Director Lucio Fulci was a few years away from his reputation as one of the kings of fine Italian gross-out flicks when he made this swift little western, but the foreshadowing is here big-time. This is a sadistic film. Fulci treats not one death politely. He wants us to smell and taste the blood. Even when the death is in the background, Fulci makes a show of it. Nobody ever slumps over in nondescript manner. Any actor who doesn’t get to be a splatter-covered corpse in close-up at least falls off from a high place or crashes into a wall when they take a bullet. It looks like a lot of fun to die in this movie.
The plot? Eh, it’s some horseshit about a New Mexico town that’s been taken over by a rich scumbag and only Franco Nero under his black hat (just like in Django) can set things right.
Meanwhile the presentation is prime spaghetti western stuff. Lots of sweat, stubble and machismo in grand full-color widescreen that feels like the makers are bragging about their skill at passing off Italy as the American old West. The music score soars with trumpets and strings and even a few gongs.
Maybe my favorite thing about it though is that the climax is not suspenseful in the least. It’s two guys versus a gang of dozens—and the gang don’t stand a chance. Our heroes are downright cheerful as they blow away henchmen with almost comical ease. It’s barely even an action scene. It’s more like a massacre. And Fulci is fine with that.
Alternate English title: Massacre Time.