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The Fine Art of Tactical Retreat

Apr. 10th, 2019

11:46 am - For clarity's sake

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Apr. 28th, 2016

10:46 pm - In short: Pod (2015)

When his brother Martin (Brian Morvant) leaves his physician brother Ed (Dean Cates) a disturbed sounding and more than just a little disquieting message on his answer phone, Ed grabs their estranged alcoholic sister Lyla (Lauren Ashley Carter) and drives off to the cabin in the middle of nowhere where Martin lives to stage a neat little family intervention.

Martin, you see, has been having psychological problems ever since he left the army, perhaps based on what may or may not have happened to him in one of the last US wars. His last institutionalization was on Ed’s head, though he isn’t quite convinced anymore that was the right idea to help Martin get better. Or rather, he isn’t until Lyla and he arrive at Martin’s cabin. There, Martin doesn’t just threaten them with a rifle for a bit but also starts off on an insane, long, and very loud rant about the experiments the government did on him, the “pods” they created as horrible weapons, how he found one of these pods in the woods – or maybe it found him - and how how he has now locked it away in his cellar. From here on out, things escalate rather quickly, for as insane as Martin sounds, he really has something rather monstrous locked away down there and the government – as represented by yet another Larry Fessenden cameo – truly is somehow involved.

Sure sure sure, yes yes yes, Mickey Keating’s indie horror exercise in conspiracy theories and mad screeching is not the most original of films, and it’s true, it can be a somewhat annoying film thanks to its insistence on ever-increasing loudness and cheap shock effects.

However, watching Pod, I found myself mostly enjoying it, the shameless and unapologetic way it mixes alien conspiracy theories’ greatest hits, its clear disinterest in being tasteful when that means giving up on having fun or diluting the pure power of SCREAMING LOUDLY IN YOUR FACE for at least two thirds of its running time. And while that might sound pretty dumb, this isn’t a dumb film at all – at least, the way it plays with its clichés feels rather clever to me, playful without becoming lamely ironic.

Obviously, this sort of film needs acting dialled up to eleven, and that’s exactly what the small cast provides for your eighty minutes of dysfunctionality. Particularly Morvant gives his all in what might not be the most authentic portrayal of somebody suffering a psychotic break but certainly is an effective – and very loud – one, leaving no head un-pounded and no eardrum still.

Technorati-Markierungen: american movies,in short,horror,sf,mickey keating,larry fessenden,lauren ashley carter,broant morvant,dean cates

Apr. 27th, 2016

09:33 pm - In short: Grim Prairie Tales (1990)

Somewhere in the Old West, after the US Civil War. City guy Farley (Brad Dourif), and shaggy rider Morrison (James Earl Jones) encounter each other at the former’s campfire right in the middle of nowhere. After displays of nervousness from Farley (probably induced by the corpse Morrison has packed on his second horse), and of sublime grumpiness by Morrison, the two start to bond by telling each other tales of horror.

The first one concerns an old man paying dearly for desecrating an Indian burial ground, while the second tells of a city guy riding through the prairie who encounters a pregnant woman and the rather absorbing turn their meeting will take. Tale number three – the only one told by Farley – is somewhat more subtle fare about a girl having to learn of her father’s Ku Klux Klan involvement. Last but not least, a gunman loses his nerve and is either haunted or going a bit crazy. These tales are interspersed with Farley and Morris doing prairie literature criticism on the them.

As far as horror anthology movies go, Wayne Coe’s Grim Prairie Tales certainly isn’t one of the most brilliant ones, nor is it one of the most complex. However, Coe (who also wrote the script) is clearly very conscious of what a – in this case very literal - campfire tale is supposed to be and do, how much depth it can carry, and what’s a good point to end such a tale on. There’s a difference between simple-mindedness and simplicity, and the film’s tales are most certainly of the latter type and not the former one, with a certain sardonic wryness in the delivery that echoes EC comics, even though, unlike at EC, not everybody who gets it here actually deserves it, and not everyone who’d deserve it, gets it.

Apart from this approach, Grim Prairie Tales also has two not-so-secret weapons in the forms of James Earl Jones and Brad Dourif, both in full-on larger than life modes, though Dourif (ironically) does a larger than life portrayal of a guy who isn’t really all that larger than life. In any case, if there weren’t any horror stories at all surrounding them, it would still be a joy to watch Jones and Dourif play off each other, both men giving their characters intensity as well as basically sparkling with a sense of fun.

