vows to stop at nothing to get revenge of his own. He starts asking around about the watch, and eventually discovers its connection to Hagan. The problem is, Hagan also discovers someone is asking, and sends his lieutenant, Tamayo (Powers), out to end the inquiries. Fortunately, the Kid has his own ally – bounty hunter John (Mitchell), who is happy to help out, since the Kid has no interest in collecting the rewards for the ever-growing pile of villains left in his wake.

This is one of the films where Kinski’s character is not the focus, yet is essential to the plot. It’s Hagan’s actions that set things in motion, although at the bottom level, there isn’t much moral difference between him and Hamilton: both want revenge for the death of family members, and to kill those responsible. Despite this mirroring of motivation and action, there’s no doubt who’s the good guy and who’s the villain, as far as the film is concerned. Fidani is firmly in the Kid’s corner, portraying his vengeance as “righteous”, unlike Hagan’s. It’s an interesting double-standard. Perhaps it’s that Hagan is seen to be acting out of rage, while Hamilton’s response feels measured, more like justice is being meted out. We also know he’s correct in his choice of target: we never see who was behind the death of Hagan’s brothers.

This was made the same year as the other Kinski/Fidani collaboration, Giù la testa… hombre – which starred Cameron & Mitchell too, and also rode in on other films’ coat-tails under its alternative titles, A Fistful of Death or The Ballad of Django. I skewered that one as “virtually worthless”: this is considerably better, and largely belies Fidani’s reputation as among the worst of spaghetti Western directors. [It’s not just me either: this rates a respectable 5.4 on the IMDb, while Giù la testa comes in at only 3.8] I think the tighter grip kept on the storyline is the main improvement, with a logical sense of progression here, as the Kid works his way up the chain towards Hagan.

Of particular note is some striking cinematography, by Aristide Massaccesi, who is better known as grindhouse veteran, Joe D’Amato. As a director, his filmography is peppered with titles such as Porno Holocaust, as well as the Black Emanuelle franchise [yes, that’s how it’s spelled, to avoid a lawsuit]. These are not exactly films renowned for their photography, shall we say… He’d go on to direct Kinski himself a couple more times: Heroes in Hell and Death Smiles on a Murderer. Here, though, he’s behind the camera and there are a couple of particularly impressive bits of framing. One has the Kid stalking his target, with the camera focusing not on the man, but instead his shadow. The other is a shot from above of Hagan climbing a ladder. Both provide the kind of artistic flourishes which help elevate the whole production above the expected run of the mill.

There’s even a significant female presence, which is something less than common for the genre. During their hunt, Kid and his partner liberate a kidnapping victim, Monica Benson (Simonetta Vitelli, credited as Simone Blondell, who is the director’s daughter) from Hagan’s gang. Not averse to her own revenge, for they killed her father when he showed up with the ransom, she sticks around to help them with their mission. They also help out a former slave (I’m guessing this is set not long after the end of the Civil War), making it fairly progressive for the time, in terms of its handling of characters outside the usual racial and gender norms for the spaghetti Western.

Kinski is, as we’ve come to expect, the best thing about this, not least his locks, which form a shaggy blond lion’s mane, deserving their own credit [“Starring Klaus Kinski… and Klaus Kinski’s hair”] Hagan is a complete savage, with a tendency to kill his own minions when they fail to execute his orders, or even if they merely annoy him. This happened on multiple occasions, to the point where you wonder why anyone would voluntarily work for such a short-fused master. Since, never mind the prospects for advancement, the odds of survival seem doubtful enough to discourage signing up. Still, there seems to be no shortage of faceless henchmen around for the final battle. where Hamilton and his bounty-hunter sidekick relentlessly work their way through, toward their target. Here, as throughout, there’s some decent stunt-work in the way of high falls, though I found the lack of any blood somewhat distracting.

It’s a decent enough entry, despite the demerits for shameless copying. If Fidani had avoided those aspects entirely, and made something entirely out of his own cloth, this could even have ended up being upper-tier among Kinski’s spagWes output, and certainly Fidani’s. Instead, I’m mostly left with a strong urge to pull out For a Few Dollars More, and watch the real thing.

