BY BRIAN GREENE

“It’s easy to manipulate men.”

That’s a key line in Alan J. Pakula’s 1971 film Klute, which has just been released in a new Criterion Collection edition. The line is delivered by a New York City call girl named Bree Daniels, as portrayed by Jane Fonda, who won a Best Actress in a Leading Role Oscar for this performance.

“It’s easy to manipulate men” is a striking declaration, especially when it comes from the mouth of a paid sexual escort. But some context is necessary here, because when Daniels utters that line to her psychiatrist – in one of a few crucial scenes that take place in Daniels’s shrink’s office – she is actually talking about the one man in her life whom she’s not sure she can control. This is John Klute (played by Donald Sutherland), a strait-laced fellow from a no-name town in Pennsylvania. A friend of Klute’s from PA, this guy a successful businessman and seemingly happily married man, has gone missing. The FBI has reason to believe his disappearance may be connected to Daniels, whom he must have met while on a business trip in New York and to whom he appears to have a perverted fascination. When the feds can’t locate the missing man, the family, in conjunction with a business associate, hires his friend Klute to go to the big city and work through the call girl in an attempt to track him down. But much more happens between Klute and Daniels than them joining efforts to solve the mystery of the vanished man. And this disturbs the escort, who is comfortably accustomed to being able to remain emotionally detached in her relations to members of the opposite sex.

To a great extent, Klute is a film driven by contrasts. The contrast between the apparently normal lifestyle led by the missing man, with the more sordid, sinister doings he appears to have gotten up to in his interactions with the New York call girl. The contrast between the reserved, repressed Klute and the expressive, psychologically volatile, sexually liberated Daniels. The contrast between Daniels’s life as an escort, where she is in command of the men who pay for her company and sexual favors, and her endeavors to break into acting, where she is shown to be just another face in the crowd, and unwanted. The contrast between the movie’s overall somber, eerie tones with the Bacchanalian, seedy atmosphere in the club scenes. The contrast between the story’s suspense film elements and its following of an unconventional romance.

It’s odd that the movie is called Klute. Because that suggests that the tight-lipped detective-for-hire is the most central character. Anyone who’s viewed Klute knows that the story revolves around Daniels, and that John Klute is just another person who’s transfixed by the unpredictable doings of the complicated, dynamic call girl. Fonda, who was reluctant to take the role of Daniels, to the point of telling Pakula he should forget about her and cast Faye Dunaway instead, wound up owning the part. Sutherland is also impressive in playing the enigmatic Klute in a manner that makes him the ultimate interpersonal challenge to Daniels.

There aren’t many significant supporting roles in the film, but among the few, both Roy Scheider (Daniels’s former pimp) and Charles Cioffi (the business executive man who oversees Klute’s mission) are convincing. Rita Gam makes a memorable, if brief, appearance as a madam, and it’s an unexpected treat to see Jean “Edith Bunker” Stapleton in a bit part. Director of Photography Gordon Willis’s darkness-oriented work is spot-on, and Michael Small’s experimental, effective score sounds like it could be music provided by Ennio Morricone for an Italian giallo thriller.

In all, Klute is a masterwork. It’s a stunning achievement for Pakula, particularly considering that it was only his second directorial effort to date. It works as an eerie suspense story, but is more deeply satisfying as a character study of a believable, intriguing, complex woman. It perfectly set the tone for what would become known as Pakula’s “paranoid trilogy,” the other titles being The Parallax View (1974) and All the President’s Men (’76).

Regarding the Criterion extras, the transfer looks beautiful, as one would expect. Mark Harris’s booklet essay is somewhat interesting, but the better part of that packaging is the set of eye-opening excerpts from a 1972 Sight & Sound interview with Pakula.

The first of the featurettes is 20 minutes or so from a documentary about Pakula - this includes current and archival interview snippets with a film historian, a former student of Pakula’s, Charles Cioffi, and Pakula himself. There’s a new interview of Fonda by Ileana Douglas; a discussion of the film’s look and style by a fashion historian; a 1978 TV interview of Pakula by Dick Cavett in which they discuss Klute and Pakula’s other work as both a film director and producer; a 1973 interview of Fonda by Midge Mackenzie, this largely centered around Fonda’s political activism at the time; and, finally, “Klute in New York,” a short documentary about the making of the film, at the time that it was being put together. Among the video bonus features, the first few are somewhere between vaguely interesting and ho-hum, but the Cavett/Pakula and Mackenzie/Fonda interviews are fascinating and highly worthwhile, as is the “Klute in New York” featurette.

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BY DARREN ALLISON

It’s probably fair to say that a great deal of music that surfaced from the Spaghetti Western genre eventually merged to become something of a cliché. Clearly inspired by the Morricone sound and style, many of the scores came to bear the same signature traits and failed to obtain any real, individual identity. In short, it became an elaborate mixing bowl in which the finished results were served up as individual, but very familiar servings.

In some respects, one could argue the same for Gianni Ferrio’s Un Dollaro Bucato (One Silver Dollar) (1965). Also released as Blood for a Silver Dollar, producer Bruno Turchetto was quick to jump on the whole ‘Dollar’ bandwagon. Leone’s A Fistful of Dollars had only been in the can for a year, so the genre was both fresh and ripe for harvesting.

The film’s soundtrack began life rather quietly; it was first released as a single on the Fonit label in 1965 and featured the song ‘‘A Man... A Story’’ performed by genre regular Fred Bongusto and was coupled with an instrumental version performed by the Ferrio orchestra. The single was re-released in Japan by King Records, where the film was received well. Philips also released it in Japan as part of an EP containing A Fistful of Dollars, For A Few Dollars More and Django, so the music was certainly keeping good company – and deservedly so.

Despite the obvious influences, there’s certainly no denying, Un Dollaro Bucato remains a terrific score. Ferrio’s music is fluid and doesn’t just root itself firmly within the western genre. In fact, certain cues wouldn’t sound out of place in a spy thriller - another genre that was finding its feet with the emerging Bond franchise. Aside from the more regular, stylistic western cues, there’s plenty of mystery and tension, and Ferrio makes great use of brass horns to build the drama. So yes, Morricone inspired for sure, but there’s also a great deal more.

Silva Screen Records have chosen well. Ferrio’s Un Dollaro Bucato remains a hugely popular title. In more recent times, cues have found their way into Quentin Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds (2009), and been featured in the Red Dead Revolver video game series. Silva Screen has created a stunning vinyl package containing 21 beautifully produced tracks. It’s a stand out example, and obvious that a great deal of thought has gone into this project. Not only does the sleeve contain some creative, new artwork, but at the same time it maintains the retro style reflective of the much loved 60s genre. Best of all perhaps is the 12” platter, an eye catching piece pressed in a stylish silver & red coloured vinyl, an element which ties in rather perfectly with the ‘silver’ and ‘blood ‘of the film’s alternative title. It’s a shimmering example of how vinyl can (and should) be produced for the ongoing revival. Long may it continue to shine!

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http://www.silvascreen.com/sillp1579-un-dollaro-bucato/

Feast your eyes on the outstanding American release trailer for Sergio Leone's 1966 masterpiece "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" starring Clint Eastwood, Lee Van Cleef and Eli Wallach- although composer Ennio Morricone deserves co-star billing for his legendary score. 

BY DARREN ALLISON

100 GREATEST SCIENCE FICTION THEMES

Performed by The City of Prague Philharmonic and London Music Works, this comprehensive 6 CD collection features music from the latest Sci-Fi blockbusters; from Ready Player One, Solo: A Star Wars Story, and Blade Runner 2049, all the way back to 1950s classics The Day The Earth Stood Still and Forbidden Planet.

This release brings together the best selection of science fiction music spanning almost a century, through a thorough overview of musical styles, themes and techniques. It spotlights music from Hollywood heavyweights and classically trained legends (John Williams, John Barry, Ennio Morricone and Bernard Hermann), electronic experimenters (Bebe & Louis Barron, Vangelis) and jazz-influenced composers (Bill Conti, Henry Mancini) to the new generation, who combine orchestral sounds with electronics (David Arnold, Johann Johannsson, Ramin Djawadi, Steve Jablonsky, Hanz Zimmer and Clint Mansell.)

100 Greatest Science Fiction Themes is released in both physical and digital format on 31st August 2018.

THE INVASION

Don Harper’s soundtrack to the 8-part Doctor Who story The Invasion was made and transmitted in 1968 starring Patrick Troughton as the second Doctor.

Featuring the Brigadier, UNIT, and the Cybermen, this “modern Earth invasion” Doctor Who story was made into a hugely influential series in 1968. Directed by Douglas Camfield, the music was composed by Don Harper, the third Australian émigré composer (after Ron Grainer and Dudley Simpson) to work on the programme.

Don Harper’s music for The Invasion may have been influenced by John Barry’s score for The Ipcress File (1965). Don used the cimbalom in the score, and the artist was most likely John Leach (who also worked under the name Janos Lehar), who played on The Ipcress File, King Rat and The Persuaders.

The instruments used included the organ, cimbalom, percussion, clarinet (doubling clarinets in A and Bb, bass clarinet and oboe), bass guitar, contra-bass clarinet and cor anglais. The percussion consisted of bim bams and temple blocks, timps including piccolo timp and hand timp, as well as cymbal and vibraphone. The organ was a Hammond M100 with Leslie speaker.

The score was augmented by the use of electronic sounds created by Brian Hodgson of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop. There was also “Muzak” by John Baker (referred to as such in the cue sheets for episodes 1 and 2), which had its first outing in an Out of the Unknown episode.

For this 2018 Silva Screen album, Doctor Who composer Mark Ayres have placed the previously used music together, followed by additional unused cues and the electronic score.

Don Harper (1921 - 1999) was an Australian film and TV composer, jazz violinist and big band conductor. He is best known for his work on Doctor Who, World of Sport, Sexton Blake, Out of the Unknown and Dawn of the Dead, as well as his work with Don Harper’s Sextet and Dave Brubeck’s Quartet. After many years between England and Australia, Harper returned to Australia in order to take up the position of Head of Jazz Studies at the Wollongong University's School of Creative Arts, which he held until 1990. He died in 1999 aged 78.

Don Harper’s music has achieved cult status and in 2005 MF DOOM and Danger Mouse, in their collaborative project DangerDoom, sampled Don Harper's "Chamber Pop" and "Thoughtful Popper". Elements of "Dark Earth" from the Dawn of the Dead soundtrack were used on Gorilazz "Intro" from Demon Days, which was also produced by Danger Mouse.

BY TIM GREAVES

It was arguably the success of A Fistful of Dollars that really set the ball rolling on the slew of shameless spaghetti western rip-offs and cash-ins that proliferated throughout the 1960s, as film-makers jostled to get a taste of the sauce and chow down on a cut of the rewards from what quickly became a very profitable arena in which to be operating. 

Sartana rode into town a little later than popular gunslingers such as Sabata, Django and Ringo, but he made enough of an impression to warrant a number of official sequels – and several unofficial ones too. Just five legitimate Sartana films were lensed, with Gianni Garko (billed as John Garko) headlining in four of them and George Hilton just one. Cucumber cool antihero Sartana was notably more dapper than most of his mud-spattered box office rivals, a real snappy dresser in fact; with his black cape lined in red silk, sharp matching cravat and crisp white shirt, he cut a fine figure riding through desolate wasteland, deck of cards in one hand, natty miniature four-shooter in the other, always ready to spit out a death sentence when the moment was called for. In the first film he even retrieved a musical pocket watch from a corpse and proceeded to use its tinkly chime to taunt his nemesis.

The fabulously contrived titles of the five films belied a series of enjoyable enough but not exactly top-tier western actioners. Dripping with all the requisite tropes of the genre, and occasionally sprinkling a few unexpected condiments into the pot, they’re perfectly watchable fare, but it’s unlikely many would favour any of them over a Sabata instalment or, indeed, an Eastwood classic. If, for this writer, there’s any problem at all with the Sartana series – and it’s one that prevents them from residing up there among the genre’s finest – it’s that in every instance a plot suited at best to the 50-minute TV episode format was, out of necessity, stretched to feature length, the resultant slightness of narrative rendering them all far too leisurely paced.

The five official Sartana films have now been issued on Blu-ray by Arrow Video in an impressive collectors’ box set. Accompanied by an illustrated book, each film is individually packaged and boasts reversible sleeve art, and the entire collection is housed in an attractive slipcase.

The series kickstarter was 1968’s If you meet Sartana pray for your eath (O.T. Se incontri Sartana prega per la tua morte), directed by Frank Kramer, a.k.a. Gianfranco Parolini. (Note: in Italian film titles, only the first word is capitalised.) Among the most enjoyable of the quintet, the plot concerns a pair of dodgy bankers who hire a group of Mexicans to steal a strongbox filled with gold, subsequently allowing them to claim on the insurance. In fact, the precious cargo has been substituted with rocks, the valuable contents having already been squirrelled away in a coffin. Following the heist, the Mexicans are quickly eliminated to wipe out any evidence of the scam. It’s up to Sartana to uncover the truth and retrieve the gold. Any anticipation engendered by the opening credit “with the special participation of Klaus Kinsky” (sic) is swiftly quelled; it’s anything but special, for the A-class actor – who possessed one of cinema’s most expressive faces (and intimidating grimaces!) – is relegated to sideline status for much of the action. At least any disappointment on that score is appeased by the presence of a satisfyingly formidable bad guy in the shape of wild-eyed, buttercup-chewing William Berger as Lasky, who, when he’s not gleefully massacring bandits with his hand-cranked Gatling gun, proves to be a single-shot marksman, planting bullets centre-forehead in more unfortunates than it’s possible to keep tally of. An ace cardsharp, Sartana makes a fast enemy of Lasky when he cleans him out at the poker table. Despite the paucity of plot, director Kramer manages to sustain interest, layering in double and triple crosses as Sartana gently manipulates the wrong-doers into turning on each other. There’s a stab at comic relief too in the form of Franco Pesce as the town’s undertaker, but for this writer his theatrical gurning and cartoonish mannerisms eclipse the intended amiable quirkiness to become distractingly irksome.

Arrow’s 2K restoration from the original film materials displays a fair amount of grain, but aside from one brief moment of picture damage at the outset and a slightly protracted patch of vertical scratching further along, the print is in very respectable shape. The film can be viewed in either an English dub or its original Italian with newly translated English subtitles. Supplements comprise a commentary from film historian (and Cinema Retro contributor) Mike Siegel, an interview with director Kramer, a helpful guide to the characters in the Sartana universe, and a gallery of artwork and stills.

A year later, in 1969, I am Sartana, your angel of death (O.T. Sono Sartana, il vostro becchino) was unleashed. In this one our man (Garko again) appears to have been involved in a bank robbery and finds himself at the top of the most wanted list, with a $10,000 dead or alive price on his head. He didn’t do it, of course, so has to hunt down the real perpetrator to clear his name, whilst evading bounty hunters hot on his trail and intent on bagging the reward. It’s a decent enough follow-up from director Giuliano Carnimeo (credited as Anthony Ascott), which showcases another fine Garko performance (with Sartana now displaying a knack for sleight of hand card tricks) and the return of Klaus Kinski (spelt with the “I” this time) in a meatier, albeit less threatening role, that of a gambler-cum-bounty hunter with the best character name of anyone in the entire run of Sartana pictures: Hot Dead. Unfortunately, Franco Pesce (uncredited this time) is also back, now promoted to town mayor, fortuitously only briefly on screen but every bit as annoying. The story unfolds at a sedate price, but Ascott and cinematographer Giovanni Bergamini keep things percolating with some stylish set-ups, the camera lurching sideways whenever bodies spin and hit the dust. One brief scene stands out for this writer, if not for the right reason; when Sartana dodges a spray of bullets from a trio of pursuing gunmen by zigzagging left and right, any sense of suspense is undermined by spurred memories of the amusing Peter Falk/Alan Arkin ‘serpentine’ sequence in 1979’s The In-Laws!

Arrow had access to the original camera negative for this one and the 2K restoration is very nice indeed. Again sound options are English and Italian. Extras comprise a commentary from historian and filmmakers C Courtney Joyner and Henry Peake, interviews with screenwriter Ernesto Gastaldi and stuntman Sal Borgese, plus a gallery of European poster art and German lobby cards.

BY FRED BLOSSER

Sergio Leone’s “Giù La Testa,” later retitled not once but twice for American release, opened in Italy in October 1971 to great expectations by the director’s fans. According to the preeminent Leone expert Sir Christopher Frayling, in an informative audio commentary included in a new Blu-ray edition of the film from Kino Lorber Studio Classics under its second U.S. title, “A Fistful of Dynamite,” the Italian phrase meant something like “keep your head down.” In other words, in times of social convulsion like the bloody 1913 Mexican revolution portrayed in the movie, save yourself unnecessary grief and keep as low a profile as you can. Toshiro Mifune’s wandering samurai in “Yojimbo” offered similar advice: “A quiet life eating rice is best.” In Leone’s film, James Coburn and Rod Steiger starred as mismatched partners -- a fugitive Irish dynamiter and a volatile Mexican bandit -- who learn that you only bring sorrow and tragedy upon yourself when you leap into the whirlwind of political turmoil. When the picture reached the U.S. through United Artists in July 1972, the title was changed to “Duck, You Sucker,” a rough translation. In a literal sense, it’s the warning that Coburn’s character invariably utters just before he detonates his nitro charges. Leone thought it was a common colloquialism in America. Maybe he was thinking of “fire in the hole.” United Artists gave the release decent publicity, selling it as an action movie in a shorter (by half an hour) cut than the 157-minute Italian print. I remember seeing the ad art of Coburn and Steiger prominently displayed on a billboard in downtown Pittsburgh that summer, just before the picture opened. The ad extolled Leone as “the master of adventure.” Around the same time, United Artists Records released Ennio Morricone’s eclectic soundtrack on vinyl. The New York Times panned the movie, but Time Magazine offered a mostly positive review, one of the earliest to take Leone on his own terms instead of dismissing him as a passing curiosity.

However, audience turnout was sparse, and when the film reached smaller markets like the one where I saw it in early fall 1972, the studio had renamed it “A Fistful of Dynamite,” in an attempt to lure audiences who had flocked to Leone’s “A Fistful of Dollars” and its sequels starring Clint Eastwood. The strategy gave the picture a second chance in movie houses in that era before home video and streaming video when movies had to make money at the box office or not at all. However, it didn’t do much to boost business. In the meantime, another violent drama about a fugitive IRA gunman in revolutionary Mexico, Ralph Nelson’s “The Wrath of God,” had opened in theaters. Nelson’s film had the added commercial advantage of a “Playboy” pictorial. For the record, it didn’t sell many tickets either despite the publicity afforded by Hef’s magazine. Later, TV and VHS prints of Leone’s movie retained “A Fistful of Dynamite” as the title, and their pan-and-scan format ruined Giuseppe Ruzzolini’s beautifully composed Techniscope photography. The first respectful home-video edition finally appeared in 1996 from MGM Home Video on laser disc. Remember that technology from the dawn of home theater, sonny? The 1996 laser disc retained “A Fistful of Dynamite” as the title, but restored the widescreen aspect of the image and much of the footage missing from previous U.S. versions. “Duck, You Sucker” ultimately resurfaced as the chosen title for its premier on U.S. DVD from MGM Home Video in 2007.

