ALL NEW!!! DISCOMBOBULATED – Return of the Insomniac
BAMF Classic Film Reviews – DJANGO’S Big Rip-Off Triple Feature
DJANGO, KILL…IF YOU LIVE SHOOT – 1967 director: Giulio Questi; starring Tomas Milian
In case some of you haven’t been paying attention, there were a ton of Django films released after the incredible success of Sergio Corbucci’s original Django. All in all, during the initial spaghetti western craze that spanned three decades, a total of twenty-four different actors have played Django, or at least have been in a film that was slapped with the name Django in the title. And that doesn’t include the rather craptacular Japanese film Sukiyaki Western Django, Quentin Tarantino’s Django Unchained, or non-westerns starring Franco Nero like Django and the Sharks.
To be honest, I haven’t watched that many of these movies. That’s because once you get past the first (Django), the last (Django Strikes Again), and Django the Bastard, you’re wading through a cesspool of inept filmmaking. Even some films, like Django, Kill—which is loved by plenty of fans and critics—left me with the feeling that someone had served me a bowl of dog shit and tried to pass it off as chocolate pudding.
In this particular entry of the film franchise that isn’t really a franchise, it’s Tomas Milian that has the dubious honor of being “Django.” After stealing a shipment of gold, Django (or “The Stranger” as he’s called throughout the film), is betrayed by his gang, and left for dead in the desert. He’s rescued and nursed back to health by a pair of Native Americans. Armed with a gun full of gold bullets, Django tracks down his former gang with the hope of issuing some serious payback, but wouldn’t ya know he’s too late—the local vigilantes have killed the gang, and taken the money. Enter Zorro, our film’s EHIW (Evil Homosexual In White), who wants the gold for his own twisted reasons. Zorro and his gang of light-in-the-loafers caballeros (you gotta see these guys to believe them) kidnap the son of some guy who has the gold; but when pops won’t pay the ransom, they pull a little choo-choo action and run a train on sonny’s bung hole. After that, the kid kills himself, there is showdown, and all the bad people die.
The only western from director Giulio Questi, Django, Kill is loved by a lot of people, and I can’t for the life of me understand why. I figure either I saw a different version of this weird mess, or I’m simply too stupid to appreciate this as a work of art, or all the people who like it don’t know shit. But what I do know is that if there was ever a spaghetti western that could be called pretentious, then this is it. And I also know that this stinker bored me out of my skull—twice. That’s right, I tried watching it a second time, and it was even worse. Nice to look at…for about the first thirty minutes, then it all over-stays its welcome.
A FEW DOLLARS FOR DJANGO – 1966 director: Leon Kilmovsky; starring: Anthony Steffen
It should come as no great surprise that there is no character named Django in this movie, which is just one of the many problems with this in-name-only sequel that typifies much of what’s wrong with most of the various films with the name Django in the title. This particular film stars Anthony Steffen (Django the Bastard) as a bounty hunter named Reagan, who is looking for a man that was part of a gang of outlaws. His hunt takes him to Montana, where men are men and sheep are afraid…oops…I mean where his prey is hiding. Only Django’s prey, or rather Reagan’s prey, might not be his prey, but rather an identical twin. All of this is going on during the middle of a land war between ranchers and farmers, with the outlaw/twin brother caught in the middle. Django/Reagan, falls for the niece of the man he is hunting; but she may actually be his daughter, if he is not really his twin brother, but rather himself. Confused? Try watching this crap in fast-forward, which is the only way to avoid being bored to death, because as nonsensical as this movie may be, it also moves at a deathly slow pace. Really, don’t even bother watching this boring mess—it has little appeal, and even less quality violence. A Few Dollars for Django isn’t even worth a few pennies.
DJANGO KILLS SILENTLY – 1968 director: Massimo Pupillo (a.k.a. Max Hunter); starring George Eastman
Originality was never one of the stronger points of the spaghetti western genre. In fact, there’s only about three plots in the whole genre—nine if you use various combinations of the initial three. The better films in the genre used creativity to make the worn out stories seem new and exciting. When there was no creativity involved, you were stuck with crap like this—just another lame variation on the MSSVF (Mysterious Stranger Seeking Vengeance Film)—which finds George Eastman as the Django-ish gunslinger going against a murderous gang. Eastman (a.k.a. Luigi Montefiori) was a popular leading man, and starred in more than a dozen spaghetti westerns, including Django Shoots First, Django the Last Killer, and Viva Django. Also released as Django Kills Softly, this is one of the most boring, and technically inept films I’ve ever endured. In fact, Django Bores Mercilessly is a more appropriate title.