Dir: Giuseppe Vari
Star: Paolo Casella, Klaus Kinski, Patrizia Adiutori, Dino Strano
a.k.a. Prega il morto e ammazza il vivo, To Kill A Jackal, Pray to Kill and Return Alive

Although I strongly suspect this never came closer than the other side of the Atlantic, this has at least a theoretical local interest to me here in Arizona. For the set-up has Dan Hogan (Kinski) and his gang having robbed a bank in Phoenix of $100,000 in gold bars. They’re now headed south for the Mexican border, but knowing federal agents will be standing guard, they’ve hired a guide with local knowledge to take them through one of the little-known mountain passes across the frontier. Indeed, these are so little known that, despite having lived in Arizona for 17 years, I wasn’t even aware there were mountains between here and Mexico, let alone mountain passes…

Anyway. their intended guide is killed by John Webb (Casella), who links up with Hogan and his gang at the stagecoach stop known as “Jackal’s Ranch,” where they’re waiting for Hogan’s moll to show up with the loot. He offers to replace the guide for half of the gold; despite severe qualms, both by Hogan and other members of the gang, they don’t have many options. There are also tensions within the gang, leading to their number being reduced before they even set off from the inn, and one member, Reed (Strano), reckons Hogan is out to ditch them all. Once they depart, it’s not long before the ill-prepared group find the terrain presenting a threat equal to, if not greater than, the marshals in pursuit.

There are two clear and distinct sections here: the first, in the enclosed setting of the stagecoach stop, and then, as the dwindling band of robbers, along with their hostages and guide, make their way toward the border. The former is definitely the most effective, and it feels like the film was a strong influence on Quentin Tarantino for The Hateful Eight. It was thus no surprise to discover that he listed it among his favorite 20 spaghetti Westerns, the only Kinski starring vehicle to make the list (For a Few Dollars More is #2). The almost stage-like setting, with a group of heroes, villains and those whose agenda is murky, all at each other’s throats, is very similar – and that’s before the arrival of a stagecoach and its passengers throws a curve at proceedings, in both movies.

The interplay between these factions and individuals is always intriguing. Hogan in particular is a wild-card, liable to explode into sudden brutality at the drop of a card. Yet that appears to make him something of a chick-magnet. One of the hostages basically flings herself at him, resulting in this immortal exchange between her and Hogan:
    “You’re not like other men – you’re an animal, and I like you!”
    “Shut your mouth, you stupid bitch!”
I’m probably in agreement with Kinski on that point. But the tension is palpable and well-handled, especially after the forces of law show up, to investigate why the telegraph at Jackal’s Ranch is no longer operating. Largely because we’ve already seen how it can happen, courtesy of Hogan, you feel as if you’re always on the edge of violence breaking out.

Then, at about the half-way point, the party heads out – Hogan, incidentally, unconcerned that some of his gang are lying dead in the barn, along with one of the hostages. Unfortunately, that’s when the film all but grinds to a halt, with little to offer except for endless sequences of them traipsing across the high desert. They seem to run out of water after only about five minutes, and this leads to much whining from the weaker members of the party. Eventually, once everyone else has been disposed of, you do discover what Webb’s agenda and motivation are with regard to Hogan: while reasonable enough, it does feel too much like it was pulled out of a hat.

The problem is, the journey serves no real purpose – except for the water shortage, there’s virtually nothing which could not have happened, just as well, as Jackal’s Ranch. The film loses the tight, claustrophobic constraints of its single location, and offers the viewer instead nothing more than the spaghetti Western equivalent of a long drive, complete with children in the back seat relentlessly asking, “Are we there yet?” I have no clue what Vari was hoping to establish with this change in approach mid-way. I might well have been fascinated if, instead, he’d kept the characters confined, and had Webb continue to pick apart Hogan’s gang, exploiting their paranoia and widening the fractures, to his eventual advantage. That’s what Tarantino did in Eight, certainly.

As is, Kinski is really the only reason to watch this, and offers good value as the chief villain. He doesn’t appear in the early stages, and that absence helps build up audience expectations for the clearly-feared leader of the gang. His entrance delivers on this foreshadowing, arriving like a rattlesnake slithering onto the set – and the reactions of the other characters are mostly along similar lines. Everyone is virtually hypnotized, and it’s almost as if they require his permission, simply to continue existing. It’s a shame that almost no-one else in the cast makes anything of an impression: Casella, in particular, needs to do considerably more to hold the viewer’s interest – especially because his motivation is hidden from the audience for the majority of the film’s running-time.

I guess the makers deserve some praise, at least for attempting to do something significantly different from the standard spaghetti tropes. There are almost no gunfights here, and having the first half take place almost entirely indoors is also decidedly at odds with the usual approach. It’s a shame they did not appear to have the courage of these convictions, and abandoned these efforts at originality, before they could bear a full harvest.

