Bad Meaning Good

Steppenwolf (Adilkhan Yerzhanov, 2024 / 2025) 

Not a film about the Rock band.

Like many out there, my ignorant knowledge of the former Soviet republic of Kazakhstan came from comedian Sacha Baron Coen's character Borat. Therefore, when Adilkhan Yerzhanov's nihilistic and violent post-western Steppenwolf (2024 / 2025) blipped its way onto my radar, I was more than just a little bit intrigued by it. Turns out Yerzhanov's film has its own sense of humour; one that is both dark and deadpan, peppered here and there amongst a brutal dystopian world.

The plot involves Tamara (Anna Starchenko), a woman with a stammer, looking for her missing son, Tamika. Her search leads to her nonchalantly walking into a violent gun battle between rural lawmen and rebels in a remote police precinct. During the bullet-ridden massacre, Tamara meets Brajyuk (Berik Aitzhanov), a police interrogator / torturer who agrees to help her for a price. The pair share a common objective, as the person linked to Tamika's abduction is also someone that Brajyuk has a personal vendetta with.

There's an interesting dynamic between the pair of protagonists. They're an obvious odd couple. Tamara comes across as an angelic like entity in Yerzhanov's hellscape. She's introduced with a religious painting falling from her wall while praying. Her son immediately goes missing after this scene. Tamara's timid and introverted disposition is starkly contrasted with the rough and coarse world she inhabits. An assault rife fails on multiple attempts when fired at her. Brajyuk, on the other hand, is almost the devil incarnate on occasions; an individual who appears stoic initially, but breaks out into childish dances at times. He is a cold-blooded killer, with almost no sense of honour. Brajyuk goes beyond the boundaries of conventional anti-hero territory to complete villain on occasions. Yet, their relationship is what makes this hellish road movie such compelling viewing. At the heart of this nihilistic and misanthropic film, is a quest for some semblance of humanity.

Particularly fond of the scene where Tamara musters the strength to cobble more than a few words together imploring for Brajyuk's help: "We need to find Timka, save him. He won't survive without me. They'll kill him. No one needs him. No one needs me. There's no good. I know it. I knew it all along. But it is necessary. Good is necessary. Please help. You're kind. Please help. Please...You're a kind person. Please help. We need to save Timka. You're kind. Aren't you? You are kind. Please help find Timka. Please." As the camera horizontally pans away from Tamara, it fixes on the contemplative Brajyuk. Her words seem to affect him. Alas, his response mockingly imitating her and laughing. And yet, for a split second, it's almost as if a shred of good was still lurking somewhere within his soul. Both actors' performances are exceptional.

The Kazakh Steppe is a striking location in this film. The arid region lends itself well to its dystopian setting. Along with Steppenwolf being shot in 2.39:1 aspect ratio, Yerkinbek Ptyraliyev's cinematography evokes classic westerns of the past. Those glorious widescreen shots of the natural vistas is inherent here. The morning mist over the grassy plains looks stunningly mystical.

Furthermore, some scenes take obvious inspiration from the western genre; notably, the iconic doorway scene of John Wayne walking away in John Ford's The Searchers (1956). That scene is referenced multiple times in Steppenwolf; even bookending the film. European westerns also wield their aesthetic influence on the film; particularly the framing and composition of Sergio Leone's westerns. Steppenwolf's handling of violence and male machismo is definitely evocative of Sam Peckinpah's work.

Bizarrely, Steppenwolf's soundtrack consists of effervescent sounding synthpop. Mixed feelings about this. Given the oppressive tone of the film and the gravitas of their shared task, I'm not sure this was the right choice. If anything, I got the impression Yerzhanov thought, "It worked with the couple in Nicholas Winding Refn's Drive (2011), why not try it here?" 

George Miller's Mad Max films are the most obvious influences, however. Given its desolate and cruel setting, you would be forgiven into thinking Steppenwolf's characters exist in a post-apocalypse. Life is cheap and dispensable. The morally bankrupt appear to reap the most chance of surviving in this world. If that's not enough, Brajyuk leather jacket is missing sleeve; an obvious reference to Max's wardrobe in Mad Max 2 (1981).

