BY JOHN M. WHALEN

Legendary filmmaker Sam Peckinpah was one of the true believers—one of the last of the diehards. He believed that a man was only as good as his word, and if he couldn’t keep his word, he was no good at all. Just about all of the 14 films he made during his short career centered around that idea. In most of them there is the man who stays loyal to his friends and true to his code, contrasted with his opposite, the man who sells out. “The Wild Bunch” told the story of an outlaw and his gang being pursued by a posse led by a former friend turned Judas goat. “Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid” recounts Garrett’s betrayal of his former saddle mate, William H. Bonney, to the Santa Fe Ring. Even the spy thriller, “The Killer Elite,” is about a security agent whose friend sells him out for a price.

For Peckinpah, it was more than just a good theme for a movie. It was a way of life. Oddly enough, the tough-talking, hard-drinking brawler, who earned the nickname “Bloody Sam,” because of the bloodshed and violence in his films, was often labeled a cynic. But as somebody once observed, a cynic is just an idealist who’s had his teeth kicked in too many time. Peckinpah’s filmmaking career was one long kick in the teeth. He battled with the suits, the studio execs, who didn’t like him or the way he made movies. They didn’t like the way he defied them by going over budget and schedule, or shooting scenes that they thought weren’t necessary (but which Sam believed were the heart of the story); and they didn’t like the way he wouldn’t buckle under. He was a man with a vision, and he would not compromise that vision, no matter what they did to him. His films were often cut and butchered after he finished them. Nevertheless, he persevered on, bloodied, battered, and, in the end, clutching self-destructively at alcohol and drugs to keep going. He came to an early end in Mexico at age 59 after suffering a heart attack.

Peckinpah started in television. He cut his teeth on TV westerns, writing 11 half-hour episodes of “Gunsmoke,” creating “The Rifleman,” and “The Westerner” series and contributing scripts for “Trackdown,” “Tombstone Territory,” and other shows of that era. Even in those early efforts you could see the embryonic formation of his thematic ideas. In one “Gunsmoke” episode, Matt Dillon grieves after accidentally killing a friend in a gunfight. His friend had told him that he didn’t think much of a man who notched his gun after a shooting. At his gravesite, Matt notches his own gun for the first and only time, as a reminder.

“Ride the High Country,” freshly released on Blu-Ray by the Warner Archive Collection, was Peckinpah’s second feature film. “The Deadly Companions” had preceded it, but suffered from a low budget and the heavy-handed influence of an amateur producer. “Ride the High Country” was the first movie where he had control over the material and could shape it the way he wanted. It also had the added plus of having two western film legends in the cast—Joel McCrea and Randolph Scott. McCrea is Steve Judd, former lawman of some note in his earlier years, now an old man who hires on to guard a gold shipment from the Coarsegold Mine. He may be on in years, but he’s still the same ramrod straight man he’d always been. He teams up with his old friend Gil Westrum (Scott), who, in contrast, has let time bend his principles a bit. When we first see him he is running a phony Wild West shooting gallery, posing as a Buffalo Bill-type character. When Steve tells him about the shipment of gold and asks if he knows anybody who’d like to sign on with him for the job, dollar signs light up in Westrum’s eyes. He joins Judd, bringing along Heck Longtree (Ron Starr), his young sidekick, telling him he’s pretty sure he can convince Judd to go along with his plan to steal the gold rather than deliver it to the bank. It’s the classic Peckinpah set-up. During the ride to the mine, Westrum keeps working on Judd, dropping hints about how little money they had made as lawmen. Judd admits he doesn’t have much to show for all those years. He even has a hole in the sole of his boot to prove it. But when Westrum keeps at him, asking him what keeps him going, Judd utters the line that everybody quotes when they talk about this movie: “All I want is to enter my house justified.”

In Nick Redman’s excellent featurette, “A Justified Life: Sam Peckinpah and the High Country,” included as a bonus feature on the disc, Peckinpah’s sister, Fern Lee Peter, provides some insight into Peckinpah’s upbringing and the hidden, more sensitive side of his personality. Sam’s father, a lawyer and later a judge, was a huge influence on him, and there is a lot of his father in the Judd character—a man of uncompromising moral rectitude. Sam grew up with his brother, Denver, who was eight years older, and used to tag along with him and his older friends, trying to put on a tough front. But he was smaller than the other boys and more sensitive, more like his mother, to whom he was closer. According to Peter, like her, he “was able to tell when someone hurt.”

There’s a subplot in “Ride the High Country,” that reveals that hidden, sensitive side. A young girl, Elsa Knudson (Marriette Hartley), rides with the bank guards up to the mountain camp to meet her fiancé, Billy Hammond (James Drury), one of the miners. Billy has three brothers (Warren Oates, John Davis Chandler, and L. Q. Jones), and a father (John Anderson). A scruffier, more depraved bunch of characters, you’ve never met. (All the members of the Hammond clan, by the way, were played by actors who had appeared in various TV episodes Peckinpah had written—an informal Peckinpah stock company.) A nightmare wedding scene presided over by drunken Judge Tolliver (Edgar Buchanan) is shot entirely from Elsa’s point of view, and anyone who says Peckinpah was misogynistic and insensitive to women, should watch to see how sympathetically he portrays Elsa’s predicament.

