Rufus and James bring you on an electric journey through the world of Renny Harlin’s Prison and Wes Craven’s Shocker in this week’s double feature. One we liked one we didn’t. Guess you’ll have to listen to see which!

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Considering this is my first “TV TimeOut” article – the first of many, I hope, I decided it would only be fitting to start it off right.  Thus, we begin with the 1999 pilot episode of The Sopranos.  It only took me 10 plus years, but I have finally been exposed to my first episode of this critically acclaimed show.

Tony Soprano (James Gandolfini) framed between the legs of a carved statue of a woman holding her hands above her head.  Tony sits there, staring quizzically at this statue – almost as if he’s praying to a God he doesn’t know exists or not.  And this is where our journey begins, between the legs of a cold, carved out woman in the waiting room of his new therapist (Lorraine Bracco).

As the pilot episode progresses, it becomes obvious that Tony is caught between the past and the present, the tradition and the inevitable change, the family he has and the family he is trying to build.  His immediate family – his kids, his wife, and his mother – become entangled with his mafia family as he tells his story.  It becomes clear that Tony has very little interaction with his immediate family as his wife asks him if he’ll be home for his own son’s birthday.

The brilliant thing about this episode is that I have a feeling it reveals everything we need to know about what is to come in this series.  Things are most definitely not what they seem.  Deception plays the main character:  Tony, with his Holy Trinity of women (his wife, his mother and his therapist) each fulfilling his specific needs; the rolls of money hidden inside the tomato cans; the daughter (Jamie-Lynn Sigler) attempting to open her room window that her brother purposely closed behind her after she snuck out of the house; the lines of cocaine lying harmlessly on top of the butcher’s knife.  It is these details, and others, that set the tone for this dark comedy, mobster series.

The music is classic.  From classic rock oldies to classical movements – the music helps smoothly drive the pilot episode forward.  The music becomes a symbol of past stains that haunt Tony’s present and future.  This episode merely brushes the surface of Tony’s past, but it haunts him throughout the entire episode, and what I assume will continue through at least the first season.  His father is mentioned fleetingly, and always with a smirk after some claim he was “a saint.”  It almost seems as though Tony is trying to fill his father’s shoes in some respect, but he constantly doubts himself and his actions.  He has no one to turn to… no one to trust…except Dr. Melfi.

Tony can’t talk to his wife, Carmela (Edie Falco), because he believes she is having some sort of more than spiritual relationship with the priest that appears to visit on a daily basis.  This is probably the most interesting motif throughout the first episode – the unspoken fear and simultaneous respect for God and religion.  The religion and belief rooted in thousands of years of tradition, blood, sweat, and tears that invisibly cover the church walls that Tony’s grandfather and his grandfather’s brother built.  “They didn’t design it, but they knew how to build it,” Tony says to his daughter, Meadow as they sit in the empty church.  It’ll be interesting to see how all of these motifs play out through the rest of the first season.

**Please note, I have NOT seen the rest of season 1 yet.  So while I encourage comments, please NO SPOILERS!! **

“Insanity is a sorry thing.” – Alan Bates

The Weird Western is the trickiest of animals.  Rarely do you find one of quality in the landscape of cinema and often you have to settle for “okay” rather than “fantastic” as adjectives of proclamation.  There has been a lot of effort of late, but the success rate is mostly fair to midland.  From Dusk Till Dawn 3 (P.J. Pesce, 1999) sure was “interesting” with its vampiric Ambrose Bierce speculation…Cowboys & Aliens (Jon Favreau, 2011) is “fun” if you let it…The Warrior’s Way (Sngmoo Lee, 2010)…uh…uh…has a lot of “crazy” on its side plus Geoffrey Rush bare bottom gags.  But to find a Weird Western that is flat-out good?  That’s a rare treat.

Silent Tongue (Sam Shepard, 1994) was buried in the wake of River Phoenix’s overdose, and after a yearlong delay the film opened to a paltry box office of just over $61,000.  It received a rather lukewarm reception at the Sundance Film Festival and it’s rarely spoken of these days outside of being a footnote in the snuffed career of its third billed actor.  But I’m here to argue that not only should it be seen as a highlight in the miniscule Weird Western subgenre, but it should also be seen as the career best of River Phoenix.