Dir: Frank Kramer
Star: John Garko, William Berger, Sidney Chaplin, Klaus Kinski
a.k.a. Sartana

This is officially the first in the Sartana series, though Garko had previously played a character by that name in another film, 1967’s Blood at Sundown. Here, he plays a typically ambivalent spaghetti Western character, who intervenes in the battle for control over the proceeds of various robberies and scams. The central one is a stagecoach robbery, carried out by a Mexican gang under General Mendoza. However, the culprits are ambushed by another group, under Lasky (Berger), though he discovers the supposed gold is nothing but rocks. That’s because it’s part of an insurance scam carried out by local businessmen Stewal (Chaplin, who is Charlie’s son) and Rizzo.

And then there’s Sartana (Garko), who pits the various groups against each other, seeding distrust and suspicion, seeking to profit from the result by swooping in and taking the gold. If this all seems remarkably (and perhaps needlessly) complex, that’s because it is; this is more like watching someone else play a game of Find the Lady than anything. Which means it’s occasionally interesting, frequently confusing or baffling, and the ending comes as no real surprise, with the participants almost certain to lose out.

Garko does a solid enough job in his role, and you can see why the series spawned multiple sequels, as well as innumerable knockoffs. I was especially fond of the way he carries one large, obvious firearm – but almost inevitably does all his damage with a teeny little four-shooter Derringer, he carries secreted on his person. This has a cylinder marked with playing card suits, because… Well, I guess because it’s damn stylish. As is par for this genre, what you do is only about as important as how cool you look and sound while doing it. Which is why the General insists on proclaiming all his names: José Manuel Francisco Mendoza Montezuma de la Plata Carezza Rodriguez.

Well over three hundred words into this, you’ll notice I haven’t even mentioned Klaus’ contribution. That’s because, in contrast to his heavy presence and billing second only to Garko in the poster at the top, his is very much a supporting role. It starts off looking like he will be a main adversary, being the sole survivor after his gang attacks a carriage, only to be interrupted by Sartana. However, that turns out to be a red herring. Kinski’s relatively brief appearance is instead in the role of Morgan, an associate of Lasky. He is dispatched to take out the hero after Lasky and Sartana meet in a barber’s shop – in a cool touch, Morgan prepares to go into battle, by silencing the bells on his spurs with shaving foam.

Morgan follows Sartana to a funeral parlor, where he is hanging out with his comedic sidekick, the local mortician, Dusty (played by Franco Pesce, who reminded me, bizarrely, of Ben Kingsley in Sexy Beast!). Morgan unleashes his weapon of choice, the throwing knife, but this turns out to be his undoing. For after Sartana pushes over a row of coffins, domino-style, Morgan ends up impaled on one of his previously-thrown blades. Less than 40 minutes in, and Kinski has already left, presumably pausing only to cash his check. To be honest, my interest largely went with him; for despite the strong presence of Sartana, too much of this feels lifted, with little or no alteration, from Sergio Leone’s Dollars trilogy.

I think part of the problem is that Sartana exists in a vacuum, with no background information at all provided. While clearly a deliberate decision, and equally obviously, also one of those Leone-inspired choices, it means (particularly for a modern viewer like me, with no pre-knowledge) he’s little more than a blank canvas, that needs to be filled in by the writer and director. And Kramer certainly is no Leone in terms of creating character through action, thinking that Garko’s screen presence is enough, in and by itself. While certainly present, Kramer is mistaken, not least in failing to give his central character a strong adversary, in order to set up dramatic tension.

While I’ll confess to being biased, this likely would have been improved if the film’s structure has reflected that of the poster, with Garko and Kinski facing off over its entire course. Although this was the first of four times the pair would appear together: they also did so in 5 per l’inferno (1969), Il venditore di morte (1971) and the second Sartana film, Sartana the Gravedigger. Even though I found this entry jumbled and confusing, there was enough appeal in the main character, that I’ll likely not be burying Gravedigger at the bottom of my “To-do” list.