On the run from the British government during the Irish Rebellion, explosives expert John Mallory (Coburn) comes to Mexico to work for German mining interests. There, traveling through the desert on a vintage motorbike, he crosses paths with Juan Miranda (Steiger), a sweaty, hot-tempered bandit who leads a gun-toting gang of robbers. The gang consists of Juan’s elderly father and Juan’s six sons “by different mothers.” Miranda sees Mallory’s proficiency with explosives as the key to realizing his long-cherished dream of breaking into the fortress-like Bank of Mesa Verde. The loot will enable him and his family to leave Mexico and reach the U.S., where -- like the worst nightmare of a Trump supporter -- he expects to pursue an even grander career robbing American banks. After Juan deviously maneuvers Mallory into a partnership, the Irishman eludes him but the two reunite in Mesa Verde. There, Mallory has joined a cell of insurrectionists headed by the dapper Dr. Villega (Romolo Valli). Villega plots a series of diversions in Mesa Verde to support two imminent onslaughts by the rebel commanders Villa and Zapata. One diversion will be an explosion at the bank, dovetailing with Miranda’s own obsession of pulling his big heist. Once the building is blasted open, Juan will lead his kids inside and empty the vault. But things take a turn he doesn’t expect, and instead of getting rich from the break-in, he becomes an unwitting hero of the revolution. For the cynical Juan, who has no use for politics and no loyalties beyond his rough affection for his aged father and his sons, it’s a dumbfounding development. Moreover, his new-found notoriety puts him in the crosshairs of a punitive military expedition led by a ruthless officer in an armored transport, Col. Gunther Ruiz (Antoine Saint-John).

In retrospect, it’s easy to see why the film did poorly at the U.S. box office, first under an opaque title and then under, arguably, a misleading one. Leone enjoyed using an elliptical narrative style in which often, as a scene begins or unfolds, the viewer doesn’t quite know where the characters are or the point of what they’re doing. Eventually, with a visual or verbal cue, the meaning becomes clear. Fans enjoy this technique, similar to a stand-up comic preceding a punchline with an elaborate set-up. Leone trusts that you’re smart enough and curious enough to stay with him. But the technique was bound to frustrate 1972 moviegoers who expected a straightforward shoot-’em-up narrative, based on the poster art of Steiger firing a machine gun, Coburn displaying a coat lined with dynamite, and a military convoy being blown up. Some confusion also resulted from the cuts made for the U.S. release. What happened to the paying job that Mallory was hired for, and if he’s finished with rebellions as he had implied in one passing comment, why does he end up collaborating with Dr. Villega’s resistance movement? A scene in the overseas print explained that Juan had lured John’s employer and a military guard to a remote church, and then killed them with a blast of Mallory’s dynamite. Mallory, known to be a wanted Irish rebel, was blamed for the murders; presumably, as the authorities put out their dragnet, he had only one recourse to slip out of Miranda’s devious grip -- go underground, seek refuge with the Mexican revolutionaries, and resume his insurrectionary career.

BY DARREN ALLISON

It’s great to see German label All Score Media back on the soundtrack circuit. Their latest vinyl LP release No Place for a Man (ASM 045) is a fictional homage to the Italian Spaghetti Western genre of the ‘60s and ‘70s. Performed by the duo Mondo Sangue (Cristiano Sangueduro and Cristina Casereccia), the score is a passionate and honest tribute to the iconic genre soundtracks of the past. The influences are certainly there, from Ennio Morricone to the late great Franco De Gemini, for whom the album is quietly dedicated. There is a great deal of tradition to be found within the album tracks. One could perhaps argue it is almost stereotypical, but never in the negative sense of the word. The Spaghetti Western score had of course become somewhat ‘formulised’ during its reign, so expect lovely examples of twanging guitars, harmonica, epic choral vocals and mouth harps. There are also a couple of vocal tracks such as ‘Somewhere in the West’ performed by Cristina Casereccia and ‘’No Place for a Man’ has Casereccia duet with Alberto Rocca. All of these tracks work very well and create a comforting sense of familiarity. Listening to the track ‘Il Portoghese’ and its delicate whistling motif transports you straight back to Morricone’s ‘A Fistful of Dynamite” (1971). Overall, fans of the genre should love this piece. There are not too many labels delivering these retrospective, tribute scores, so they really should be held dear. Cineploit are another label who produce period sounding, fictional scores and in many ways offer a sense of continuity, a linkage to the past and everything that was so appealing about it.

All Score Media have produced a delightful sounding and excellent package for this release. The album sleeve is beautifully illustrated by Sue Elderberry. The 180g vinyl LPs are limited to just 666 pieces and are all individually hand numbered. Each LP also comes with an autographed photo card signed by vocal duo Cristina Casereccia and Alberto Rocca and there’s also a download code so as to listen when on the move. There is obviously a great deal of love gone into this release and it clearly shines through. No Place for a Man is an excellent production that should be both respected and applauded.

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BY TIM GREAVES

My favourite Spaghetti Western theme song – and I stress theme song, not theme music – is Roberto Fia’s splendidly triumphant rendition of composer Luis Bacalov’s ‘Django’. The only one that comes close to challenging it for my affection is ‘Angel Face’, the opening credits ballad from A Pistol for Ringo (o.t. Una pistola per Ringo), Graf Maurizio’s silky vocal marrying up with Ennio Morricone’s passionate melody to forge a little scoop of sorrow-tinged nectar. And although I confess that my knowledge of Italian westerns is criminally deficient, of the titles I have actually seen I’d unhesitatingly cite A Pistol for Ringo among my favourites.

Released in 1965, the film was directed by Duccio Tessari, an uncredited co-writer on the previous year’s uber-classic A Fistful of Dollars. Part of the appeal of Tessari’s film is that the story takes place on the run up to Christmas, although being as sun-baked southern Spain is doubling for the Wild West it’s an exceptionally balmy one. Nevertheless, the inclusion of tinsel-decked trees, Christmas dinner and even a carol or two embroider the proceedings with a festive ambience conspicuously rare – perhaps even unique (I reiterate that my knowledge is lacking) – in Spaghetti Western terrain.

It’s a couple of days before Christmas in the town of Quemado and ruthless Mexican bandit Sancho (Fernando Sancho) and his gang have plundered the bank of its entire cash reserve. Their escape route to the border cut off by pursuing lawmen, the bandits hole up at the hacienda of Major Clyde (Antonio Hasas) where they take everyone hostage, including Clyde’s daughter Ruby (Hally Hammond), who also happens to be the fiancée of the Sheriff (George Martin). Under siege, Sancho threatens to kill two hostages a day until the law agrees to back off and let them ride away unhindered. Desperate for help, the Sheriff turns to scar-cheeked gunslinger Angel Face (Montgomery Wood) – Ringo to his friends – who’s currently locked up in the town jail on a quadruple murder charge. He makes Ringo a proposal: infiltrate the gang, eliminate them and rescue the hostages and he’ll be rewarded with 30% of the retrieved cash and exonerated of his crimes.

Duccio Tessari co-scripted A Pistol for Ringo, his fifth feature film, with Alfonso Balcázar. Casting Montgomery Wood in his debut starring role was a masterstroke; Wood is actually the nom de guerre of former stuntman Giuliano Gemma – all the better for performing his own gags, which include crashing through a ceiling to land upright on a grand piano and leaping from a galloping steed. Gemma has a scorching intensity about him and he gifts the self-serving Ringo with an affable personality and a cunning, cocksure attitude in the face of adversity. He also prefers milk to hard liquor and has a habit of dishing out pearls of wisdom at felicitous moments (“Never cry for a dead person – it’s pointless.”). He’s introduced playing hopscotch with some children, breaks off to take down a quartet of gunmen with the matter-of-factness of swatting flies, finishes up the game and strolls casually away. This is a guy who, with three bad guys still to be disposed of, realises he only has one bullet left in his gun and yet somehow still manages to pull it off. You’d really not want to be looking down the business end of Ringo’s six-shooter, but just the same he’s a very likeable anti-hero figure.

Fernando Sancho meanwhile makes for a nicely greasy villain, coincidentally also named Sancho. He shares some great scenes with Gemma, the best of which finds Sancho threatening to put a bullet through the bound Ringo’s head, only to find himself compelled to relent time and again as our unflustered hero convinces him he’s a valuable asset best kept alive – and what’s more his help is going to cost Sancho an ever-escalating cut of the booty! There’s even some gentle humour thrown in during a gathering ‘round the piano to sing carols, with Sancho awkwardly mumbling his way through “Silent Night”.

Hally Hammond is actually Lorella De Luca, director Tessari’s wife, and she brings a measure of prim sex appeal to the show, although beyond playing vulnerable she isn’t given too much to do – at least not until the finale when she finally gets her hands on a shotgun. Meanwhile Nieves Navarro (wife of the film’s co-producer Luciano Ercoli) fills the role of sultry bad girl rather deliciously; despite the fact she’s one of the intruders in wealthy landowner Antonio Hasas’s home, he has an amorous eye on her – and who can blame him? Amiable Manuel Muñiz is in situ primarily for light relief. 

Speaking of light relief, in my limited experience of Italian westerns they generally tend to be more brutal than their American counterparts, but A Pistol for Ringo is a bloodless, pretty frivolous affair, more mischievous in tone than one might expect from the sub-genre. That tone is established in the first few seconds as two unsmiling gunslingers stride towards each other and then, as opposed to drawing their weapons as anticipated, wish each other a Merry Christmas. To be fair the story itself is no great shakes, I can’t defend it, but regardless of any shortcomings this is very respectable fare that gallops along at a lively pace and – as do the best of them – leaves you wanting more.

BY TIM GREAVES

Sandwiched between his debut feature (1970’s The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, which had enjoyed unprecedented success with American audiences) and the equally excellent Four Flies on Grey Velvet, Dario Argento’s The Cat O’Nine Tails (o.t. Il Gatto a Nova Code) is disappointingly inferior to both in almost every respect. Despite this, almost everything with the director’s name on it – emphasis on almost (and up until the mid-90s at least) – is streets ahead of anything in a similar vein, so I hesitate to be too hard on it.

Franco Arno (Karl Malden), a former newspaper journalist forced into retirement when he lost his sight, now lives with his niece Lori (Cinzia De Carolis) and earns a crust compiling crossword puzzles. Out walking one evening, they pass a car parked up outside an institute involved in genetic experimentation and sharp-eared Arno overhears a snippet of suspicious conversation between the occupants. Later the same night the place is burgled. A chance encounter with reporter Carlo Giordani (James Franciscus), who’s been sent to cover the story, results in Arno assisting him to investigate the break-in. But when people associated with the institute begin to die it seems that the burglar is prepared to kill to obfuscate what he was up to…and Arno and Giordani realise they’ve stupidly placed themselves in his crosshairs!

I must raise a hand here and confess that despite my admiration for Dario Argento’s work and having seen most of his films on multiple occasions, of his pre-1990s output The Cat O’Nine Tails is the one I’ve watched least. Possibly only a couple of times in fact. As such it’s one with which I’m not so familiar. With the arrival of a new Blu-Ray release from Arrow Video I sat down to reacquaint myself with it for the first time in several years and it all came back to me as to why I’ve not visited it often. On paper at least the script by Argento and Dardano Sacchetti lays out all the key ingredients for a tasty cocktail, so there’s little faulting it in that respect. But whereas the director’s best gialli pivot on a burgeoning sense of urgency derived from the misinterpretation of a witnessed moment, or perhaps a half-remembered clue, this one’s a surprisingly sedate affair. Additionally, the film lacks the outlandish plot, stylish camerawork and brutal murder sequences of its 70s stablemates – never mind that it’s also missing a deliciously unhinged killer lurking behind a veneer of respectability – and, let’s be honest, broadly speaking it’s the canny employ of these elements in his pictures that helped build Argento his fan base.

On a frivolous note too, anyone going in with title-engendered anticipation of a kinky sequence involving a dominatrix wielding said implement will come away disappointed; as an analogy, The Living Daylights springs to mind insomuch as, just as that film’s nonsensical title (from the perspective of audiences unfamiliar with Fleming) was dealt with in a single throwaway line, so The Cat O’Nine Tails is incorporated into a frankly silly remark by Giordani.

Seriously though, all these factors notwithstanding, perhaps most injurious of all is the fact the movie is ponderously slow, more methodical mystery-solver than knuckle-whitening chiller.

To clarify my remark about those mundane murder scenes, with the exception of a well-staged sequence when the killer dispatches a witness to his crimes by shoving him off a station platform and under the wheels of an incoming locomotive, they really do lack creativity. The absence of unflinchingly gruesome set pieces akin to those in the like of Deep Red and Tenebrae is keenly felt; I’m afraid a few garrotTings and an attempted poisoning with a carton of milk (no, really!) fail dismally to cut the mustard. That said, there are some memorably unnerving close-ups of the killer’s twitching eyeball as he sights out each victim and at least he himself gets a suitably wince-inducing comeuppance.

James Franciscus, fresh off of Beneath the Planet of the Apes, makes Giordani a decent enough heroic lead, although for my money he’s overshadowed where characterisation is concerned by a top-form Karl Malden as Arno, conveying the sightless gaze of a blind man impeccably. If anything makes the film work it’s the chemistry between these two actors. So good are they together in fact that I’d rather like to have seen Giordani and Arno team up on another investigation. In any event, notable among the rest of the cast are Catherine Spaak (loveliness incarnate as Giordani’s love interest) and little Cinzia De Carolis as Arno’s devoted “seeing eyes”. 

BY DOUG OSWALD

Virna Lisi and Rod Steiger are “The Girl and the General,” available on DVD via the Warner Archive Collection. The poster art on the DVD cover asks, “What happens when the roles of man and woman are reversed?” The answer on the cover, “‘The Girl and the General’ is what happens!”

Steiger is an Austrian general captured during WWI by Italian Private Tarasconi (Umberto Orsini) who is separated from his unit while retreating from the advancing Austrian Army. Realizing he will receive a reward by his superiors for capturing and turning in the general, the private attempts to bring the general to his Italian commanders. He has dreams of using the reward money to buy a farm and live a quite life in the country. Where do the Italian and Austrian lines begin and end? Who can be trusted? Outsmarted by the general, the terrain and the confusing and changing front lines, the private is driven by his dreams, hunger and safety when he finds an abandoned farm house. There’s no food, but they have a place to rest for the night. The general escapes and the private encounters the beautiful Ada (Lisi) who is equally hungry and also seeking safe haven from the raging battle. Private Tarasconi and Ada agree to split the reward if she will help him recapture the general and take him to the Italian army. They find and recapture the general and they continue their trek.

The private is drawn as much to Ada’s beauty as he is to the reward, but hunger becomes the great equalizer for all three. Keeping the general their captive is no easy task as the trio journey from one problematic location to another, encountering Austrians and Germans, but no Italians and end up back at the abandoned farmhouse where they started after traveling in a circle. In spite of their partnership, Ada is not about to give in to the private’s lust for her, nor is she about to share a precious egg she has found. The private takes the egg from a sleeping Ada and returns the empty egg after sucking out the contents. His hunger partially quenched, he turns to his lust for Ada, but she stops him. He shares his dream of buying a farm and Ada warms to him with the possibility of marriage.

They continue their journey as the general does everything he can to outsmart them and escape. Ada outsmarts the private using his attraction and trust of her against him and locks him in a closet on an Austrian train car. The private soon returns and they use money found in the farmhouse to buy a donkey and cart so the private and general can hide in the barrel on the cart as Ada leads them through enemy occupied territory. In one scene, Ada goes out searching for food only to pass into an Austrian encampment. She asks for food, which they give to her, but they have a demand for repayment. Ada endures the humiliation of being fondled in return for potatoes until the men are ordered to leave when their superior arrives. Upon returning to the private and the general, she lies and says there was no food.

They each try to one-up each other with their shared needs like food and shelter, the general’s need to escape and the private’s dream of buying a farm and marrying Ada. She simply wants to survive and uses the two men for her own ends as they make their way to the Italian lines, but to get there they must cross a mine field. All I will say about that is the donkey doesn’t make it and the movie comes to a satisfying conclusion.

A more accurate title for the movie could be “The Private, the Girl and the General,” but that doesn’t have the same ring or commercial appeal as “The Girl and the General.” Produced by Carlo Ponti, the movie was directed by Pasquale Festa Campanile who also contributed as co-writer of the original story and is credited as a co-screenwriter. He was also co-writer on “The Leopard” in 1963 featuring Burt Lancaster in one of his signature roles. Campanile also directed “The Girl from Trieste,” in 1982 which featured Ben Gazzara. The movie features terrific location shooting and a fabulous score by the great Ennio Morricone. Has he ever delivered a bad score? Perhaps, but there’s always added value to any movie where Morricone has made a contribution.

This is not a typical war movie as there is very little in the way of combat. The soldiers on both sides disappear for most of the movie except when they show up as road blocks to the trio’s progress. Roles are not reversed so much as equalized as the trio search for food, safety and shelter in a basic will to survive. This common struggle trumps everything and brings them together as danger blocks them at every turn. The movie is also very funny, especially when Steiger is involved with outsmarting the easily outsmarted private. In an early scene after being captured, the general convinces the private to take his boots off and, after setting them aside, the general tosses them over a cliff, forcing the private to walk in his socks until he finds suitable replacement boots.

Released in the fall of 1967 by Metro-Goldwyn Mayer in the U.S., the movie is well worth a viewing. Lisi and Orsini are very good and the incomparable Steiger is very appealing in his role as the general. The movie looks and sounds terrific and clocks in at 103 minutes. The DVD is bare bones with no extras.

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BY ADRIAN SMITH

“Only one thing counts: either you have money and you’re someone, or you don’t have any and you’re a doormat.” So states Giulio Sacchi (Tomas Milian), as he plans to kidnap the beautiful young daughter of a wealthy business-owner. Together with two small-time hoods, who are more accustomed to snatching purses than snatching rich girls, Sacchi hopes to take 500 million lira, enough never to have to work again. Having grown up on the streets with no parents or opportunity, Sacchi constantly rails against the system. He believes he is a genius and can commit crime because the world owes him a living; in reality he is short-tempered, dangerous and cowardly, as he proves when he guns down a traffic officer whilst acting as getaway driver for a bank robbery. This hasty murder brings swift police attention and the gang are nearly caught, leading them to beat Sacchi and reject him from their organised crime ring. This spurs him on to plan his perfect big score, but his short temper causes him to leave a string of dead bodies in his wake, which soon brings tough cop Walter Grandi (Henry Silva) hot on his trail.

Almost Human fits what the Italians called the poliziotteschi, a genre which depicted corrupt or inept cops and violent criminality. The 1970s was an incredibly violent period in Italy’s history, often referred to as Anni di piombo, or the Years of Lead, when both left- and right-wing extremists engaged in acts of terrorism including bombings and political assassinations. The authorities seemed unable to bring any form of control to this unstable and terrifying situation and the Italian films of the period charted this chaos and mistrust through explicit depictions of crime and horror. Although Milan is now a popular tourist destination for its important art and architecture, Almost Human depicts it as a city which looks more like the mean streets of 1970s New York, filled with crumbling buildings, ugly apartment blocks, abandoned quaysides and patches of rubbish-strewn wasteland. This comparison is surely no coincidence, as the poliziotteschi, as well as addressing issues of contemporary Italy, borrows heavily from the tough American crime thrillers of the period like The French Connection (1971) and Dirty Harry (1971). The film’s original Italian title, Milano odia: la polizia non puo’ sparare, translates as “Milan hates: the police can’t shoot”, which sounds as if it is criticising the targeting abilities of the local constabulary. What is actually implied by this is that the bureaucracy means that the police are powerless to stop the criminals. Even if they are caught and arrested, as Grandi complains, they are released again twenty-four hours later to go out and steal and kill again. Sacchi is so blasé about killing people because he believes no one will notice another body in Milan.

Almost Human may be derivative of the American cop thriller, but it is also an exciting and shocking political critique of Italian society, where women and children can be gunned down in cold blood and the police are powerless to stop it unless they step outside the law they are sworn to protect.

