If You Meet Sartana Pray for Your Death
The gadget-gunslinger spaghetti west arrives fully dressed in black.
Italian westerns shot in Spain. Dirtier, louder, and more cynical than the American kind.
Around six hundred westerns made by Italian companies between 1964 and the late 1970s, shot mostly in Almería in southern Spain, with international casts dubbed in post.
Sergio Leone's A Fistful of Dollars (1964) is an unlicensed remake of Kurosawa's Yojimbo, which Toho successfully sued over. It cost very little and made a fortune.
The American western had heroes. The Italian one has men who want money. Violence is ugly and frequent, the church and the state are corrupt as a matter of course, and the landscape is dust rather than monument valley grandeur.
Ennio Morricone did the other half of the work. Morricone's scores are half the reason several of these films are remembered at all.
The Zapata westerns, A Bullet for the General, Companeros, Duck, You Sucker, moved the setting to the Mexican Revolution and made the politics explicit. Sergio Corbucci's Django (1966) and The Great Silence (1968) are the bleakest things in the cycle. The Great Silence ends in a way no American studio would have permitted.
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly if you have somehow not. The Great Silence if you have.
The gadget-gunslinger spaghetti west arrives fully dressed in black.
The French corner of the spaghetti cycle: gaunt, ritualistic, and dedicated to Leone.
Lee Van Cleef, one three-way showdown, and the Bacalov theme you know from Kill Bill.
Fulci does a bleak, hallucinatory western. Four outcasts cross a hostile frontier. Most do not make it.
Nothing to do with Django, and one of the strangest and cruelest westerns Italy ever shot.
Sollima's best. A manhunt that keeps turning into a political argument.
Zapata western with Franco Nero and a very good Morricone theme.
A gunfighter mentors a despised young man, then has to face what he created. Van Cleef at his best.
Sollima's smartest western: watch a decent man discover he likes it.
Corbucci's Zapata western. A Polish gun-for-hire, a peasant revolutionary, and Jack Palance in a frock.
Late, strange, half-sung by a folk narrator. Castellari's best film.
Corbucci in the snow. The ending would never have cleared an American studio.