That might not add up to the greatest horror western anthology ever made, but it’s a fun time, indeed.

Technorati-Markierungen: american movies,in short,horror,western,wayne coe,james earl jones,brad dourif

Apr. 26th, 2016

11:05 pm - Unknown Valley (1933)

After a stint as a cavalry scout, white hat cowboy Joe Gordon (Buck Jones) learns that his father, a poor bastard who seems to only go by Pop (Alfred P. James) even to people who aren’t his son has already started their planned gold mining project by taking another elderly gentleman and riding out into the most dangerous part of the desert they could find.

Pop has never returned, and his partner came back as a supposed raving madman, though in practice, he’s just semi-comatose and babbles a bit. Of course, Joe sets out into the desert to rescue his dear old Pa, I mean Pop. After some travails that nearly kill him, our hero is rescued by members of the lamest lost civilization ever living in a fruitful valley right in the middle of the desert. Well, alright, they’re not exactly a lost civilization but rather bearded religious cranks who survived a wagon train into, if not exactly through, the desert and now pretend to have found their own little paradise where everyone follows the Word, young whippersnappers get literally whipped, nobody is allowed to leave even if he or she wants to chance the desert, and the old fogeys decide whom the young women are to marry. Preferably the old fogeys, obviously.

But there’s an even bigger snake in this particular paradise, for two of the elders are even more evil than their religion imposes on them. They have secretly captured Pop and are holding him as their very own gold-digging elderly slave, planning on killing him and absconding with the gold once he’s dug out enough. There’s also some business about one of the bad guys planning to marry one Sheila O’Neill (Cecilia Parker), one half of a sibling duo who just won’t believe in The Word – and she’s of course Joe’s love interest to be as well. Joe’s got his work cut out for him.

The era of B-western to which Columbia’s Unknown Valley  belongs isn’t really one I particularly enjoy, nor is it one I have spent much viewing time on, and I can’t say Lambert Hillyer’s film is the one that’s going to change my mind about this particular cinematic space. The film features pretty much everything I don’t like much about the era: Buck Jones – one of the biggest western stars of his time – is that most tedious mixture for a hero in that he is both wooden and bland. I’m not necessarily looking for complexity, mind you, or very deep acting but to my eyes, the film’s central character here is just too much of a nonentity, whose most visibly noticeable character trait is his liking for very big hats. But then, that’s also a thing of this era’s B-westerns.

Woodenness is generally the way of the acting here, something that is made worse by Hillyer’s approach to shooting every dialogue scene between two characters in the same, so static it borders on the absurd, way. Also bordering on the absurd – and while I’m blaming Hillyer – is how overcranked the action scenes here are shot, looking like silent movies shown at too fast a tempo. Overcranking the action was par for the course at the time, but there’s overcranking the action, and then there’s turning it into a cartoon, Hillyard very much opting for the latter. On the more positive side, the man does know how to shoot a picturesque desert landscape.

Having said this, I also have to admit the film – while certainly far from anything even I would call “good” – is generally on the entertaining side. It’s short, it’s snappy, and it certainly has a lot of bonkers ideas it is generally willing to go with. Although I have to say I am mildly disappointed the film didn’t make more of the fact that Joe is something like a certain snake in a certain mythological garden here.

Technorati-Markierungen: american movies,reviews,western,lambert hillyer,buck jones,cecilia parker

Apr. 25th, 2016

09:45 pm - Music Monday: So It Goes Edition


Apr. 24th, 2016

09:54 pm - In short: Zorro (1975)

Young Miguel de la Serna (Marino Masé) comes to Mexico to not just take on the post of provincial governor his uncle left him by dying of the kind of malaria that comes from the edge of a blade but to do so as a beacon of justice and righteousness. Alas, he is murdered before he can even reach his province, dying in the arms of his old friend, the rather more worldly and cynical master fencer Don Diego (Alain Delon). Diego – perhaps after some exciting reading of Icelandic sagas? – is all pumped up to take bloody vengeance on the people responsible, but Miguel’s last wish is that his friend take his vengeance by restoring order and justice in the province without killing anyone. So Diego does the obvious and goes undercover as a fake, buffoonish dandy new governor whom it is pretty difficult not to read as a gay stereotype, an approach that certainly keeps evil Colonel Huerta (Stanley Baker), a man so evil milk probably curdles through his sheer presence, far from suspicious.

