The body count is sky high in this classic spaghetti western, one of the bloodiest films of its time. Western movies are full of intense loners who roll into corrupt towns and shake things up and this one flies through the formula with gory, grimy style. It’s got a severed ear, some mutilated limbs, lots of casual violent death and a sackful of clever touches and unpredictable little turns. From your first glimpse of Franco Nero’s black-hatted Django as he trudges the desert on foot and drags a creepy coffin behind him like a grim suitcase everywhere he goes, you know you’re in for something unique. Banned in several countries at the time and a huge hit in others, it’s on the shortlist of the most influential Italian westerns not directed by Sergio Leone. Shortly after this came out, a veritable fuck-ton 
of rip-offs and false purported “sequels”—many of them have the word “Django” in the title—were produced across Europe. An actual sequel, with Franco Nero reprising the character, wouldn’t come out until 1987.