Director Umberto Lenzi is a legend of Italian cinema. Like many who worked outside the arthouse or neo-realist traditions of Visconti or Fellini, Lenzi made films within every popular genre from sword-and-sandal to giallo, from sex comedies to cannibal horror. Like his contemporaries he made whatever was popular, whether for the local or international audiences, so his name can even be found on spy films like 008: Operation Exterminate (1965), spaghetti westerns such as Pistol for a Hundred Coffins (1968) and zombie splatterthons like the deliriously ridiculous Nightmare City (1980). Shameless sat him down for an exclusive interview for this new Blu-ray, which features an HD restoration from the original negative. He is a fascinating figure whose career spans over fifty years and he has plenty of stories to tell about his time in the film industry. Also included are some archival interviews with Lenzi, co-star Ray Lovelock and writer Ernesto Gastaldi, himself legendary in the Italy with over 100 film credits. Tomas Milian, a Cuban-American who had a tremendous career both in Europe and in the U.S, and who passed away earlier in 2017, is also interviewed and proved himself to be equally entertaining as he was in his movies.

The Blu-ray comes in the traditional Shameless yellow case with both original and alternative artwork. With a terrific heavy-rock score from none other than Ennio Morricone, Almost Human is an exciting film from the golden period of Italian exploitation cinema and is not to be missed.

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BY TIM GREAVES

Dario Argento – whose directorial career has now spanned almost 50 years, positioning him as a genuine icon of terror cinema – is probably best associated with his clutch of intoxicatingly imaginative chillers, each of them ornamented with brutal (and increasingly graphic) murder scenarios, stylishly lurid lighting schemes and wildly inventive camerawork.

Throughout the second half of the 1960s Argento had found a degree of success in writing stories and screenplays for movies; he most famously worked alongside Sergio Leone for 1968's Once Upon a Time in the West. But it was taught 1970 thriller The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (o.t. L'uccello dalle piume di cristallo) that marked his debut in the director’s chair and set him on the path to becoming the Godfather of the giallo.

Sam Dalmas (Tony Musante), an American writer currently residing in Rome, walks past a brightly lit art gallery late one night and sees inside a shadowy figure, clad in black, stabbing a woman. Attempting to intervene, Dalmas manages to get himself trapped in the entrance between two sets of locked sliding doors, unable to prevent the assailant from fleeing and helpless to assist the woman left bleeding to death on the floor. Fortunately, aid arrives and the woman – Monica Ranieri (Eva Renzi), wife of the gallery's owner – survives. It transpires that Monica was the almost-victim in a series of attacks that have left several beautiful women dead. Dalmas becomes obsessed with the case, replaying what he saw over and over in his head, convinced that he's missing a vital clue to solving the mystery. But in getting involved he inadvertently sets himself up as a target for the killer.

Argento not only directed but also wrote The Bird with the Crystal Plumage (basing it thematically on a 1949 pulp novel, “The Screaming Mimi”, by Frederic Brown). He would go on to make better movies but for a debut feature this really is an exemplary piece of film-making, bearing many of the embryonic flourishes – clearly influenced by the works of Alfred Hitchcock and Mario Bava – that would later become his trademark; specifically the faceless, black-gloved killer whose nefarious activities are often shot POV and, on a more cerebral level, the misperception of a witnessed moment, with characters struggling to retrieve a clue buried in their subconscious, the significance of which failed to register upon them when initially glimpsed. These recurrent themes would play out to varying degrees of success in many of Argento's later films, most significantly Four Flies on Grey Velvet (o.t. 4 mosche di velluto grigio, 1971), Cat o'Nine Tails (o.t. Il gatto a nove code, 1971), Deep Red (o.t. Profondo rosso, 1975, considered by many to be the greatest of all the Italian gialli), Tenebrae (o.t. Tenebre, 1982), Phenomena (1985), Opera (1987), Trauma (1993), The Stendhal Syndrome (o.t. La sindrome di Stendhal, 1996), Sleepless (o.t. Non ho sonno, 2001), The Card Player (o.t. Il cartaio, 2004), Do You Like Hitchcock? (o.t. Ti piace Hitchcock, 2005) and Giallo (2009).

The Bird with the Crystal Plumage itself is a masterpiece of sustained suspense. The escalating tension during a scene in which the hero's girlfriend (Suzy Kendall) is menaced by the killer – who uses a large kitchen knife to methodically chip away at the lock on her apartment door – is as perfect an example as one could wish for as to why Argento is often referenced as the Italian Hitchcock. The violence – notably an out-of-shot vaginal stabbing – was transgressive for its day, and in spite of the fact that far more shocking atrocities have been unflinchingly splashed across the screen in the decades since, several moments in Argento's fledgling offering still pack quite a visceral punch. 

BY DARREN ALLISON

“Omaggio al Maestro Ennio Morricone”- CD sleeve.

Cineploit Records launches two new releases“Omaggio al Maestro Ennio Morricone” (Cine 20) and “Omaggio a Joe D´Amato e Marcello Giombini” (Exploit 01) 7″ EP to mark their 5 year anniversary.

Cinema Retro picked up on Cineploit’s talents very early in the day. I've been reviewing their releases now since those very first humble beginnings. When it comes to labels that are dedicated in keeping retro genre film music alive - Cineploit are arguably the very best. Never afraid to explore new avenues or indeed breathing new life into classic Giallo or Poliziotteschi film scores, the label has decided to celebrate their anniversary with the release of a tribute album ‘Omaggio al Maestro Ennio Morricone.’

“Omaggio al Maestro Ennio Morricone”- LP sleeve.

This highly impressive compilation of the Maestro's work is performed by various groups and artists from the Cineploit stable, and very lavish it is too. The vinyl version comes in a beautiful gatefold sleeve with UV Spot, printed inner sleeve and is available in a limited coloured vinyl edition exclusive at Cineploit. The CD also comes with a Bonus track. The regular LP version is on 180g black Vinyl with or without the CD. The CD version also comes in an LP style wallet with an 8 page booklet and features different front sleeve artwork. As always, Cineploit offer a wide range of buying options at their website.

• Zoltan – Pazuzu (from Exorcist 2)

• Videogram – The Thing (from Soundtrack)

• Orgasmo Sonore vs. Sospetto – Adonai (from Il Giardino delle Delizie)

• Rashomon – Stress Infinito (from Spasmo)

• Oscillotron – La Lucertola (from Una lucertola con la pelle di Donna)

• LAWA (Leonard/Wank) – Sentenza di Morte (from Roma come Chicago)

• Orgasmo Sonore – Matto, Caldo… Girotondo (from Vergogna Schifosi)

• Luigi Porto feat Fromwood – Strana Bambina (La Piovra)

• Thelema – Die Ballade von Präfekt Mori (from Il Prefetto di Ferro)

• Sospetto – Inseguimento No. 2 & 3 (from Una breve stagione)

• LAWA (Leonard/Wank) – Revolver (from Revolver) * CD Bonus

Cineploit have also taken this opportunity to repress and rerelease the long sold out 7" EP

“Omaggio a Joe D´Amato e Marcello Giombini”- front of vinyl release.

“Omaggio a Joe D´Amato e Marcello Giombini”- back of vinyl release.

“Omaggio a Joe D´Amato e Marcello Giombini” by Deak Ferance & Roger Conrad (Exploit 01) and features music from “Man-Eater aka Antropophagous” and “Erotic Nights of the living Dead”. The vinyl features stunning retro artwork to both front and back and is released in a limited edition of just 350 copies on Orange/Black Splatter Vinyl.

Cineploit never fail to impress me, through either their quality recordings or their equally beautiful standard of packaging. With imminent new album releases coming from both Sospetto and Thelema, the future is certainly looking bright! Happy anniversary Cineploit!

http://www.cineploit.com/

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y5lEi3wmsK4 (*Lee – Great promo video)

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Kino Lorber has released a Blu-ray edition of the 1973 Euro Western "The Man Called Noon", based on the novel by Louis L'Amour. The film was produced by Euan Lloyd, who had previously brought L'Amour's novel "Shalako" to the screen in 1968 starring Sean Connery, Brigitte Bardot and an impressive supporting cast. "Noon" is no "Shalako". It's more in line with Lloyd's filmed production of L'Amour's "Catlow", which was released in 1971 (i.e instantly forgettable). Like so many Westerns of the era, it's a strange hybrid production top-lining well-known American stars with a supporting cast of European actors. The result is a reasonably entertaining but completely unremarkable horse opera that plays out with a familiarity akin to that of the well-trod shooting locations in and around Almeria, Spain. Richard Crenna, in a rare top-billed role in an action flick, plays the titular character, Rubal Noon, a notorious gunslinger. In the film's opening minutes he narrowly escapes an assassination attempt but is wounded in the process and, in that tried and true movie cliche, loses his memory. He doesn't remember who he is or why anyone tried to kill him. He is befriended by a shady saddle tramp, Rimes (Stephen Boyd), who informs him that he's wanted by the law and a virtual army of killers is after him. Rimes takes Noon to a ranch that serves as an outlaw hideout. It's owned by Fan Davidge (Rosanna Schiaffano), who has been kept captive on the ranch by the outlaws and forced to serve as their leader's mistress. Within seconds of meeting, Noon and Fan begin making goo-goo eyes at each other and we know that can only lead to trouble. It's at this point that the screenplay by Scot Finch becomes overly convoluted almost to the point of parody. A long series of facts and clues are presented to Noon that gradually help him discover his motivations and why so many people are after him. The jumbled explanations have something to do with avenging the deaths of loved ones and having knowledge of a secret cache of buried gold.  However, by the time all of this is explained, there is no "A-ha!" moment of revelation. Instead, one just sits and ponders the long string of characters, names and confusing plot developments. On several occasions I backtracked on the Blu-ray disc, thinking I overlooked some obvious information but it still seemed like a confusing mess so I just gave up, sat back and enjoyed the frequent action sequences. Crenna does well enough in an undemanding, completely humorless role. The few moments of levity are provided by Boyd, who plays a character of dubious allegiance. Farley Granger shows up as a bad guy and Schiaffano is as lovely as ever, but the characters are poorly defined and the most impressive aspect of the movie are the well-staged stunts courtesy of  legendary arranger Bob Simmons, who devised some of the best fight scenes in the James Bond series. Luis Bacalov provides the sometimes impressive requisite Morricone-like score. The finale of the movie finds the heroes holed up in a burning cabin surrounded by an army of antagonists. The scenario is similar to that in John Huston's "The Unforgiven" but with far less credibility. (Noon's method of terminating Granger's character is downright absurd.) The film was directed by Peter Collinson, who had shown great innovation and skill with his 1969 version of "The Italian Job". Not many of those skills are on view in "The Man Called Noon", which Collinson directed in a manner best described as workmanlike. Sadly, the young director never fulfilled his potential and ended up directing mid-range and mediocre fare before passing away in 1980 at only 44 years of age. 

The Blu-ray from Kino Lorber has a crisp, clean transfer. There is a bonus trailer gallery that includes other Westerns available from the company including "Duel at Diablo", "Billy Two Hats", "Barquero", "The Spikes Gang" and "Navajo Joe".  

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BY JOHN LEMAY

Though it may be a little too campy for some, Captain Apache (1971) makes for one of the more wildly entertaining Spaghetti Westerns. Actually, some critics go so far as to group this film into a western subgenre called the “Acid Western” (the likes of which include El Topo and other surrealistic fare). The film was not an Italian project but was made by Benmar Productions out of Great Britain which produced A Town Called Hell the same year (as such, the fantastic church set from that film reappears in a redressed fashion for Captain Apache). Though initially Yul Brynner was announced as the star in April of 1970, Spaghetti superstar Lee Van Cleef eventually took the role (though Brynner certainly would have looked the part more than Van Cleef). Despite the declining state of European Westerns in 1971, this was one three that Van Cleef made that same year, the other two being The Return of Sabata and Bad Man’s River.

The story follows Van Cleef as an Apache US Army Captain, hence the title (his real name is never given throughout the film) at some point in the 1870s during the presidency of Ulysses S. Grant. Captain Apache’s mission is to solve the murder of the Indian Commissioner, Harry Collier and decipher the meaning behind his cryptic dying words: “April Morning.” The investigation quickly leads Captain Apache to gunrunner Mr. Griffin (Stuart Whitman) and his amorous “fiancée” Maude (Carroll Baker). Much of the proceedings center on Captain Apache investigating various people with ties to the murder only to have them turn up dead as well. This all leads the Captain to a late night train ride with all of the principal characters. It is here where we finally learn that April Morning doesn’t refer to a time or date, but a train car carrying the President of the United States! The action is pretty atmospheric from there, though a surprise twist will either register as just that—or a big joke—depending on your opinion of it.

Though the film isn’t as surreal as other Acid Westerns, it does have quite a milieu of elements in play. Its main claim to fame is the fact that Lee Van Cleef sings the title song. Apparently Van Cleef had seen Lee Marvin singing in Paint Your Wagon (1969) and wanted to give it a try himself. The results aren’t as bad as one might expect, though the film’s composer revealed in an interview that Van Cleef was somewhat difficult to work with in the recording sessions. Van Cleef also notoriously appears in the film wearing a wig and is minus his mustache (as Native Americans don’t typically have facial hair). Then there is the near constant assault of gags and one liners to the extent that this almost seems to be a “beans western” like They Call Me Trinity. A witch and her hallucinogenic potion even adds a semi-supernatural element to the story. Most all Spaghettis have a sequence where the hero is captured and then tortured or beat up, in the case of this film Captain Apache is forced to ingest the witch’s potion and goes on a strange hallucinogenic journey to the underworld. But mostly the film plays like an Old West version of the James Bond series for many reasons. A bedroom scene where Van Cleef is romancing Carroll Baker is particularly Bond-like when she puts a knife to his neck and he coolly responds by putting a gun to hers. Van Cleef’s verbal duels with Stuart Whitman over dinner is another Bond-like element as are a pair of identical twin gunmen henchmen that menace Van Cleef on Whitman’s behalf.

In many respects, though produced in 1971, the film’s campy flavor is more in line with cinema of the late 1960s more so than the early 1970s—the music in particular. Many will no doubt be surprised to learn that the film’s composer Dolores Claman later wrote “The Hockey Theme” for Hockey Night in Canada—Canada’s most recognizable piece of music aside from their national anthem. Though the score is no Morricone level masterpiece, it is still enjoyable in its own zany way. The same can also be said of the direction by American Alexander Signer. This was one of few feature films he shot as he mostly stuck to directing episodes of TV series such as The Fugitive and The Man from U.N.C.L.E. to name a few.

For Van Cleef completests and fans of off-beat Spaghettis Captain Apache is a worthwhile addition to their Blu-Ray library. Like other Kino Lorber releases, the picture is excellent (as is the sound) and the release also includes trailers for two other Van Cleef films: Sabata and Barquero. Otherwise there are no special features to speak of. 

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John LeMay is the author of several western non-fiction titles, among them Tall Tales and Half Truths of Billy the Kid. Click here to order from Amazon.

BY DOUG OSWALD

Spaghetti Westerns exist in a surreal alternate universe filled with new landscapes, new faces, new music, extreme violence and a slightly askew version of the Hollywood western story that veered into new territory literally and figuratively. The Spanish desert locations are unfamiliar and surreal filled with gunshots that ricochet, echo and often sound like cannons. Good and bad men are not as we may perceive them and behave in unexpected ways. Women and children are treated harshly and often come to an early demise. Anachronistic cowboys, lawmen, gunslingers, bandits and outlaws use guns and ammunition that may not have existed during the period, but somehow it doesn’t really matter. We accept the juxtaposition whether we are aware of it or not because Spaghetti Westerns are a fantasy version of the fantasy west created by Hollywood. Hundreds of Spaghetti Westerns followed the release of Sergio Leone’s “A Fistful of Dollars,” “For a Few Dollars More” and “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly,” and changed our expectations for the genre.

Gian Maria Volonte and Thomas Milian team up as unlikely allies in “Face to Face,” a 1967 Spaghetti Western available on Blu-ray by Kino Lorber. The movie opens with history professor Brett Fletcher (Volonte) announcing to his students that he’s leaving for Texas due to poor health. In his new life in the desert, Fletcher looks pale and sickly, spending his days relaxing in the sun with his mistress (Linda Veras). A stagecoach stops at his hotel with two sheriff deputies escorting the bandit Solomon “Beauregard” Bennet (Milian). Fletcher takes pity on Bennet, who takes advantage of the diversion and holds Fletcher as his hostage and is shot during the escape. When he passes out from his wound, Fletcher continues to help him escape.

Pinkerton agent Charlie Siringo (William Berger) runs into Bennet and Fletcher and seeks to infiltrate Bennet’s Raiders by pretending to be an outlaw himself and eventually succeeds. Fletcher is sent away by Bennet and convinced to return back home in the East. While waiting for his train in Purgatory City, he sees Bennet ride into town. Fletcher saves Bennet in a gunfight with about a dozen men seeking Bennet’s bounty. Joining up with Bennet, they meet up with former members of Bennet’s Raiders. Bennet is a sort of Robin Hood and the leader of a large group of people, including women and children, living in the desert. The women in the group vary from the beautiful Maria (Jolanda Modio) to Cattle Annie (Carole Andre) who also happens to have a crush on Bennet, but both women have very little to do other than to represent the Hollywood western tropes of a mistress and the girl who dresses like a boy. They live a harsh life and are treated badly, but stand by Bennet and Fletcher.

Fascinated by the group and their way of life, Fletcher takes an active role as the raiders rob a train and the passengers. Fletcher comes up with a bank robbery plan that results in the capture of Bennet, but reveals Siringo as a traitor. Fletcher takes over the gang running it with an intellectual ruthlessness, his health improving as his character becomes more outlaw than professor. He leads the group on a trek across the desert where many are killed by bounty hunters. Bennet escapes his captors with Siringo hot on his trail and they eventually meet up with Fletcher for a final showdown.

While “Face To Face” takes place during the American Civil War, the movie does not depict the war in any way other then making reference to it in a few scenes. Charlie Siringo was a real man and a Pinkerton agent, too, but I suspect the similarities end there. The movie has political overtones dealing with race, class, gender and fascism and the 1967 release hints at the escalation of the Vietnam War, but it can be enjoyed on its own merits as an engaging western.

Directed by Sergio Sollima (“The Big Gundown,” “Run Man Run”), the movie didn’t receive a theatrical release in America until 1976 which is a pity because it is one of the better entries in the genre. Fortunately, “Face To Face” is available on Blu-ray from Kino Lorber and it looks and sounds very good. Volonte is terrific and so are Milian and Berger. The opening credits are reminiscent of those for “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” and the movie includes an outstanding score by Ennio Morricone. The extra features on the disc include a trailer for another Kino Lorber release and an option to watch the movie in the original Italian. The Italian version is not in HD and looks its age, but includes English subtitles and is a welcome feature for fans of the genre.

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

The seemingly promising teaming of Rock Hudson and Claudia Cardinale, both at their most glamorous back in 1968, goes hopelessly astray in the comedy/crime caper film "A Fine Pair". The movie is the kind of lazy effort that makes one suspect the only motives for the stars' participation were quick, sizable paychecks and the opportunity to enjoy some exotic locations at the studio's expense. (Think "Donovan's Reef" without the fun.) The film opens in New York City and we find Hudson as NYPD Captain Mike Harmon, a conservative, no-nonsense career police officer who runs his precinct with the same strong-arm tactics that General George S. Patton employed to keep his troops in line. Out of nowhere pops Esmeralda Marini  (Cardinale), a glamorous and almost annoyingly perky young woman who has arrived unannounced from her native Italy. Turns out she has known Harmon most of her life as he was a good friend of her late father, who was an Italian police captain. It's never adequately explained how the two law enforcement officer's professional careers intersected but it turns out that Harmon became close enough to the Marini family that Esmeralda has long considered Harmon like a favorite uncle. The absurdities start almost immediately as Esmeralda confesses that she has possession of some stolen jewels that she has stolen from a prominent Italian family, the Fairchilds, who are now on holiday in New York.  She says that she has regrets about having participated in the crime and wants to break into the Fairchilds' fortress-like chateau in Austria so that she can return the jewels before they find they are missing. One would think that a streetwise New York City police captain would see this as a rather bizarre and implausible yarn, but not Harmon. On a moment's notice he decides to take a leave from his job and flyoff for Austria with Esmeralda in a quest to undo the wrong she committed by stealing the jewels. Oh, did I mention that Harmon is also married? He dismisses this by saying that he was simply vague about his reasons for taking off suddenly for a week in Austria. I'd be curious to hear about the outcome of any married man who decides to employ the same tactics. 

