I already saw this movie but since it was such a long time ago, I was quite eager to check it out again. First of all, the first time I saw this movie, evenĀ though I was already quite familiar with Sergio Leoneās work, I have to admit that I had actually never heard of this movie before. Indeed, this movie was Leone's last Western and it didn't have much impact, especially if you compare it to his numerous classics. In my opinion, even though it was slightly too long and too slow, it was still a solid Western and I especially enjoyed Rod Steiger and James Corbun who were both quite entertaining. Eventually, the only thing really missing in this movie was that, after more than 150 mins, Leone never really make up his mind about what we should think about the concept of revolution and it seemed to be only a mere excuse to blow up some stuff which was rather disappointing. Anyway, after that, it would take Leone more than a decade to finally come up with a new directing effort (the great āOnce Upon a Time in Americaā) and it would be his very last movie which was just too bad. Coming back to our main feature, to conclude, even though this movie didn't really blow me away (pun intended), it was still a decent watch and it is definitely worth a look, especially if you are interested in Sergio Leoneās work.Ā
A good movie
Posted : 8 years, 4 months ago on 23 December 2015 03:580 comments, Reply to this entry
A FISTFUL OF DYNAMITE
Posted : 12 years, 5 months ago on 28 November 2011 04:22A FISTFUL OF DYNAMITE / DUCK, YOU SUCKER (GiĆ¹ la testa), Columbia, 1971.
Dir. Sergio Leone. Perf. Rod Steiger, James Coburn, Romolo Valli.
Review by Dominic
āThe Revolution,ā according to a curiously candid white-on-black insert, āis not a social dinner, it is not a literary event, a drawing or an embroidery...ā Chairman Maoās quote is punctuated by A Fistful of Dynamiteās unglamorous first images: a close-up of tree trunk ant-traffic being overwhelmed by a powerstream of piss. It is an ironically bodily metaphor to kick off a big-hearted picture. Make no mistake: Fistful is an oaf, parading its hangdog humor with black-toothed grin. But how remarkable it then seems when this grotty lout, to the serenading strains of Morriconeās score, actually dazzles you with its elegance, pirouettes before your very eyes, sidles right up to you andālo and beholdāyou swoon.
But before that... As they tumble to the ground the poor critters are hosed again for good measure. We see a pair of dirtied, bare feet nonchalantly shaken free of any unexpected blowback. The stocky, bearded fellow on the (relatively) dry end of the piss offensive is also our hero, or one of them at leastāand one as reluctant as he is unlikely.
The year is 1913, and in the midst of the Mexican revolution pistol dynamo and salt-of-the-earth grub Juan (Steiger) is quite content keeping his hands cleanāmetaphorically, that is. And of matters political, that isāpreferring to occupy himself robbing the baleful Mexican upperclass as theyāre stagecoached from the troubled region with the most intolerable pomp.
Enter Sean Mallory (Coburn), an IRA dynamiter on the run from the British authorities. The two form an unlikely alliance when Juan, in an amusingly crackpot epiphany, envisions using Seanās expertise to blast his way in to Mesa Verde Bank. Little does Juan know that Sean has promised his services to the Mexican revolutionaries, and hitting the bank is actually a move far more āpoliticalā than the crass campesino realizes.
One of Fistfulās most endearing charms is the sheer ingenuousness of its shifts from the absurd to the heartfelt. With a childlike lack of coercion the viewer is led to take very seriously what is, ostensibly, a very cheeky film. For one thing, the line between homage and parody was never so ambiguous as it is in Fistful. The Western genreās Americanism is a subject of both adoration and triumphant irreverence: āYouāll pay for this, you bastard,ā cries one of Juanās victims, having been relieved of his clothes as well as his possessions, āIām a citizen of the United Stated of America!ā The banditās father wheezes indifferently: āTo me you are just a naked son of a bitch.ā The opening scene is surely a comical reference to the ant-torture that opens Peckinpahās The Wild Bunch (1969), and Steigerās portrayal of the loudmouth Juan puts one in mind of Tuco (Eli Wallach) from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966)āa deadly goof who, if he doesnāt quite have a heart of gold, at least has the stuff on the brain. Moreover, the oddball temperament of Morriconeās score ensures the viewerās eyebrow is at least as frequently cocked as firebrand Juanās pistols.
But it is with this mongrel makeup that Leoneās film gives the mind an insistent prod and the heartstrings quite the heave-ho. The flashback sequences, long-time favorite of the Spaghetti Western dons (and gorgeously complemented here by a Once Upon a Time in the West-style musical theme), attribute a cryptic backstory to the character of Sean. He is the man without a past familiar from any number of Westerns, certainly, although Leone is able to skilfully suggest obscure personal trauma without ever compromising the chummy accessibility necessary to sustain the characterās central position in a colorful adventure like this one.
Itās not all good-time quirkiness and candor, however. Ungainly charm aside, Fistfulās pacing goes belly-up several times, a problem possibly attributable to its playful brand of characterizationāone that doesnāt lend itself particularly well to deficits in action or prolonged, single character scenes. Either way, the film feels at least a little disjointed and overdrawn. Nevertheless, one of Fistfulās grandest coups is the number of times Morriconeās score, like a character in itself, is able to shoulder the narrative momentum and push the film to its emotional peaks.
