Pistol-packin’ Hannie Caulder kicks off new Paramount/Olive Films DVD deal!

DVD indy Olive Films has admirably taken the baton from Legend Films in licensing a series of desirable Paramount titles that otherwise would never officially stand a chance in hell of seeing the light of day! Acquiring nearly 30 impressive selections for its 2010 schedule, Olive will release the first quintet of Paramounts on July 25th - with the next five to be subsequently tossed to us hungry wolves on September 28th. It’s been well documented that the hottest DVD classic collectables are film noir and horror – then action/westerns. Olive has covered all bases – as these initial offerings, including CRACK IN THE WORLD, DARK CITY, APPOINTMENT WITH DANGER and UNION STATION comprise each of these genres (all to be discussed in subsequent columns). First up is the most problematic – the bizarre and disturbing 1971 bloodbath, HANNIE CAULDER. A jigsaw hybrid in every sense of the word, this violent splatterfest is a British-produced attempt to emulate a spaghetti western with an American director and stars. The HYW (hot young woman) western is certainly a high concept idea – and has never really successfully mined its gold potential (think crap like Bad Girls, The Quick and the Dead and Bandidas!). This is in stark contrast to LMW (lusty matriarchal woman) westerns of the 1950s, which are bona fide triumphs; of course we’re talking about the formidable forms of Marlene Dietrich, Joan Crawford and Barbara Stanwyck calling the shots on-camera while Fritz Lang, Nicholas Ray and Samuel Fuller do likewise from the director’s chair.. As far as HYW westerns go, HANNIE CAULDER is probably the best of the limited bunch – gleaning the honor on credentials alone. Produced by Brit exploitation meister extraordinaire Tony Tenser and directed by genre specialist Burt Kennedy, this one-way ticket to cinematic purgatory is top heavy (no pun…well, OK – pun!) with more good intentions than the Obama Administration. It was the promotion of this movie that pretty much doomed it back in the States in ’71. Throughout the 1960s, Kennedy, who, as a screenwriter, penned the meanest and leanest of the Budd Boetticher/Randolph Scott masterpieces, had become known as the guy to go to for rollicking comedic and royally entertaining westerns (The Rounders, Mail Order Bride, The War Wagon, The Good Guys and the Bad Guys, and, most prominently, a pair of James Garner live action looney tune spoofs, Support Your Local Sheriff and Support Your Local Gunfighter). Indeed Paramount hyped the movie with a sexy ad of star Raquel Welch wearing nothing but a poncho, boots and a filled holster wrapped around her otherwise naked torso; deceptively, another had her in a bodice – surrounded by a happily grinning trio of whack jobs, personified by Ernest Borgnine, Jack Elam and Strother Martin, moronically displaying approval. This tease seemed to suggest a kind of grittier version of Cat Ballou with Welch helming a gang of inept buffoons. Nothing could be further from the truth. The above undoubtedly simian-sired triad, though rife with buffoonery, are actually the villains responsible for degrading, sadistically abusing then gang raping Ms Welch – but only after slaughtering her husband in a sequence that utilizes more Karo syrup than the entire Saw and Hostel series combined. Why Kennedy, who did an uncredited re-write under the name ZX Jones, would continue to play these scumbags like lovable three stooges wannabees AFTER their disgraceful ravaging escapade is still beyond me, as I can see no viewer siding/identifying with their post-rape slapstick antics – except, possibly, Bruce Cabot or Tom Neal. With this ad campaign proving a bust, the picture quickly was consigned to Times Square hardtops, where it played off and on through the early-1980s – becoming a modest cult item and a rare example of an A-budget grindhouse spectacular. Outside of the U.S. where Tenser and his Tigon company controlled the pic – it fared slightly better but not enough to counter-balance the poor U.S. box office performance (check out the great book about Tenser, Beasts in the Cellar, which chronicles the production and aftermath of the picture). Tenser, who either produced and/or distributed such a diverse and outstanding catalogue of Sixties and Seventies art house, sleaze and sensational epics, including Polanski’s Cul-de-Sac and Repulsion, Michael Reeves’ The Sorcerers and The Witchfinder General, Bava’s A Hatchet For the Honeymoon, Barbet Schroeder’s More, Piers Haggard’s Blood on Satan’s Claw and Pete Walker’s Frightmare was truly the master of his domain. HANNIE CAULDER seemed like a sure bet – so what went wrong? When a major 1970s movie clocks in at 85 minutes – a red flag should automatically be raised. Perhaps Kennedy, who was averaging two movies a year – with no end in sight, had his hands both full and tied, and, thus was forced to make the Borgnine/Elam/Martin primates adorable (mercifully without the benefit of Smell-O-Rama). I mean they make the cast of Pawn Stars look like a Henry Higgins casting call! Then there’s Welch. Without question, she’s smoking. Reams of publicity at the time of the movie’s release showcased her curvy body in the aforementioned poncho. In the course of the narrative her character happens upon erudite bounty hunter/gunslinger Robert Culp, whom she coerces into teaching her how to kill. This he does – unfortunately he neglected to throw in riding or acting as part of the package. Welch, sweaty, sexy and constantly posed in stances that seem to indicate that she mistakenly wandered upon a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue shoot rather than a western movie shoot-‘em-up, is tragically laughable as a revenge-bent heroine. I’m thinking Ingrid Pitt, Susan Scott, Erika Blanc or Edwige Fenech could have done the job handily, but, to recant Kennedy’s own and accurate misgivings, “Without Raquel – we’ve got no picture.” A word of warning to buff buffs: there is no nudity at all throughout the sanguine proceedings – another dubious decision that, in at least one instance, caused one “raincoat brigade” audience to rise up….errr…or, perhaps more appropriately, down in revolt. That Welch is the weakest link in the cast is another gargantuan hurdle the movie can never clear (throughout production a disgruntled Kennedy constantly referred to the movie as A Titful of Dollars, much to the chagrin of the star and her husband, Patrick Curtis, who was also functioning as the project’s producer). That said, the supporting frontal camera talent is aces – with Christopher Lee (ironically basking in more blood here than in the course of his entire career) absolutely outstanding as an expatriate gunsmith residing on the Mexican border with his gazillion children. Too bad he and Culp didn’t team up to hunt down Hannie’s defilers. Diana Dors also excels in her brief turn as a honky tonk madame; ditto an unbilled Stephen Boyd as a sinister man in black. The entire townsfolk are all Brits struggling with cowboy accents, which is fun in a sort of Carry On sniggering parallel universe – replete with a portly derby-sporting barfly infinitely more adept at proclaiming, “The Ripper’s struck again!” than “They went that-a-way!”

