DAY 3:
Ninguno de los tres se llamaba Trinidad (1973) - Director: Pedro Luis Ramírez - 1/10
This poor excuse for a comedy basically constitutes a quasi-plotless compilation of scenes portraying adventures of the trio of “charming” miscreants whose exploits are intercut with a multitude of other motives; the issue is that these digressions do not advance the tale in any way, shape or form and completely rob the narrative of its focus. To add insult to injury, no central storyline ever emerges at any point and the story has a very extemporary vibe to it, as though most of it was conceived on the fly.
The odd thing is that our fat reprobates do not feel like central characters whatsoever, since much of the running time is likewise dedicated to various other people than our endearing threesome e.g. the deputy, a couple of gun-toting blondes and some other blokes. Additionally, it’s hard to say whether the fat brothers are supposed to be the good guys or villains and film’s tone likewise flip-flops between comedy and something approximating a more serious western, failing to be convincing at either. Needless to say, none of it coalesces into a coherent whole, decomposing into a flabby mush of a film. Lastly, you’re in luck if you are fond of Chris Huerta’s comedic operatics because he’s never been more annoying than he is here.
Passa Sartana… è l’ombra della tua morte (1968) - Director: Demofilo Fidani - 5/10
I am surprised with all the harsh comments about this one, as it turns out to be one of my favorite Fidani westerns right behind Dead Men Don’t Make Shadows and A Barrel Full of Dollars, definitely my favorite “bad” Fidani too. While it includes probably one of the most provisional, extemporaneous storylines I have seen in any spaghetti western, the fact of the matter is that plot was never much of a consideration when crafting films in Fidani’s case, so disposing of the niceties of regular screenwriting so as to heighten the atmosphere makes a lot of sense and actually pays off in this instance.
There is a number of highly evocative scenes in which Jeff Cameron makes a bonfire in the comfy sandpit at sunset and at another point, walks across the gravel pit desert and so forth; odd as it may seem, the combination of Gori’s epic soundtrack, film’s slightly more refined pacing and tighter focus informs the composition with a higher degree of consistency; the moronic simplicity of its story is doubtlessly part of the charm, but let’s face it, this is by and large about Jeff Cameron shooting up people and riding around the sandpits with some mellow Gori tunes playing in the background. I am not exactly sure why this works as well as it does, but it certainly is one of Fidani’s more palatable creations in my book.