The most arresting of these relate to what is perhaps the filmās primary theme: betrayal. It seems modes of insecticide arenāt the only thing Leone picked up from Peckinpah: forms of betrayal (personal, political) are as central to A Fistful of Dynamite as they are to that directorās oeuvre. Finally, it is the compelling and nuanced exploration of this subject that makes Leoneās final Western, if not a better one than its much lauded predecessors, quite a different oneāand certainly one worth watching.
Dir. Sergio Leone. Perf. Rod Steiger, James Coburn, Romolo Valli.
Review by Dominic
āThe Revolution,ā according to a curiously candid white-on-black insert, āis not a social dinner, it is not a literary event, a drawing or an embroidery...ā Chairman Maoās quote is punctuated by A Fistful of Dynamiteās unglamorous first images: a close-up of tree trunk ant-traffic being overwhelmed by a powerstream of piss. It is an ironically bodily metaphor to kick off a big-hearted picture. Make no mistake: Fistful is an oaf, parading its hangdog humor with black-toothed grin. But how remarkable it then seems when this grotty lout, to the serenading strains of Morriconeās score, actually dazzles you with its elegance, pirouettes before your very eyes, sidles right up to you andālo and beholdāyou swoon.
But before that... As they tumble to the ground the poor critters are hosed again for good measure. We see a pair of dirtied, bare feet nonchalantly shaken free of any unexpected blowback. The stocky, bearded fellow on the (relatively) dry end of the piss offensive is also our hero, or one of them at leastāand one as reluctant as he is unlikely.
The year is 1913, and in the midst of the Mexican revolution pistol dynamo and salt-of-the-earth grub Juan (Steiger) is quite content keeping his hands cleanāmetaphorically, that is. And of matters political, that isāpreferring to occupy himself robbing the baleful Mexican upperclass as theyāre stagecoached from the troubled region with the most intolerable pomp.
Enter Sean Mallory (Coburn), an IRA dynamiter on the run from the British authorities. The two form an unlikely alliance when Juan, in an amusingly crackpot epiphany, envisions using Seanās expertise to blast his way in to Mesa Verde Bank. Little does Juan know that Sean has promised his services to the Mexican revolutionaries, and hitting the bank is actually a move far more āpoliticalā than the crass campesino realizes.
One of Fistfulās most endearing charms is the sheer ingenuousness of its shifts from the absurd to the heartfelt. With a childlike lack of coercion the viewer is led to take very seriously what is, ostensibly, a very cheeky film. For one thing, the line between homage and parody was never so ambiguous as it is in Fistful. The Western genreās Americanism is a subject of both adoration and triumphant irreverence: āYouāll pay for this, you bastard,ā cries one of Juanās victims, having been relieved of his clothes as well as his possessions, āIām a citizen of the United Stated of America!ā The banditās father wheezes indifferently: āTo me you are just a naked son of a bitch.ā The opening scene is surely a comical reference to the ant-torture that opens Peckinpahās The Wild Bunch (1969), and Steigerās portrayal of the loudmouth Juan puts one in mind of Tuco (Eli Wallach) from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966)āa deadly goof who, if he doesnāt quite have a heart of gold, at least has the stuff on the brain. Moreover, the oddball temperament of Morriconeās score ensures the viewerās eyebrow is at least as frequently cocked as firebrand Juanās pistols.
But it is with this mongrel makeup that Leoneās film gives the mind an insistent prod and the heartstrings quite the heave-ho. The flashback sequences, long-time favorite of the Spaghetti Western dons (and gorgeously complemented here by a Once Upon a Time in the West-style musical theme), attribute a cryptic backstory to the character of Sean. He is the man without a past familiar from any number of Westerns, certainly, although Leone is able to skilfully suggest obscure personal trauma without ever compromising the chummy accessibility necessary to sustain the characterās central position in a colorful adventure like this one.
Itās not all good-time quirkiness and candor, however. Ungainly charm aside, Fistfulās pacing goes belly-up several times, a problem possibly attributable to its playful brand of characterizationāone that doesnāt lend itself particularly well to deficits in action or prolonged, single character scenes. Either way, the film feels at least a little disjointed and overdrawn. Nevertheless, one of Fistfulās grandest coups is the number of times Morriconeās score, like a character in itself, is able to shoulder the narrative momentum and push the film to its emotional peaks.
The most arresting of these relate to what is perhaps the filmās primary theme: betrayal. It seems modes of insecticide arenāt the only thing Leone picked up from Peckinpah: forms of betrayal (personal, political) are as central to A Fistful of Dynamite as they are to that directorās oeuvre. Finally, it is the compelling and nuanced exploration of this subject that makes Leoneās final Western, if not a better one than its much lauded predecessors, quite a different oneāand certainly one worth watching.
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Duck, You Sucker! (aka A Fistful of Dynamite) review
Posted : 13 years, 9 months ago on 11 July 2010 10:20A truely fantastic entertaining movie. Watch the close ups of the peoples faces in the wagon near the beginning of the movie.Great movie making.
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