BAMF Classic Film Reviews – NI@@ER LOVER
1973 (Tom a.k.a. The Bad Bunch a.k.a. The Brothers) director: Greydon Clark; starring: Greydon Clark, Tom Johnigarn, Aldo Ray, Jock Mahoney
Released under several different titles, one of the advertising campaigns for Ni@@er Lover proudly proclaimed, “The movie they tried to stop!” And while that might sound like bragging to some folks, I’m hear to tell you that it’s more of a warning. The directorial debut of Greydon Clark, a man whose filmmaking skills could be called “amusingly remedial,” Ni@@er Lover is bargain basement exploitation cinema at its most craptacular. To his credit, Clark did become a better director, but that doesn’t stop this piece of shit from being…well…a piece of shit. We’re talking about the same director who would go on to make Black Shampoo, which is a really bad film, until you compare it to Ni@@er Lover, and suddenly it seems like the work of cinematic genius. But this is about Ni@@er Lover, not Black Shampoo, so let’s get down what needs getting down to.
Clark stars as Jim, a Vietnam veteran, whose best friend was killed in the war. Problems arise when Jim goes to deliver a letter to his friend’s father. Did I mention the Jim’s dead friend was Black? This is a crucial plot point, because it means our hero must venture into the ghetto to deliver the message to dear old dad. Unfortunately, his dead friend’s brother, Tom – who now goes by the Makimba (Tom Johnigarn), because “Tom was my slave name,” has a honky-hating chip on his shoulder, and decides he needs to kill this no good whitey. There’s a bit more to Makimba’s decision to kill Jim – he thinks the evil cracker is working for a pair of racist cops (Aldo Ray and Jock Mahoney), who take pleasure in beating up on righteous soul brothers. Makimba also blames the death of his father on Jim, even though Makimba killed the old man with his own hands. But, you see, Makimba is blinded by hate, which is what Clark is really trying to explore as a filmmaker. The problem, of course, is that not only is the message lost amidst all the exploitation trappings of sex and violence, it is also lost in the mire of an abysmal script that is as racist as it is poorly written – which is to say that it is really fuckin’ racist, because it is also really poorly fuckin’ written. There’s actually a bit more to the film – something to do with Jim’s inability to commit to his girlfriend, while screwing some dope-smoking hippie chick on the side – but that’s as poorly crafted as the rest of this garbage.
There’s no getting around the fact that no matter which title this film was released under, be it Ni@@er Lover, Tom, or The Bad Bunch, this movie is bad on just about every level you can imagine. Everything from the writing to the direction to the acting is just plain awful. Clark tries to trick the audience with enough sex and nudity to keep you from noticing how bad this everything is, but honestly, every single scene could feature the entire cast butt-ass nekkid, and you’d still be distracted by the ineptitude with which this shit has been cobbled together.
The one good thing I’ll say about Ni@@er Lover is that I looooves me the opening song, written by Sheldon Lee.
“Hey honky mother, where you go?/Who you lookin’ for
We don’t want your kind ‘round here/ Knockin’ at our door
Honky mother, no soul brother/ Don’t waste your helpin’ hand
Honky mother, ni@@er lover/ Ripped off by the man
Don’t be askin’ questions/ This street’s a dead end
One way or another, you’re a dead honky mother/ Just like your ni@@er friend
Hey honky mother, jive sucker/ Black and white don’t mix
Honky mother, ni@@er lover/ Good deeds just for kicks”
BAMF Classic Film Reviews – DJANGO THE BASTARD
Spaghetti westerns can be confusing—primarily because almost the entire genre was built on one big rip-off. That’s to say every film was pretty much a rip-off of some other film, and sometimes a single film might be a rip-off of a rip-off. Films would often have multiple titles, and many had names like Django, Sartana, or Trinity added to the title, to make it seem like it was part of an already established series. In reality, there weren’t that many series, just a bunch of titles ripping off other titles, creating the illusion of a series—as is the case with the Django films. As I’ve already explained, Sergio Corbucci’s Django spawned thirty sequels—and that’s not including recent films like Django Unchained, or non-westerns like Django and the Sharks. Almost none of the westerns with the name Django in the title were actual sequels, and very few even had characters named Django. But this meant very little to the working class Italian audiences that flocked to see the movies, talking and smoking throughout the film, and often leaving before the final reel had played. As long as there was gunplay, it was good enough for much of the target audience.
If you were to watch ten movies in the “Django” series—not including the first one—you can rest assured that you’d be seeing some terrible movies. I’m no mathematician, so I can’t give you the actual stats, but since there are only one or two other Django films that don’t totally suck, I’d say you’d be playing against the odds if you just start watching crap like Django Kills Silently. Instead, take it from me, and just sit down and watch Django the Bastard, maybe Django Strikes Again, and skip the other twenty or thirty movies.
