...often, this reviewer had been chastised and heckled by some of the more seasoned (...read: having 18 to 25 years aged seniority over me) film collectors and aficionados in varied cult film discussion group circles, for not having any measure of appreciation for the western genre. Without missing a beat, this reviewer is equally quick to set things straight with those critics, obligingly calling forth the contrary, in assuming and maintaining a most ardent appreciation of the western genre...though, not so much the stereotypically melodic, almost vaudevillian adaption of the genre, cinematically depicted in the olden-golden days of the '30's and '40's, but more the latter rendered 'western genre' which depicted the Wild West era in a much more gritty, unrelenting, unflinching and historically brutal & harsh fervor...something with...well, something with more of a 'realistic' bite, than a ballad...
...let's face it: Seth McFarland's bumbling and cowardly, albeit keenly perceptive character, in the director's hilarious send-up to the American Western...2014's Spaghetti Western film-title inspired "A Million Ways to Die in the West"...hit the nail resoundly on the head, when describing the hard, desperate and oh-so deadly times of that particular era. Life, at that time, was hardly that found in western films produced, circa early '50's and before...of stereotypical dashing, clean-cut heroes, who although exceptional with the gun, and unafraid to wrestle up some well-choreographed fist-i-cuffs, never got a scratch on them, wore brightly colored tunic shirts with embroidery & dangly tassels, rode whistle-responding horses as blindingly white as their ten-gallon hats, and almost always had a weather-worn guitar, strapped to their backs, which they would pull out and melodically strum, in between conflicts, out on the so-called 'lone prairie'. With the exception of the seasoned, weathered and 'been around', though still possessing a hint of once-beauty bar keep, as well as the typical segregated brothel of 'fallen' ladies, living just on the outskirts of dusty town, the women were pretty much naive, innocent, virginal and, for lack of a better term, 'polly pure-bred'. And the 'hive of villainy', as self serving and despicable as they might be, always managed to initiate their diabolical ways in such a way that somehow, the hero of the story always managed to save the day, in the end (...a credit to the film writers of the time; after all, we wouldn't want the bad guys to win, right??). The classic vaudevillian, stove-top-pipe high hat-wearing, mustache-twirling 'Snidley Whiplash' type...yes, ruthless, greedy and conniving, but hardly the sadistic, blood-thirsty and power-mad 'bad guys', which would punctuate the brand of western film, yet to come...or rather, yet to be imported, as of the early-to-mid '60's...
Reviewed By: James D.
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