Hello, everybody! I just want to say that, through my diligence, I have obtained two more spaghetti westerns–and Arrow Limited Editions at that–for my home-video collection, “The Grand Duel” (1972), and “Keoma” (1976), both containing the much-prized “Special Collector’s Booklet”! As this site is filled with so many knowledgeable spaghetti-western buffs, perhaps someone could also tell me why so few spaghetti westerns have dealt with one of my favorite fields as a lifelong history buff–the American Indian Wars? Offhand, I can think of only a few Italian and other European westerns from the subgenre’s most prolific time of production, the period of 1964-76, although, in truth, the genre’s heyday had ended in 1970–“Soleil Rouge”/“Red Sun” (1971), the very historically accurate “La Spina Dorsale Del Diavolo”/ “The Deserter” (1970), among the most Americanized of spaghetti westerns (so much so, in fact, that, perhaps it shouldn’t even be classified as one), and “Ne Touche Pas Femmes (Femme?) Blanc”, an absurdist satire of the later life and Indian-fighting career of one of my greatest lifelong heroes, General George Armstrong Custer, in which history falls by the wayside in a vicious effort by director-co-writer Marco Ferreri to link the American Indian wars with Vietnam and 20th-century American consumerism to present as distortedly brutal and as ugly a picture of American history–and of America “in toto”–as has ever been so overwhelmingly propagandistically presented on the world’s cinema screens.
Historically accurate in what way? The ending is more like a scene out of The Dirty Dozen than an historical encounter between soldiers and Apaches.
I’m not sure anyone will be able to give a definite answer but if you look at the westerns that were being produced by Hollywood during the same period, there certainly wasn’t as many as the 1950s. The Germans produced quite a few and some of the earlier spaghettis imitated them. There’s more than you might have realised. Off the top of my head, there’s:
The Black Eagles of Santa Fe (German Co-production)
Pirates of the Mississippi (Germany/Italy)
Massacre at Marble City (Germany/Italy)
The Heroes of Fort Worth
The Secret of Captain O’Hara
Buffalo Bill, the Hero of the Far West
The Road to Fort Alamo (about as close to a near perfect imitation of the traditional American cavalry westerns that you’ll find)
Finger on the Trigger (a Spanish western with Rory Calhoun in his only Eurowestern role)
A Bullet in the Flesh
100,000 Dollars for Ringo (definitely a lot of Indians in this one)
The Fury of the Apaches (a very good one reminiscent of the classic American siege westerns with Indians)
Massacre at Fort Grant
The Tall Women
Later spaghettis often had Indians and ripped off American revisionist westerns. For example, there’s Beyond Hatred, Vengeance Trail, Apache Woman, Scalps, White Apache and Jonathan of the Bears.
Perhaps the main reason the bulk of spaghettis tended to feature Mexican bandits rather than Indians is because the Italians and Spaniards had managed to perfect their own style and no longer found it necessary to continue imitating American films (and imitated their own films instead!) but as you can see, there’s no shortage of Eurowesterns with an Indian Wars theme.
