Django the Bastard

In the Spaghetti Western's heyday, Italian filmmakers took follow-the-leader to comical extremes. Over 30 Westerns feature characters named Django, starring myriad Spaghetti legends: Tomas Milan, Terence Hill, George Eastman. Most just piggy-back off of Sergio Corbucci's original, though some stand out like the hyper-violent Django Kill! (1967). There's even a porn version called Nude Django!

The most bizarre, perhaps, is Django the Bastard (1969). It prefigures Clint Eastwood's High Plains Drifter (1971), with a supernatural gunslinger dealing death to assorted dastards. Sergio Gerrone's striking direction makes Django as much horror movie as Western.

Two businessmen get killed by a mysterious gunslinger (Anthony Steffen) styling himself "the Devil from Hell." Turns out the Stranger is Django, a Confederate soldier seemingly killed in a wartime ambush arranged by three superiors. The third, Major Murdok (Paolo Gozlino), hires an army of outlaws to protect him, taking over a small town for a grisly showdown.

At a glance, Django the Bastard seems a standard Spaghetti Western. A mysterious stranger seeking vengeance? Long-ago villains who've become respected businessmen? Murdok's brother Luke (Luciano Rossi), a cackling blond psychopath? Choppy, half-remembered flashbacks? It's typical stuff, garish violence included. Except Gerrone and Anthony Steffen (who co-wrote as well as starred) transcend cliche with macabre presentation. Django isn't merely a vengeance-minded superman but, to all appearances, a literal ghost.

Gerrone reconfigures these tropes into a six-gun slasher film. Django stalks his second victim through a moonlit graveyard, toppling his corpse into a grave. Django hides in shadows, materializing out of nowhere, vanishing when cornered. Murdok even has a "vision" dissipated when a henchman enters. Gerrone reinforces Django's "avenging angel" credentials with a crucifix motif, from his crude tombstones to crucifying three villains. Perhaps it makes sense that the lunatic Luke is only one who does Django any damage.

Gerrone gives genre-mandated action a disturbing twist. Off-kilter angles and optical distortions heighten the supernatural focus. Django tricks bad guys with booby traps and mounted dummies. The final 40 minutes are essentially a protracted set piece, with Django decimating Murdok's gang in an all-night standoff. (Eastwood's Pale Rider (1985) may have drawn inspiration from this, too.) The score by Eliso Mancuso and Vasili Kojucharov alternates between standard trumpets and fuzz guitar with ghostly wailing and strings.

Anthony Steffen is suitably impassive, in a role requiring little beyond intimidating glances and an unnerving grin. Rada Rassimov (The Good, the Bad and the Ugly) plays Murdock's unhappy sister-in-law who forms an alliance with Django. Unfortunately, Paolo Gozlino makes a forgettable villain. But his blandness is preferable to Luciano Rossi's ludicrous performance: Luke raves and gnashes teeth like a dime store Klaus Kinski, more annoying than intimidating.

But no one's watching Django the Bastard for great acting. The macabre atmosphere more than compensates. In a subgenre not known for subtlety or restraint, Django's madness still proves unsettling.