The film opens with the camera panning across the Staked Plains of New Mexico, the frame passing across the branches of a lone, withered tree.  Wrapped in its limbs are bones, trinkets, and the blanket bundled corpse of a Kiowa woman.  At the base of the tree, crouched, is River Phoenix clutching a shotgun for balance.  A vulture circles above and as it swoops down towards the corpse Phoenix blasts it out of the sky, he darts for the kill, rips its wings from its body and places them atop the woman.  If the tree corpse and the animal mutilation don’t raise a question or two, Phoenix’s twitchy brow and incoherent mumbling certainly does, and it’s the slow unfolding of the answers that keeps you rapt in attention.

From there the film takes you to Alan Bates’s traveling Kickapoo Medicine Show peppered with clowns, musicians, real life injuns, and the petrified man freakshow; all of which provide distractions while Bates and his son Dermot Mulroney bark tales of miraculous transformation with the drop of their $1 cure-all.  Traveling down from the hillside, Richard Harris enters their arena to make a bargain with Bates’ huckster.  We learn that Harris once purchased Bates’ halfbreed daughter for his son Phoenix at a price of three horses, and he wishes to acquire her sister now that the first girl has died during childbirth.  Harris explains that Phoenix has been driven mad by grief and refuses to bury his bought wife.  Bates will not sale for the original rate, and before he can think on a new term of sale Harris has stolen off with the second daughter.  Enraged that Harris has also absconded with their $100 dollar Paint horse, Bates & Mulroney travel in pursuit; the ultimate conclusion of which will bring devastation via classic Shakespearean supernatural tragedy.

Alan Bates is a madman as the charlatan Eamon McCree and as he treks across the demon prairie ranting to himself as much as Mulroney’s disgusted son, the dark past of his children seeps into the foreground of the narrative.  There is an act of wickedness that infects all of these characters, and even though the audience senses it from that very first sequence of the film, it is a misfortune that rears itself through tiny bits of raving exposition.  And as your chuckling swaps with revulsion you anticipate a horrific collision with Richard Harris that the film may or may not care to unveil.

But the heart of Silent Tongue rests with River Phoenix’s demented husband.  No matter how many times the film bounces back and forth from Harris’s determined barterer or Bates’s sin-born treachery or the oddity of the carnival, it’s the intensity of Phoenix’s madness that grounds his questionable relationship with this tree bound body and its enraged spirit.  How could his love for a horse-traded bride be genuine?  Whether it’s rational or not, Phoenix sells his side of the relationship with a gusto only glimpsed in films like My Own Private Idaho (Gus Van Sant, 1991) and Stand By Me (Rob Reiner, 1986).  Unlike most of the other living and dead characters in the film, Phoenix is not given the sharply crafted Sam Shepard monologues.  He performs mostly with twisted facial expressions and guttural bursts of language, and it is utterly painful to watch.  But also impossible to disregard.

This remains only the second film directed by the West obsessed playwright Sam Shepard, and its possible/probable that a lot of Silent Tongue is meant to denote the treatment of Native Americans in the conquest of early American landgrabbing (“She’s an Indian, they were born to suffer”), but personally I see the film as a benchmark in the cinema of grief.  Possession and obsession, hand in hand, destroying what’s left in these men who count their worth in dollars and livestock.  And that early claim comparing Silent Tongue to a Shakespearean tragedy is probably dismissible as hyperbole (afterall, we really shouldn’t toss The Bard’s name around so frivolously), but as I watched the film I couldn’t help but catch that Hamlet ghost dad vibe where casual supernatural forces push the characters into inevitable conflict.  And like the best tragedies, Silent Tongue will leave you sunken in your couch or curled in the corner.  It’s a “good” Weird Western; if you want Geoffrey Rush butt gags I already told you where to go.

Rufus and James battle their way through the urban underground with Raw Meat and C.H.U.D. Jokes are made, Billy is missed, and we keep on keeping on as we bring you more episodes of your favorite film podcast. We are now on Stitcher Radio too! Making it easier for you to enjoy our dulcet tones is the name of the game. Let us know what you think of our recent episodes:

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As a kid, my least favorite Holiday was Valentine’s Day.  I remember crafting those Valentines card collection boxes for your school desk and secretly sneaking through the classroom dropping Star Wars V-Day cards in various desks of unwelcoming girls.  I Choo-Choo-Choose You!  Bleck.  Now, I’m married (never thought that would happen), and I love Valentine’s Day.  And now I’ve got new found appreciation for Romance in Cinema.  Films I once thought of as mushy dreck like French Kiss and It Could Happen To You hold new meaning.  Also, I find Love in films where I never saw it before.  Which is why my Top 7 might start off a little odd, before eventually turning a little more conventional.