See also this topic
and this one
The_Man_With_A_Name–Oh no, “La Spina Dorsale Del Diavolo”/“The Deserter” (1970) is quite accurate–all of the costumes, white and red alike, are quite authentic, the depiction of the U.S. cavalry fort that is the scene of much of the film’s action is quite true-to-life in its isolated desert locale and in its internal architecture, especially post commander Colonel Brown’s (Richard Crenna) headquarters (I’m admittedly not quite certain about the accuracy of the fort’s stone walls), the courage, mastery of desert, mountain, and guerrilla warfare, and cruelty–especially towards captured white women–of the movie’s Apache warriors conforms perfectly to history, the frustration of the U.S. Army, when fighting conventionally–as, unfortunately, it did for the most part–against this tribe in its efforts even to find the Apache, let alone subdue these great warriors–is also quite true, as is the film’s implication that U.S. forces were also greatly stymied by the Apache advantage of not having to respect international boundaries, the Indians, therefore, being able to most easily flee into Mexico to avoid capture by–or even battle with–their American foe, Captain Victor Kaleb’s (the film’s antiheroic protagonist, as played by Bekim Fehmiu) usage of Apache tactics to fight Apaches parallels perfectly General George Crook’s adoption of the same methodology during the early-1870s campaigns against this tribe which helped establish the general’s reputation as one of his country’s premier Indian fighters, as the movie’s depiction of the Apache cavalry scout, Natchai (Ricardo Montalban) as a fighter against his own tribe mirrors Crook’s use of Apache scouts to do the same, and it must also be said that “The Deserter” is quite accurate in showing black American cavalrymen’s courage in fighting Apaches and other Indians–and these soldiers’ devotion to the American army–and to America–in Woody Strode’s portrayal of Corporal Jackson, even if the United States’ armed forces were not integrated at the time of the film’s action, although the work does limit its error in showing Jackson to be the only black soldier serving with his otherwise all-white unit, in its depiction of the its main villain, the (fictional) great Apache chief, Mangus Durango (Mimmo Palmara) as a most mystical, even godlike, warrior, and–despite what you say–in its final battle, which greatly parallels the defeat and death of the great Victorio himself at the hands of Mexican Army Colonel Joaquin Terrazas, also a politician, in an ambush–the method used by Kaleb’s 19th-century special operatives, after trapping the fabled chief in a canyon near the three Chihuahua mountains called Los Tres Castillos, just as the film’s heroes crush Mangus Durango and his people (Apache women and children, unfortunately, were caught in the crossfire of both of the aforementioned battles, also adding to the film’s accuracy) in a canyon overlooked by a most-forbidding cliff. (Terrazas had been accompanied until the last part of the anti-Victorio campaign by American contingents led by U.S. officers Eugene Carr and George Buell, the Mexican colonel dismissing them before the last leg of his effort, as he, as a politician, did not want to share credit for any victory over the Apache chief with anyone, let alone Americans, as anti-American feeling was running high in Mexico at this time, and, as well, as a patriotic Mexican, he did not want foreign troops in his country any more than necessary.)
To The_Man_With_a_Name and Sebastian–I thank you for the magnificent font of information in your posts, and, while I still don’t believe all that many spaghetti westerns dealing with the Indian Wars–a position with which Sir Christopher Frayling, Sergio Leone’s own (and, perhaps, official) biographer agrees, he having stated it to me in a phone conversation I was privileged to have with him–but now, thanks to you two, I know that there were far more than I ever suspected. Again, I thank you both most heartily!
It is also correct that not many American A westerns of the 1960s dealt with the Indian wars either. I think following the Civil Rights era, it had become less popular to make films which used Indians as body count fodder or depicted them as savages without giving them a hearing (Mexicans were the replacements). Those American westerns which dealt with the topic tended to be critical of ‘manifest destiny’ and killing Indians. More importantly, the Indian topic films didn’t make much money - Cheyenne Autumn, Major Dundee, A Thunder of Drums, Duel at Diablo and The Glory Guys were all relative box-office flops.
Even John Wayne stopped killing Indians in the 1960s - I think The Comancheros (1961) is the last western in which he kills Indians. In subsequent westerns his films tend to be sympathetic to the Indians, especially post surrender and in the 1970s he was usually paired with an Indian sidekick (albeit a white guy dressed up) and in The Undefeated has an adopted Indian son.
The Indian movies became briefly popular again as counterculture and Vietnam allegory movies in the late 1960s with A Man Called Horse, Little Big Man and Soldier Blue.
Yeah, I said that myself. I think that the spaghetti westerns reflect the period. If they’d have started making them in the 50s, there would probably be a lot more. But there’s still a good number (like the ones I listed).