The trajectory of the plot follows Judd’s ultimate clash with Westrum and a final confrontation between them and the Hammonds. The climax is both redemptive and apotheotic. The final shot of “Ride the High Country” is, perhaps, one of the simplest and yet most moving images ever put on film.

The Warner Archive Blu-Ray presents the film in 1080p High Definition with a 2.35:1 aspect ratio. Sound is DTS-HD Master Audio Mono. George Bassman’s somber score sounds good. Picture quality is first rate and Lucien Ballard’s cinematography of locations in and around Inyo National Forest never looked better. The disc also includes audio commentary by the Peckinpah Peckerwoods (Paul Seydor, David Weddle, and Garner Simmons), all of whom possess extensive Peckinpah knowledge, but tend to go overboard ooh-ing and ahh-ing over every little thing the director did. It’s a tad annoying but informative.

“Ride the High Country,” is a classic that every fan of westerns must see and see again. The Warner Archive Blu-Ray is a “must have” for the true believers out there. 

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John M. Whalen is the author of "This Ray Gun for Hire...and Other Tales." Click here to order from Amazon. 

BY DARREN ALLISON

In a 2014 interview with Robert Markowitz, Walter Hill stated ‘I think in casual conversation I would have told anybody I wanted to direct. At the same time I knew Hollywood was a closed off place...’ Working as a script writer, Hill began climbing his way up after working on the script for Hickey & Boggs (1972). He was then asked by Peter Bogdanovich to co-write The Getaway (1972), a movie he was lined up to direct with Steve McQueen. Whilst the script was in its early stages, McQueen fired Bogdanovich from the project and immediately enlisted Sam Peckinpah to replace him. However, Walter Hill was given the chance to stay on and instructed to begin rewriting the script fresh from page one. Six weeks later the script was complete and the film went on to become a major success. A slice of good fortune perhaps for Hill, but he still maintains that it was the success of The Getaway that ultimately determined how he came to be a director. Hollywood may had been closed off, but it provided Hill with a rare opportunity. In 1973, Hill began writing the script for Paul Newman’s The Mackintosh Man. It was also the same year he met producer Lawrence Gordon. Following differences during the writing of The Drowning Pool (1975), Newman’s revival of private eye Lew Harper, Gordon invited Hill to Columbia in order to write his next film, Hard Times (1975). Gordon also agreed that should Hill decide to write the script he would also allow him to direct the movie.

Whilst Hill would later come to be known as a great action auteur, he made a rather wonderful debut with this pulp triumph. Not only would it conjure an evocative period atmosphere, but also boast memorable performances from both Charles Bronson and James Coburn.

Bronson plays a drifter suddenly caught up in the fight game during the Great Depression. Chaney, a down-on-his-luck loner, hops a freight train to New Orleans where, on the seedier side of town, he tries to make some quick money the only way he knows how - with his fists. Chaney approaches a hustler named Speed (James Coburn) and convinces him that he can win big money for them both.

Hard Times still holds up extremely well andBronson keeps his performance low key whilst maintaining the strong, silent tough guy persona. Bronson was in his fifties when he took on this role, which did concern Walter Hill to a certain degree. Nevertheless, Bronson’s Chaney still presents an imposing figure - lean, chiselled and certainly still got the moves. However, it’s Coburn’s Speed that almost steals the show. It’s a wonderful, if somewhat sleazy portrayal. For Speed it’s just about the money, Cold and ruthless, he’s a character who likes to spend many as fast as he can get it. In many respects it is Bronson who helps elevate Coburn’s performance – simply because he allows him so much. Bronson was never going to outwit or outtalk Coburn in the dialogue department; instead Bronson uses his fists or general physicality in order to convey his talking. It’s a nicely balanced pay off that works perfectly well and shines on screen. Strother Martin is also worthy of mentioning as Poe, the ‘cut man’ who completes the team between hustler and bruiser. Always a classy character actor, Martin seems to provide a magnetic quality every time he appears on screen. Jill Ireland again plays Bronson’s love interest, at Bronson’s request as I believe. Her character of Lucy is rather one dimensional and adds very little to the overall narrative. It could have arguably been eliminated completely without ever really upsetting the nicely paced flow of the film. Hill would later comment that he removed a great deal of her scenes in the final edit, much to Bronson’s disapproval.

BY ROBERT E. TEVIS

In the pantheon of recorded and performance comedy, right there on the first floor, you will find a monument to the Firesign Theater. How they began to occupy that hallowed estate is the subject of a new DVD called Everything You Know is Wrong --The Declassified Firesign Theater 1968-1975, released on the Bright Red Rocket label.. Like most enthusiasts, I became acquainted with their mind-blowing material as a high school and college student who was just learning to appreciate the wit and wisdom of these modern thespians.

For those of you who were not alive in those glorious years, or were distracted by the British Invasion called Monty Python, the Firesign Theater was our own, 100% American comedy troupe comprised of Phil Austin, Peter Bergman, David Ossman, and Philip Proctor. Best known for their comedy albums on Columbia records (including such unique titles as “Waiting for the Electrician or Someone Like Him,” “How Can You Be in Two Places at Once When You’re Not Anywhere At All,” and my personal favorite, “Don’t Crush That Dwarf, Hand Me the Pliers.”) The title of this DVD is taken from their 1974 Columbia record, “Everything You Know Is Wrong.” Defined by many as “surrealistic comedy,” I don’t think the adjective is necessary. This is comedy that puts a smile on your face, and a laugh in your heart, and isn’t that what comedy is supposed to do—regardless of how it gets you there.