Once in Austria, Harmon is alternately bemused and annoyed by Esmeralda's party-hearty lifestyle. She is a magnet for eccentric young men of the counter-culture, who she beds with guilt-free abandon. However, it doesn't take long before conservative Harmon is joining in the partying but there is still the slight problem of breaking into the Fairchild's estate. Harmon uses a false scenario to convince the local police chief (the marvelous character actor Leon Askin)  to give him a tour of the security devices inside and around the perimeter of the mansion. While it might be a professional courtesy to share such information with a fellow police captain, one would have to wonder how the absent family would feel about strangers treading around their private property and discussing all their top-secret burglar alarm devices. Harmon is stunned by the sophistication of the anti-theft system and concerned that the mission of breaking into the home will be impossible- and Esmeralda is vague about how the original theft was originally orchestrated except to say that her accomplice managed to pull it off. Against all logic, Harmon decides to risk his life and career in order to carry on with the plot. In some of the most absurd scenes, he becomes a poor man's "Q" Branch by devising ways to use ordinary objects such as champagne bottles and mingle them with chemicals in order to gain access to the house and neutralize the alarm system. It's a plan that would have challenged Einstein, but Harmon feels secure enough to continue with the caper. He and Esmeralda decided to undertake the top secret and illegal task of mixing dangerous chemicals by doing so in the communal toilet of the tiny bed and breakfast lodge they are staying at. Even Inspector Clouseau wouldn't be that careless.

Harmon's plan requires artificially raising the interior temperature of the room the Fairchilds' safe is in to a scorching 194 degrees Fahrenheit because somehow he has figured out that this will prevent the alarms from being triggered. The entire sequence is ludicrous and seems designed simply as an excuse for Cardinale to strip down to her bra and panties, which provides the only break in the tedium. It doesn't take much skill to make a caper film sequence suspenseful but director Francesco Maselli (who also committed the sin of co-writing the screenplay) manages to bungle even this "can't miss" opportunity. There is no tension whatsoever and the scene ends prematurely with the caper successfully carried out. However, Esmeralda now has a second break-in she wants Harmon to help with. By this point, he is smitten with her and they become lovers. Given the fact that he has been a de facto "uncle" to her, the "Yuck" factor kicks in right away. Before long Harmon has changed his entire personality, ditching his conservative lifestyle for the free-wheeling, anything-goes philosophy of Esmeralda. Harmon's transformation is as likely as someone entering the voting booth with the intention of voting for Ted Cruz and suddenly deciding to pull the lever for Bernie Sanders. The remainder of the film concerns this second, equally implausible, crime plan. By this point Harmon has discovered that he has been played for a sucker by Esmeralda, who had him place worthless jewels in the Fairchild safe. While he was preoccupied doing so, she used the opportunity to steal real jewels. In fact, she had never been inside the mansion before and had conned him into giving her access. Got all that? Then please explain it to me. Harmon is so enamored that this career police captain with a distinguished career in law enforcement decides to become a professional jewel thief and give up his profession. In a "Oh, by the way..." moment he conveniently also explains that he phoned his wife and requested a divorce, which she immediately complied with.  Before long, the happy couple is off to Rome for their next caper. Not even Jules Verne could come up with such fantastical scenarios.

"A Fine Pair" has more problems than poor direction and a terrible script. It's perhaps the worst-photographed major film release I've ever scene. Cinematographer Alfio Contini has a distinguished record in the movie industry so maybe this was an aberration. However, he employs some amateurish techniques that make it appear the film was photographed by an amateur who stumbled onto the set while he was on his lunch break. There are head-spinning swirls and dreadful use of the zoom lens. Contini also squanders the early sequences in New York by focusing on tight close-ups of the actors instead of the city's exotic locations. The choppy editing doesn't help and we're left with an upbeat, jaunty score by Ennio Morricone as the film's sole asset. While I've always enjoyed Rock Hudson's work in movies, he gave very few truly impressive performances ("Giant" and "Seconds" among them.) He was best suited for light comedies which he had a natural flair for which is why it's a telling sign that he's pretty awful in this film. You can almost see a thought bubble above his head with the question "What the hell am I doing in this mess?" He gives a listless and  uninspired performance throughout. Cardinale is at least lively but her character is poorly written and completely unbelievable. Regarding their performances, New York Times critic Roger Greenspun  astutely wrote at the time, "...the film at times seems like "Mission: Impossible" performed by the cast of "Captain Scarlett and the Mysterons"- with facial expressions that cleverly imitate life."  

The Warner Archive DVD was mastered from the best elements available. Fittingly they are awful and, thus, so is the transfer. The color quality varies wildly and some scenes are so dark that it feels as though you are staring into an inkwell. Not helping matters is that the movie suffers from bad dubbing and sound mixing so that even Rock Hudson sounds like he is being dubbed by a different actor. The movie is of primary interest to loyal  fans of Hudson and Cardinale and those who get a kick out of watching promising cinematic premises that turned into disasters.

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BY JOHN M. WHALEN

“Kill or Be Killed” (2015) aka “Red on Yella, Kill a Fella,” is a low budget horror-western released on DVD by RLJ Entertainment that also attempts to be a tribute to the spaghetti westerns of the 60s and 70s and Sam Peckinpah’s “The Wild Bunch.” The plot is about a gang of outlaws in the year 1900 traveling 500 miles through Texas to get to a stash of gold that’s hidden at the bottom of a well in the sand dunes of Galveston Beach. The group is hounded on their journey by a mysterious being and one by one the gang members get picked off.

Like Peckinpah’s Wild Bunch these outlaws are a motley crew. Their leader, Claude “Sweet Tooth” Barbee, played by co-writer/director Justin Meeks, is very loosely based on real-life outlaw Sam Bass. As Meeks portrays him, Barbee is a man obsessed with recovering the hidden loot from a previous robbery. He’ll stop at nothing to get it. He’s abetted by a gang of cutthroats capable of anything, and he’s willing to overlook their bloody crimes if it will help him get to the gold. He’s even willing to go as far as looking the other way when one of his men, a hulking brute called Blocky (Gregory Kelly), brutally rapes and murders a girl in her early teens.

Meeks explains in the DVD’s audio commentary that Barbee needs Blocky’s muscle, so he’ll overlook what he did. But it turns out he’s even willing to go farther than that. When the girl’s father pulls a shotgun on Blocky to give him his just desserts, Barbee shoots the father in the head. Meeks points out however, that as bad as that seems, Barbee, at least, has a line he won’t cross. He doesn’t allow the girl’s mother and little brother to be killed. Well, I guess...

Meeks and his co-writer/director Duane Graves, came up with a script that tries to outdo the violence and sadism of the films that inspired it. They set out to show bad men being bad and paying for it all in the end. The addition of the horror element provides for a little extra gore. As far as it goes, it’s not a bad premise for a movie. But the question is how far across the line can you let your characters go before they become so reprehensible that the audience cannot relate to them? Peckinpah’s bunch were men on the wrong side of the law, but he gave them a sense of honor. They were bad but not as bad as the posse of degenerates pursuing them, or Mapache, the bandit chief they rob a train for. Barbee and his men, on the other hand, are on a level even lower than that.

In another scene that comes out of nowhere, our anti-heroes try to rob a black man (whom Barbee calls “Jimmy”) with a wagon of furs, but when they find out he has no money, Barbee tells his men to get a rope and “put his boots in the trees.” Smells like a lynching to me. But who can tell? The scene ends with one of the gang coming toward the man with about three feet of rope in his hands. How do you hang somebody with three feet of rope? Were they just going to tie him up? I went to the audio commentary hoping the filmmakers would shed some light on what was going on and why they included such an unnecessary and repugnant scene in the first place. But instead all they discussed was how much they spent on the props, including a gold coin they bought on eBay. It’s just one example of the confused direction and writing in this film.

Meeks and Graves also seem to be fond of throwing red herrings at the audience. As the members of the gang are killed one by one in mysterious ways, there are scenes involving a giant savage with flaming eyes, which we’re told in the commentary, is some kind of Viking who appeared in one of their earlier shorts. Exactly why he’s in this film isn’t explained. He only appears in Barbee’s dreams, but how can a dream image manage to slit at least one character’s throat while he’s sleeping? Turns out he didn’t. The explanation of who the real killer is pretty fantastic. Like really unbelievable, man.

The cast is full of indie movie players including Michael Berryman (The Hills Have Eyes), Edwin Neal (The Texas Chain Saw Massacre), Arianne Martin (Don’t Look in the Basement 2), Luce Rains (No Country for Old Men) and Paul McCarthy-Boyington (The Human Race). Veteran character actor Pepe Serna (Black Dahlia) is credited with being one of the producers and also has a part in the picture. He plays a man named Rudy Goebel who, with his wife and son or sons (not immediately clear), runs a ramshackle boarding house. We find him drugging his latest boarder and then shooting him in the head when he suspects his soup has been doped. When his hysterical wife asks him how long he can keep doing this, he smashes her head on the wooden table top several times, killing her, and throws her, the boarder, and one son into a root cellar. What the hell? I don’t know. You explain it to me. There are a lot of unexplained things in “Kill or Be Killed.”

Near the end of the DVD audio commentary Meeks remarks that it’s always “good to leave a few questions unanswered at the end of a film, just enough so if you watch maybe a second of third time it might link some of the gaps.” It’s too bad Meeks and Graves didn’t take the trouble to fill in the gaps themselves. If they had, and if they had written a script that had some sort of morality to it, “Kill or Be Killed” might have been an impressive entry in the weird west sub-genre category. But this is the 21st century and in the world of indie films anyone with a camera can throw anything they want up on the screen and call it a movie. As it is, it’s a somewhat pathetic example of ambitious indie film making swinging for the bleachers and coming up with a foul to left field.

The RLJ Entertainment DVD presents “Kill or Be Killed” in a widescreen 2.35:1 aspect ratio, which does justice to Brandon Torres’ cinematography. He captures some nice views of the West Texas country. The soundtrack by John Constant is imitation Ennio Morricone, but has some merits of its own. The disc contains the usual extras, including audio commentary, interviews and deleted scenes. I’m sure there is some sort of audience for films like this. The gore and horror reviewers on the web seemed to like it. It’s definitely not for everyone.

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BY HOWARD HUGHES

New to DVD in the UK is ‘Arabella’, an Italian period comedy set in that hotbed of hilarity, pre-WWII fascist Italy. Virna Lisi stars in the title role – known variously in the film as Arabella Danesi and Arabella Angeli – who determines to save her grandmother from destitution by finding ingenious ways to pay off her elderly relative’s crippling tax bill.

The film is structured rather like those 1960s Italian portmanteau comedy-dramas, such as ‘Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow’, ‘The Witches’ or ‘Woman Times Seven’. Such films were intended as vehicles for one female star, be they Sophia, Silvana or Shirley, to demonstrate their versatility in a variety of roles. But instead of separate stories, with different characters, ‘Arabella’ has one continuous story arc, with Lisi’s sexy heroine adopting various costumes, personas and wigs to seduce and blackmail her way through a string of lovers, who are then conned out of cash to pay off granny’s debts. Some of her victims are played by Terry-Thomas. It is he who gets to show off his comedy skills in a variety of roles, though despite costume and make-up changes, they all resemble Terry-Thomas – there’s no disguising that tooth gap. He plays a girdle-wearing, monocled British general Sir Horace Gordon, an Italian hotel manager angered by the installation of a public urinal in the street outside his swanky establishment and the rich duke who hires Arabella to ‘cure’ his gay son Saverio. Terry-Thomas and Lisi had already worked together to great success on the Hollywood black comedy ‘How to Murder Your Wife’ (1965) and he’s clearly enjoying himself here in the various roles.

The cast of this Italian-UK co-production – shot in Rome, Naples and Venice – is an interesting one. Margaret Rutherford plays Arabella’s debt-ridden granny, Princess Ilaria, James Fox is Arabella’s mysterious, louche shadow Giorgio, and Rutherford’s old partner Stringer Davis from the big-screen 1960s Miss Marple films shows up in an amusing cameo as Ilaria’s gardener, Nazzareno. Giancarlo Gianni played Saverio, who pretends to be gay, so that his father continues to send in alluring women to try to ‘cure’ him. Familiar Italian supporting players appear, too – Renato Romano played General Gordon’s batman, Renato Chiantoni is one of the tax inspectors hassling Ilaria, Giuseppe Addobbati is a hotel guest and Ugo Fangareggi is a policeman.

‘Arabella’s disjointed, jumpy plotting bears the signs of considerable cutting for international distribution and it eventually falls to pieces as a movie – in exactly the same way so many very good 1960s Italian films that have been edited and dubbed for international audiences fall to bits. The film was released internationally by Universal Pictures and its associate producer was Dario Argento’s father, Salvatore, before he began producing his son’s legendary gialli thrillers. The big plusses are the art direction (by Alberto Boccianti) and superb 1920s period costumes by Piero Tosi (Visconti’s designer on ‘Death in Venice’ and ‘The Leopard’), so visually the film is splendid. Of most interest to me was the chance to hear one of Ennio Morricone’s many little-heard scores of this period. ‘Arabella’ was directed by Mauro Bolognini, whose dramas ‘He and She’ (1969 – ‘L’assoluto naturale’), ‘Un bellissimo novembre’ (1969 – ‘That Splendid November’) and ‘Metello’ (1970) are all worth a look, or rather a listen, for their memorable Morricone scores. Bolognini also directed the erotic period drama ‘La Venexiana’ (1986), aka ‘The Venetian Woman’ starring Laura Antonelli and Jason Connery, which also benefits from a lovely Morricone score. The maestro’s score here is a mixture of lush period orchestrations and comedic, clockwork themes which resemble early drafts of Morricone’s title cue to ‘Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion’ (1970). The descending flute trill from ‘A Fistful of Dollars’ makes a brief appearance, but in the main, this is a playful score, befitting the material, with a lovely violin theme for the Venetian scenes towards the end of the movie.

The Region 2 DVD from Simply Media is presented in 4:3 screen ratio, which looks cropped at the sides. This seems to be the case, as the IMDB lists the aspect ratio as 1.85:1. The film was 105 minutes in Italy, but cut drastically to 88 minutes for US release. Simply Media’s habit of printing the US running time in promotional material continues here, as the UK DVD actually runs 84 minutes. The picture quality has nowhere near the sharpness and clarity of some of Simply Media’s other releases – notably its Universal westerns such as ‘A Man Called Gannon’ and ‘Calamity Jane and Sam Bass’. ‘Arabella’ is rated 12 (for ‘moderate sex references’). 

For 1960s Commedia all’Italiana, Terry-Thomas and Morricone completists this is worth a look, but others might find it hard going. A definite curio however and a long-lost one at that.

BY DOUG OSWALD

Rock Hudson is an American commando sent to blow up a dam in “Hornets’ Nest,” a 1970 WWII action adventure set in 1944 Italy as the Allies advance on the German occupation force. Directed by Phil Karlson (“Hell to Eternity,” “Kid Galahad,” “The Silencers,” “The Wrecking Crew” and “Walking Tall”), the movie was an American-Italian co-production filmed in Italy with a mostly all Italian cast and crew.

The movie opens as the residents of Reanoto are massacred by German soldiers after they refuse to give up the location of Italian resistance fighters. Meanwhile, American commandos parachute in on a mission to blow up a nearby dam, but all are killed except for Capt. Turner (Hudson). A group of boys hiding in the hills when the German’s murdered their families rescue Turner and hide him from the Germans. Turner is running a fever from his wounds and the boys convince a local doctor, Bianca (Sylva Koscina), to help Turner. Von Hecht (Sergio Fantoni) is the officer in charge of a local contingent of German soldiers searching for Turner.

Mark Colleano is Aldo, the leader of the boys. He’s understandably angry and wants revenge against the Germans who murdered his family and the families of all the other children. The boys form a band of partisans seeking to convince Capt. Turner to teach them to shoot so they can kill Germans. They have guns and ammunition hidden in a cave in the hills where they’ve been hiding. Turner convinces the boys to help him retrieve his radio in order to contact his headquarters and then complete his mission of destroying the dam. It’s not precisely clear why the dam needs to be destroyed because the American forces link up with him within minutes after the dam is blown up.

Italian actor Sergio Fantoni (with dyed blonde hair) is unconvincing and miscast as Von Hecht, but he’s a familiar face to fans of a pair of classic WWII movies from the era. He was Capt. Oriani in “Von Ryan’s Express” and Capt. Oppo in “What Did You Do in the War, Daddy?” It’s odd seeing him as a German officer in “Hornets’ Nest” and it doesn’t really work. It’s also not quite clear if Koscina is supposed to be playing a German doctor or an Italian doctor in service of the Germans, but that’s quickly forgotten soon after she’s taken prisoner by the children and joins Turner in blowing up the dam. Koscina was cast after Sophia Loren passed on the movie.

Another obvious criticism of the film is one I have for other movies and TV series from the period. Hudson’s hair is too long and the sideburns and handlebar mustache, while stylish in the 1970s, would not have been acceptable for military service during WWII through to today. Koscina’s big hair, like Hudson’s hair, is strictly from the late 60s and early 70s and the boys look like they were plucked off the streets of Rome circa 1970 and wear the clothing they had hanging in their closets at home.

The movie moves at a brisk pace with plenty of action and Colleano is sympathetic as Aldo. Hudson is good as Capt. Turner and this would be his final military action role before settling into the successful TV series “McMillan & Wife” which ran from 1971-1977. Koscina is beautiful and gives an acceptable performance as Bianca, but she has little to do other than react to the boy’s vengeance driven behavior, a rape attempt, having her clothing ripped, nurture the small children and look enticing. Apart from Hudson, Apart from Colleano (American father and English mother) and Karlson, the rest of the cast and crew are made up of Italians and Yugoslavians. Italian second unit director Franco Cirino even received a co-director credit on Italian prints of the movie.

The story, written by S.S. Schweitzer and Stanley Colbert, was based on an actual incident during the American advance in Italy. The screenplay is standard fare for the era and among the last of this type of war movie. Critics at the time disliked the depiction of children killing, being killed and participating in war. I remember seeing this movie as a kid and I loved every minute of it. As a fan of WWII movies and TV series, I wanted to be one of those boys fighting the Nazis.

The Kino Lorber release is the first time on Blu-ray for “Hornets’ Nest” and features the trailer for this and two other Kino military- themed releases as the only supplements. The movie clocks in at 110 minutes, looks and sounds great with an outstanding score by Ennio Morricone. Originally released in theaters by United Artists in September of 1970, the movie became a must see movie for me when it turned up on TV throughout the 70s.

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

Remember the old days when unpredictable occurrences seemed to predictably occur at the Oscars ceremony? There was the nude streaker who failed to unravel the ever-unflappable David Niven. There were the political activist winners who used the forum to grandstand for their favorite causes. This included Vanessa Redgrave's pro-Palestinian, anti-Zionist remarks during her acceptance speech, Marlon Brando sending a surrogate to reject his "Godfather" Oscar in protest of Hollywood's treatment of Native Americans, "Patton" winner George C. Scott refusing to show up at all in protest of the competitive nature of awards shows, the producers of the anti-Vietnam War documentary "Hearts and Minds" taking solace that that the nation was about to be "liberated" by a brutal communist regime, which caused another stir when Frank Sinatra was pushed on stage at Bob Hope's urging to read a hastily-scribbled denouncement of the remark. The Oscars haven't been as relevant or fun since, though I've been among the dwindling ranks of critics who often defend the entertainment value of the show even as its become ever more chic to diss the telecast as increasingly irrelevant. The Oscars have always been flawed, to be sure, and so have the ceremonies but they have also provided a lot of moments that were fun and sometimes poignant. (If you doubt me, just watch the marvelous segment of Charlie Chaplin returning from blacklist exile to receive a lifetime achievement Oscar in 1972 in the clip below.)  