Thanks to the inspiration of a little orphan boy (no idea who plays him, alas), Diego dresses up as the local legendary protector of all that is good, Zorro, and starts to swashbuckle Huerta and his men into submission.

Unfortunately, I’m not really the ideal audience for Duccio Tessari’s version of Zorro. I may not be the kind of guy anymore who isn’t able to enjoy an adventure comedy at all, but this thing feels as if someone had seen Richard Lester’s Musketeers and only seen the slapstick, leaving out the films’ particular ideas of historical veracity, its dark sides, as well as the sheer verve of it all. Which leaves us with a Zorro film that is basically all slapstick all the time - and it’s the kind of slapstick that only misses somebody doing the old banana peel thing.

It’s about on the level of the more childish Bud Spencer and Terence Hill movies, a series of films Zorro’s further reminds me of by its incessant use of its horrible (and alas earworm-y) title song whenever Zorro appears. “Here’s to being free, here’s to you and me, la la la la la la, Zorro’s back” until brain and ears bleed. And you’ll really hear it a lot, because this thing is nearly two hours long, not exactly ideal for a low brow comedy.

However, it may very well be this’ll be perfectly fun for people not-me. At least, Alain Delon looks as if he’s having a blast (and how often have you seen that in a career spent looking coldly disinterested?), and Tessari knows how to choreograph his slapstick action.

Technorati-Markierungen: italian movies,french movies,in short,adventure,comedy,duccio tessari,alain delon,stanley baker

Apr. 23rd, 2016

10:34 pm - Buried Alive (1990)

Clint (Tim Matheson) and Joanna (Jennifer Jason Leigh) Goodman are the kind of incompatible couple careers in marriage counselling are built on. He’s a country boy construction businessman who takes the first opportunity to drag his wife out of the city and return to his hometown even though he knows that she’s a city gal with some rather unrealistic ideas of a luxury life by heart and inclination. He wants a baby, she really rather doers not  - though he doesn’t know that. He clearly loves her, but doesn’t know her at all.

To nobody’s surprise but Tim’s, Joanna has an affair. Her lover is the sleazy physician Cort van Owen (William Atherton). Cort is rather keen on Joanna murdering her husband so they can sell his company and found a clinic for the rich and famous in LA with the gains. Or so he says. Cort’s rather pushy about the whole thing too, providing Joanna with pep talks and poison like the ugliest femme fatale you ever put eyes on. Joanna, neither the brightest nor the most stable of persons, dithers a bit, but then decides to go through with the murder. Clint goes down in an unpleasant and obviously painful manner, and things seem to go well for Joanna and Cort. Alas, during her dithering, Joanna has lost enough of the poison to not actually kill Clint but only put him into suspended animation, so Clint can make his way out of his coffin to take vengeance. A vengeance that becomes decidedly cruel once he overhears that Joanna secretly had an abortion, too.

Frank Darabont’s Buried Alive is a surprisingly nasty little film, particularly if you keep in mind it is actually a TV movie. However, if not for the very harmless sexual content and lack of blood, it’d be hard to actually realize this watching it. While the film takes place in only a handful of sets and locations, this doesn’t feel like a film not being as epic in its approach as it wants to be but rather like the sharp focus it is.

The film also doesn’t look like a TV movie, with neither film stock nor visual style of the sort you’d expect. It’s just a tight, focused and nice looking film. Sure, the plot is pretty simple and straightforward (and if you think too much about it, not terribly plausible) but Darabont treats it with so much concentration and clarity this doesn’t feel like a weakness but rather a strength, more as if we were watching an archetypal tale than a clichéd one.

The film does play a bit with its tropes too: a man, Atherton’s van Owen, has the femme (homme) fatale role in the plot, while Leigh’s Joanna is more the patsy usually played by guys like Robert Mitchum who lets herself control by him and doesn’t even stop at murder. There’s also an interesting shift in sympathy going on, with Clint’s revenge going so far it’s difficult not to sympathize with Joanna, particularly since Clint isn’t exactly innocent in the whole situation, though I’m not completely convinced the film is doing this shift on purpose. It might just be pretty damn reactionary towards abortion.