Evolving from radio performances at KPPC-FM and KPFK in Los Angeles, they excelled in creating images in your imagination of people, sounds, and situations—absurd, irreverent, and downright funny. The DVD set fills in the blanks for the fans who followed them over the years, and creates a need for all those record albums in those who will discover them through this compilation.

Disc one starts with an audio only program taken from “The Les Crane Show” in April 1968. This Firesign Theater performance was a live re-creation of their “Oz Film Festival” routine (listed in the LA Times TV listing as an “Art Movie Put-on”) –based on an improvisation from the first time they worked together on “Radio Free Oz” in November 1966. There is no known recording of that first performance which makes this recording hysterically important. While Crane’s show was televised, only the audio has survived, because it was taped by a member of the Firesign while standing in front of his television set.

Les Crane’s interview is especially fascinating because it sounds, at first blush, like a serious interview with serious film artists. The nervous laughter of the studio audience demonstrates that they were not sure either if it was an act or not. I found their unique film techniques quite believable not only for the time, but even today. I only wish I could have seen the production still which Jeanclaude Jeanclaude brought with him from his film “2002” which showed golf-balls and a coffeepot in space.

I also wish I knew what the viewers thought, when they watched the commercials the troupe did for the Jack Poet Volkswagen dealership in Highland Park, California. Wonder no longer, as you can see them for yourself in the second section of disc one. You can view them all with commentary by the group, but why would you want to do that? I listened to commentary because I had to. You can just focus on their message—which was designed to sell something. I’m not sure it was cars. I guess it only goes to prove that everything I know is wrong.

In the liner notes for “The Jack Poet Volkswagen TV Ads,” the Firesign Theater claim partial responsibility for Jack eventually losing his Volkswagen franchise. I find that hard to believe. Those were some hot cars in those ads. They must have sold a lot of Love Bugs to those who followed Tony Gomez’s directions up the Pan American Freeway from South America to Highland Park.

And who was the man polishing the Bugs in the background? The unknown member of the Firesign? Will we ever find out? Well, stand-by readers! Philip Proctor reports to me that, as this piece goes to press, “That man is Jack Poet,” himself! Immortalized in this two disc set.

BY DOUG OSWALD

There was a time when movies about the Vietnam War were sparse if non existent, especially during the years when the war was raging (one of the rare exceptions being John Wayne’s “The Green Berets” in 1968). Once popular movie genres like the war movie and western were prolific on television and in cinemas, but were beginning to fall out of favor in the 1970s. They were being reinvented and metamorphosed into post modern psychological examinations of the nature of violence and war. Hollywood commonly referenced the Vietnam War by creating characters in movies depicted as dysfunctional or they commented on the war by setting the movie during a different war “The Sand Pebbles” and “M*A*S*H” are outstanding examples of Vietnam War movies in disguise).

“Go Tell the Spartans” was part of the small tide of movies about that war released in the late seventies and eighties. The 1978 release features a terrific performance by Burt Lancaster as well as an interesting supporting cast of up and coming actors. The film's opening prologue states: "In 1954, the French lost their war to keep their Indo-China colonies and those colonies became North and South Vietnam. Then the North aided a rebellion in the South and the United States sent in 'Military Advisors' to help South Vietnam fight the Communists. In 1964, the war in Vietnam was still a little one -- confused and far away."

Lancaster is war weary Army Major Asa Barker, commander of a South Vietnam outpost in 1964. A veteran of WWII and Korea, Barker commands a small group of American advisors at the outpost on the eve of the American build-up in Vietnam. His command also includes a few South Vietnamese soldiers and villagers as he negotiates with the corrupt regional governor to ensure his troops receive proper artillery cover as they engage North Vietnamese forces.

Barker’s second in command is Captain Alfred Olivetti (Marc Singer), a capable junior officer almost as jaded as Barker. They are assisted by the capable Signalman Toffee (Hilly Hicks) who is always ready with communications to headquarters before being asked. Replacements arrive at the outpost and they include the usual assortment of misfits, fence sitters, thoughtful soldiers and a gung-ho newly commissioned lieutenant. Corporal Stephen Courcey (Craig Wasson) is the college drop-out eager to serve his country by helping the South Vietnamese. Sergeant Oleonowski (Jonathan Goldsmith) is an experienced veteran near to reaching his breaking point. Lieutenant Raymond Hamilton (Joe Unger) is the recently commissioned officer a little too eager to engage the enemy and Corporal Abraham Lincoln (Dennis Howard) is the opium addicted stoner. Cowboy (Evan Kim) is Barker’s Vietnamese scout who is a bit zealous in his methods of enemy interrogation. Character actor James Hong is also present as one of the villagers assisting the Americans.

Barker and his men are ordered on an expedition to an abandoned French military outpost to report on enemy activity. They encounter the fort cemetery with 300 French graves from the First Indochina War where a sign written in French quotes the Greek historian Herodotus referencing the Battle of Thermopylae in 480 B.C. Greece; "Stranger, go tell the Spartans that here we are buried, obedient to their orders." The men soon find themselves engaging an overwhelming force of Viet Cong. The soldiers realize the similarities between their expedition and the doomed French soldiers who died there 10 years earlier as they make a stand against the Viet Cong. Several of the characters succumb to their fate as happens in all war movies, but the film does this in a sincere depiction of the futility of war in a way that honors those who serve and sacrifice.