This year's Oscar awards ceremony didn't need spontaneous moments to cause controversy. We knew going in that the elephant in the room would have to be addressed: the on-going criticism in some quarters that the Academy is racist because there were no black nominees this year. This is total nonsense, of course, as has been pointed out by numerous distinguished African-American members of the Academy. Yes, Oscar was lily white this year and last year as well but it certainly wasn't due to an orchestrated attempt to bar people of color from being nominees. Since the 1960s, the Academy has overseen a long, sometimes torturous road toward removing the kinds of prejudicial barriers that not only had traditionally characterized the awards but the Hollywood studio system as a whole. It was a big deal when Hattie McDaniel won for "Gone With the Wind" and Sidney Poitier became the second black actor to win a full quarter of a century later for "Lilies of the Field". Since then the Academy has mirrored the changes in society to the point where no one thinks its particularly newsworthy to report on the skin color of any winner. Still, some folks got their knickers twisted about the all-white field of nominees this year. Host Chris Rock was lobbied to cancel his gig as host of the event, 'lest he be labeled an Uncle Tom. (To his credit, Rock ignored the implied threat.) A few other prominent people made a big deal about boycotting the ceremony. Chief among them, Will Smith, whose absence seemed less a statement of principal than simply pouting over the fact that he didn't get his expected nomination for "Concussion". (Smith conveniently seems to have forgotten that the Academy had previously nominated him twice.) Smith was joined by the ever-angry Spike Lee, despite the fact that his career was launched by winning a student Academy Award. He had also been nominated for two regular Oscars and only this very year accepted an honorary Oscar for his entire career. He showed up to accept that at a pre-broadcast ceremony, all the while denouncing the Academy as engaging in racist behavior. Talk about wanting your cake and eating it, too.  Lee pointed out that this is the second straight year that the Oscars nominees were all white. "We can't act?! WTF!!", he asked rhetorically. That's hardly the case. Remember way back to 2014 when the Academy earned praise for its awarding of three Oscars ( and a total of nine nominations) to "12 Years a Slave"? Lee and Smith would somehow have you believe that the Academy members suddenly became racist since then and conspired to deprive black artists from getting nominations. The sad truth is that there is a scarcity of black talent behind the cameras and the major African-American actors often don't appear in films that are Oscar-worthy. That's not to diminish the value of the actors or the films. They are simply gearing their movies to the expectations of their audiences, which is what actors have done since the beginning of time. Chris Rock emphasized this point with an amusing "man-on-the-street" segment in which everyday black moviegoers were interviewed about their opinions of the films nominated this year for Best Picture. None of the people interviewed saw them and some hadn't even heard of any. The lack of interest among younger black people to pursue movie-making careers does deprive the industry of hearing and seeing alternative viewpoints from a cinematic perspective. But what is the solution proposed by Lee and Smith- to force young people to attend film school whether they like it or not?

Last night's ceremony started off well with a witty and expertly delivered monologue by Chris Rock. He gently tweaked the Academy by acknowledging the controversy but then, like a person who can't resist telling a good joke until the point of boredom, he kept revisiting the racism angle throughout the evening with very mixed results. To be sure Rock was himself caught between a rock and a hard place. He had to thread the needle between not appearing to be insulting to the Academy that was paying him a king's ransom to host the show, without alienating his core base of fans. To the degree he succeeded will be determined in the days to come. (Personally, I'm getting weary of major awards shows hiring hosts who have the intention of trashing the very awards the show is about. Enough already.)  Suffice it to say Rock was in the ultimate "no win" situation. However, his insistence on not burying the race debate undermined other elements of the show. Adding to the absurdity of the racism accusations was a speech about diversity that was delivered by Cheryl Boone Isaacs, president of the Academy, who, not incidentally, is an African-American. I don't know of many racist organizations that elect a minority female to be their representative. In any event, the Academy went so overboard in presenting black artists on stage that the whole thing threatened to back-fire. Presumably, the intention was to provide a not-so-subtle rebuke of Smith and Lee's charges by having some of the most respected African-Americans in the industry today show their implied support of the Academy by appearing on the show.  After all, does anyone really think living legends like Morgan Freeman or Quincy Jones would lend their presence to a racist ceremony? However, most viewers probably simply regarded this as politically correct pandering to the critics. Indeed, Sacha Baron Cohen, in amusing ""Ali G" character mode made reference to the "token" white presenters. Since the vast majority of people who watch the Oscars are older and white, you could almost hear the comments in homes across the nation: "I hate racism but for God's sake stop cramming all this diversity stuff into the Oscars." Agree or disagree, I've already heard from people who think the Academy, in the immortal words of Louis B. Mayer, should "Leave the messages to Western Union". 

Chris: Between a Rock and a hard place.

The main purpose of the ceremony is to celebrate great film-making but the constant references to race threatened to overshadow the individual achievements of the artists. The show ambled on to the customary 3 1/2 hour running time. As usual there were highs and lows. What follows are my random thoughts on various aspects of the show:

• It always bothers me that honorary awards to living legends are reduced to a few seconds of film clips from a pre-show dinner. This is supposedly done to allow the telecast to move quickly. However, it also deprives viewers of magical moments such as the Chaplin award shown in the clip above. This year we learned that Debbie Reynolds received an honorary Oscar yet we got to see virtually none of it. Yet there was time for such bizarre segments as "SNL"-like comedy skits, a protracted and unfunny extended gag in which Girl Scouts went into the audience to sell cookies (!)and an appearance by Vice-President Joe Biden (to a rapturous ovation) to denounce sexual harassment on college campuses. Huh? While I don't want to see anyone suffer harassment of any kind anywhere, this was out of place on the Oscars and only justified on the dotted line reasoning that the subject matter was covered in the Oscar-nominated documentary "The Hunting Ground".  Sorry- it would have been more appropriate to see Debbie Reynolds in the twilight of her years accepting accolades from her peers. 
• It was a night of surprises. Alejandro Inarritu, who won the Oscar last year for directing "Birdman", scored a rare back-to-back win for "The Revenant". However, this was also a rare case in which the Best Picture ("Spotlight") was directed by someone other than the Best Director winner. You had to feel for Sylvester Stallone, who was the sentimental favorite for Supporting Actor for "Creed". He lost in a surprise upset to the brilliant Mark Rylance for "Bridge of Spies"  that reminded me of a similar situation many years ago when Burt Reynolds was supposed to win in the same category for "Boogie Nights" only to be by-passed by the Fickle Finger of Fate. Let's hope Stallone at least keeps his renewed respect in the industry by not making the mistake Reynolds made and delving back into awful projects in search of a fast, fat pay check. Another big surprise was the fact that "Mad Max: Fury Road" won the most Oscars, six in total, all in the technical categories. A lot of establishment types are still mystified about the critical acclaim this film received and how it ended up with a Best Picture nod. Suffice it to say, it's an acquired taste.
• There was a definite political aspect to the show, all of it left wing. As usual some winners used their speeches to sermonize about everything from race relations to the threat of global warming. (They should pass out violins to these people.) At some point I thought I could hear Rush Limbaugh's head explode, though the telecast will give right wing commentators plenty of meat on the bone for their annual dissection of the awards as a thinly-disguised Democratic political event. Having said that, there were precious few Donald Trump jokes. Perhaps he's doing more damage to himself than any writers could. 
• Style and glamour outdistanced the embarrassing fashion statements. Many of the ladies looked sensational, though I will admit to being vulnerable in terms of overlooking certain fashion mistakes if the necklines plunge deep enough. It's enough to justify the  admonishments of Major Hawthorne, played by Terry-Thomas in "It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World", who chastises Americans for their "positively infantile pre-occupation with bosoms!"  The men looked  equally classy and elegant with the Bond-revived white tuxedo making a major comeback. Host Chris Rock wore one and looked terrific. The biggest faux pas in terms of fashion, quite predictably came from the Oscar winner for Best Costume Design, Jenny Beavan, who won for "Mad Max: Fury Road". She decided to replicate the grunge look of the film by wearing a cheap leather jacket but she came off looking like a character from the "Star Wars" cantina sequence. 

Actress/model Kate Upton symbolized the female strategy for attire: "If you've got it, flaunt it!"

• An emotional highlight was the Best Score Oscar given to one of the few living legends in the field, the great Ennio Morricone for his score for "The Hateful Eight". Morricone's presence only reiterated just how diminished the field of impressive film composers is today. Sure, there are a handful of reliable names but no one like Morricone, John Barry, Dimitri Tiomkin, Elmer Bernstein or Jerry Goldsmith. That's partly the fault of an industry that regards composers not as valuable members of the production team, as it had in the past, but as necessary evils. Therefore composers are often brought in very late to create scores on ridiculously short deadlines. 
• The in memorial montage to talents lost in the last year is always a moving highlight, and this year was no exception. However, as usual there were some inexcusable snubs of revered people. The most glaring I noticed was John Guillermin, who directed such major hits as "The Towering Inferno", "King Kong" (1976 version), "Death on the Nile", "Skyjacked" and many others. No mention of beloved character actor Abe Vigoda, either. Yet, there was room in the montage for a host of people who worked in the weeds of show business in terms of public awareness.  (Apparently even dead people in Hollywood need press agents.) These omissions cause great backlashes every year but the Academy soldiers on making the same mistakes, thus giving credence to conspiracy theorists who believe that inclusion in the montage is based more on personal relationships than achievements. 
• Most of the speeches by winners were unremarkable. Popular winner for Best Actor Leonardo DiCaprio was a class act, as was Mark Rylance. When the winners droned on too long, the orchestra fired up Wagner's "Ride of the Valkyries" to intimidate them into shutting up. It seemed to have little-to-no effect. Maybe next year a helicopter attack can accompany the music to persuade them to get off stage.
• Best speech of the night was by presenter Louis C.K. who pointed out that the most deserving nominees were those in the category for Best Documentary (short). He said that these were true artists, driven by a passion for story-telling and filmmaking and that none of them will probably make anything like a living wage in the course of these noble endeavors. 
• Every year there is at least one presenter who engages in trashy behavior in order to bolster their image as somebody on the "cutting edge". This year it was foul-mouthed "comedienne" Sarah Silverman, who has about as much to do with the contemporary film industry as Fatty Arbuckle. Silverman, with her trademark deadpan Morticia Adams demeanor, strode on stage to introduce a performance of the nominated song "Writing's On the Wall" from "Spectre". She used the opportunity to disparage the long-running franchise and, in doing so, diminished the introduction of the song's writer and performer, Sam Smith. The Bond producers and Smith got the last laugh when the song won the award but one has to wonder why Silverman was chosen to introduce a segment that insulted the nominees? Surely there were composers and singers who would have been honored to have the gig. Instead, they went with a woman whose film credits include something titled "Cops, Cum, Dicks and Flying". Whoever brought her on board should be fired- or worse, made to watch back-to-back screenings of "Copes, Cum, Dicks and Flying". 
• Speaking of the Best Song category, Smith's Bond number was no classic by 007 standards but it was certainly a lot better than some worst songs in the series (think "Die Another Day" and the wretched "Quantum Of Solace"). It was also light years better than the other nominated songs that were performed including "Til It Happens to You", a dreadful concoction about sexual abuse from "The Hunting Ground" written and performed by Lady Gaga. It may have been written with the best of intentions (abuse victims were present on stage) but that didn't make hearing it any more bearable. Similarly, the song "Earned It" from "50 Shades of Grey" was also terrible. The film is about people who enjoy sado-masochism. After listening to this number I felt that I had been drafted into the ranks of masochists. By the way, two of the nominated songs weren't even performed at all, proving that star power is the primary factor in terms of deciding who the "Cool Kids" are in terms of having their work exposed to millions of viewers. Who gets to tell the nominees of the other two songs that their work doesn't merit being performed?  (Click here to view the song performances). 
• Speaking of Bondian references, it was nice to hear those classic 007 themes played as the show entered each commercial break. Also great that they included Burt Bacharach's superb main theme for the 1967 spoof version of "Casino Royale". 
• I was happy to see "Spotlight" nab the Best Picture award primarily because it reiterates the valuable and often thankless role that investigative reporters play in democratic societies. Sadly we live in an age where such writing skills and dogged determination are deemed expendable  by people who rarely pick up newspapers any more. 

BY LEE PFEIFFER

The German video label Explosive Media has another impressive release with the largely unheralded 1969 Western "Land Raiders", which the company has released on Blu-ray. The film was largely dumped on secondary markets for drive-in audiences and rural theaters in a year that saw such high profile Westerns as "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid", "True Grit" and "The Wild Bunch". Small wonder it didn't receive much attention. Not helping matters was its rather lame title which doesn't even represent the main focus of the story. The movie was yet another in the seemingly endless line of European Westerns that went into high gear a few years earlier with the success of the Clint Eastwood/Sergio Leone trilogy.  "Land Raiders" rises to the top echelon of those homages (rip-offs?) thanks in large part to the presence of some seasoned Hollywood veterans. The movie was produced by Charles H. Schneer, a frequent collaborator of special effects wizard Ray Harryhausen. The direction is by Nathan Juran, who was on Oscar-winning art director who turned to directing many of the Schneer/Harryhausen films. This project represented a rather odd subject matter for Schneer and Juran, as they generally stayed within the realm of science fiction and fantasy. (Juran had directed many episodes of Irwin Allen TV shows in the 1960s including "Lost in Space" and "The Time Tunnel".) What possessed them to tag onto the fading genre of spaghetti westerns is open to speculation but it must be said that they delivered a surprisingly intelligent, well-acted movie that overcomes some of its production shortcomings.  

Telly Savalas plays Vicente Cardenas, an evil land baron (are there any other kind?) who is attempting to forsake his Mexican heritage in order to build a successful empire in the American West. He controls the local government in a small but booming town and even has the sheriff, John Mayfield (Phil Brown), under his thumb because he has been financing the education of Mayfield's teenage daughter Kate (Janet Landgard), who is unaware of the deal with the devil he has made with Vicente. Vicente has an insatiable desire to keep expanding the territory under his control and is willing to use ruthless methods in order to achieve his goal. If he can't buy someone's loyalty he will use sheer brutality to intimidate them.  Vicente also has a macabre bounty that is drawing miscreants to the territory: he is offering a cash reward for every  Apache scalp delivered to him. On the surface he pretends to be a man of the people. He even has a glamorous American wife, Martha (Arlene Dahl), who continues to be willfully blind to her husband's brutality, as it affords her a luxurious lifestyle.  But Vicente has mastered the art of instilling fear into the hearts of the local population and convincing them that he represents the the strong man who can keep them safe. (He should have run for U.S. president...) Into the mix rides Vicente's estranged brother Pablo (George Maharis). He's a depressed, motiveless drifter who is still nursing a broken heart over the death of his fiancee a couple of years earlier. When he learned she was carrying another man's baby, the couple got into a very public row. Soon after she was found dead, presumably as the victim of an accident. However, the local population became convinced that Pablo murdered her. He has stayed away for quite some time but is forced to enter town again when he saves Kate Mayfield from an attack by Apaches. His presence in the town sets off predictable tensions with Vicente, who attempts to patch up differences but finds that Pablo will have none of it. He's well aware of his brother's duplicity. Meanwhile Vicente gets some disturbing news from U.S. Army Major Tanner (Guy Rolfe): the government is attempting to broker a peace treaty with the Apaches and is sending a representative to meet with them. The government intends to cede to the Apaches a wide swath of land that Vicente depends upon to use as open range for his cattle. In short order he convinces Major Tanner to become an ally to help him thwart the deal. What Tanner doesn't know is that Vicente has his thugs murdered the government agent and framed the Apaches for the deed. Vicente then rallies the locals to make a raid on the Apache camp. Pablo tries to convince the citizens that Vicente was behind the murder, but no one believes him. What follows is a horrendous massacre of innocent Apache women and children. The Apache braves understandably want revenge and launch their own raid on the town. In the midst of all this Pablo learns some vital information regarding the death of his beloved fiancee that leads him to settle the score with Vicente even as the Apache attack begins. 

The most surprising aspect of "Land Raiders" is how effectively it had been cast. Nearly all the roles are convincingly played, with Savalas in full bad guy mode, chewing up a lot of scenery and dominating every frame he is in. However, Maharis, never the most dynamic of leading men, holds his own against him and even manages to be convincing as a Mexican. The story has some implications that go beyond standard horse opera fodder. The movie was released the same year as "Soldier Blue" and both films bucked the trend by painting Native Americans as victims of genocide. If the massacre sequence in "Land Raiders" isn't as stomach-turning as that in "Soldier Blue", it's still somewhat shocking in its depiction of the brutal killings.  The script also delves into the philosophical differences between Vicente and Pablo over retaining their ties to their Mexican heritage. So "Land Raiders" is a notch above most of the simplistic shoot-'em-up plots that defined the majority of European Westerns during this period. The movie is compromised by the use of some obvious stock footage in scenes of stampedes and cattle drives (the film stock doesn't come close to matching), but it does have several impressively-staged action sequences including the large scale attack on the town by Apaches. It's all competently directed by Nathan Juran and set to the requisite Ennio Morricone-cloned score by Bruno Nicolai that at times could pass as the work of "The Master". "Land Raiders" is by no means a classic but it has stood the test of time as an impressive entry in the Euro Western genre.

The Explosive Media Blu-ray has a wonderful transfer, the original trailer, a highly enjoyable still photo gallery and variations of the opening credits. The Blu-ray is primarily available from Amazon Germany under it's German title "Fahr Zur Holle, Gringo" ("Go to Hell, Gringo") but you can sometimes find imports on your local Amazon or eBay.  

Nominations for the 88th annual Academy Awards have been announced. "The Revenant" topped the nominations with. "Mad Max: Fury Road" was a surprise in that it received ten nominations. Sentimental favorite Sylvester Stallone has been nominated for Best Supporting Actor for "Creed". Legendary composer Ennio Morricone was nominated for Best Score for "The Hateful Eight". Previous Oscar winner Jennifer Lawrence received her fourth nomination (for "Joy"), making her the youngest actress (age 25) to achieve that honor. Snubs included Steven Spielberg and Ridley Scott for Best Director even though their films "Bridge of Spies" and "The Martian" were nominated for Best Picture. The films "Carol" and "Inside Out" also failed to get expected Best Picture nods though the latter was nominated for Best Animated Feature. "Star Wars: The Force Awakens", now the highest grossing film of all time, failed to score in any of the major categories but did get technical nominations. The James Bond film "Spectre" received a Best Song nomination for Sam Smith's "Writings on the Wall". 

For full list click here.  

For more analysis click here. 

(Photo copyright 2014 by Mark Mawston. All rights reserved.)