7.  Be Mine, Clarice Starling.   Please, correct me if I’m wrong, but I feel like one of the few sick minds on the planet that actually prefers Ridley Scott’s Hannibal (2001) to any of the other Hannibal the Cannibal excursions.  After the procedural events of The Silence of the Lambs (Jonathan Demme, 1991), your good doctor has fled to the historical pleasures of Rome but the faceless Gary Oldman is looking for revenge with his wealthy collection of Euro goons.  Events are sparked that lead you back into the not-so-loving arms of Agent Starling (this time played by Julianne Moore).  And for serial killers, sometimes you gotta save your love from man-eating pigs and win their heart with well-simmered Ray Liotta brains.

6.  Be Mine, Zira.  Sure, she’s tortured humans for scientific research all her life and she nearly agreed to your lobotomy, but Dr. Zira in Planet of the Apes (Franklin Schaffner, 1968) is a good hearted chimp once you display the ability for speech with your hateful racial slurs (“Take Your Stinking Paws Off Me, You Damn Dirty Ape!”).  Granted, you’re gonna want to take the mute & curvy Nova (Linda Harrison) with you into the wastelands of the Forbidden Zone, but while you have the opportunity, steal an interspecies kiss on the beach.

5.  Be Mine, Bride.  If you thought Clarice Starling was hard to get, than you’re not at all prepared for the “No” Seriously Means “No” rage of The Bride of Frankenstein (James Whale, 1935).  Not sure how the Mad Doctor thought this was going to go down, but building a corpse bride for your already pitchfork-rioting creation was a romance doomed to fail at the start.  Still, gotta give him credit for trying something new.

4.  Be Mine, Marion Ravenwood.  Okay, no more creepy love affairs from here on out.  Sure, as the adventuring archeologist Dr. Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark (Steven Spielberg, 1981), you may have loved & abandoned the daughter of your mentor for a bevy of college tail but Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen) was the first girl to steal your heart.  And when presented the chance to stop Hitler from scoring Old Testament God’s death rays in a box, you’re also given the chance to win back her heart via ridiculous serialized Nazi-smashing adventure.  And she’s cute as a button.

3.  Be Mine, Jackie Brown.  You never found that special someone, and life has passed you by.  As Max Cherry in Jackie Brown (Quentin Tarantino, 1997) you spend most of your nights as a Bails Bondsman sitting on couches in the dark, waiting for bad guys to come home and get stunned with your baton.  Then you meet Pam Grier (Coffy!  Foxy Brown!), I mean Jackie.  Life hasn’t treated her right either, but together you’ll find new levels of excitement screwing over gun runners, the LAPD, and the ATF.  It’s not the kinda hot love affair that lasts, but you will find new purpose behind your desk and an appreciation for The Delfonics.

2.  Be Mine, Ellie Fredrickson.  Now here’s your love of a lifetime.  And it will make your heart as much as break it.  As Carl in Up (Pete Doctor, Bob Peterson, 2009) you met your sweetheart when you were both kids; she pulled you into the Explorers Club, showed you the joys of dirigibles, and from that point on you would always be known as Carl & Ellie.  It wouldn’t always be bright times, the cash never really came for your adventures and you were never blessed with children, but your life together would prepare you for a late blooming Heroes Quest.  She gave you meaning, and she gave you the courage you thought impossible.

1.  Be Mine, Nurse Alex Price.  Soooooo…In An American Werewolf in London (John Landis, 1981), after being casted out from The Slaughtered Lamb, you and your friend Jack were attacked by a moors-based werewolf.  Jack got devoured.  You got tainted.  You wake up in the hospital and suddenly the cutest nurse in the building finds you irresistibly charming and invites you back to her flat.  Score.   But this is no mere one night stand, this is a seriously intense romance compounded by hirsute supernatural shenanigans, and even though Nurse Alex should just forget about you and your porno buffets she cannot relinquish the hope of a relationship.  Watching the alleyway scene here brings as big a lump in my throat as the one caused by Carl & Ellie in Up.  A great Horror film created via a great love story.