Based on Daniel Ford’s 1967 novel, “Incident at Muc Wa,” the title was changed to “Go Tell the Spartans” by screenwriter Wendell Mayes. Ford based the novel on his experiences covering the war for “The Nation.” The novel covers what is historically known as “Operation Blaze.” Mayes beefed up the character of Barker in the hopes a major Hollywood actor could be coaxed into taking the part. After several years in development Hell, Lancaster accepted the part under the direction of Ted Post for Avco Embassy. The movie literally had a spartan budget and was shot on location in California which doubled for the jungles of Southeast Asia. “The Green Berets” suffered from a similar lack of location filming and it’s a glaring liability in both films. If the viewer can overlook this and accept pine trees for jungle palms, the movie works quite well as a compelling war drama with expertly staged battle scenes.

The Scorpion Blu-ray release looks and sounds terrific with a running time of 115 minutes. The new high definition transfer in widescreen is a vast improvement over the previous 2006 DVD release. Extras on the disc include interviews with cast members Marc Singer, Joe Unger, David Clennon, Jonathan Goldsmith and director Ted Post. The interviews include interesting anecdotes on working with Burt Lancaster and the process of bringing the movie to the big screen. If you own the 2006 DVD, this Blu-ray is a worthy upgrade and recommended for fans of the genre.

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BY TIM GREAVES

For the benefit of those unfamiliar with the events that preceded The Amityville Horror’s arrival on screen, I'll start with a little backstory. In November 1974 one Ronald DeFeo murdered six members of his family in their home at 112 Ocean Avenue on Long Island, New York. 13 months later George and Kathleen Lutz, along with her three children from a previous marriage, moved in; unperturbed by the gruesome events of a year earlier, they had purchased the property at a bargain price. The family fled the premises just shy of a month later, claiming to have experienced a succession of terrifying paranormal events. Their experiences soon became the subject of a book by Jay Anson, published in 1977. Following extensive studies by a number of parapsychology experts, many of the Lutzes stories would later be debunked, but at the time the couple became something of a media sensation. Director Stuart Rosenberg's film – which, as movies will, played a little economical with the facts (at least as they were laid out in Anson's book) – was released in 1979 and not only proved to be a major hit for American International Pictures but was one of the highest grossing ever independents to that time. So, did any of those paranormal incidents really take place, or was it all just canny media manipulation? George and Kathleen are dead, both having passed away prematurely in 2006 and 2004, respectively, so the true story will probably never be known. But that house on Ocean Avenue has changed hands five times since the Lutzes left – with the owners having modified the building's facade and getting the address legally changed in a bid to dissuade tourists from pestering them – and there has never been another report of an untoward occurrence. One can make of that what one will. In any event, back in the 70s George and Kathleen Lutz appeared to enjoy the attention their alleged misfortune brought them and considerable monies were generated. And at the end of the day the possibility that, actually, it wasn't all a hoax affords the whole business an enduring appeal. Rosenberg's film spawned a dozen spin-offs and sequels and was itself remade in 2005. On a final historical note, in a 1980 episode of the British TV series Hammer House of Horror entitled The House That Bled to Death a family are driven out of their new home in the wake of a number of paranormal events. They sell their story for a substantial sum and the tale ends with them living a life of luxury and the revelation that they fabricated everything for the money, although there's one final devilish twist in which...well, I won't ruin it here; those interested in the Amityville phenomenon, on which The House That Bled to Death was clearly riffing, will find it well worth seeking out.

But back to the 1979 film itself. I first saw The Amityville Horror theatrically (twice) upon its initial UK release early in 1980 – six months after its US opening the previous summer. Although its effervescence has diminished somewhat in the intervening years, back then the belief that I was witnessing what were supposedly true events added a distinct frisson to the proceedings.

Recently married George and Kathy Lutz (James Brolin and Margot Kidder) move into a large property on Long Island, the site of a familial massacre just a year earlier. A succession of relatively minor incidents – inexplicable odours, toilet bowls ejaculating viscous black gunge – begin to tarnish the happy household, and George's health plummets. After priest and friend of the family Father Delaney (Rod Steiger) is driven out by an unseen presence whilst he's in the process of blessing the house, the abnormal occurrences intensify and it becomes apparent that the residue of something evil is at work. When George's mood darkens and his sanity begins to unravel, Kathy starts to fear for the lives of her entire family. 

The Amityville Horror was co-produced by Elliot Geisinger and Ronald Saland, known primarily for a number of behind-the-scenes shorts they directed and produced throughout the 60s and 70s. But the name that stands out here is that of executive producer Samuel Z Arkoff, instantly recognisable to movie buffs from Vincent Price horrors (Cry of the Banshee, The Abominable Dr Phibes and its sequel, Dr Phibes Rises Again), through blaxploitation classics (Coffy, Blacula, Slaughter) to clunky monster flicks (The People That Time Forgot, The Food of the Gods, Empire of the Ants); if Arkoff's name was on it you always knew you were in for a fun ride. And The Amityville Horror is nothing if not that. 