BY MARK MAWSTON

Ennio Morricone, one of the most celebrated film composers in cinema history, appeared to a packed 02  arena in London’s Docklands on February 5^th 2015. The venue, (formally The Millennium Dome) normally a mainstay for Boy Bands and Revered Rockers, seemed Cathedral -like, not only due to its sheer size and capacity, but mainly due to the soaring music which filled it over two hours. This concert, unlike other Morricone concerts I’ve had the pleasure to attend, had a reverential feel to it, one of reflection. The music that the 100 strong orchestra and 75 piece choir gave life to wasn’t simply the most popular from the composer’s incredible body of work but obviously the ones that meant to most to him personally. Tracks from films such as Casualties Of War, 1900, The Mission and Cinema Paradiso were the ones given centre stage. This may be because this concert was called “My Life In Music” and although famous for the scores he composed for such Westerns as Once Upon A Time In The West and The Good The Bad And The Ugly, it was the smaller, more obscure works that were given life by the composers famous baton, such as the theme from Quemada, a Marlon Brando film about slavery. This shouldn’t have been too much of a shock as only about 35 of the 500 plus soundtracks that Morricone has composed were for these beloved Westerns, which still remain his most famous works. The love for these films was reflected in the fact that highlight of the night was the glorious version of Ecstasy Of Gold, taken from Morricone’s childhood friend Sergio Leone’s The Good The Back and The Ugly. Never has a soundtrack so perfectly matched the visuals on screen, supporting the fact that Morricone’s themes were as important as the actors and the director themselves in shaping these wonderful films. This love and appreciation was reflected in the fact that, after two encores and cries of “Maestro” Morricone returned to stage and played the piece once again, to rapturous applause.

(Photo copyright 2014 by Mark Mawston. All rights reserved.)

It was a huge pleasure to see the maestro on stage once again after serious back problems had forced him to cancel his original concerts last year but, as said, there was a touch of poignancy this time. It was as though he was conducting the music for his own requiem and by doing so, making sure it was perfect. He wouldn’t settle for anything else I’m sure. When this third encore ended, he picked up his music sheets like a professor running off to his next lecture, and, after a bow to the audience, left stage without a word. He didn’t need to, as his incredible music had spoken for him. I hope that this won’t be the last time we get to see the maestro who’s most recent soundtrack work, on old friend Clint Eastwood’s American Sniper, show a man still at the top of his game. Although the most outstanding moment from that soundtrack could easily be seen as a missing theme from the Eastwood Spaghetti westerns with his familiar horns and heavenly choirs, the fact that it is called “The Funeral” again made one feel that this concert was indeed a very special but poignant event. I left hoping that our own lives will continue to be sound tracked by this undoubted genius

BY FRED BLOSSER

Ambrose Bierce defined “misfortune” as “the kind of fortune that never misses.”  By that measure, Damiano Damiani’s A-budget Spaghetti Western “A Genius, Two Companions, and an Idiot” (“Un Genio, Due Compari, Un Pollo”) (1975), starring Terence Hill, was one of the all-time grand slams of jinxed cinema. Damiani’s negative was stolen during post-production and the film had to be reassembled from alternate takes. The movie was ultimately disowned by its producer, Sergio Leone, who regretted selecting Damiani as the director. In Germany and Sweden, the title was changed to “Nobody Is the Greatest” in an attempt to market the film as a sequel to Tonino Valerii’s popular “My Name Is Nobody” (1973), also produced by Leone and starring Hill. Lacking an American star for marquee value and released in the twilight of the Spaghetti era, the picture never played in U.S. theaters.

Paralleling the relative obscurity of the movie itself, Ennio Morricone’s musical score is the least known of his eight scores for films directed or produced by Leone. There was a soundtrack release on vinyl by CBS-Sugar in Italy in 1975 (with a charming old-timey-style cover photo of stars Terence Hill, Miou-Miou, and Robert Charlebois as their scruffy characters Joe Thanks, Lucy, and Steam Engine Bill), but no American edition. For newer Morricone collectors who have had to pay high prices for the CBS-Sugar vinyl and other now-out-of-print foreign editions -- and for those of us who are fond of Damiani’s sadly underrated and neglected movie -- Quartet Records has done the enormous service of releasing the 1975 soundtrack on a new limited-edition CD. Remastered from the first-generation master tapes, the disc sounds terrific.

“Un Genio, Due Compari, Un Pollo” may be Morricone’s most eclectic Spaghetti Western score, a mixture of old and new styles. Some of the 13 tracks employ familiar motifs from his scores for earlier Spaghettis by Leone and others. For example, “Cavalcata . . . per Elisa” is an energetic chase theme carried by Edda Dell’Orso’s familiar, soaring vocals. As part of the tune, Morricone samples Beethoven’s “Fur Elise” as he did in his showdown theme in Sergio Sollima’s “La Resa dei Conti”/”The Big Gundown” (1966). “Ansie dell’Oro” revisits the American-style orchestral sound that Morricone favored in early Spaghettis like Duccio Tessari’s “Una Pistola per Ringo”/”A Pistol for Ringo” (1965), when Italian-made cowboy films tried to sneak into the U.S. market as American B-pictures. In that sense, intentionally or not, the track bookends Morricone’s amazing decade-long run of iconic Spaghetti scores.

Other tracks, which actually anchor the score as the film’s signature themes, continued Morricone’s move in the ABBA era toward a lighter, Europop-inflected style first introduced in his title track for “My Name Is Nobody.” “Un Genio, Due Compari, Un Pollo,” the title tune that might also be called “Joe Thanks’ Theme,” sounds a bit like the “Nobody” theme, but more bubblegum in flavor. “Pepper Chewing-Gum,” the theme for Robert Charlebois’ hard-luck con man Steam Engine Bill, incorporates a farting bassoon that brings to mind the jokey frog croaks in “March of the Beggars” from Leone’s “Giu La Testa”/”Duck You Sucker” (1971), but it’s lighter and bouncier than the earlier tune. The romantic theme “Quando Arriva L’Amore,” which is reprised later in the film as “Dolore e Gioia,” is one of Morricone’s loveliest compositions. And it’s the one that you’re the most apt to replay in your mind after you listen to the CD, fittingly so since it underscores the movie’s most striking aspect, the sometimes wistful, sometimes slapstick romantic triangle of Joe, Lucy, and Bill.

Also included in the Quartet Records‘ two-fer, and also remastered from first-generation tapes, is Morricone’s score for Sergio Corbucci’s “Sonny & Jed”/”La Banda J. & S. -- Cronaca Criminale del Far West” (1972), a lesser work by the maestro. But for fans, lesser Morricone is still golden, and this is another hard-to-find soundtrack. The standout among the seven tracks is the title theme “Sonny,” which sounds a little like “Cheyenne’s Theme” from “Once Upon a Time in the West” (1969). The Quartet Records CD includes an informative, generously illustrated souvenir booklet by Randall D. Larson, and is limited to 500 copies.

“Un Genio, Due Compari, Un Pollo”/”Sonny & Jed” can be ordered from Quartet Records HERE http://www.quartetrecords.com/un-genio-due-compari-un-pollo.html or from Screen Archives Entertainment HERE http://www1.screenarchives.com/title_detail.cfm?ID=27870

BY FRED BLOSSER

A particular kind of film was popular in, and almost unique to, the 1970s. I would call them “A-minus” movies. Not quite “A” because they didn’t feature trendy mega-stars like Newman, Redford, McQueen, Eastwood, Streisand, or Beatty, but not quite “B” either. Typically, they were international packages that starred a mix of American actors who, although past the peak of their popularity, still retained some marquee appeal for older moviegoers, and European actors who would draw overseas audiences. They usually were built around B-movie crime, spy, and thriller stories, but bigger-budgeted and more sophisticated than the standard “B,” and filmed on European locations, not a studio backlot in Culver City.

Henri Verneuil’s “Le Casse” (1971),” released in the States by Columbia Pictures in 1972 as “The Burglars,” exemplifies the genre -- French director; on-location filming in Greece; score by Ennio Morricone; the names of Jean-Paul Belmondo, Omar Sharif, and Dyan Cannon above the title; an able supporting cast of Robert Hossein (“Les Uns et Les Autres”), Renato Salvatori (“Luna”), and Nicole Calfan (“Borsalino”); and a script by Verneuil and Vahé Katcha based on David Goodis’ 1953 paperback crime noir, “The Burglar.”

Verneuil had recently aced a big hit in Europe and a modest hit in the U.S. with “Le Clan des Siciliens” (1969), also known as “The Sicilian Clan.” “The Sicilian Clan” is relatively easy to find in a sharp print on home video and TV (there was a 2007 Region 2 DVD, a 2014 Region 2 Blu-ray, and periodic airings on Fox Movie Channel). Unfortunately for A-minus aficionados, “The Burglars” is more elusive in a really good, English-language video print.

Professional thief Azad (Belmondo) and his partners (Hossein, Salvatori, and Calfan) have cased a villa in Athens whose jet-setting owners are away on vacation. A safe in the house holds a million dollars in emeralds. The thieves break into the house, crack the safe, and make off with the jewels, but two glitches arise. First, a police detective, Zacharias (Sharif), spots the burglars’ car in front of the villa. Azad chats with the detective and spins a cover story of being a salesman with engine trouble. Zacharias leaves, but it seems like too easy an out for the thieves.

Next, the plan to flee Greece immediately on a merchant ship falls through. The gang arrives at the dock and finds the ship undergoing repairs: “Storm damage. It will be ready to sail in five days.” They stash the money, split up, and agree to wait out the delay. Zacharias reappears, playing cat-and-mouse with the burglars. He’s found the opportunity to cash out big. Offered a meager reward by the billionaire owner of the jewels and “10 percent of the value” by the insurance company, he decides he’ll do better by finding and keeping the emeralds himself. In the meantime, Azad meets and romances Lena, a vacationing centerfold model (Cannon), whose role in the story turns out to be more relevant than it first seems.

Goodis’ novel was filmed once before as “The Burglar” (1957), a modestly budgeted, black-and-white programmer with Dan Duryea, Jayne Mansfield, and Martha Vickers, directed by Paul Wendkos. The script by Goodis himself, the photography in gritty Philadelphia and Atlantic City, Duryea’s hangdog performance, and Mansfield’s surprisingly vulnerable acting faithfully captured the bleak spirit of the novel.

Retooling the story as a shinier A-minus, Verneuil made significant changes. Duryea’s character, Nat Harbin, runs ragged trying to keep his fractious gang together and protect his ward Gladden, the young female member of the team, whose father had been Harbin’s own mentor. Verneuil tailors the corresponding character Azad to Belmondo’s exuberant, athletic personality and changes the dynamic between Azad and Helene, Calfan’s character. Where Gladden is brooding and troubled, Helene seems to be well-adjusted if somewhat flighty. When Nat realizes that he loves Gladden, it comes too late to save their doomed relationship. Azad and Helene find a happier resolution. The opportunistic cop in the novel and earlier movie, Charley, has little interaction with Harbin, but Belmondo and Sharif share ample screen time and charm as the two equally wily antagonists. Their final showdown in a grain-storage warehouse brings to mind, of all classic movie references, the climactic scene in Carl Dreyer’s “Vampyr” (1932).

Updating the technical details of the story, Verneuil turns the safecracking into a lengthy scene in which Azad uses a high-tech, punch-card gizmo to visually scan the scan the safe’s inner workings and manufacture a key that will open it. Roger Greenspun’s June 15, 1972, review in “The New York Times” took a dim view of Verneuil’s meticulous, step-by-step depiction: “Such a machine might excite the envy of James Bond's armorer, or the delight of Rube Goldberg. But what it does for Henri Verneuil is to fill up a great deal of film time with a device rather than with an action.” In fact, Verneuil was simply paying homage to similar, documentarian scenes in John Huston’s “The Asphalt Jungle” (1949) and Jules Dassin’s “Rififi” (1955) -- incidentally, one of Robert Hossein’s early films -- and at the same time avoiding repetition by employing the kind of Space Age gadget that fascinated 007 fans in the early ‘70s.

Greenspun also objected to “an endless (and pointless) car chase,” but the chase, choreographed by Rémy Julienne, isn’t exactly pointless: it adds an overlay of menace to the second, verbally cordial meeting of Azad and Zacharias. Besides, in the era of “Bullitt” (1968) and “The French Connection” (1971), a car chase in a crime film was good box office, as Verneuil certainly knew. The chase isn’t shot and edited as electrically as the ones staged by Bill Hickman for Peter Yates and William Friedkin, but it’s easily as entertaining as Julienne’s stunts for the Bond films.

Ennio Morricone’s eclectic score includes a jazzy, Europop-inflected title tune; dreamy easy-listening background music in the hotel cafe where Azad and Lena meet cute; sultry music in a sex club where Morricone seems to be channeling Mancini and Bachrach; and airy, Manos Hatzidakis-style string music in a Greek restaurant where Azad and Zacharias meet. It’s an inventive score, but not as well known as some of Morricone’s others, perhaps because it borrows so freely (with an affectionate wink and a nod) from his contemporaries.

There are a couple of versions of “The Burglars” as the French-language “Le Casse” on YouTube, only one of them letterboxed, and neither with English subtitles. Web sources indicate that Sony released the German-language version of the film, “Der Coup,” for the German DVD market in 2011; some say it includes English subtitles, others say it doesn’t. There was a letterboxed Alfa Digital edition of “The Burglars” in 2007 for the collectors’ market, and a letterboxed print occasionally runs on Turner Classic Movies. Those are probably the best bets for an English-track, properly widescreen (2:35-1) print, although in both cases the colors are muddy, dulling the bright cinematography by Claude Renoir that I remember seeing on the big screen in 1972.

Belmondo, Sharif, and Cannon probably have little name recognition among younger viewers today, and a scene in which Azad slaps Lena around, activating a clapper that cuts the lights in Lena’s apartment and then turns them back on with each slap, would never be included in a modern film. On the other hand, the mixture of crime, car chase, and romance might pique the interest of today’s “Fast & Furious” fans. In fact, with some rewriting (and further separation from Goodis’ noir universe), it could easily be remade as a future installment in the franchise, with Belmondo’s Azad repositioned as Vin Diesel’s Dom Toretto, and Sharif’s Zacharias rewritten and softened as Dwayne Johnson’s Agent Luke Hobbs.

It’s heartening that Sony Pictures Home Entertainment has begun to move older Columbia genre releases from its vaults to DVD and cable TV, often in first-rate condition. For example, a pristine print of “Thunder on the Border” (1966) ran recently on GetTV, Sony’s cable outlet for the Columbia vault. As another example, “Hurricane Island” (1951) has aired on Turner Classic Movies in perfectly transferred or restored Supercinecolor. It would be nice to see Sony offer a comparably refurbished print of “The Burglars” on American Blu-ray. If nothing else, the movie’s 45th Anniversary is only a year and a half away.

By Fred Blosser 

On a windy night, a black-clad stranger rides into Daugherty City, Texas. He flips a coin to a scruffy drunk who is strapped for the price of a drink. He exposes a crooked dice game in the local saloon, where most of the townsfolk seem to be congregated. Then he departs. In the meantime, down the street, a gang of acrobatic robbers breaks into the bank and heists a safe containing $100,000 in Army payroll money. The getaway crew escapes town before a wounded trooper can raise the alarm, but out on the trail they run into the stranger, Sabata, who picks them off with a tricked-out rifle and recovers the stolen money.

Thus, in under 15 minutes of running time, Gianfranco Parolini neatly sets up the events that will drive the remaining 90 minutes of his 1969 Spaghetti Western, "Ehi amico... c'è Sabata, hai chiuso!" -- better known simply as “Sabata,” as United Artists retitled the English-dubbed version that debuted in the U.S. in 1970. The original Italian title translates to something like, “Hey, Pal, Sabata’s Here, You Lose” . . . or maybe closer to the film’s rambunctious spirit, “. . . You’re Screwed.”

Bracketing the opening credits, Parolini economically introduces most of the movie’s main characters, establishes their personalities, and through their interactions with Sabata and each other, defines the interpersonal relationships that will drive the plot.

Sabata (Lee Van Cleef), the sharp-eyed “man who knows,” as the drunk Carrincha (Pedro Sanchez) calls him, deduces that the men behind the attempted robbery are the local businessman Stengel, his partner Ferguson, and their crony Judge O’Hara (Gianni Rizzo). He approaches them and demands $10,000 in hush money. Refusing, Stengel dispatches one assassin after another to kill him. Stengel’s henchman Slim, a hulking gunman named Sharky, two hit men dressed like the Earp brothers, and a nervous killer disguised as a clergyman all try and fail. With each attempt, Sabata raises his price higher and higher.

An old acquaintance, barroom minstrel Banjo (William Berger), one of the supporting characters deftly sketched in the opening saloon scene, ambles in and out from the periphery, toting his own tricked-out weapon, a carbine hidden under his musical instrument. Sometimes he sides with Sabata for money, sometimes he works for Stengel; in any event, not to be trusted by either. He and a greedy saloon girl, Jane, have a sort of romance characterized by mutual boredom and availability. Carrincha and a mute Indian acrobat, Alley Cat (Nick Jordan), help Sabata.

Arguably, “Sabata” represented the high tide of Spaghetti Western popularity in the States in 1970, benefiting from the box-office success of Sergio Leone’s groundbreaking films and preceding the decline of the genre as it sputtered toward a slow box-office death in the mid-‘70s. Where Leone’s movies were generally panned by mainstream U.S. media on their initial release, but nevertheless attracted a small early following of more progressive critics, “Sabata” ironically met the opposite reception.

Major outlets like The New York Times gave it good notices, but the pioneering book-length studies of the genre by Christopher Frayling and Laurence Staig & Tony Williams were lukewarm. Staig and Williams dismissed it as “a mixture of gimmickry and borrowed themes.” Citing Banjo’s hidden carbine, Frayling said that the movie was one of the “derivatives” inspired by Leone’s scenes in which “guns are fired from unexpected places.”

Other commentators over the years have noted additional Leone influences. Before you see Sabata’s face in the opening scenes, Parolini gives us a shot down the main street of Daugherty City, framed between Sabata’s boots in close-up -- a favorite Leone visual angle. Paralleling the three lead characters of “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,” Parolini (who also co-scripted with Renato Izzo) builds the action around an unflappable protagonist, an icy bad guy, and a talkative, slippery secondary lead. Sabata’s black suit, black military coat, and fanciful weapons recall Colonel Mortimer’s from Van Cleef’s break-out Spaghetti role in “For a Few Dollars More.”

The argument that Leone cast a long shadow over Parolini’s movie is valid as far as it goes, but then Leone cast a long shadow over all the Italian Westerns that followed after his enormously successful pictures with Clint Eastwood. If we acknowledge that “Sabata” often follows the visual and dramatic conventions of Leone’s movies, it’s only fair to Parolini to note that he also departed from those conventions in ways that other Spaghetti directors such as Sergio Corbucci, Sergio Sollima, and Luigi Vanzi generally didn’t.

For example, like John Ford, Leone held a sentimental reverence for the sanctity of the traditional family; the families in his movies symbolize social stability. There are no traditional parents and children in Parolini’s universe, even if a kid’s chorus heard in the movie’s bouncy title tune suggests there will be. The only offspring and parent in “Sabata” are Sharky -- a burly, slovenly adult -- and his gray-haired old virago of a mother, who berates him verbally and physically for not settling a score with their neighbors the Mallorys. “They stole your woman, didn’t they?” she shrieks. No, Sharky retorts, “you sold her to the Mallorys.”

Carrincha, who looks a bit like Sharky in girth and disheveled appearance, laments his life of thirst and poverty: “I curse the mother who bore me, and my brother, and my whole family.” Almost everything Carrincha says is prone to exaggeration, so it’s difficult to know whether this sentiment is real or not. Regardless, it mirrors and reinforces the satiric relationship between Sharky and his mother, poles away from the traditional relationships portrayed by Leone and Ford.

Playing with the “trio” aspect of “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,” Parolini assigns the trickster role of “the Ugly” not to the boisterous Mexican (in name, at least) Carrancha, as Eli Wallach’s Tuco was “the Ugly” in Leone’s movie, but to the Anglo drifter, Banjo. This way, Parolini finds not only differences but also similarities between the two characters, including allusions to a shared history during and after the Civil War and maybe a shared past outside the law. This gives their relationship an extra dimension not present in the relationship between the Good and the Ugly in the Leone movie.