Remakes in Hollywood are not rare occurrence. It seems that every other film to come out of the giant movie making machine that is Hollywood has been done before, or is based on a book, play, or game. We have seen remakes of classic Hollywood films, remakes of not-so-classic Hollywood films. Remakes of European films, French films, Asian films. We have even seen remakes of remakes. Hollywood loves their remakes. However every once in a while, among the giant cesspool of Hollywood re-tellings, we see a true master piece. A movie, that even though it may have been done before, harvests enough raw talent, and visionary film making that is stands up on its own without needing the original to be its crutch.

The Departed was one of those.

The Departed is Martin Scorseses revision of the 2002 Hong Kong classic ‘Infernal Affairs’, and it tells the story of two moles, one an undercover police officer (Leo DiCaprio) who worked his way into the Irish Mafia. The other (Matt Damon) a disciple of notorious crime boss Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson) who has worked his way up the ranks of the Boston Police Department. However things heat up when both sides learn that there is a mole in their group. Now both moles have been assigned to sniff out the other, a task that will inevitably lead to a series of violent, blood shedding events.

Martin Scorsese is easily one the world’s greatest film makers (and as you know, my favorite). So when it was originally rumored that he would be directing a remake of a film like Infernal Affairs, there was very little to be disconcerted with. If anyone would be able to remake such one of the best Triad films ever made, he would be that man. And the man he indeed was. The Departed has it all, great cinematography, a wonderful signature soundtrack of a Scorsese film, and of course a top notch cast, giving us some outstanding acting. Everyone from Jack Nicholson to Anthony Anderson is at the top of their game. It almost appears that the role of Frank Costello was tailor made for Nicholson, he is absolutely wonderful. Martin Sheen is also great as the incredibly likable Oliver Queenan. Alec Baldwin is the very entertaining Ellerby, who shares the bulk of the films comic relief with Mark Wahlberg’s show stealing performance as Dinam. But as good as the supporting cast is, it comes down to weather our two main men, Leonardo Dicaprio and Matt Damon can carry this film, and they certainly do.  Both actors truly shine. This was the third of four team-ups between Leonardo Dicaprio and Martin Scorsese. It is as though Robert DeNiro passed the torch to DiCaprio (Though I still eagerly await another pairing between Scorsese and DeNiro).

The films itself works off a lot of the key moments in the Infernal Affairs trilogy. There are many moments in The Departed that fans of the original will easily pick up on. Basically its build of a number of key beats strung together with Scorsese’s own touches. Each scene is recreated, but with his touch. What does that mean?? Well, more violence, more sex, and more language. The arm-cast scene is a good example. In Infernal Affairs we see Eric Tsang pick up and smash Tony Leungs broken arm against a table, shattering his cast. In The Departed, Nicholson does indeed smash DiCaprios arm against a table, but in this case it takes a few swifts slams before the cast breaks. Then to add to the torture, he proceeds to beat his arm with his own shoe. The Departed does tell the story almost the same, but it does fill in a lot more detail to the story than the original.

Is The Departed better then Infernal Affairs? No, Is Infernal Affairs better then The Departed. Not really. Infernal Affairs is about as good as it gets when it comes to Hong Kong crime thrillers. And The Departed, well it’s about as good as it gets with American crime thrillers. Maybe it’s the story, maybe it’s the directors, or each films stellar casts. Whatever it is, it works extremely well, both times.

-Jeff Wildman

Tom Horn (William Wiard, 1980) serves as the last great hurrah for cinematic icon Steve McQueen.  After the ridiculous success of The Towering Inferno (John Guillermin, 1974), McQueen took a breather from the spotlight, but for his inevitable comeback he chose a series of projects that would soothe him creatively if not financially.  In 1978 illness took the form of a debilitating cough, a year after that while filming The Hunter (Buzz Kulik, 1980) he was diagnosed with pleural mesothelioma, and just four months after the box office disappointments of both films he was dead.