Director Stuart Rosenberg, working from a Sandor Stern screenplay, conjures up an efficient little creepy embroidered with all the standard haunted house tropes; bumps in the night, thunderstorms, blood-spattered dream sequences, bricked-up cubbyholes, tormented babysitters, and at one point the hoariest of them all, the sudden appearance of a howling cat. But there are also enough genuinely efficacious jumps and starts throughout to keep viewers on their toes. The whole shebang gets strong backing from a terrific Lalo Schifrin score, its haunting (no pun intended) nursery rhyme theme – the sound of chanting children set against low strings combining to invoke a crawling sense of ill-ease – surely ranking among the composer's finest works. It was Oscar-nominated for Best Original Score of 1979 but lost out to George Delerue's A Little Romance.

BY HANK REINEKE

There’s enough cross-plot evidence to suggest that some ideas woven into World Without End (Allied Artists, 1956) were based in part on H.G. Wells’ classic 1895 novel The Time Machine. Wells’ immortal tale would, of course, soon follow the less-celebrated World Without End as a lavish, big-screen Hollywood feature of 1960. Though director-writer Edward Bernds readily admitted to familiarity with Wells’ The Time Machine, he insisted his screenplay was a wholly original creation. Though the similarities between the two works cannot be discounted, Bernds refutation has merit. Certainly modern science-fiction’s fascinations with time and space travel were hardly of the abstract, and most certainly predated Wells’ own literary musings on the subject.

That said, Bernds World Without End is of its own time and primarily a stereotypical 1950s Cold War-era vehicle. It’s a call for a return to reason and détente in the decade following the game-changing horrors of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The real monsters in this film are neither the over-sized arachnids nor the ambling Cyclops-Neanderthals. Instead it’s the hawkish politicians, generals, diplomats and scientists who recklessly helped dress the stage for earth’s inevitable apocalypse. There’s little denying this is a “message” film. Even before the credits roll, the film opens dramatically with a grim, red-tinted vision of an atomic mushroom cloud spiraling heavenward.

It is March of 1957, and the U.S. has sent a spacecraft on mankind’s first ever flight to red planet Mars. Surprisingly, the four man crew is not scheduled to touch down on the Martian surface; this flight is purely a reconnaissance mission in which they are tasked to twice orbit Mars for photo-mapping. In Washington D.C., Pentagon officials, members of the press, and distraught family members have become increasingly anxious as contact with the spaceship has been lost. The astronauts onboard are less concerned. They realize this breakdown in communication is merely temporary, likely the result of their spacecraft entering Mars’ magnetic field.

Unfortunately and unbeknownst to the crew, on the return voyage home, the spaceship accidentally wanders into a time displacement vortex. The craft crashes into a snowy region that the rattled astronauts – all of whom have miraculously survived – not unreasonably assume is one of Mars’ famed polar icecaps. It’s not, as they soon recognize when exiting the craft without the assistance of oxygen helmets or pressure suits. Journeying from the snow-capped mountain, they dimly recognize the outline of the Rockies, believing they might have somehow landed on the border of Idaho and Wyoming, or perhaps that of Colorado and New Mexico.

They quickly begin to have their doubts when they wander into a cave and are attacked by giant spiders “as big as dogs!” Surviving that sticky encounter with the assistance of their pistols, an overnight campout under the stars is summarily ruined when they’re viciously attacked by – and barely stave off - a gang of marauding Cyclops-Neanderthals who brandish primitive hand weapons. Taking supposed safe harbor in still another cave, the crew is trapped inside when a steel panel mysteriously descends from above. Their abductors are, to the great relief of all, friends.

They learn from a panel of paternal, subterranean elders referred as “The Council,” that they are indeed back on earth. But it’s now the year 2508, some 551 years since they had first been launched into orbit. They also learn that the earth was almost entirely destroyed in the “Great Blow” of 2188. This was the year of Armageddon when “man destroyed himself” through foolish use of atomic weaponry and the absence of wisdom.

BY FRED BLOSSER

“Sabata” (1969; U.S. release, 1970), “Adios  Sabata” (1970; U.S. release, 1971), and “Return of Sabata” (1971; U.S. release, 1972) are often referred to as “The Sabata Trilogy,” thanks to clever marketing by MGM, which originally released the three Italian Westerns theatrically and on home video here in the States. Technically, “trilogy” is a misnomer. As I noted in an article review on this site in 2014, “Adios, Sabata” was released in Italy in 1970 as “Indio Black, sai che ti dico: Sei un gran figlio di...,” with Yul Brynner as the title character Indio Black. It was rebranded for distribution in the U.S. and some European markets when “Sabata,” starring Lee Van Cleef, turned a profit for MGM and producer Alberto Grimaldi. Commercially, it was a smart move, keeping the Sabata name on marquees until the true Van Cleef sequel, “È tornato Sabata... hai chiuso un'altra volta!,” followed in American theaters as “Return of Sabata” in the Watergate summer of 1972. For a longer analysis of the first Van Cleef movie, not included in the review that follows, see the 2014 review.