Critics and fans who appreciate “Sabata” on its own terms usually employ terms like “hectic and chaotic,” and “fun” that’s “not to be taken too seriously.” The movie hardly lets up for a moment (none of Leone’s long, measured takes), but a term like “chaotic” can be misleading if you think it means slipshod. In fact, even though Parolini doesn’t build the movie around a mystery as Leone does in “For a Few Dollars More” (what do those seemingly shared flashback memories by Colonel Mortimer and Indio mean?) or around a character arc as Sollima does in “The Big Gundown” and Corbucci in “The Mercenary,” “Sabata” has its own ingenious design. Beyond the action, stunts, and cynical humor, “Sabata” bears repeated viewing to appreciate the two techniques that Parolini uses to bring unity to the film.

One technique is repetition. Little details that appear in one scene in the visuals or in the dialogue will unexpectedly and sometimes subtly reappear later in a different context. Slim’s loaded dice in the opening saloon scene always come up 7. There are seven men in the getaway crew from the bank robbery whom Sabata ambushes. When Sabata checks into a hotel in Daugherty City, Banjo’s squeeze Jane gives him Room 7 -- “next to mine,” she says suggestively. (Sabata isn’t interested. As Jules Feiffer once observed of Superman, he is so self-sufficient and self-confident that he doesn’t need to pursue every woman he encounters, or even to respond to every pass that comes his way.)

Parolini’s other technique is music. Like Ennio Morricone’s compositions for Leone, Marcello Giombini’s score is integrated into “Sabata” as an essential part of Parolini’s fabric. Like Morricone, Giombini tailors certain musical themes and cues to specific characters in the story. As John Mansell observes in his liner notes for a 2001 CD soundtrack edition, Sabata’s theme incorporates “a rather buoyant sounding guitar piece … interspersed with a solo muted trumpet, occasional harpsichord flourishes plus the added support of choir, which is carried along on a backing of slightly upbeat percussion.” Banjo’s theme is a cocky melody plucked on his namesake instrument, sometimes augmented by jingling bells like those sewn on his trousers.

But Mansell’s description of Sabata’s theme, while insightful, fails to note that the theme also incorporates a glissando passage like the swirling of the wind. Sabata is associated with the wind throughout the movie. In the first scene, tumbleweeds blow down the street and lamplight flutters as Sabata rides into Daugherty City. In the closing scene, Parolini and Sabata use the wind to the same ironic effect that John Huston used it at the end of “Treasure of Sierra Madre” and Stanley Kubrick in the finale of “The Killing.” Although Judge O’Hara wonders if Sabata is a government agent, and Stengel snaps back that “he’s nothing -- just a drifter who’s after our money,” the man in black perhaps suggests his true elemental nature when he advises Stengel in one exchange: “Don’t shoot at the wind.”

Parolini and Giombini also take their partnership one step further than Leone and Morricone did in their collaborations. In Morricone’s scores, Leone’s primary characters have (in the words of Staig and Williams) their own “individual musical signatures” -- the template followed by Parolini with Sabata’s and Banjo’s themes. The difference is that, in Morricone’s scores, in any one scene where the character either enters or dominates the action, his theme predominates. Parolini combines his individual themes for Sabata and Banjo as point and counterpoint in the same scene to underscore the two gunmen’s shared history and one-up rivalry.

Banjo’s theme sounds a little like the old military marching tune, “The British Grenadier,” a reminder of Banjo’s allusion to his and Sabata’s Civil War past on different sides of the conflict: “You in the North and me in the South.” In their first meeting after Sabata’s arrival in town, Banjo plays a mocking version of the tune, in increasingly frantic tempo, as if trying to get under the other man’s skin. Sabata stops the performance by shooting one of the pegs off the banjo. “You were out of tempo,” he says dryly.

Near the end of the film, as Banjo leaves Daugherty City in apparent triumph after a pivotal final encounter with Sabata, a merry version of his banjo theme begins to play, bolstered by a fife and drum that underlines the similarity to military marching music. The jingle of bells joins in with a close-up of the bells on Banjo’s trousers. The viewer senses that this is the victorious music that Banjo probably hears in his own imagination. However, Sabata’s wind-theme presently swirls in. As if in competition, the strum of the banjo gains tempo, becoming increasingly insistent. Remembering the association of the fast-tempo strumming with the much earlier scene in which Banjo was humiliated, you may anticipate that Banjo’s present victory will be short-lived, too.

There isn’t an official 45th anniversary edition of “Sabata,” but the Swiss label Explosive Media recently released a new Blu-Ray combo pack that also includes a DVD print, a supplemental disc of interviews and features, and a nice souvenir booklet in German, copiously illustrated with stills and pictures of various international posters.

“Sabata” and the two Parolini films that immediately followed it are popularly known as “The Sabata Trilogy,” although only one is a true sequel. “Indio Black, sai che ti dico: Sei un gran figlio di . . .,” released in Italy in 1970, was imported to the U.S. the following year as “Adios, Sabata.” Yul Brynner played the hero who wears black, this time a black fringed shirt and bell-bottom trousers instead of Lee Van Cleef’s more formal outfit. In the Italian version, he’s Indio Black; in the dubbed U.S. print, Sabata.

Both movies are strongly linked in casting and style. Three of the major supporting roles in the two movies are occupied by the same actors (Jordan, Rizzo, Sanchez) and fulfill similar functions in character and plot. Dean Reed, who looks like the young Roger Moore, plays an opportunist named Ballantine who serves as this film’s surrogate for Banjo. There are several big-action set pieces, mostly involving Sabata’s mission in Mexico to relieve a tyrannical officer, Colonel Skimmel, of a hoard of gold during the revolution against Maximilian.

“Adios, Sabata” is an entertaining Spaghetti with a bigger cast of extras and more explosions than its predecessors. One set piece, in which Sabata sends the no-good Murdock Brothers to their “just reward” in a showdown at the Bounty Hunters’ Agency, is particularly well dialogued and choreographed.

But “Sabata” is the better movie, partly because Van Cleef and Berger had stronger chemistry than Brynner and Reed, and partly because Brynner’s character is a more traditional soldier of fortune and do-gooder (he’s friends with benevolent old priests and small children) than Van Cleef’s enigmatic loner. Although Bruno Nicolai’s score for “Alias Sabata” is quite good on its own terms, the title track emulating the full-on symphonic, choral sound of Morricone’s Spaghetti music, it isn’t as ingeniously integrated into the movie as Giombini’s composition was.

Parolini’s authentic sequel to “Sabata,” released in Italy in 1971 as "È tornato Sabata... hai chiuso un'altra volta," reached the States in 1972 as “Return of Sabata.” Lee Van Cleef returns as the lead character, and Giombini returns as the soundtrack composer, but unfortunately this movie doesn’t measure up to its predecessors.

As in “Sabata,”Van Cleef’s character rides into a town where a cabal of seemingly respectable citizens is engaged in nefarious activity. This time, the heavies are the outwardly pious McIntocks who trumpet civic expansion in Hobsonville by raising money for new buildings and businesses. They do so by imposing exorbitant taxes on the town’s goods and services.

In truth, patriarch Joe McIntock is conniving with his brother-in-law, banker Jeremy Sweeney, to smuggle the money out of town for his own enrichment. Sabata, who arrives in Hobsonville as a sharpshooter in a traveling circus sideshow, following a hunch about something being rotten somewhere, uncovers the fraud. As in “Sabata,” he demands blackmail from the bad guys in return for keeping their secret. The McIntocks, reluctant to pay, send a series of would-be assassins after him.

Again, Parolini employs his stock troupe of Jordan, Rizzo, and Sanchez in supporting roles, and inserts a slippery intermediary character, Clyde (Reiner Schone). Clyde, like Banjo, shares a Civil War past with Sabata. Giombini’s music isn’t as ingenious as his score for the first movie, and the circus aspect of the story never quite jells with the plot about the McIntocks’ scam; as a whole, the movie lacks the little visual and aural details that wove “Sabata” together.

Another problem: Sabata loses much of the steely, enigmatic quality that defined his personality in the first movie. In “Return of Sabata,” an old girlfriend, a hooker named Maggie, drifts into town, and Sabata shacks up with her. Maggie is never quite integrated into the story either. Sabata as a mysterious loner in the original film was intriguing. As a more conventional character with a sexy main squeeze, like a hero out of a paperback adult western, he isn’t. Still, “Return of Sabata” hardly merits a place among the “50 Worst Movies of All Time,” as the Medved brothers asserted in their 1978 book. Maybe Parolini has the last laugh: the Sabata movies live on while the Medved book is long forgotten.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER "THE SABATA TRILOGY" FROM AMAZON USA

(For information about Explosive Media's Blu-ray European special editions, click here. For more information, see the story in Cinema Retro issue #29. Click below to purchase). 

 Cinema Retro issue #29:

By Darren Allison

Vocalion’s latest release from their continuing series of popular Geoff Love re-releases from the 70s is this pairing of a couple of glorious albums originally released by MFP Records, La musique de Michel Legrand (MFP 2M046-95030) and La musique d’ Ennio Morricone (MFP 2M046-94653) (both 1973). What made these two albums unusual was the fact that they were specifically produced for the European market. Later in 1975, both were issued in the UK as a 2-LP set - The Music of Michel Legrand and Ennio Morricone (EMI DUOS 1181). Legrand’s heartfelt melodies work perfectly for Geoff Love’s style of Orchestration. The Windmills of your Mind and The Summer of ’42 will of course always be considered among Legrand’s finest signature pieces. However, Love brings a genuine sense of warmth to these covers, satisfying the ear of the easy-listening enthusiasts without distracting too far from the much remembered originals. There is certainly plenty of material to cheer about; music from Lady Sings the Blues provides a rare opportunity to listen to Legrand’s wonderful melancholic score. The Happy Ending is a 1969 film that doesn’t perhaps conjure up too many memories, but chances are – you’ll instantly recognise ‘What Are You Doing for the Rest of Your Life?’, a beautiful theme from the film that enjoys longevity much more than the film itself. The album is an impressive compilation and a joy from beginning to end.

The second half of the CD focuses on Ennio Morricone. As with the nature of Morricone’s compositions, they are dauntingly unique, and one can only imagine exhaling a sigh of tense disillusionment at the prospect of taking on the man’s work. However, Love handles the challenge well, kicking off proceedings with a very nice, haunting version of Harmonica’s theme from Once Upon a Time in the West. It is only when we reach the “Dollars Trilogy” that the album appears to suffer slightly. The renditions are not unlistenable - but they just seem to lose the boldness or weight of their unconventional instrumentation. Cymbals, rumbling trumpets and even flutes simply appear weak and lack in sustaining their vibrant punch. What is perhaps apparent to this listening experience is the absence of any wordless vocals, often provided by long term Morricone collaborator Edda Dell'Orso. That said, the epic nature of the CD’s closing track (from Once Upon a Time in the West), seems to manage very nicely indeed, but one can only wonder what Love might had achieved had he been afforded the luxury of a full choir. Overall, the album is a delight and very easy on the ears.

In regards to production values, La musique de Michel Legrand / La musique d’ Ennio Morricone (Vocalion CDLK 4509) retains Vocalion’s very high standards. Beautifully remastered by Michael J. Dutton from the original analogue tapes, the CD ensures that our ongoing trip down ‘MFP Lane’ continues to be an extremely happy experience. Long may it continue!

http://www.duttonvocalion.co.uk/proddetail.asp?prod=CDLK4509

By Lee Pfeiffer 

After decades of languishing in relative obscurity, the 1966 Italian Western The Big Gundown seems to be all the rage this year with both Grindhouse Releasing and Explosive Media's special collector's editions of the Sergio Leone-inspired film that starred Lee Van Cleef and Tomas Milian. This review deals with the Grindhouse release (the Explosive Media special edition is primarily being marketed to European viewers.) Grindhouse, which was co-founded by the late Sage Stallone and Oscar-winning editor Bob Murawski (The Hurt Locker), is dedicated to preserving films that have built a cult following or have suffered from lack of mainstream exposure. Consequently, the company has built up a loyal following of grateful retro cinema fans. After a two-year hiatus following Stallone's untimely death in 2012 at age 36, Murawski is carrying the torch and has recently resumed releasing some very interesting titles on Blu-ray. The Big Gundown has generally been acclaimed as the best of the non-Leone Italian Westerns. In fact, it's so good in comparison to the often awful other films in this genre, that it was said Leone himself was somewhat jealous of the movie's success. One reason for Leone's bitterness may have been that the movie starred Lee Van Cleef, whose career he had saved through the starring roles afforded him in For a Few Dollars More and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Gundown was shot after the former film and before the latter, but not released in the USA until after The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. The delay only enhanced the film's appeal to American audiences, as GBU had proven to be a boxoffice smash and had made Van Cleef a household name. The movie was directed by Sergio Sollima who co-wrote the script with Sergio Donati, a collaborator of Leone's. The story concerns a bounty hunter named Corbett (Van Cleef) who is hired to track down and kill a Mexican peasant named Sanchez (Tomas Milian) who allegedly raped and killed a 12 year-old girl. Corbett is pressured into taking the job by Brokston (Walter Barnes), a rich and influential rancher who convinces Corbett that slaying Sanchez would pave the way for a successful political career. Corbett realizes that Brokston simply wants a crony in the state house to do his bidding, but nevertheless agrees to take the assignment. Tracking down Sanchez proves to be more difficult than he anticipated. The charismatic and self-reliant wanted man engages Corbett in a cat-and-mouse chase across the countryside, narrowly avoiding capture at several points. When Corbett does manage to get the drop on him, Sanchez manages to outwit his captor and escape. When he is finally cornered, Brokston and a small army of men turn up to ensure that Sanchez is executed- but Corbett reveals some startling information that leads to unexpected and violent developments. 

Director Sollima presents a visually arresting film with an intelligent script, better dubbing than most Italian Westerns of this period and fine performances with Van Cleef and Milian playing well against each other in the manner that Van Cleef and Clint Eastwood did in their collaborations with Sergio Leone. The film is enhanced by yet another great musical score by Ennio Morricone, who composed the music for so many films of this period that he must have perfected a way of doing so in his sleep. The production rises above other films of this genre and if the movie never quite reaches the level of Leone's work, it can certainly be compared favorably. I would rank it, along with The Five Man Army, as the best non-Leone work to be found among the European Westerns. Sadly, when the film was released by Columbia in the USA, studio executives butchered the original cut. Some of this was to do with pacing and emphasizing action over dialogue-heavy scenes. There was also concern that Sollima's penchant for heavy-handed left wing political analogies to contemporary society. In any event, the result was that there have been numerous hybrid bootleg versions of The Big Gundown circulating for many years. 

The Grindhouse release is superb on every level beginning with a stunningly beautiful transfer that presents the film in a nearly flawless state. The Blu-ray special edition affords Citizen Kane-like analysis and presentation to the film. The mammoth 4 disc collector's edition would require an entire day of binge viewing in order to properly appreciate all the variations of the film that are presented here. In fact, it would be too confusing to attempt to explain all the nuances in this space. However, here is a sample of the highlights:

• Blu-ray presentation of the original uncensored English language edition of the film that includes three scenes which were originally edited out.
• Blu-ray of Sollima's original director's cut under its original title, La resa dei conti
• DVD of a 95 minute "expanded U.S. cut"
• Bonus CD of Ennio Morricone's original soundtrack recording of the score.
• A fascinating selection of in-depth interviews including Sergio Sollima and Tomas Milian, both of whom provide very interesting perspectives on the film and their careers in general. The Milian interview, shot last year, makes it clear that this is a man who has attained great respect in the international film industry, as illustrated by clips from some of his other major movies including the Oscar-winning Traffic. Milian tells very amusing stories about working in the Italian cinema during its glory days and mingling with the likes of Fellini and other major forces in the industry. There are also interviews with Sergio Donati who regards Sollima with affection even though he says they eventually had a feud that led to them parting ways professionally. Donati also discusses his relationship with Sergio Leone and why the famed director had resentment toward The Big Gundown. 
• There is also a wide variety of original trailers and TV spots plus a major selection of original production stills and international advertising materials. If you're as big of a geek for this type of material as I am, you'll be most grateful for its inclusion.
• There is a also a feature length commentary by film historians C. Courtney Joyner and Henry C. Parke, both of whom do yeoman work on describing interesting insights into the making of the film and the the personalities involved. The only drawback is that neither man introduces himself at the beginning of the commentary track so it becomes a bit confusing as to who you are listening to.
• Joyner also provides excellent liner notes in the accompanying collector's booklet in which he comprehensibly lays out the differences in the various versions of the film. The booklet also contains an essay on Morricone's score by Gergely Hubai.

In summary, Grindhouse Releasing has outdone itself with this presentation of a very esteemed cult  Western. For my money, its the best independent video release of 2013.  

By Howard Hughes

(The following review pertains to the UK release of the film on Region B format)  

Simple Acts of Annihilation

Dario Argento is the most famous Italian horror director to be associated with the ‘giallo’ style murder mystery films that emerged from Italy during the 1970s and early 1980s. The films were notable for their point-of-view camerawork, their unsettling atmospherics and nerve-jangling, claustrophobic scenes of terror. Argento is one of those directors you either love or hate, and his work has often been accused of being a case of style over content. His detractors cite his implausible plots, illogical loopholes, deafening soundtracks, overacting casts and over reliance on stylistic flourishes that float his slim narratives. His films are just too contrived and stylised, too gimmicky, to succeed. By contrast, Argento’s fans love his implausible plots, illogical loopholes, deafening soundtracks, overacting casts and an over reliance on stylistic flourishes. Argento’s colour cinematography is exquisite, with visual effects achieved via ingenious angles, complicated set-ups, wire-guided cameras, vivid lighting, garish colour schemes and seemingly impossible cinematic arabesques, to present moments of extreme shock and overtly choreographed violence, often unflinchingly in close-up.

Argento virtually invented ‘gialli’ with his impressive directorial debut. The murder mystery ‘The Bird With the Crystal Plumage’ (1970) benefited from Vittorio Storaro’s widescreen images in Cromoscope, Ennio Morricone’s spine-tingling score and a collection of good performances – Tony Musante and Suzy Kendall as the amateur sleuths, Eva Renzi as the gallery murder victim, Mario Adorf as a anchorite painter and Enrico Maria Salerno as the police investigator. Argento continued in a similar vein with ‘The Cat ‘o Nine Tails’ (1971) and ‘Four Flies on Grey Velvet’ (1971) – the three films became known as his ‘Animal Trilogy’ and all were scored by Morricone. Argento’s 1970s psychological thrillers reached their zenith with ‘Deep Red’ (1975), which had David Hemmings’ jazz pianist puzzling his way through a twisted whodunit. Argento then explored the supernatural with the first of his ‘Three Mothers’ trilogy, ‘Suspiria’, released in 1977. This gory cataclysm of witchery and murder remains his biggest success and finest achievement, a tour de gore. Argento has only grasped at this magnificent malfeasance occasionally since, which has left his fans expectant and frustrated in equal measure.