Dir: Pasquale Squitieri
Star: Leonard Mann, Ivan Rassimov, Steffen Zacharias, Klaus Kinski
a.k.a. La Vendetta è un piatto che si serve freddo, Vengeance Trail, Three Amens for Satan

While relatively minor in terms of Kinski content – after a brief appearance near the beginning, he then vanishes entirely for the bulk of its running time – this is still solidly satisfying. As an 11-year-old, Jeremiah Bridger (Mann) narrowly escaped being slaughtered, along with the rest of his family, when Indians attacked their Arizona farm. Now grown up, he has vowed to take revenge, and spends his time hunting, killing and scalping any native Americans he can find, selling their scalps to a local wig-maker(!). However, even he draws the line at killing women, and when he comes across one, Tena (Elizabeth Eversfield), takes her back to town.

The local folks don’t take kindly to this, due to a recent spate of Indian attacks, and tar and feather her. Jeremiah temporarily rescues her, only for the worst of the locals, Boone (Teodoro Corrà), to re-capture Tena as a present for his boss, Perkins (Rassimov). Jeremiah is rescued by a conveniently-passing comedic doctor (Zacharias), who spills the beans on what has been going on. Perkins has been staging all the attacks as part of a long-term land-grab, targeting those who stand in his way. He has been using his men, but blaming it on the natives, with the help of local journalist, Prescott (Kinski). It’s time for the end game. Seems like one more “atrocity”, and the Army will clear out all the Indians, freeing up their land – and, more importantly, its water – for use by Perkins.

Jeremiah heads off Boone and his men on their way to carry out the attack, frees the tribesmen whose corpses are intended to be left at the scene, and heads back to infiltrate his way into Perkins inner circle. For this is where the Italian title comes into play: it translates as “Revenge is a dish best served cold.” And there I was, thinking all the time it was a Klingon proverb. Quentin Tarantino was lying to me! [And it’s not as if a film geek like QT, especially one so devoted a fan of spaghetti Westerns, would be unaware of this one, though the phrase pre-dates the movie, obviously] So, ten years on, it’s time for those who were really behind the murder of our hero’s family, to pay for their crimes.

Damn, this does not exactly offer a sympathetic portrayal of Western settlers. Even Jeremiah is first seen as an adult engaging enthusiastically in genocidal slaughter, a firm believer in the notion that “the only good Injun is a dead Injun.” Just about everyone else is on the same page: either actively, in collusion with Perkins, or through believing the lies put out by Prescott in his newspaper. I couldn’t help thinking of the “false flag” claims which have become increasingly prevalent in the more paranoid corners of conspiracy theory lately, since what’s shown here is, effectively, what the government is accused of carrying out at Sandy Hook, Orlando, etc. It’s particularly notable in light of events just a few years later in Italy, where some of the attacks blamed on the Red Brigade, were allegedly actually carried out by right-wing groups.

Removing my tinfoil hat, and replacing it with the more appropriate Stetson… This is a good, relatively straightforward Western, though I was initially confused with the transition between young Jeremiah and the adult version, and didn’t immediately realize they were the same person. Mann makes for a good, taciturn hero, who believes in letting his action speak louder than his words. Those against whom he goes up, are equally appropriate, Rassimov makes a good villain, and Kinski oozes tabloid slime onto the screen in every scene. In particular, check out where Perkins rolls out a selection of kept women (though captive women might be closer), and offers Prescott his choice for the night. I felt like I was watching Shark Week on the Discovery Channel for a moment, watching Kinski languidly circling his prey. It’s the potential for moments like this which make even small Klaus roles worth the effort.

Less effective are the minor roles on the good guy’s side. Doc is a misconceived effort to inject levity into a plot, that doesn’t work at all. He fulfills all necessary purpose after his exposition tells Jeremiah the truth about what’s going on. Eversfield, in her only role, according to the IMDb, is no more convincing as a native American – should that be called “redface”? – spouting pseudo-philosophical nonsense in bad English. The same goes for Yotanka, the family’s Indian friend pre-massacre, who might as well have “noble savage” tattooed across his forehead. I was also not particularly convinced by Jeramiah’s sudden conversion from mass murderer of Indians to their protector. Generally (and I see this all the time with conspiracy theorists), it takes a lot for anyone to accept their deeply-held belief is thoroughly wrong. The cynic in me suggests that Tune must have been a really good lay…

Just to lob in a note on the score, which was composed by Piero Umiliani. He was one of the second tier of go-to guys for spaghetti soundtracks, a little behind Ennio Morricone and Riz Ortolani. But outside of that, he’s probably best known for writing Mah Nà Mah Nà. a ditty originally composed for a mondo film about Sweden, but latter covered on multiple occasions by the Muppets. If only there was a version of the song performed by Kinski, rather than just him doing songs by Bertold Brecht… It would be utterly epic.