Only Mr. Magoo would mistake Yul Brynner and Lee Van Cleef for each other, but reviewers had an “Oh, well,” attitude about the casting, simply assuming that Brynner had stepped in for Van Cleef between the first and third movies. Audiences didn’t seem to notice or care. Anyway, many of the same credits appeared on all three films, ensuring some continuity of style: producer Grimaldi, director “Frank Kramer,” actually the Americanized alias of Gianfranco Parolini, scriptwriters Parolini and Renato Izzo, and supporting actors Pedro Sanchez, Nick Jordan, and Gianni Rizzo. The strategy probably benefitted the three films over the long haul, as well. With genre pictures, series tend to have more staying power than stand-alone titles. On DVD, MGM Home Video released the three movies in 2006 both as individual discs and as a boxed set under the “Sabata Trilogy” label. Kino Lorber Studio Classics produced a Blu-ray edition of “Sabata” for the U.S. market in 2014, and now has completed its set with “Adios, Sabata” and “Return of Sabata,” released simultaneously as individual discs.

In “Adios, Sabata,” Brynner’s title character signs up for a caper to steal the Emperor Maximilian’s imperial gold from murderous Col. Skimmel (Gerard Herter) and turn it over to Juarez’s good-guy Mexican revolutionaries. The “inside man” for Sabata at Skimmel’s military post, and alternately his rival for the gold, is Ballantine (Dean Reed), a portraitist and con artist. Lots of explosions ensue, along with chases, battles, gunfights, and trick weaponry (like Sabata’s rifle magazine that also serves as his cigar holder). As a “gringos south of the border” action-fest, it’s better than any of the sequels to and reboots of “The Magnificent Seven,” including last year’s dour remake.

In “Return of Sabata,” Van Cleef’s character comes to Hobsonville, Texas, as the star of a Wild West sideshow in a traveling circus. Sabata tells his old Army subordinate from the Civil War, Clyde (Reiner Schöne), now the proprietor of a local gambling house, that he plans to stick around long enough “to collect the $5,000 you owe me.” Actually, Sabata has a bigger score in mind, related to his reason for traveling with the circus, and to the money being raised by town boss McIntock through exorbitant sales taxes to fund “civic improvements” in Hobsonville. Where Van Cleef’s original Sabata was a steely man of mystery, his character in “Return of Sabata” is more relaxed, to the point of mugging for the camera in a couple of scenes, having a gorgeous hooker girlfriend, Maggie (Annabella Incontrera), and indulging in what today’s viewers might regard as a couple of sexist comments. Some reviews unfairly conclude that the plot makes no sense. If you pay close enough attention, it does, but “Kramer” makes the narrative hard to follow, inserting details and events in rapid succession and seemingly at random. Only later do they pay off with verbal or visual punchlines. It’s hard to tell if he was being intentionally disruptive to keep viewers guessing about Sabata’s motives along with Clyde and McIntock, or if he couldn’t resist adding every gag that he and Izzo thought of.

Like “My Name is Nobody” (1974), the next-to-last Spaghetti produced by Sergio Leone, “Return of Sabata” indulges in too much noisy, surrealistic circus business for anybody but the most avid Cirque de Soleil groupie. Where “Sabata” had one acrobat in the protagonist’s entourage (Nick Jordan), the sequel has two (Nick Jordan and Vassili Karis). An opening “shootout” in a weirdly lit room between Sabata and a passel of gunmen turns out to be part of the sideshow act. It concludes as the stage lights come on, the gunmen get up, wipe off their fake blood, and joke with each other, and a noisy troupe of clowns runs in. Viewers allergic to clowns may be tempted to punch “stop” or “fast forward” at that point. The first of the gunmen “shot down” by Sabata appears to be played by actor and stuntman Romano Puppo, Van Cleef’s stunt double in several Spaghettis, even though Puppo doesn’t appear in the cast credits for the picture in IMDB and the Spaghetti Western Data Base.

Licensed from 20th Century Fox and MGM, the KL Studio Classics Blu-ray editions of “Adios, Sabata” and “Return of Sabata” have sharp hi-def clarity and a strong color palette, nice upgrades from the previous DVD discs. Extras are scanty, limited to reversible case sleeves with the American poster artwork for the films on one side and the Italian on the other, and trailers for the Sabata films and “Barquero,” an inferior 1970 American Western starring Van Cleef. Unfortunately for aging fans, the audience most likely to remember Van Cleef and Brynner, no SDH subtitles are provided. The German Blu-ray editions from Explosive Media that preceded the KL releases are superior in this respect, including both audio and captioning options not only in English but also in Italian and other languages. Too, it’s unfortunate that KL didn’t spring for the rights and the costs to port over and translate the attractive, informative insert booklets that Explosive Media’s Ulrich Bruckner included with the German discs. Regardless, fans will appreciate Kino Lorber for making “Adios, Sabata” and “Return of Sabata” readily accessible in the U.S. market in good hi-def prints.

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Due to disappointing boxoffice returns, "Those Fantastic Flying Fools" was re-titled and remarketed as "Blast-Off". This was not an uncommon practice during the era. "Operation Crossbow" was retitled "The Great Spy Mission" and "Star!" was reissued under the title "Those Were the Happy Times".

