Italian
spaghetti western maestro Sergio Corbucci only helmed one official sequel to
his classic 1966 western gundown Django,
but scores of scruffy bootleg Django follow-ups were produced. In fact, they keep on coming, don’t they? None of them, including the recent homages
from Takeshi Miike and Quentin Tarantino cannot hold a cigarillo to Corbucci’s
original Django (trailer here), which opens
tomorrow in New York at Film Forum.
A
stone cold killer comes to town wearing Union Blue and dragging a coffin. Much mayhem ensues. Basically, that is what the film boils down
to. Like A Fistful of Dollars, there is an element of Yojimbo in Django, turning
the title character loose in a town embroiled in a war between Maj. Jackson’s
ex-Confederate white supremacists and a band of Mexican revolutionaries (who
all look more or less the same), but attitude and action are more important than
plot, per se.
Temporarily
Django throws in his lot with his old associate, “General” Hugo Rodriguez, but
that is only because he needs a few men to stage a daring gold heist from the
Mexican army depot just across the border.
He also holds a mysterious grudge against Jackson, whom he saves killing
for last. Along the way, he rescues a
fallen woman who duly falls for Django, but he is not really at a place in his
life where he is looking for a serious relationship.
Notoriously
violent in its day, Corbucci’s Django does
not seem so shocking at a time when the Weinsteins will release Tarantino’s
pseudo-reboot on Christmas Day
(regardless of the unforeseeable national tragedy). However, its body count is still
impressive. Django’s action scenes are not really shootouts, they are
massacres. After all, that casket holds
a heck of an equalizer, courtesy of Mr. Richard Gatling.
In
a career defining role, Franco Nero is all kinds of steely badness as
Django. There is something deeply
existential about his presence, yet he is strictly business when it counts. Eduardo Fajardo is also thoroughly despicable
as Jackson, providing the anti-hero with a worthy antagonist.
Frankly,
some of the details do not make a lot of sense, like the racist Klansman
Jackson being buddy-buddy with the Mexican army. At times, extras literally walk into the line
of Gatling gunfire, which is awfully convenient of them. Yet, the metaphorically muddy environment and
gritty action more than compensate for any pedantic grousing. Plus, it is truly impossible to watch Django and not hum the iconic theme song
in your head for several days afterward.