‘Tenebrae’ (1982) is one of Argento’s better post-‘Suspiria’ films and certainly holds its own within the ‘giallo’ canon. Written and directed by Argento, it begins with New York horror fiction writer Peter Neal (Anthony Franciosa) arriving in Rome on a promotional tour for his new bestseller, a novel called ‘Tenebrae’ (which is Latin for ‘shadows’ or ‘darkness’). Pretty soon Neal finds himself embroiled in a murder investigation. Captain Germani (Giuliano Gemma) is seeking the killer of serial shoplifter Elsa Manni (Ania Pieroni), who was murdered with a cutthroat razor and is found with pages from Neal’s novel stuffed in her mouth – a modus operandi deployed in the novel itself. Asks bemused Neal of the inspector: ‘If someone is killed with a Smith & Wesson revolver, do you go and interview the president of Smith & Wesson?’ The killings continue. Tilde (Mirella D’Angelo), a journalist who is critical of Neal’s ‘sexist bullshit’ horror stories, and her on-off lover Marion (Mirella Banti) are slain in their apartment block with a razor, again in imitation of Neal’s horror fiction. Tilde’s criticism of Neal’s books parallels the charges occasionally levelled at Argento himself, as beautiful victims die beautiful deaths in the name of Argento’s artful darkness. The prime suspect in the ‘Tenebrae’ case is Cristiano Berti (John Steiner) a daytime TV book reviewer for Channel One, who is also Neal’s superfan. When an axe is planted firmly in Cristiano’s skull, he drops off the ‘wanted’ list. John Saxon played Neal’s literary agent Bulmer, Daria Nicolodi (from ‘Deep Red’) was Neal’s PA Anne, film director Enzo G. Castellari’s brother Enio Girolami appeared briefly as a store detective and Veronica Lario was Neal’s estranged, slightly unbalanced wife Jane McKarrow. Captain Germani tells Neal that he guessed the killer’s identity in the novel by page 30, but he’s not so quick on the real case. In the end, with the police stumped, Neal himself turns detective – as did Musante and Hemmings – to track down the ‘Peter Neal Tribute Act’ who is leaving a trail of corpses littering Rome.

Neal’s book is modestly described by an advert in a Rome bookstore as ‘Il giallo dell’anno, forse del deccennio’ – ‘The giallo of the year, perhaps the decade’ – and the film isn’t bad either. ‘Tenebrae’ gives Argento’s fans exactly what they want. With its gratuitous bloodletting and stylised choreography of murder, this is over-the-top, comic-book Argento, a partial return to ‘realism’ after the phantasms of ‘Suspiria’ and ‘Inferno’. The production’s backroom staff was of an excellent calibre. Horror directors Lamberto Bava and Mario Soavi were the film’s assistant directors, and the murders, involving razor, knife and axe, were staged imaginatively by Giovanni Corridor. ‘Tenebrae’ was photographed by Luciano Tovoli in Technicolor and 1.85:1 screen ratio (rather than Argento’s earlier preferred format of 2.25:1 widescreen). Some of the cinematography – pills resting on a glass tabletop, or water rinsing blood from an open razor blade – is starling in its clarity. In a terrifying sequence, a woman Maria (Lara Wendel) is chased through a park by a guard dog and inadvertently bumbles into the killer’s basement lair. Before Tilde and Marion are murdered, Argento’s camera glides up the outside of their apartment building, peeping through windows, then sweeps up over the slate roof and swoops down to the block’s stair landing, in an intricate camera take that seems inspired by Sergio Leone’s gliding Chapman crane shot at Flagstone City railway station in ‘Once Upon a Time in the West’ (1968), a film Argento worked on with Leone during the treatment stage. Another victim is stabbed in broad daylight in a busy municipal square and ultra-weird flashbacks from the killer’s traumatic past depict the murder of a woman (played by transsexual ‘Eva Robins’/Roberto Coatti) who is wearing a white dress and bright red high heels. The film’s pulsating synthesizer fugues – the pumping adrenalin of the killer or the fearful, fleeing victims – were provided by Claudio Simonetti, Massimo Morante and Fabio Pignatelli, who as members of the band Goblin had such success with the soundtracks for ‘Deep Red’ and ‘Suspiria’. The film’s murders are graphically staged with zeal – the movie ran into trouble on its first release, being prosecuted as a ‘Video Nasty’ in the UK and appearing in the US in truncated form as ‘Unsane’, shorn of 10 minutes. The killings are very gory – seemingly even more so in this pristine blu-ray edition – and the house of horrors bloodbath that climaxes the film offers plenty of the red stuff and some good shocks.

Arrow Film’s new steelbook edition of ‘Tenebrae’ is the most comprehensive and impressive edition yet released. There are various prints of the film out there on DVD. One has the onscreen title as TENEBRAE and the credits and the ‘Tenebrae’ page extracts in English. Arrow’s print (running time: 1:40:53) has the onscreen title TENEBRE and the credits and pages in Italian text. I’ve never been mad about ‘Tenebrae’, but this Blu-ray release has made me re-evaluate the film as one of Argento’s superior gialli – certainly in visual terms. The colours are bold and tremendous, the cinematography in moments as delicious as anything in ‘Suspiria’ or ‘Inferno’. Those red heels have never looked so, erm, red. The feature itself is blu-ray Region B and DVD Region 2, and as well as the English language dub it is available to play with Italian audio and English subtitles. It was shot in English and Franciosa, Saxon, Steiner and Gemma voiced themselves in the English version. A wealth of extras include a collectors’ booklet with writing from Alan Jones and Peter Strickland, and an interview with cinematographer Luciano Tovoli. Copious disk extras include two audio commentaries (one by Alan Jones and Kim Newman, another by Thomas Rostock), interviews with co-star Daria Nicolodi, composer Claudio Simonetti, and author Maitland McDonagh (‘Broken Mirrors/Broken Minds: The Dark Dreams of Dario Argento’). There’s also 16 minutes of Simonetti’s band Goblin performing tracks from ‘Tenebrae’ and ‘Phenomena’ in person at a gig at Glasgow Arches. All in, this is a definitive release of what is a strong contender for Argento’s finest 1980s movie.

The steelbook edition of ‘Tenebrae’ is available now from Arrow Films.

Click here to order: http://www.arrowfilms.co.uk/tenebrae-steelbook/

Howard Hughes is the author of ‘Cinema Italiano: The Complete Guide from Classics to Cult’. 

Murder and Narcissism

 By Raymond Benson

Available this month from the Criterion Collection is Elio Petri’s 1970 international hit, Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion, which won the Oscar that year for Best Foreign Language Film. It stars Gian Maria Volonté, whom most Americans will recognize as the heavy in two spaghetti westerns, A Fistful of Dollars and For a Few Dollars More, but this time clean-shaven and wearing a tailored suit. He is sharp, handsome, and volatile—the perfect personality to portray a high-ranking detective in Italy’s (then) corrupt police force.

Highly politicized, Investigation uses sly dark humor to make its point—that corruption has become so bad that an official can commit murder but can still be above the law. Here, Volonté, who enjoys rather kinky sex with his mistress, decides to kill her to prove he can get away with it under the very noses of his fellow officers. In short, he is a mad, over-the-top narcissist whose fantasy is to be coerced into confessing his “innocence.” It is a sly crime thriller with a nudge-nudge, wink-wink jab in the ribs.

The world in the year 1970 was very different than it is now. Revolution was everywhere, and it was hip to question authority and rebel against conformity and complacency. Investigation is one of the many pictures from that era to attack the “establishment”—and manage to be entertaining at the same time. The jury is out on whether today’s audiences will find relevancy in the picture, but as I tell my students in Film History, “always judge a film within the context of when it was released.”

Highlights of the movie are definitely Volonté’s performance, as well as the iconic Ennio Morricone score. In a recent interview included as an extra on the disk, Morricone explains that his approach to the music was to use unusual, “grotesque” instrumentation. The recurring, playfully sardonic main theme perfectly captures the film’s mischievous stance.

The new 4k digital film restoration is sharp and crystal clear, and the colors punch out in that singular 70s fashion. An abundance of extras include an archival interview with director Petri, a 90-minute documentary on Petri’s career, an excellent 60-minute documentary about actor Volonté, the interview with Morricone, and a booklet featuring an essay by film scholar Evan Calder Williams and excerpts from a book by co-screenwriter Ugo Pirro.

Recommended for aficionados of Italian art house cinema, Investigation of a Citizen Above Suspicion is a cult relic of the early 70s that begs for closer examination.

CLICK HERE TO ORDER FROM AMAZON

Cinema Retro has released the following press release. (Please note: this American release of The Big Gundown is entirely different from the European special edition released by Explosive Media that we reported on recently).

LOS ANGELES - Grindhouse Releasing is proud to present the first-ever U.S. home video release of the greatest Spaghetti Western you’ve never seen: Sergio Sollima’s widescreen epic THE BIG GUNDOWN! 

Starring the legendary Lee Van Cleef as a relentless bounty hunter on the trail of Cuchillo (Eurofilm superstar Tomas Milian), a savage Mexican outlaw accused of the rape and murder of a twelve-year-old girl, this release contains fifteen additional minutes of gunslinging action never before seen in America.

THE BIG GUNDOWN is one of the most highly acclaimed and long sought-after films in the spaghetti western genre, hailed by critics for its stunning cinematography, the amazing performances of Lee Van Cleef (following his iconic role in THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY) and Tomas Milian, the classic Ennio Morricone music (recently used by Quentin Tarantino in INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS), and the riveting direction of Sergio Sollima.

The 4-disc deluxe Blu-ray/DVD edition of THE BIG GUNDOWN, including a bonus Blu-ray of the uncensored director’s cut and a bonus CD of Ennio Morricone’s classic soundtrack, arrives in stores December 10, 2013.

Click here to order THE BIG GUNDOWN now on Amazon.com

Watch the trailer on the Grindhouse Releasing YouTube channel:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQ_CN7ECekQ

Special features are as follows:

- Spectacular new 2K digital restoration of the uncensored English-language version NEWLY EXPANDED WITH THREE ADDITIONAL SCENES!

- BONUS Blu-ray disc – LA RESA DEI CONTI - the complete, 110-minute director’s cut presented in Italian with optional English subtitles and special musical subtitles.

(This unrated, extended edition contains material different than the R-rated version.)

- BONUS CD – THE BIG GUNDOWN original soundtrack by Ennio Morricone

- Exclusive, in-depth interviews with director Sergio Sollima, actor Tomas Milian and screenwriter Sergio Donati

- Audio commentary by Western film experts C. Courtney Joyner and Henry C. Parke

- 24-page booklet featuring liner notes by C. Courtney Joyner and Euro-music expert Gergely Hubai

- Extensive still galleries, trailers, and TV spots… AND OTHER SURPRISES!

“The best non Sergio Leone spaghetti western…boasting stylish widescreen photography and a great Ennio Morricone score.” – Leonard Maltin

“Hardly a man is left alive in this bloody, gutsy and fantastically suspenseful action thriller…plus blood, filth and every variety of violence.” – Reed Porter, The LA Citizen News

“Unfolds in hard, unrelenting style. THE BIG GUNDOWN explodes with violence and sadism. “ – Manuel Herbtsman, Film and TV Daily

“This is one of the best non-Leone westerns. The ‘hunt in the cane field’ is among the greatest ten minutes ever put on film.” – Thomas Weisser

For updates on our home video releases and theatrical screenings, visit www.GrindhouseReleasing.com.

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Grindhouse-Releasing/125392227536411

Twitter: www.twitter.com/grindhousefilm

By Lee Pfeiffer

Following on the successful premise of burn-to-order DVDs, Sony has expanded the process to its audio line, re-issuing retro-based albums on CD that have not been officially available for decades. One of the more notable releases is Come Spy With Me by Hugo Montenegro and His Orchestra. Montenegro composed original themes for TV series and feature films during the 1960s including  Lady in Cement, the Matt Helm movies The Ambushers and The Wrecking Crew as well as the music for the 1969 John Wayne-Rock Hudson starrer The Undefeated. However, his greatest success was as the king of cover versions of popular movie and TV themes. Montenegro's album of cover music from The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (nevertheless released as the "original" soundtrack) was so successful that it spawned a sequel album. Similarly, his cover version of Ennio Morricone's magnificent theme for The Good, the Bad and the Ugly became an international smash and earned him a gold record despite the fact that his rendition was positively anemic compared to Morricone's original. Nevertheless, Montenegro and his orchestra knew how to arrange music for popular tastes and his future influence on the music industry was characterized by helping to popularize the Moog synthesizer. Among his more successful albums was the aforementioned Come Spy With Me, the title of which was derived from a 1967 low-grade James Bond spoof. Nevertheless, it had a catchy title theme (originally written by Bob Flowers) and the cover of Montenegro's album had some eye-catching graphics of comely spy girls. The tracks include Montenegro's instrumental version of Come Spy With Me (the original had lyrics) as well an eclectic selection of title tracks from popular TV series and feature films:

• Secret Agent 
• I Spy
• The F.B.I 
• Thunderball
• The Silencers
• Get Smart
• Goldfinger
• The Spy Who Came in From the Cold
• Our Man Flint
• The James Bond Theme

It's terrific to have a retro treasure like this back in circulation. Break out your old smoking jacket, grab a fine cigar and pour yourself a glass of wine...for the duration of this record, you'll be transported back to the glory days of spy movie music and the cover artists who celebrated the genre. 

To order click here 

Although he has collaborated with Quentin Tarantino on several films, legendary composer Ennio Morricone says he will never team with the mercurial director again. Morricone accuses Tarantino of lumping music into his films "without coherence". He is especially miffed that, after he declined to compose a score for Django Unchained, Tarantino simply used a previous Morricone composition in the film. Morricone, who is not known for personal restraint when it comes to expressing his opinion, says that he didn't care for the Oscar-winning Western, saying there was "too much blood." Click here for more

By Lee Pfeiffer

Unless you've been living on another planet yourself, you're probably familiar with the premise of Mystery Science Theater, the legendary TV series that involves a stranded astronaut and two robot friends who are subjected to watching an endless array of bad movies. Each 90 minute episode involves showing a B movie as the trio toss out hilarious wise cracks at the expense of all involved in the making of these cinematic embarrassments. The latest boxed set release from Shout! Factory features three (relatively) upper crust duds and one of the more traditional entries, a low-budget sci-fi flick. Here is a break down of the 4-DVD set:

OPERATION KID BROTHER- Ironically, whoever holds the rights to this 1967 Italian spy movie could make a fortune by simply releasing it "as is" on DVD. However, the only pseudo-release comes through the Mystery Science Theater set. As with all the titles, the film is edited down dramatically to fit a 90 minute slot that also includes another mainstay of the show: comedy vignettes featuring the bizarre characters who are regulars on the series. Still, half a water-down Kid Brother is better than none at all and if you haven't seen this infamous travesty, you're in for a treat. The film was cobbled together during the height of the spy movie rage to cash in on the popularity of the James Bond films. Nothing unique about that. Seemingly every actor in the world sent word to their agents that they wanted to play a spy. The novelty behind this film is that the producers cast Neil Connery, brother of you-know-who, as a Scottish plastic surgeon with the power to hypnotize at will (don't ask!). Connery had no acting experience prior to finding himself in this rather lavish production that boasted exotic locations and an inspired supporting cast that included Bond regulars Lois Maxwell and Bernard Lee as well as other high profile alumni from the series including Daniela Bianchi, Anthony Dawson and Adolfo Celi. The blatant attempt to exploit the Connery name is apparent by the fact that the catchy, guilty-pleasure title theme song is called O.K. Connery (it was composed by Ennio Morricone!). Additionally, Neil Connery plays a character creatively named Dr. Neil Connery. There are all sorts of cryptic references to the notion that he is the brother of 007, which of course doesn't stand up to scrutiny because 007's name is James Bond, not Sean Connery. Nevertheless, the funniest aspect of the movie is the most unintentional: the dubbing. It appears everyone but Lois Maxwell and Bernard Lee are dubbed, including (inexplicably) Neil Connery himself. He's supposed to be Scotsman and is even seen wearing a kilt in one sequence, but is dubbed with a baritone American accent!  The film is goofy fun throughout. I recently met Neil Connery in Scotland and he maintains a good sense of humor about the production, saying it was a pleasant experience even though he was appalled to find his voice had been dubbed. It's fine to have Kid Brother released as an MST 3000 edition, but  let's hope there's a legit release in the works of the entire movie.  The kitsch value alone would ensure brisk sales.

Kitten With a Whip- The inclusion of this mainstream entry as an MST 3000 edition is outside of the genres the series generally worked with, as related by series star and creator Mike Nelson, who explains the show generally concentrated on B horror and sci-fi flicks . However, the movie is so over-the-top bad that it merited inclusion in the show's Hall of Shame. Ann-Margret, then an up-and-coming star, had already had major success with State Fair, Bye Bye Birdie and Viva Las Vegas. Good thing, too, because it's doubtful we would have heard much more from her had this guilty pleasure been the vehicle for her screen debut. The 1964 B&W film stars John Forsythe as David Stratton, a straight-laced, pillar of the community family man living in San Diego. He's being groomed by local politicians as a likely candidate for office and is expected to vie for the nomination in a forthcoming state senate race. With his wife and kids away on a vacation, Stratton becomes embroiled in a bizarre situation when he finds a scantily-clad, rain-soaked young woman named Jody literally sleeping in his bed, having broken into his house. Jody explains she was being abused in a home for teenaged girls and had to flee for her life. Stratton makes the mistake of trying to assist her, but soon realizes she is actually wanted for burning the home down and attempting to kill a matron there. He finds himself being set up in a blackmail scheme that would destroy his family life and political ambitions, with matters complicated by the fact that Jody will accuse him of rape, which is even more damaging because she is under-age. Defenseless, Stratton has no choice but to allow Jody and a trio of bizarre and potentially violent delinquents take over his house, wreaking physical and emotional damage. The whole enterprise goes hilariously off-the-charts when the gang ends up driving to Tijuana where Stratton coincidentally runs into virtually every possible person who he does not want to encounter, with the possible exception of The Three Stooges. In more skilled hands, the basic premise could have been an effective one, but director Douglas Hayes (who was a well-regarded screenwriter) encourages Ann-Margret and her young co-stars to go over-the-top at every possible opportunity. The string of coincidences, bad judgment calls and overall ineptness on the part of Stratton only emphasizes how incredibly frightening he would be in political office. Only Forsythe emerges relatively unscathed and the ironic end does pack a bit of a dramatic wallop but the film can generally be regarded as an embarrassment for all concerned and well worth the MST 3000 "tribute".

Revenge of the Creature- This 1955 monster flick is acknowledged as another off-beat entry for inclusion in the show, as it was produced by Universal and boasts relatively upscale production values. The sequel to Creature from the Black Lagoon finds the titular monster captured and put on display in a Florida aquarium where he is gawked at by scientists and public alike. The fish-faced fiend ultimately breaks free and terrorizes the locals, including the prerequisite teens on Lover's Lane. The film is noted primarily for providing young Clint Eastwood in a bit role, but as these streamlined versions of the films are edited severely to make room for comedy sketches, I don't believe the Eastwood footage made it into this version, or I blinked and missed it. The film is goofy fun but nowhere near as enjoyable as those truly bad B movies turned out by other studios. John Agar is the hunky leading man and Lori Nelson is the sexy girl who the monster inevitably ends up carrying into the drink. 

Robot Holocaust- This 1986 title is far more the norm for the MST 3000 crowd. A micro-budgeted howler about a post-apocalyptic world in which humans serve as slave laborers for the Dark One's power station. I'm not sure what the Dark One is, exactly, but he's apparently non-human and he's a humorless dude who arranges for gladiator-like fights to the death among the slaves. Into this mix comes a rebel from the outside world who attempts to stir up a revolution. There are the usual Star Wars-inspired robot clones, all of which look like someone you might see at a Halloween party. New York locations include Central Park, probably because it's a place where people who look like aliens from another world wouldn't draw much attention from passers-by. The film's 79-minute running time feels like that of Doctor Zhivago after you get past the first half-hour's worth of unintentional giggles but the performance of the "actress" who plays the villainess helps the climax attain a certain greatness in the annals of bad movies in that it is perhaps the worst performance ever committed to celluloid. For that reason alone, the entire set is worth adding to your library.

This release is packed with extras including interviews with the show's Joel Hodgson and Mike Nelson and cast members Bill Corbett and J. Elvis Weinstein. An unexpected gem is the documentary Jack Arnold at Universal, a serious tribute to the director who brought to life some of the studio's most enduring monster movie classics. It's unusual to see such respect paid to a filmmaker in an MST 3000 release, but it's certainly warranted.There are also the usual cool mini-posters created by artist Steve Vance.

Click here to order from Amazon