However, Steppenwolf does have some its faults. Its writing isn't quite up to par with the stunning visuals and palpable atmosphere. In fact, it becomes quite lacking in the final act of the film and relies heavily on its dystopian vibe and cool visuals; hence the pacing takes a hit and crawls to a much slower pace than what ought to be necessary. Character developments also kind of take a back seat. Thus, this section of the film is less Max Rockatansky and more Max Rockatarkovsky. Take for instance a scene involving Brajyuk meeting with his estranged father. Little is known of their past relationship, hence the resolution between the pair comes across as hollow and forgettable. The climactic battle with the regional gang boss / warlord feels rushed and anticlimactic. The old adage of the journey being more important than destination being taken far too literally by Yerzhanov. More importantly, without venturing into spoiler territory, the final scene between Tamara and Brajyuk is one that is both unsatisfying and bathetic.

Despite these issues, Steppenwolf is still a very good film, overall. One that I'm looking forward to revisiting again; possibly before the year is out. The type of late night genre mashup where you're not sure whether you actually watched it, or dreamt it. A tough, brutal and violent piece of cinema, yet still a beautiful and mesmerising viewing experience. Can definitely envision this becoming a modern cult film over the next few years.

It's Coffin Time

Ever since Sergio Corbucci's popular, ultra violent western, Django (1966) graced the silver screen, a plethora of other films would feature the titular hero (eighty-five films, apparently) in one way or another cashing-in on the name. There was only one official sequel, when Franco Nero returned decades later to reprise the role that brought him fame in the Rambo-esque Django Strikes Again (1987).

 

Gianfranco & Gianpiero Reverberi - You'd Better Smile

Preparati La Bara! AKA Django, Prepare a Coffin, OST (1968)

Of all the unofficial sequels, I do have a soft spot for Django, Prepare a Coffin (1968), AKA Viva Django! It's because I always found its lead, Terence Hill, Italy's third most waspy-looking actor (after Al Cliver and Ray Lovelock), versatile at playing both serious and comedic parts while still maintaining a cheeky, badass persona. It's also because it sees the return of the character's trademark Mitrailleuse volley gun kept inside a coffin. Another reason is because I love the vowel chewing main song, You'd Better Smile, equally as much as Louis Bacalov's original theme. 

Anyone who copped the video game Red Dead Revolver (2004) would have heard it there, too; albeit, the instrumental titled Lucas. The game's soundtrack was a veritable goldmine for soundtrack fans like me, as it served as the definitive Spaghetti Western compilation which wasn't chock-full of Ennio Morricone hits, and it had me seeking out a bunch of films because of it. Sadly, its sequels didn't follow suit.

Gianfranco & Gianpiero Reverberi - Nel cimitero di Tucson

Preparati La Bara! AKA Django, Prepare a Coffin, OST (1968)

Even if you've never seen Django, Prepare a Coffin, or heard its soundtrack, you'll probably be familiar with Nel cimitero di Tuscon on account of it being sampled by the group Gnarls Barkley for their hit song Crazy in the mid-noughties. Despite being played ad nauseam ever since, in retrospect, it probably did us a favour as it kept Quentin Tarantino from recycling it anytime soon for one of his films.

The Long Ranger

The Hunting Party (Don Medford, 1971)

With the likes of  The Great Silence (1968), Once Upon a Time in the West (1968 )and The Wild Bunch (1969) trailblazing a morally grey and violently grittier direction for the Western, the seventies proved to be a decade where the genre would swing to various extremes: from slapstick comedy to supernatural horror, to pessimistic nihilism. Don Medford's The Hunting Party (1971) would be one of the films which opted for the latter.

You're in for a tough and unapologetic Western when it cold opens with a real life scene of a cow having its throat cut. If that isn't shocking enough, it's intercut with Candice Bergen being raped by her sadistic husband played by Gene Hackman. Calamity Jane this ain't. While Hackman is away on a hunting trip (which involves torturing an Asian prostitute) with his rich pals, Bergen is kidnapped by a permanently perspiring Oliver Reed (still rocking the Urbain Grandier look) and his gang of outlaws, where she's also raped by him. There really are no good guys in this film, in case you were wondering. The outlaw posse is oblivious to who her powerful and sadistic husband is and only snagged Bergen to teach Reed how to read.