The acting’s as strong as the film deserves, with Leigh providing her role with considerably more weight than you’d expect in this set-up and Matheson unexpectedly shining when he comes back as the rather monstrous avenger, instead of just when he’s doing his usual nice (if stupid) guy bit at the start.

It’s all rather wonderful, really.

Technorati-Markierungen: american movies,american tv,frank darabont,tim matheson,jennifer jason leigh,william atherton,reviews

Apr. 22nd, 2016

10:25 pm - Past Misdeeds: Lady Stay Dead (1981)

Through the transformation of the glorious WTF-Films into the even more glorious Exploder Button and the ensuing server changes, some of my old columns for the site have gone the way of all things internet. I’m going to repost them here in irregular intervals in addition to my usual ramblings.

Please keep in mind these are the old posts without any re-writes or improvements. Furthermore, many of these pieces were written years ago, so if you feel offended or need to violently disagree with me in the comments, you can be pretty sure I won’t know why I wrote what I wrote anymore anyhow.

Gordon Mason (Chard Hayward) is your typical celebrity stalker: beardy, rather unpleasant and having a hell of a time with a blow-up doll made up like his favourite starlet Marie Coleby (Deborah Coulls).

Unlike other celebrity stalkers, he can get comparably close to his chosen victim/love of his life, close enough to masturbate while watching Marie doing aerobic at the beach. Those are the perks if one works as a gardener for one's stalking victim.

Less pleasant is the way Marie acts around him. Although she knows nothing about his disturbing proclivities, she treats him (like she seems to treat everyone else where she can get away with it) like dirt. After she has gotten shouty one time to many for Mason's not exactly sane temper, he rapes her and then - when she doesn't react as if she had the time of her life and is now madly in love with him - drowns Marie in her own aquarium.

Poor Marie is not the last murder Mason is going to commit that day - a neighbour who has seen too much and a little later said neighbour's dog have to die, too. Afterwards, Mason puts the neighbour back in his bungalow and hides Marie's corpse. When he's just about ready to go, the singer/model's sister Jenny Nolan (Louise Howitt) arrives to house-sit for Marie who is supposed to be away for a photo-shoot.

Unfortunately, Jenny is a lot brighter than people in films like this usually are and soon discovers some things that make her very suspicious of that friendly gardener. That night, she finds the neighbour's body and can just get out a short call to the police before her mandatory cat and mouse game with Mason begins.

Even when the police in form of officers Dunbar (James Elliott) and Collings (Roger Ward) arrive, the night isn't over for Jenny.

Most of the things I read about Australian Terry Bourke's Lady Stay Dead lead me to the assumption it was going to be another film in the slasher mold. As it is with assumptions, I was quite wrong. The film has more in common with the Giallo than with the simpler slasher formula. For one, no teenagers appear in the movie, and the killer is more or less human - if rather durable.

The sleazy parts (which just stop after about half of the film is over) are quite unpleasant and a lot more frank when it comes to the sexual motivations of its killer than most slashers are, having a brutal directness more common in the Giallo or the rougher US horror films of the 70s, while the film shows only a mild interest in gory violence, very unlike any slasher I've ever seen. I'll probably just leave it at calling it a thriller inspired by the Giallo and be done with it.

The film's director Terry Bourke has unfortunately produced only a small body of work, starting with the excellent made-for-TV-but-you-wouldn't-believe-it Night of Fear and is probably best known in cult movie circles now for his much lesser Inn of the Damned (which annoyed me so much that I didn't find it in me to even mention it on my blog). What the even smaller handful of films I have seen out of his small oeuvre shows is a director very carefully shaping the technical aspects of his films to maximize their emotional impact, much more so than typical in a low-budget film world where time and money are really the same thing.

Bourke shows the often conjured painterly eye in framing his scenes, but where that description often not only suggests beauty, but also a certain stiffness, Bourke has an excellent sense for movement and the way it builds the rhythm of a film.

In Lady Stay Dead, there's also a wonderful use of natural light on display. The first hour of the film takes place mostly by day, but is still able to convey a feeling of oppression you typically don't get from scenes filmed in the sun.

I'm less enamoured of the way Bourke directs the dialogue scenes. As soon as anyone opens his or her mouth a soap-operatic feeling of false melodrama that is at odds with the the cleverness on display everywhere else in the film overwhelms the scene. I'd blame it on the actors, but their body language whenever they don't have to talk (especially Hayward gives a great physical performance) and my knowledge of the weakness of dialogue scenes in other Bourke films put the responsibility here squarely on the director's shoulders.