Now, The Hunter is an okay film to watch on a Sunday afternoon when you’ve got no plans and time to kill.  No one is going to fight tooth & nail to proclaim it superior to The Great Escape (John Sturges, 1963) or Bullitt (Peter Yates, 1968) or Papillion (Franklin Schaffner, 1973).  Tom Horn on the other hand…I would go to war if you claimed it anything less than a masterpiece.  Hyperbole?  This is the Internet, we live in a constant hyperbolic state, but this is about as hard as a fact can get within a subjective medium.  Tom Horn is one of The Great Westerns.

The film opens with a title card paragraph recapping the significance of Tom Horn’s past: he rode with Teddy’s Rough Riders, he was a Pinkerton, a calvary scout, and he took part in the capture of Geronimo.  “He grew up in the violence of the old west.”  Just a few seconds into the film and you understand that this is going to be one of those World Gone By flicks.

The year is 1901; Tom Horn apparently drifts into Wyoming with little idea for his future, and manages to stumble into a barroom fight with the conveniently present boxing champion, Jim Corbett.  After a humorous exchange of insults, Horn is promptly put in his place (the stall in which his horse is stabled) with a serious beating.  Meanwhile rancher Richard Farnsworth hears of Horn’s arrival and offers respite from his bed of hay.  Farnsworth represents the local cattlemen and presents the legend of Tom Horn with $200 for every rustler he brings in alive or dead.  “Take any means you have to.”  This deal seems less nefarious coming from behind Farnsworth’s cheery handlebar mustache.  Plus, the rustlers are portrayed as pretty heinous bullies early on so that the idea of McQueen hunting these brutes with his sharpshooter eye feels somehow hunky dory.

The first 2/3rds of the film centers on the business of Tom Horn’s hitman.  There are several thrilling sequences in which Horn stalks his human prey through prairies, riverbeds, and farmhouses.  Obviously, it’s a violent endeavor, but having the pleasure of an early 1980s production there are shockingly graphic outbursts of exploding prosthetic heads and bloody chestbursting squibs.  But amongst all that gore is also a rather tender romance with Linda Evans’s schoolteacher; her scenes serve as a watermark for McQueen’s sensitive side when things for his character turn dark…or doomed.

Remember that title card from the beginning.  As discovered by The Wild Bunch (Sam Peckinpah, 1969) as well as a hundred other Western (anti-)heroes, the 20^th Century is no place for Cowboys.  The Ranchers might not have created the monster, but when the violence of Tom Horn’s Old West spills into the streets of their Modern America the hint of their involvement in these assassinations is enough to send panic into their coffers.  Richard Farnsworth and his cheery handlebar mustache cannot convince the treachery of Billy Green Bush’s marshal, and backs are destined to get stabbed.

The last third of the film definitely does not carry the ferocious excitement of Tom Horn’s manhunt, but it’s where the story transcends its action movie setup.  And it’s where Steve McQueen shows off his talent.  His Tom Horn has no grand desires in life; he fears not death, but the loss of freedom.  As he states to the snidely marshal orchestrating his downfall “I’m afraid of losing my ability to be able to come and go as I please” and as the walls close in around him, McQueen’s minimalist emotional exposure is felt in painful punctures to the memory of Hollywood’s wild west.

McQueen served as Executive Producer on Tom Horn, and by all accounts was a tyrant as far as his vision was concerned.  TV director William Wiard is given final credit on the film, but at least five other directors were on board at one time or another:  Don Siegel (Dirty Harry), Elliot Silverstein (A Man Called Horse), James Guercio (Electra Glide in Blue), William Wiard, and McQueen himself.  It is obvious that McQueen had a very specific idea for what he was attempting with Tom Horn, and it’s impossible for me to experience this film without contemplating the demise of the actor himself.  McQueen had reached his “King of Cool” status with various badass roles, and he had become a symbol of the counter culture for his bluntly outspoken opinions on Vietnam.  However, his final turns in Enemy of the People (George Schaefer, 1978), Tom Horn, and The Hunter were very much an attempt to break free from his iconic status; the slick and shine shucked off his shoulders and the leftover man is un-hip and contemplative.  And as Tom Horn steps towards his fate at the climax of the film, I can’t help but feel the actor attempting a similar cathartic experience.  The result is a Western that not only fills my shoot ‘em up bloodlust, but also reduces me to tears every time the end credits crawl.