To Wobble and The_Man_With_a_Name:
Thanks for the new information and thought-provoking analyses, but I can’t agree with all you claim. “Major Dundee”, for example, is in no way critical of “Manifest Destiny”, and depicts the Apache Indians to be as cruel as history proves them to have been, with the title character’s (Charlton Heston) Apache scout, Riago, even stating that his acceptance of Christianity prevents him from being as cruel as those of his people who have remained pagans. “Duel at Diablo”–one of the most historically-accurate westerns ever made–while rightly attacking the treatment the Apache–and, by implication, all or most other tribes–suffered at the hands of cruel and corrupt Indian reservation agents and other Bureau of Indian Affairs officials, and through white society’s prejudice, demonstrates, through the bigoted treatment the Apache give the film’s lone important female character (Bibi Andersson), a white woman captured by the Apache and mother of a child by the brave who captured her, a treatment just as viciously brutal as that which she suffers at the hands of whites–including her own husband (Dennis Weaver)–who despise her for living among the Indians–no matter the circumstances that brought her to the Apaches–that the Apache–and, by implication, all Indians–were just as prejudiced as the whites–which, again, history proves to be so. Also, the film doesn’t shy away from depicting most historically-accurate torture of whites by the Apache, and this tribe’s equally-so sadistic love of such activity. Ultimately, white society emerges from “Duel at Diablo” as the force for good in the settlement of the American West, while, nevertheless, having much to answer for in its treatment of the red man. “Cheyenne Autumn” makes no criticism of Manifest Destiny, only of white failure–and rightly so–to keep promises made to the Indian once the various tribes either peacefully agreed to live on reservations, or were forced to do so once defeated in battle, with whites–rightfully–shown as the heroes for the struggle for the west. “A Thunder of Drums”–perhaps the most accurate film ever in its depiction of life on Indian-Wars Era frontier posts–especially, of those on our southern border, and, particularly, of the more isolated ones–doesn’t depict Indians all that much, concentrating on the daily lives of U.S. officers and soldiers in the post-Civil War American West, but, nevertheless, shows the red men as foes of America to be defeated–again, most correctly, as most Indian tribes had no concept of land ownership, made war against each other on trivial provocations, and lived by looting and plundering, with the Sioux, Northern Cheyenne, and the Apache, especially, proving themselves far worse imperialists than they, their descendants–and, worst of all, ignorant and/or scheming white apologists–claimed/claim the white man to be. As for “The Glory Guys”, it, too, concentrates mainly upon life at US frontier posts–and the love triangle of Tom Tryon, Harve Presnell, and Senta Berger–while nevertheless presenting a somewhat viciously-biased caricature of George Custer in the person of General McCabe (Andrew Duggan), while, simultaneously, making no endorsement of Indian culture or the red side of the Indian wars. A great deal of its climactic battle–a fictionalized account of Little Bighorn–are most commendably accurate, however.
As for John Wayne’s films depicting the red-white struggle, the Duke was no Indian-hating bigot. His John Ford westerns always paid tribute to Indian courage and showed the Indian to be every bit as much a human being as the white man, more often than not being entirely justified in going on the warpath due to broken white promises and corruption. In no way, however, do Wayne and Ford ever endorse the Indian’s culture or overall efforts to prevent white civilization prevailing in the west. These same feelings motivate John Chisum’s (John Wayne, of course) defense of an elderly Indian chief, now on the reservation and, like the rest of his people, dependent on Chisum’s cattle for food, against a white cavalry sergeant’s cruelty in “Chisum” (1970), and GW McLintock’s (Wayne again, of course) sympathy for the reservation Indians in “McLintock!” (1963). You’re quite right in claiming, Wobbles, that the Duke often had an Indian sidekick in his later westerns, such as Howard Keel in “The War Wagon” (1967); Bruce Cabot in the wonderful, underrated, factually-based “Big Jake” (1971); a great favorite of mine, Neville Brand in “Cahill, United States Marshal” (1973), the Duke personally asking for Neville Brand in this one, giving–as Neville Brand himself told me in an interview–the tough-guy actor a chance to launch a most-successful career comeback from the alcoholism that had, for years, made him mostly unemployable; and Richard Romancito–an actor of actual Indian descent, being of Taos and Zuni Pueblo heritage, not merely “…a white guy dressed up”, in “Rooster Cogburn…And The Lady”. (Was A Martinez’s character, the junior leader of “The Cowboys” (1972), a full-blooded Mexican, or a half-breed?)
