An imitation spaghetti Western directed by Don Siegel, written by Budd Boettiger, with music by Ennio Morricone, starring Clint Eastwood (he's the guy with the little cigar and the poncho) and Shirley MacLaine as a fake nun.
Well, they all know their business so it should be pretty good and, in fact, it's not terrible. Eastwood, of course, could have walked through the picture. The nearest he comes to a smile is a kind of pained grimace but that's all required of him -- that and lighting a stick of dynamite with that cigar and an expression of complete removal from the situation.
I don't know exactly what Shirley MacLaine is doing in this. One thinks of her neither as a nun nor as a female figure to be batted around by a seedy hero like Eastwood, let alone the grease balls against whom they're fighting.
Two good scenes stand out. In one, Eastwood's shoulder is pierced by an Indian arrow and MacLaine must remove it by the most painful process imaginable. Eastwood actually gets to register pain for once.
Scene two. What with that injured shoulder, Eastwood can hardly be expected to climb the trestle that carries the railroad tracks across the gorge so that dynamite can be planted and the bridge destroyed at the moment the train is crossing it. MacLaine must do it. It would be easier if she just climbed the hill, walked out on the rickety bridge, and tucked the dynamite away underneath the rails but not nearly so dramatic. Or so amusing when Eastwood, using only one arm and while drunk, must try to balance the rifle on MacLaine's shoulder and try to hit and explode the dynamite.
Morricone's goofy musical score tells us that he, at least, recognized this movie for the joke it was.
Well, they all know their business so it should be pretty good and, in fact, it's not terrible. Eastwood, of course, could have walked through the picture. The nearest he comes to a smile is a kind of pained grimace but that's all required of him -- that and lighting a stick of dynamite with that cigar and an expression of complete removal from the situation.
I don't know exactly what Shirley MacLaine is doing in this. One thinks of her neither as a nun nor as a female figure to be batted around by a seedy hero like Eastwood, let alone the grease balls against whom they're fighting.
Two good scenes stand out. In one, Eastwood's shoulder is pierced by an Indian arrow and MacLaine must remove it by the most painful process imaginable. Eastwood actually gets to register pain for once.
Scene two. What with that injured shoulder, Eastwood can hardly be expected to climb the trestle that carries the railroad tracks across the gorge so that dynamite can be planted and the bridge destroyed at the moment the train is crossing it. MacLaine must do it. It would be easier if she just climbed the hill, walked out on the rickety bridge, and tucked the dynamite away underneath the rails but not nearly so dramatic. Or so amusing when Eastwood, using only one arm and while drunk, must try to balance the rifle on MacLaine's shoulder and try to hit and explode the dynamite.
Morricone's goofy musical score tells us that he, at least, recognized this movie for the joke it was.