Released under the titles Django the Bastard and The Stranger’s Gundown, this film has the distinction of being marketed as a sequel to two different films—Corbucci’s original Django, and director Luigi Vanzi’s A Stranger in Town. Anthony Steffen stars as Django, or the Stranger, depending on which version you see. Hell, for all I know there could be a version where he’s called Fred Flintstone, which knowing how some Italian producers operate isn’t that implausible. Anyway, this time around our hero may or may not be some type of angel of vengeance (or perhaps a ghost) seeking revenge against a group of former Confederate soldiers, responsible for the murder of their own men. He drifts into town—as the anti-heroes of so many spaghetti westerns are apt to do—and before he leaves there’s an impressive pile of bodies riddled with bullets.
More than just your standard MSSVF (Mysterious Stranger Seeking Vengeance Film), Django the Bastard is a well-crafted film that rises head and shoulders above the vast majority of the genre. This is a great example of the genre done properly; with director Sergio Garrone putting together an atmospheric western that has elements of a gothic horror movie interwoven into the cinematic fabric. Garrone directed several other unexceptional westerns that can’t even come close to comparing to this one. Part of the credit for the film’s success has to go to cinematographer Gino Santini, who, like Garrone worked on his fair share of westerns, none of which have the same quality as Django the Bastard. Santini lights and shoots the film as if it were a horror movie, giving Django the Bastard a visual aesthetic that would be copied by other films, including Today It is Me, Tomorrow You.
Anthony Steffen had already appeared in quite a few westerns—including other Django rip-offs—and was an established actor when he starred in Django the Bastard, which he also co-wrote. Steffen lacks the charisma of Franco Nero (pretty much everyone lacks Nero’s charisma), but he manages to channel enough of the requisite Clint Eastwood-wannabe gravitas to make the movie work. And speaking of Eastwood, the mysterious gunslinger in this movie bares a striking resemblance to Eastwood’s avenger in High Plains Drifter, a film that appears to have been heavily influenced by Django the Bastard.
BAMF Classic Film Reviews – MR. RICCO
1975 director: Paul Bogart; starring Dean Martin, Thalmus Rasulala, Denise Nicholas
Okay, in all fairness, I’ve got to tell you all that this is what we in the business like to refer to as NQB — Not Quite Blaxploitation. This is one of those ‘70s films that has a lot of the trappings of blaxploitation, and even takes many of its cues from the beloved genre, including characters, themes, and music score. But when push comes to shove, no matter how much I may want to call this spade a spade, Mr. Ricco just ain’t an official, 100% blaxploitation film, placing it in the company of films like Report to the Commissioner and Man Friday. But since I paid hard-earned cash to buy a copy of this sumbitch, I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t review it as if it were a balls-to-the-wall cinematic exploration of getting revenge against evil honkies.
Dean Martin stars as Joe Ricco, a hard-boiled, liberal defense lawyer who, when the movie starts off, has just successfully gotten his client Frankie Steele (Thalmus Rasulala) acquitted of murder charges. Steele is a leader of the Black Serpents, a controversial group of black militants, and no sooner is he back on the streets, than two cops are murdered in cold blood. Of course, Steele is the prime suspect. But Ricco isn’t convinced his former client is guilty of the murders, so he begins to investigate the case. The problem is that whoever filled the cops fulla lead also wants to unload some buckshot in Ricco’s ass, and it’s only a matter of time before our hero contracts a deadly case of hot lead poisoning.
Mr. Ricco is one of those films that wouldn’t exist as it does if it weren’t for the black action films of the era. The advertising campaign, which bares a resemblance to Greydon Clark’s craptacular Ni@@er Lover, makes the film out to be more blaxploitation that it really is, because the fact of the matter is that Mr. Ricco has more in common with gritty crime films like Dirty Harry than it does blaxploitation films like Trouble Man. One of the film’s biggest problems is that the black characters are all secondary, taking a backseat to Dean Martin’s somewhat miscast hero. Thalmus Rasulala (Cool Breeze) gives a solid performance as Steele, who is easily the most interesting character in the movie, in a role that was clearly inspired by Black Panther Party co-founder Huey P. Newton. But ultimately, Rasulala isn’t given much to do. He only has one scene that has any real weight, and that doesn’t come until the film is well into the second act.
Despite the fact that Mr. Ricco doesn’t officially qualify as a blaxploitation flick, it still works as a midly entertaining crime drama. While Martin wouldn’t be my first choice to play Ricco, he isn’t as terrible in the role as you would expect him to be. Mostly he just seems out of place, occasionally stumbling around as if wandered into this film after a long weekend of heavy drinking, unaware of where he is, or what he’s doing. But as the case continues, and Ricco becomes more conflicted over his role in the proceedings, Martin manages to act with some semblance of conviction.
Director Paul Bogart’s main claim to fame was as a director on television’s All in the Family, but he also directed such films as Halls of Anger, starring Calvin Lockhart. Bogart manages to maintain tension, and the solid script doesn’t chicken out in the final reel, leaving the film with a grim, cynical end, and a cool twist.