You are quite right in labeling “Little Big Man” (1970) and “Soldier Blue” (also 1970), Vietnam allegory movies, but they are false allegories, for, as Douglas Brode writes in “The Films of Dustin Hoffman”, the former film was not a true depiction of history, but merely a reversal of cliches that only created new cliches, and further states that, in the film, Custer (Richard Mulligan) is only depicted as a caricature, and not as “…the colorful, flamboyant, and, above all, complex man history tells us that he was”. In fact, even the extremely anti-Custer historian, S.L.A. Marshall, in his “Crimsoned Prairie: The Indian Wars On The Great Plains”, states “Little Big Man”'s portrayal of Custer is merely “…(a) caricature”. “Soldier Blue” is also grossly unfair in its view of white society and the U.S. Army, with director Ralph Nelson forgetting his own good advice about prejudice, given in his earlier–and far superior–“Duel at Diablo” (1966), that “…it cuts both ways.” Thankfully, both films bombed, John Quade, the late, great devoutly Christian-conservative-capitalist actor–and activist–personally telling me that about “Little Big Man”–the source novel by Thomas Berger actually being very pro-Custer while being sympathetic–but not uncritical–of the Indian, showing him as courageous and uncompromising, while also being capable of breaking treaties, just like the white man–and also adding, I saw it twice, just to see if there was, in fact, anything of value in it, but there wasn’t." Both films should be seen as manifestations of the “woke” liberal mentality of their time, but the last film you cite, “A Man Called Horse”–again, a film of 1970, obviously THE year for pro-Indian films!–a film paralleling the actions of many of its time in seeking out new and different lifestyles, is a true classic–and another one of my great favorites–in that its makers strove to make it an historically- and anthropologically-accurate presentation of Indian life before the unstoppable coming of the white man–and succeeded brilliantly. Jack DeWitt, it author, sent me a letter I will always treasure in which he described his most-painstaking work on this most-memorable film.
No discussion of films of the Indian wars would be complete without mention of “Custer of The West” (1967) and “Ulzana’s Raid” (1972). Both were pro-white, with Custer (Robert Shaw) in “Custer of the West” seen as the courageous soldier who greatly respected his Indian foe that he was, while also portraying him as a man with human flaws and doubts, and the Indians as being, quite often, wronged by the whites and, on these occasions, being justified in warring against the whites, while, simultaneously, practicing a barbaric and imperialistic lifestyle; it may have bombed overall, but I remember the local theatre showing it in my hometown of Waterbury, CT., being packed when I saw it; “Ulzana’s Raid”, another Vietnam allegory, also depicted Apaches being wronged by whites, while nevertheless showing the pre-Christian Apache to be an inhumanly cruel being living an often morally-abominable lifestyle who had to be defeated for true civilization to take hold in the American Southwest and Mexico by a white foe who, in order to effect this, had to be as harsh as a Christian humanity would allow him to be. Although highly praised in its day, and now seen as the classic that it is, with some critics proclaiming it the best film ever made about red-and-white relations, it too bombed. I must also say that “The Deserter” can also be seen, either intentionally or unintentionally, as a Vietnam allegory, with its group of cavalrymen clandestinely entering Mexico to crush an Apache foe that has long used our southern neighbor to attack America with impunity greatly paralleling both open and secret American invasions of, and raids into, Cambodia and Laos to root out ruthless North Vietnamese and Viet Cong enemies and their allies who arrogantly–at best–violated international law by using neutral Cambodia and Laos as bases to attack American and South Vietnamese troops–and, most cruelly, civilians as well–in South Vietnam.
It failed by showing Mandan rituals instead of the Sioux Sun dance.
How so? It’s a great film but the combat is anything but accurate. Chiricahua Apaches didn’t charge large enemy groups on horseback.
To The_Man_With_A_Name–In his letter to me, Jack Dewitt stated that, in researching “A Man Called Horse” (1970), he paid a visit to The American Bureau of Ethnology in Washington, D.C., and spent a great deal of time studying the customs, costumes, weapons, rituals, and music of the Sioux Indians, and also drew on the research of the hunting/scientific expedition of Prince Maximilian of Wied-Neuwied to the Great Plains region of North America, this Teutonic nobleman recording–in the most minute detail imaginable–the customs of the Mandan, Hidatsa, and numerous others–including the Sioux. Accompanying him on this expedition was a young Swiss artist named Karl Bodmer, whose paintings of that which the prince studied and recorded are considered–and have been for almost 200 years by leading authorities–to be among the the most accurate and detailed depictions of so many facets of Sioux and other Indian life. Director Elliot Silverstein, in making his 1970 classic, had a Sioux historian on location with him to ensure accuracy. Furthermore, “A Man Called Horse” was used, during my time at Providence College, by the institution’s anthropology department as a wonderful study of anthropological-historical realism. Obviously, all of these experts would have caught the non-existent error you point out.