Lady Stay Dead gets around this problem relatively easily thanks to the sparseness of dialogue in it. It is not a film built on deep characterization and clever repartee, but rather on an escalation of violence and suspense, and so keeps the talking to a minimum. I have the feeling Bourke realized his own weaknesses as a director quite well, seeing how Night of Fear avoided dialogue completely. In the earlier film, I initially took the lack of dialogue to be just a gimmick, but I am not so sure about that anymore.

The thing of note about Lady Stay Dead really is the sense of escalation, though. There is something slightly sardonic about the way the film goes about this main job. It starts out sleazy, gets nastier and drops the sleaziness altogether, slows down and then accelerates again and again, raising the stakes without feeling the need to show anyone's guts other than figuratively.

To some it might be problematic how little else there is to the film. It is a thrilling ride, but that is all it is. While it at first seems as if Bourke is trying to make points about class and the sexualization of the female image, that potential subtext disappears completely once Marie is dead, leaving only bare-bones characterization and a well done thrill-ride behind.

However, since the film never pretends to be anything else but a thriller, I'm judging it by how well it manages to keep me at the edge of my seat. That, it does very well indeed.

Technorati-Markierungen: australian movies,thriller,terry bourke,louise howitt,roger ward,chard hayward,reviews,past misdeeds

Apr. 21st, 2016

10:55 pm - Three Films Make A Post: The First Motion Picture to be Called GORE-NOGRAPHY!!!

Pieces (1982): Despite being directed by Spain’s not worst but close enough director Juan Piquer Simón, this misbegotten product of a very bad night between the slasher and the giallo genres is unfortunately only seldom amusing with the crazy you’d hope for from its director - though it does include a handful of rather wonderful moments like a random kung fu attack, and Lynda Day George screaming “MONSTER! MONSTER!”). When it’s not sleazy and bloody in a pretty damn uninspired way, the film is often actually downright boring, spending way too much time on the decidedly unexciting police investigation of its murders and on the sexy adventures of a guy named Kendall who likes to wear cardigans, very much like a porn movie that doesn’t know what to do with itself when nobody’s fucking.

Diablo (2015): Lawrence Schoeck’s fine western would probably deserve a longer piece than this handful of sentences, but that kind of thing wouldn’t be doable without spoilers so egregious, they just might suck large parts out of the fun of a first viewing. Which doesn’t mean this is the sort of twist film you’ll only enjoy on first watching (the film does after all use his major turn quite a bit before the finale and does play fair enough you might realize what’s going on much earlier), but sometimes, a first impression is just too good to waste.

So let’s just say this is a clever and dark neo western that has a lot going for it: a clever script, some truly grim moments, beautiful photography, a very good very traditional for the genre soundtrack and Scott Eastwood in what isn’t as much of a stuntcasting decision as you’d expect.

Regression (2015): I rather like what Alejandro Amenábar is trying to do concerning the Satanic Panic of the 80’s and 90’s in the USA here, but in practice, his film never really worked for me. My problem is that I never actually found myself sharing in the increasing hysteria of Ethan Hawke’s character which turned that part of the film mostly irritating, and of course also undermined the film’s final act when the audience needs to share into Hawke’s feelings regarding the truth of the matter or will only very distantly appreciate the plot’s construction. As it stands, and despite some fine acting (Emma Watson’s ever-changing “American” accent notwithstanding) and Amenabár’s generally moody direction, I found myself watching the film with too much distance, kept away from its emotional core.

Technorati-Markierungen: spanish movies,american movies,canadian movies,in short,horror,slasher,western,mystery,juan piquer simón,lawrence schoeck,scott eastwood,alejandro amenábar,ethan hawke,emma watson

Apr. 20th, 2016

10:05 pm - Past Misdeeds: A Coffin For The Sheriff (1965)

Through the transformation of the glorious WTF-Films into the even more glorious Exploder Button and the ensuing server changes, some of my old columns for the site have gone the way of all things internet. I’m going to repost them here in irregular intervals in addition to my usual ramblings.