BY LEE PFEIFFER

Olive Films has released a Blu-ray edition of "Those Fantastic Flying Fools" although the packaging bears the film's alternate title, "Blast-Off". The 1967 production is largely forgotten by all but the most avid retro movie lovers. Clearly inspired by the success of director Ken Annakin's 1965 blockbuster "Those Magnificent Men in Their Flying Machines", "Blast-Off" is far more modest in its ambitions and the pleasures it delivers but it still offers a rare opportunity to see many  great "second bananas"  in leading roles. The movie apparently had a checkered history with Bing Crosby, Senta Berger and Wilfred Hyde-White having been associated with it in the early stages only to drop out for various reasons. As it is, the movie presents an impressive number of talented comic actors in a tale loosely inspired by the writings of Jules Verne. (The movie was released in the UK under yet another titles, "Jules Verne's Rocket to the Moon").  The film presents Burl Ives, well cast as P.T. Barnum, making a trek to England where he encounters a the nutty Prof. von Bulow (Gert Frobe, ported over from "Magnificent Men" in an almost identical role), who is trying to convince skeptical colleagues that he can develop technology to send a manned rocket to the moon. Barnum, ever the opportunist, doesn't care whether the plan is feasible or not, but he smells a great way to attract paying crowds to see the rocket before its attempted launch. He partners with the Duke of Barset (Dennis Price), a true believer in von Bulow's ambitious plan, and before long even Queen Victoria is on board helping with the financing and providing logistical military support as von Bulow goes through an often disastrous series of experiments using high levels of gunpowder to find the perfect formula to act as propulsion for the rocket. 

The story dovetails with individual side plots that present Daliah Lavi as Madelaine, a lovely but ditzy French girl, who is equally in love with two would-be husbands, Henri (Edward de Souza), a wealthy playboy and Gaylord, an American inventor who is also developing technology to bring a man to the moon. Through a convoluted set of circumstances, Gaylord and Madelaine  end up arriving in England at the precise spot where Barnum and von Bulow are performing propulsion tests. Madelaine ends up getting lost and falls into the hands of the lecherous Harry Washington Smythe (Terry-Thomas), a notorious con man who has convinced Barnum and the Duke to hire him as an adviser and accountant. The rambling screenplay finds Gaylord and Henri both competing to find Madelaine, who is attempting to prevent the rocket launch from being thwarted by a Russian spy(!). The movie contains some fine cinematography (it was filmed entirely in Ireland) and director Don Sharp keeps the action moving at a frantic pace without making the plot seem too confusing. Ives is as commanding as ever, Donohue has a rare opportunity to show his skills in slapstick scenarios and Lavi shines in a rare leading role that reminds us that she coulda/shoulda been a much bigger star. The real fun comes from the British actors, including Lionel Jeffries as a competing scientist who joins ranks with Smythe to undermine the rocket launch that is to take Gaylord on what may be a one-way trip to the moon. Terry-Thomas predictably chews the scenery, playing yet again another charming rogue and Dennis Price does well as the foil for the zany characters surrounding him which includes ever-reliable Graham Stark. Even Hermione Gingold pops up briefly as the matron of a school for wayward girls who has turned the charity into a classy bordello. John Scott provides the lively score and the film boasts some impressive costumes and production design elements. The Olive Blu-ray has a superb transfer and includes a work print trailer that doesn't have titles. Recommended. 

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BY LEE PFEIFFER

I'm always in the mood to watch a James Garner movie and the Warner Archive has cooperated nicely by releasing his 1963 comedy "The Wheeler Dealers" which pairs Garner with the lovely, talented (and somewhat underrated) Lee Remick. The movie presents Garner in his signature role as a lovable rogue. This time he plays Henry Tyroon, a Texas millionaire investor in any and all business deals that might turn a fast profit for him and his partners. When we first meet Henry he has been a downward spiral. His latest speculation on an oil rig delivers about a gallon of "Texas tea" before it starts gurgling up dust. Henry's accountant warns him that he'd better start raising a couple of million dollars for new investments or he'll be flat broke. Heeding the warning, the ever-confident Henry arrives in New York and pretentiously dresses like an innocent Texas good ol' boy, complete with string tie and cowboy hat. It's all part of the charm offensive to make him look as honest and unassuming as possible. In short order he meets with Molly Thatcher (Lee Remick), an assertive young securities analyst who is part of a small group of brave females who are trying to break the glass ceiling on Wall Street. They are finding it's actually made of concrete but Molly has landed a job at a financially-challenged securities firm headed by Bullard Bear (Jim Backus), who takes a paternal liking to her. However, in order to cut costs he's been advised to fire Molly, largely because the notion of a female handling the stress of a finance job is regarded as an amusing but improbable idea. Bear can't bring himself to actually fire her so he gives her a "Mission: Impossible"-type assignment: find a buyer for some virtually worthless stock in a widget company that Bear has lost a considerable amount on. Henry charms Molly and takes on her cause, offering to help offload the stock with some loyal investors of his. These turn out to be three Texas millionaires who follow him around in their private jet (complete with built-in saunas!) in the hopes of being able to invest in his next big idea.