Billy, James, and Rufus are back with a statchetastic episode for everyone. Covering Robert Harmon’s made for TV series of films based on Jesse Stone this episode is part one and focuses on the first two films. Other parts will be coming later! As always laughs are had, banter is flung, and we take some tangents. In other words it is a classic cineAWESOME! episode.

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Just a few seconds into The Hunting Party (Don Medford, 1971) and you’ll know if you want to subject yourself to the rest of the film or not.  Without the aid of a score, the images of a cow being bluntly slaughtered on the plains of the West are crosscut with shots of Gene Hackman forcing himself upon his unwilling wife, Candice Bergen.  Spurting, possibly real cattle mutilation (if it is an effect, and I cannot find any information to confirm or deny, it is definitely, upsettingly realistic) and Bergen’s screeching protests will immediately put off most audience members; even those who had gradually been introduced to this Violent New Western Order with films like The Good The Bad & The Ugly (Sergio Leone, 1966) and The Wild Bunch (Sam Pechinpah, 1969).  Yes, The 1970s Are Here and The Western would never be the same again.  And as actor LQ Jones states after he’s been whupped by Olver Reed, “I like being kicked” and if you’re going to enjoy The Hunting Party I think you have to share in that sentiment.

If the film has any reputation at all (even the actors seem to hardly remember the British production) it is for it’s exceptionally violent narrative.  Gene Hackman is a wealthy rancher and a sadist.  When he’s not raping his wife, he’s extinguishing cigars on prostitutes.  Oliver Reed is an illiterate bandit leader and a scourge upon the frontier.  And Candice Bergen is a sweet schoolteacher caught between the two murderous psychopaths after Reed kidnaps her in order to teach him the alphabet.  But this is not your typical posse picture.  Hackman’s pursuit of Reed does not include a series of gun battles where heroes and villains shoot at each other from behind rocks and tumbleweeds.  Nope.  Hackman and his Hunting Buddies are all packing brand new Sharps Borchardt .54 caliber rifles equipped with telescopes.  He knows that he wouldn’t have a chance drawing down on Reed’s gang, but at a distance of 800 feet and at a cost of $700 apiece; Hackman’s Crew can pick off the gang one by one without ever being within shouting distance.  This new sniper technology gives the chase element of the movie a tremendous amount of dread, futility, and…yeah, it even allows for sympathy for Reed’s unmatched murderer.

Of course, Candice Bergen’s character goes a long way into providing sympathy for Reed as well.  Early on in her abduction, one of Reed’s lackeys (the always entertainingly skeezy LQ Jones) attempts to rape Bergen with the intention of passing her off to various bandit coworkers.  Reed steps in, knocks some sense into Jones, and sends the message to his gang that this woman is his and his alone.  And later that night he forces himself upon Bergen.  But, this being the antagonistic landscape of the post-Peckinpah 1970s, “No” does NOT always mean “No.”  And after living with the savagery of Hackman’s monster and witnessing his cowardice behind the scope, Bergen dives completely into the paradoxes of the Stockholm Syndrome and takes a shine to her illiterate abductor.  Yeah, again, this is not for the Politically Correct crowd.

But that’s the real appeal of The Hunting Party.  It’s not an action film.  It’s not a chase picture.  It’s a march to damnation.  By the conclusion no one is saved and you have no problem with that, you’re happy in fact…well, maybe a touch exhausted from the experience, let’s go with—you’re relieved.  Out in the unwatched wastelands of The West these men and women turned to barbarism and brutality; their collision with each other is an explosion of Shock & Awe storytelling peppered with splashy well-packed squibs.

And if you can look beyond the Horror of the telling, you’ll find a couple of lost near-essential performances from Hackman and Reed.  Seriously, you have to check out Hackman’s gritty grinning bestiality and Reed gives a surprisingly subdued effort for his brute thug (and a killer American accent).  The Hunting Party was released the same month as Reed’s controversial partnership with Ken Russell in The Devils, and just before Hackman’s skyrocketing turn in William Friedkin’s The French Connection.  So, okay…I can see how even the most accepting of 70s era audiences overlooked this flick.  Director Don Medford was noted mostly for his television work on shows like M Squad, The Twilight Zone, The Fugitive, and his only other theatrical credit was for Sydney Poitier’s third Virgil Tibbs outing, The Organization (1971).  His direction here is definitely workmanlike, but I appreciate his gung ho acceptance for newfound violent liberties.  The Hunting Party, like the best Westerns of that decade, is a solid punch to the solar plexus.  It knocks you down, and if you’re sick enough you’ll ask for more.