The outlaws are at a distinct disadvantage to Hackman's hunting party since they're picked off from afar with the aid of very long range rifles. This leads to some absolutely horrific and dishonourable killings, including one person slain whilst taking a dump. As the film progresses, both men exhibit their stubborn ignorance in recognising the self-destructive paths they’re headed. Thus, it’s generally a downbeat affair as far as Westerns go. The one moment of light relief is the brief peaches scene highlighting the blossoming Stockholm Syndrome between Bergman  and Reed.

This is a morally grey film with no real heroes... anywhere. Hackman is the films villain. Bergen is nothing more than a trophy wife to him; her abduction is seen as a slight upon his manhood rather than motive to rescue her. To add further to this, Bergen’s feelings for her captor is makes her another target in Hackman’s sights. On the morality scale, 'good' is completely absent. In one notable scene where Hackman wastes away various outlaws upon a bell tower, Bergen yells for Reed to take her with him while making a getaway. This wounds Hackman's  pride even further; spurring him even to follow the pair through a desert during the film's memorable downbeat finale.

Outside of television work, Don Medford only helmed one other theatrical film, The Organisation (1971), which was the third entry in the Virgil Tibbs movies with Sidney Poitier - also released in the same year. A shame really, as the downbeat Corbucci veneer would have been a perfect fit for the rest of the nihilistic seventies. There's also Riz Ortolani's superb theme furthering the strong Spaghetti Western influence on the film.

Definitely not a film for everyone, in fact, it isn’t an understatement to consider The Hunting Party as a highly offensive film for today's sensibilities. Definitely not for a "modern audience". Personally, I was hooked by this bleak Western; its virtual two hour run time flew by, it was that engrossing. It's possibly in the same league as Joaquín Luis Romero Marchent's notoriously violent Cut-Throats Nine (1972) and Lucio Fulci's utterly miserable The Four of the Apocalypse... (1975) as far as depressing Westerns go. That lot make The Great Silence look like Way Out West (1937) by comparison, but The Hunting Party is better than either of those. Worth checking this out for Hackman’s and Reed’s performances; particularly the latter, as it was his one and only Western.

Silence is Violence

The Great Silence (Sergio Corbucci, 1968)

It's fair to say the swingin' sixties was entering a seismic comedown in 1968, as represented by a wave of downbeat films like, Rosemary's Baby, Night of the Living Dead and Planet of the Apes. Across the continent, the spaghetti western genre was already in full stride, approaching critical peak with a string of personal faves, If You Meet Sartana Pray For Death, Kill Them All And Come Back Alone and of course, Sergio Leone's epic cinemagasm Once Upon A Time In The West. The genre itself had breathed new life into a tired old format by deconstructing familiar archetypal figures and values into much grayer areas. It was the era of the antihero. Amongst those antiheroes was Sergio Corbucci's mute protagonist Silence, featured in his snow-swept, doomer classic The Great Silence.

 Casting prolific French actor Jean-Louis Trintignant as the titular antihero, appeared to be an intentional masterstroke, since his lack of knowing the native lingo forced him to play out the role as a mute. This let Tritignant show off his acting prowess with some superb facial acting. Visually speaking, of all the most recognisable characters from the spaghetti western genre, Silence is definitely up there, since his dark winter clobber are in stark contrast to the lighter clothing of his peers. No idea what that hairy monstrosity which is sprouting from beneath his heavy black coat is, but it looks like it's the same material as Pete Burns' gorilla fur coat, making him appear all the more stiking. What's easily the most identifiable item related to Silence, is his ultra cool Mauser C96, replete with its innovative gun holster, that also serves as a shoulder rest. Love the design of this semi-automatic pistol, and it actually dates itself correctly with the film's 1898 setting.

Corbucci didn't drop the ball with his supporting cast of actors, either; hiring an enviable league of spaghetti western veterans, ranging from Frank Wolff, Luigi Pistilli, Mario Brega, and of course arthouse and trash madman Klaus Kinski; as the film's major villain Tigrero (Loco, to the English dub headz). Venetta McGee also appears in one of her earliest roles, before even Blacula (1972), as Pauline the wronged woman, who hires Silence to exact her revenge.