The movie quickly becomes "Doris Day and Rock Hudson Lite", with Henry trying to seduce savvy big city girl Molly who assures him that while she is not "pure as the driven snow", she's also not one to go for a one-night stand. In the realm of 1963 Hollywood comedies, sex was often hinted at, as it is here, but it's rarely consummated between unmarried couples. As Henry and Molly take road trips trying to unload the widget stock, they end up spending the night in the same hotel (gasp!) but when the quarters prove to be too close, Molly makes Henry sleep in his convertible (which at least is equipped in 007-style with a phone and built-in bar.) So much for the sexual sophistication of New York city female circa 1963, at least in the minds of Hollywood screenwriters.  The script follows all the predictable aspects of a Day/Hudson comedy: double entendres, mistaken motives and at least one good temper tantrum on the part of the leading lady (caused here when she discovers that lovable ol' Texan Henry is actually a Bostonian with a Harvard degree). The film represents the second feature film directed by the soon-to-estimable Arthur Hiller but despite his attempts to keep the action light and breezy he's saddled with a confusing script that is far too labored with Wall Street jargon that seems confusing today let alone in 1963. It's also unclear whether Henry is an outright con man or just a guy who doesn't mind gnawing at the ethical edges of financial dealings. Indeed, New York Times critic Bosley Crowther wrote of the film, which opened at Radio City Music Hall,  "If you're one of those people who doesn't know the difference between a 27 per cent depletion allowance and a 50 per cent override—then you'd better not look to this fun thing to cause you to split your sides." At times the financial aspects of the banter would seem to appeal only to people who wear green eyeshades in their professions. Fortunately, Garner (who earned a Golden Globe nomination for his performance) is in top form, as is Remick, who was certainly one of the most beautiful leading ladies of the era. The film also boasts an impressive cast of familiar second-bananas in amusing supporting roles: Chill Wills, Phil Harris, Vaughn Taylor, the aforementioned Jim Backus, Louis Nye (as a modern artist who makes money by selling junk paintings to pretentious millionaires), John Astin, John Marley and Howard McNear. Even Alan Sues, Bernie Kopell and James Doohan turn up in blink-and-you'll miss them roles. Patricia Crowley is funny as Molly's more sexually liberated roommate who is willing to trade a night under the sheets for a big night on the town. 

The most interesting aspect of "The Wheeler Dealers" is a sociological one. The treatment of women who try to exercise their brain power through business careers comes across as a 1963 horror show. At best they are viewed in a patronizing manner by male bosses who treat them in a childlike manner. At worst they are driven from their jobs by misogynistic knuckle-draggers who advise them to stay home and cook, clean and look after the kids. Sadly this was the overwhelming sentiment of the era. Perhaps younger women should watch films like "The Wheeler Dealers" so they get a greater appreciation of what their mothers and grandmothers had to endure simply to hold down a professional job. It's also rather interesting to see the social protocols of the time- young women dress to the nines for a date (complete with those elegant gloves that stretch up their arms) and guys feel free to light up giant stogies in fancy restaurants without even earning so much as a disapproving glance from other patrons. 

The movie is not exactly a gem and it's lacking in real belly laughs, but it is consistently amusing enough to recommend it largely because you can do worse than to spend 107 minutes with the engaging members of the cast. The Warner Archive Blu-ray boasts a fine transfer that does justice to the impressive opening credits and zippy title song. An original trailer is included but don't watch it until after you've viewed the entire film as it gives away a key scene in the climax.

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BY DOUG OSWALD

“Hitler’s SS: A Portrait of Evil” is a 1986 made-for TV movie telling the fictional story of Helmut (Bill Nighy) and Karl Hoffmann (John Shea), brothers who become a part of Hitler’s rise to power in Germany. The movie opens in 1931 as we meet the brothers, their family, friends and associates. Hoping they can sway and minimalize the radical elements through their intellect and character, Helmut and Karl willingly join the Nazi Party.

The Hoffmann brothers are eager participants in the Nazi party early on as their mother Gerda (Carroll Baker) provides worried commentary. Factory worker Karl joins the SA while his university student brother Helmut is coaxed into joining the SS by fencing instructor Reinhard Heydrich (David Warner), much to the objection of his mentor and Jewish professor Ludwig Rosenberg (Jose Ferrer). Tony Randall is interesting appearing as a comic performer for the Nazis known as Putzi. Mitzi Templer (Lucy Gutteridge) is a beautiful nightclub singer and friend of the brothers.

The story of the brothers unfolds in episodic fashion through to the end of WWII covering 14 years and the inevitable fall of the Third Reich. Nighy and Shea give thoughtful and sincere performances as brothers who support each other and Germany and attempt to reel in the extreme elements of the Third Reich. The movie is well made, the drama compelling and it kept my interest throughout with a cast filled by many veterans of British television. Although their initial reason for joining is an honest attempt for change, the old “just following orders” argument comes to mind, and it’s hard to feel any real empathy for the brothers even when the movie comes to the tragic conclusion.

Directed by British television veteran Jim Goddard, best known in America for the TV movies “A Tale of Two Cities” in 1980 and the outstanding “Reilly: Ace of Spies” in 1983. He had a brief foray into feature films with “Bones” in 1985 and “Shanghai Surprise” in 1986, but returned to television after their failure at the box office. He does a good job with “Hitler’s SS” telling a story that unfolds over 14 years in just under two and a half hours.

The movie is available on several public domain labels. The copy I viewed was “The Digital Gold” DVD, possibly released in 2002, but no details are listed on the DVD packaging itself. The disc lists Leisure Entertainment as the manufacturer. The movie sounds good and the picture is presented full frame as it was when originally broadcast by NBC in 1985. The picture is framed by a thin black stripe on the left and right side of the image area with gray filling out the remaining area. The transfer appears to be taken from an inferior VHS master as the colors are washed out with a few artifacts appearing throughout the presentation. The DVD back cover list a runtime of 150 minutes, but the actual runtime is just under 139 minutes.

There are no extras on this DVD. I recommend the movie, but not the transfer which is about as bad as it gets. The movie is watchable considering there is no other available option and can be purchased for a few bucks on-line or in the dollar bin at your local pawn shop.