|
The old Western chestnut about the good guy patting the dog and the bad guy kicking it is addressed at the onset, the saddle tramp riding into town gives the Marlon Brando glare and the yapping pooch scoots away. "The best damn stallion on the whole Southwest," the titular equine, enough reason for the weary soldier to venture into perilous terrain after the Mexican pistolero (John Saxon) who stole it. "A decent man" with a ranch is the dream, the obsessive journey leads to the bandit's lair for a baroque arm-wrestling bout—vicious scorpions tied to both sides of the table, the captive mistress (Anjanette Comer) biting on one tequila lime after another, Emilio Fernández skulking back and forth with black sombrero and clamorous spurs. "The next time you point a gun at me, you better pull that trigger, because I'm going to blow you into so many pieces your friends will get tired of looking for you." It might be Rio from One-Eyed Jacks five years later, with Sidney J. Furie transposing the cluttered frames of The Ipcress File to the border desert circa 1870. The Techniscope screen is carved with wooden slats and straw hats, lacy veils and lumpy blankets contribute to the ornate textures, figures are distorted by bulging bottles and reflected off belt buckles. (The sort of mannered technique that either stimulated a veteran cinematographer like Russell Metty or drove him insane, the mix of claustrophobic arrangements and wide open spaces expands consciously on Aldrich's Westerns.) The hero's recovery takes place at the bottom of an open grave kept by a hermit (Frank Silvera), the showdown unfolds across a snowy canyon. "Pride is not enough, amigo." The imagistic harshness points up the concurrence with Corbucci. With Alex Montoya, Míriam Colón, Rafael Campos, and Larry D. Mann.
--- Fernando F. Croce |