The Western is one of my most unfamiliar genres of film, I have seen a few, mostly modern, but none the less have enjoyed what little I have invested into this vast spectrum of movie watching. A personal interest in the Spaghetti Western more specifically has been present since I discovered the incredible music of Ennio Morricone, and traced the specific tracks that Quentin Tarantino incorporated into his Kill Bill, and most recently Inglourious Basterds films. Unfortunately over the past few years I haven’t really tried my hand at too many. In fact I can shamefully admit that the only Spaghetti Western I had ever watched was The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. The Mercenary (Il mercenario) marks the second entry I have made into this amazing genre, and I have to say, I LOVED it!

Tony Mustante plays Paco Roman, a peasant who after being poorly treated by his rich boss publicly humiliates him, and finds himself about to be executed, only to be saved at the last minute by a few of him friends. (Admittedly this was probably the one moment I found a bit too ridiculous and a bit cringe worthy.) Now an outlaw he decides to begin a revolution against the Mexican army, but needs steal money to fund an army of his own.

Meanwhile, Franco Nero plays Sergei Kowalski, a Polish mercenary who offers his loyalty and skills with a gun only to anyone who has enough cash in their pocket. He is originally hired by two of the three Garcia brothers to help them carry their silver safely across the border. Their meeting is noticed by the menacing Curly (played so very awesome by Jack Palance) who eventually tracks the two brothers down to find out why they were hiring the Polish, and kills them. When Kowalski gets to a mine to meet the third Garcia brother, he finds his new boss and his men dead, and instead runs into Paco and his revolutionary army instead. After a brief hustle they are all ambushed by a Colonel Alfonso Garcia (Eduardo Fajardo). Paco instantaneously puts his differences aside and hires Kowalski to help defend against the invading army. His investment pays off and the rebels are victorious. The next day Kowalski leaves the group, only to be ambushed by Curly. Paco’s group arrives to his rescue, and though they don’t kill Curly, he still swears revenge as they strip him of his entire wardrobe and send him off to the dessert. Paco rehires Kowlalski to teach him how to properly lead his revolution. However the two men seen to have an entirely different opinion on what it means to be loyal, an indifference that could lead to a very rough relationship.

There is certainly nothing groundbreaking about the films storytelling, but it’s everything else that makes this a truly amazing film. As I stated, I am a big fan of Ennio Morricone. His music, especially the famous L’Arena which acts as a theme for Kowalski, is nothing short of amazing. That theme alone plays such a huge role in setting the tone of the film. There is a particular scene later in the film that highlights that song in such a beautiful way, the theme is played in very effective ways throughout, but is brought out in full force, a real highlight.

There is a lot in this film that is unfamiliar to me; this is of course the first Sergio Corbucci I have seen, a director who I have heard compared to Sergio Leone, understandably. I was also very pleasantly surprised by the cast, primarily our three leads. Of course Jack Palance I know of, and thought he was fantastic in his small but important role. Tony Musante was really fun to watch, his Paco was a good combination of difference characteristics, including some well place comic relief. The man of the hour (and 50 minutes) though, Franco Nero! How have I not heard of him before? His presence in the film is so strong! He was a whole lot of badass! Looking through his catalog it would seem I have seen him before, but never to the same degree as his role in this film. The Kowalski character is an instant favorite, and has some very noteworthy characteristics, from his huge handlebar mustache, to the recurring joke of always lighting his match on some unsuspecting sap.

From what I have been able to find The Mercenary goes by a few different names, Il mercenario of course, A Professional Gunman, and an alternative (and pretty poor) US title Revenge of a Gunfighter. Either way the biggest crime of all is tha absolute lack of a decent DVD or Bluray release in North America. In fact in my efforts to track down a decent DVD I was only able to find a German and Japanese release. This is a real shame that this film has had such minimal exposure, as I said my only means of discovering this film was from tracing back the Ennio Morricone track on the Kill Bill and Inglourious Basterds soundtracks.(Thanks Quentin)

The Mercenary has taught me two valuable things, I love Spaghetti Westerns, and, I need to watch more Spaghetti Westerns!

-Jeff Wildman