Please keep in mind these are the old posts without any re-writes or improvements. Furthermore, many of these pieces were written years ago, so if you feel offended or need to violently disagree with me in the comments, you can be pretty sure I won’t know why I wrote what I wrote anymore anyhow.



A scruffy and unwashed man called not Ringo, not Django, not Sartana, but Shenandoah (Anthony Steffen) rides into a small frontier town. The place has some troubles since the gang of bandit Lupe Rojo (Armando Calvo) has put their base of operations into the area around town.

Shenandoah seems to have something in mind with the gang, though. At first, he does the usual "let's compare our penis sizes" bit by playing the always lovely "poker leading to fisticuffs" game with some of the gang members.

A little later, he subtly interferes with a bank robbery in town, carefully constructing an opportunity to grab a wounded gang member and rescue him from the law. It seems like he wants to join up with the gang.

Unfortunately, Rojo isn't just letting anyone join his merry band of slobbering psychopaths. There is a rather ill-advised membership test in form of a deadly game of hide and seek with guns against one of the original gang members for the potential newbie to survive.

Shenandoah is rather good at the game, though, and uses the possibility of a slowly dying bandit right at his feet to ask some questions about a stagecoach robbery and a murdered woman in Omaha two years ago. Alas, he doesn't get the answers he seeks.

At least, his life's dream of being one of a group of psychopathic bandits who are bound to die rather sooner than later is fulfilled. Nevertheless, he continues to ask pointed questions about the Omaha business. One could get the idea that it is somehow a lot more important to him than raping and pillaging. It might just be possible that our unshaved hero is out for revenge for a certain murder in Omaha.

All goes swimmingly, until Rojo decides to plunder the ranch of a local rancher named Wilson (George Rigaud). Wilson is an old friend of Shenandoah, and the gunman can't help himself but warn him and his pretty daughter (Luciana Gilli) of the ensuing attack.

The following debacle for the gang and Shenandoah's not exactly inconspicuous behaviour weakens his position as a big bad bandit decisively, though, starting off his obligatory torture and the typical finale of bloody vengeance.

If the plot synopsis of A Coffin For The Sheriff (and no, I have no idea what the title has to do with the film) makes it sound as if the typical fan of Spaghetti Western had seen this all before, that impression is perfectly true. There truly is no original bone in Mario Caiano's film's body, but while watching it, I didn't find myself holding that against it.

It is a very thin line which divides the realms of the clichéd and of the iconic. Caiano's film mostly dances directly on the line, doing too much of the expected in the expected manner to come down on the iconic side, yet doing it with too much panache to result in the let-down of the too clichéd.

A Coffin For The Sheriff succeeds as a very pleasant example of its genre (and this isn't exactly typical of the usually rather scattershot Spaghetti Western) mostly through the tightness of its script and Caiano's drive in executing it. While the usual assortment of side characters (with three women fawning over our hero) with their little side plots is there, the film integrates them into the main plot in a sensible way instead of going for a smoke and letting the side plots take over from time to time. This gives the film a sense of wholeness one seldom finds in the genre outside of the work of the Sergios.

But it would be unfair not to give Caiano his fair share of props. Having gone through a very typical career for an Italian director of the time by working in every genre that was popular at the moment, Caiano obviously picked up quite a bit about keeping his plots moving and cutting down on filler while letting his film look much more costly than it probably was through judicious use of rather impressive outside locations. As an old pro (his first writing and assistant directing credits come from the 50s), Caiano doesn't miss out on adding stylistic elements typical of the Spaghetti Western, elements which might still have looked vaguely original to an audience just one year after A Fistful Of Dollars. It is an excellent example of how fast some of the things Leone and Corbucci did visually became part of the visual language of Italian filmmakers trying to make a quick buck off of their successes.

So, friends of frightening close-ups of ugly, sweaty, unshaved men won't miss out here.

Also not atypical for an early Spaghetti are the acting performances. Steffen is (as was often the case with him) a little bland, yet as solid as someone with seemingly total facial paralysis can be, while the bunch of half-remembered character actors playing the bad guys are chewing the scenery nicely.

A Coffin For The Sheriff is probably not the sort of film I'd recommend to a Spaghetti Western beginner. There are just too many excellent films to see first before starting to waste time on one which is "just" very good, but when one has reached the point where one has worked through the classics and semi-classics of the genre, films like this are the little gold nuggets hidden in the dust and mud of the genre.

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