Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia

It is my humble opinion that Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia comes as close to capturing the maddening drive of man as any movie. That is to say that it sits at the same table as the greats, perhaps across the way from Citizen Kane or Raging Bull. If you contest this it is perhaps only because the film is not as beautiful, not as magnificent, as the rest of its ballpark. I would argue that that is partially the point.

Bennie's quest is stripped to its core so that the brutality of the film is expressive of Bernie himself. There is not a violent film with more validity for its actions than this one, it is the maddening human mind which causes deaths here. Peckinpah shows us everything that is important in this man's life and then shows us what a man is capable of doing once all that is taken away. The difference between this film and other similar films is perhaps that the movie has such humble beginnings. We build ourselves inside of Bennie. When we first meet him he is casually and happily playing the piano, quietly dreaming of settling into a different kind of love. We share a quiet picnic with him, witness his wedding proposal.

Perhaps also there has never been a chaotic killing spree that has seemed this environmental. While usually the hero goes on a rampage in a way that is appropriately heroic itself, Bennie is no hero. He is a man forced into a situation by the world around him, as it seems he is always forced into situations. Since he is never the man he wants to be it seems natural that he would become the kind of man that is the amalgamation of love and hate.

All the emotion a movie in this genre could handle.

BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA is Sam Peckinpah's most intimate and underrated film. I can think of few other films of this caliber that are as neglected or unsung.

A bizarre, sleazy film that has Peckinpah's signature trademarks - his romance with John Huston's TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE, loners, Mexico at it's grittiest, slow-motion violence.

When I saw it the first few times, the film seemed to wander aimlessly at various stretches and Peckinpah's direction felt tired to me. Even though Peckinpah can still lift you two inches off the ground with his action sequences, it doesn't have the kinetic impulse running thru it like THE WILD BUNCH, STRAW DOGS, THE GETAWAY or CROSS OF IRON.

Knowing now what I do about his career, I suspect the tiredness was authentic, due to his battles with studio executives and a self- destructive life. This knowledge and the ensuing years of experiencing the picture, have taken on added meaning and enriched it for me. Bennie the down and out piano player, memorably played by Peckinpah's Bogart, Warren Oates, is a wonderful alter ego for the director.

Starring Oates and Isela Vega and a strong supporting cast which includes Gig Young, Robert Webber and Emilio Fernandez. The excellent score is by Peckinpah's best composer, Jerry Fielding.

It may take several viewings but sit back and relish the sad poetry of an authentic film artist, Sam Peckinpah.

Watching this unforgettable near masterpiece for the first time it's impossible to understand why it isn't regarded as one of the greatest movies of the 70s - a decade that produced an astonishing amount of classics. How Maltin can dismiss it with the throwaway comment "sub-par bloodbath" defies belief! Almost everything about this movie is perfect, but the cornerstone is Warren Oates performance, perhaps his greatest. Rarely do you see such a completely engrossing, believable portrayal of a man who has lost EVERYTHING, who knows he cannot win, but also knows that he must keep going to the very end. Once seen, never forgotten may seem like a trite comment, but in this case it says it all. You will NEVER forget this movie!

Sam Peckinpah, the master of ultra violent stories about mercenaries and outlaws, sends Warren Oates on a journey into the heart of darkness.

The result is nothing short of a masterpiece: What an amazing film full of unexpected turns, totally messed-up characters and fantastic performances.

Was way ahead of its time and should be re-discovered by as many film fans as possible. 9 stars out of 10.

In case you're interested in more underrated masterpieces, here's some of my favorites:

imdb.com/list/ls070242495/

Sam Peckinpah's hallucinatory bloodbath was considered career suicide when released in 1974; today, this scuzzy, squirrelly road movie looks less like self-parody than self-autopsy. As such, it has aged better than some of Peckinpah's more "reputable" movies. Like John Cassavetes' THE KILLING OF A CHINESE BOOKIE and Brian DePalma's BLOW OUT, it's a thinly veiled allegory about the muck a filmmaker will wade through to get his movies made. Peckinpah's stand-in is Warren Oates, an actor who always brought a rotgut reek of authenticity to his roles; here, he's a washed-up pianist who stands to score a bundle if he completes one simple task--fetching the severed head of the yutz who impregnated a Mexican warlord's daughter. When Oates isn't defending his not-unwilling girlfriend (Isela Vega) from rapists Kris Kristofferson and Donnie Fritts (!), he's carrying on a boozy, uh, tête-à-tête with the brown-bagged head on an endless drive down Mexico way. But Oates isn't the villain--that distinction is reserved for the effete suits (the slimy duo of Gig Young and Robert Webber) on his tail. Oates is just a guy trying to maintain enough of his integrity to see a dirty job through: He's one of those screw-you Peckinpah heroes who completes his assignment just so he can wage war on his bosses. The movie has such a gritty, oozing, flyblown feel you could swear it was shot on No-Pest Strips instead of celluloid, and as Oates bears down on oblivion it slows to a druggy crawl: Each cut is like a dying man's blink. No matter-in its sick, ornery way, this is one of the director's most personal movies, and worthy of far better than its laughingstock status.