The film is remarkably bleak throughout its run time, with the exception of two scenes: Gideon (Wolff) and Silence's bonding over some friendly target shooting; and Silence and Pauline's love scene, before everything goes to hell. I'm particularly fond and appreciative of the former scene, largely due to seeing our two sharpshooters take a brief respite from Snow Hill's doom and gloom, and have some fun for a bit. I also consider it fairly important, since we're seeing these two men represent a mindset that's completely alien to the rest of the film's male characters - a code of honour. It's this absence of any moral decency that makes Kinski's Tigrero one of the most compelling villains he's played, and he's played a hell of a lot of memorable villains. Corbucci's film subverts familiar tropes and cliches, and one of them is having the film's bad guys - Trigreo and his clique of bounty hunters, on the right side of the law. Another, is its take on capitalism, and how the amoral prosper from it, while the less fortunate are completely expendable. 

Much like Corbucci's classic Django (1966), location plays an integral part in his film. Here, he swaps out the mud clogged town for knee deep snow, where Tigrero keeps his corpse bounties buried to remain fresh. Allegedly, Corbucci opted for snow this time around as he fancied a ski vacation in the Italian Dolomites. True or not, the location worked wonders as it helped cement the overall tone of the film. Much like Silence's iconic look, the location is also in stark contrast to many of its peers. Aside from the stetsons, you could almost be forgiven for mistaking it as David Lean's Doctor Zhivago (1965) - even Pistilli's character Pollicut is rockin' a ushanka. Hardly a coincidence that Tarantino was inspired heavily by the snow swept scenery of The Great Silence, as its evident in both of his westerns - Django Unchained (2012) and The Hateful Eight (2015).

Soundtrack duties were put in safe capable hands with il maestro, Ennio Morricone handling the music. His compositions are way more nunanced than some of his other western soundtracks produced around the same time. This feels way more melancholic and subtle, but still of a high standard. Morricone even has flourishes of the avant-garde by incorporating more exotic sounds, like sitar strings. Big fan of both the angelic harmonies from the main theme and the rousing Barbara E Tagliente with its quintessential Morricone style guitar riff.

Ought to come clean and reveal I always find myself holding back the feels on this one, especially the film's sobering finale. Much like me watching The Great Escape (1963) and wishing for Steve McQueen's Hilts to make it over the barbwire fence on his motorbike, I find myself wishing Silence takes down Trigrero and his band of killers like a true badass, and then rides off into the sunset. Alas, there isn't a coffin containing a gatling gun here to save the day. It was never meant to be. Silence walks to the saloon with the knowledge of his impending fate. We're presented with the shockingly brutal demise of our film's protagonist; along with his love interest and a grip of townsfolk butchered in cold blood. Daybreak hits and Trigrero and the rest of his mob leave the town triumphant. Worth noting that Corbucci did have the forsight in predicting the possible flack he would receive for his downbeat ending and shot a happier alternative; which sadly does not work at all, and really undermines the film's original submersive intention. Poncey film critics might interpret the film's ending completely different to me, but I see the change from night to day as a metaphor for the oncoming twentieth century; honour, as represented by gunfighters like Gideon and Silence is a trait from a bygone time, while the early dawn rays of the sun represent a bountiful era for greedy and ruthless men like Tigrero.

Worth pointing out that The Great Silence, or as film maker and ex-Moviedrome presenter Alex Cox calls it (and approximately sixty million Italians), Il grande silenzio, could be seen as a predecessor and purveyor of the intense damage and destruction felt by various film protagonists evident in seventies and early eighties cinema - particularly, within the New Hollywood scene. Way too young to go into it with any real first hand knowledge, but I see The Great Silence and its pessimistic ilk as part of a symptomatic legacy attributed to all the social and political upheavel around the globe at that time; a mass existential crisis, if you will. Feel like I've rambled on about this film way too much, but it's worth it. All armchair analysis aside, The Great Silence is one of the greatest westerns ever made, in my honest opinion. 

The Great Silence (Masters of Cinema Trailer)

(Sergio Corbucci, 1968)