Although this seemed inept and crude to me for the duration, I'll at
least give it some technological benefit of doubt for having to watch
the original cinematic images compromised by the pan-and-scan
Wynn plays (non too evocatively it has to be said) an old gunslinger
who doesn't know whether or not to trust his estranged, convent-raised
son when he turns up out of the blue. But fear not, Junior promptly
beats up barfuls of badly-dubbed recalcitrants, and displays an acute
disloyalty towards the intended Confederate recipient of his
consignment of gold.
No-one else - including standard decorative female lead, and bungling
bandit companion - is quite what they seem, in the name of achieving
mirth in this 'humorous' genre entry (ie tiresome fast-motion fights in
the Hal Needham vein).
In what must be one of the most bizarre examples of the
politically-incorrect in the entire Spaghetti Western canon, a gang of
decidedly effeminate red Indian marauders lose their quarry over
concern for their coiffures: "...Nasty man... You've ruined my
hairdo... I'm sure I look just awful... My curlers! I've lost my
curlers!". It simply has to be seen and heard (the appalling Anglicised
dubbing probably makes it even more incongruous than it actually is) to
be disbelieved. One has to wonder whether this film in part inspired
Mel Brooks to do Blazing Saddles.
In the film's defence, it probably would have at least had the visual
sweep of burning hills and wide open spaces in it's original format.
But it is now so obscure - and probably not without good reason - that
the prospect of such a version ever becoming readily available, for
re-appraisal, is as elusive as El Dorado.
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