DVD indy Olive Films has admirably taken the baton from Legend Films in licensing a series of desirable Paramount titles that otherwise would never officially stand a chance in hell of seeing the light of day!
Acquiring nearly 30 impressive selections for its 2010 schedule, Olive will release the first quintet of Paramounts on July 25th - with the next five to be subsequently tossed to us hungry wolves on September 28th.

It’s been well documented that the hottest DVD classic collectables are film noir and horror – then action/westerns. Olive has covered all bases – as these initial offerings, including CRACK IN THE WORLD, DARK CITY, APPOINTMENT WITH DANGER and UNION STATION comprise each of these genres (all to be discussed in subsequent columns).

First up is the most problematic – the bizarre and disturbing 1971 bloodbath, HANNIE CAULDER. A jigsaw hybrid in every sense of the word, this violent splatterfest is a British-produced attempt to emulate a spaghetti western with an American director and stars. The HYW (hot young woman) western is certainly a high concept idea – and has never really successfully mined its gold potential (think crap like Bad Girls, The Quick and the Dead and Bandidas!). This is in stark contrast to LMW (lusty matriarchal woman) westerns of the 1950s, which are bona fide triumphs; of course we’re talking about the formidable forms of Marlene Dietrich, Joan Crawford and Barbara Stanwyck calling the shots on-camera while Fritz Lang, Nicholas Ray and Samuel Fuller do likewise from the director’s chair.. As far as HYW westerns go, HANNIE CAULDER is probably the best of the limited bunch – gleaning the honor on credentials alone. Produced by Brit exploitation meister extraordinaire Tony Tenser and directed by genre specialist Burt Kennedy, this one-way ticket to cinematic purgatory is top heavy (no pun…well, OK – pun!) with more good intentions than the Obama Administration. It was the promotion of this movie that pretty much doomed it back in the States in ’71. Throughout the 1960s, Kennedy, who, as a screenwriter, penned the meanest and leanest of the Budd Boetticher/Randolph Scott masterpieces, had become known as the guy to go to for rollicking comedic and royally entertaining westerns (The Rounders, Mail Order Bride, The War Wagon, The Good Guys and the Bad Guys, and, most prominently, a pair of James Garner live action looney tune spoofs, Support Your Local Sheriff and Support Your Local Gunfighter). Indeed Paramount hyped the movie with a sexy ad of star Raquel Welch wearing nothing but a poncho, boots and a filled holster wrapped around her otherwise naked torso; deceptively, another had her in a bodice – surrounded by a happily grinning trio of whack jobs, personified by Ernest Borgnine, Jack Elam and Strother Martin, moronically displaying approval. This tease seemed to suggest a kind of grittier version of Cat Ballou with Welch helming a gang of inept buffoons. Nothing could be further from the truth. The above undoubtedly simian-sired triad, though rife with buffoonery, are actually the villains responsible for degrading, sadistically abusing then gang raping Ms Welch – but only after slaughtering her husband in a sequence that utilizes more Karo syrup than the entire Saw and Hostel series combined. Why Kennedy, who did an uncredited re-write under the name ZX Jones, would continue to play these scumbags like lovable three stooges wannabees AFTER their disgraceful ravaging escapade is still beyond me, as I can see no viewer siding/identifying with their post-rape slapstick antics – except, possibly, Bruce Cabot or Tom Neal.

With this ad campaign proving a bust, the picture quickly was consigned to Times Square hardtops, where it played off and on through the early-1980s – becoming a modest cult item and a rare example of an A-budget grindhouse spectacular. Outside of the U.S. where Tenser and his Tigon company controlled the pic – it fared slightly better but not enough to counter-balance the poor U.S. box office performance (check out the great book about Tenser, Beasts in the Cellar, which chronicles the production and aftermath of the picture). Tenser, who either produced and/or distributed such a diverse and outstanding catalogue of Sixties and Seventies art house, sleaze and sensational epics, including Polanski’s Cul-de-Sac and Repulsion, Michael Reeves’ The Sorcerers and The Witchfinder General, Bava’s A Hatchet For the Honeymoon, Barbet Schroeder’s More, Piers Haggard’s Blood on Satan’s Claw and Pete Walker’s Frightmare was truly the master of his domain. HANNIE CAULDER seemed like a sure bet – so what went wrong? When a major 1970s movie clocks in at 85 minutes – a red flag should automatically be raised. Perhaps Kennedy, who was averaging two movies a year – with no end in sight, had his hands both full and tied, and, thus was forced to make the Borgnine/Elam/Martin primates adorable (mercifully without the benefit of Smell-O-Rama). I mean they make the cast of Pawn Stars look like a Henry Higgins casting call! Then there’s Welch. Without question, she’s smoking. Reams of publicity at the time of the movie’s release showcased her curvy body in the aforementioned poncho. In the course of the narrative her character happens upon erudite bounty hunter/gunslinger Robert Culp, whom she coerces into teaching her how to kill. This he does – unfortunately he neglected to throw in riding or acting as part of the package. Welch, sweaty, sexy and constantly posed in stances that seem to indicate that she mistakenly wandered upon a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue shoot rather than a western movie shoot-‘em-up, is tragically laughable as a revenge-bent heroine. I’m thinking Ingrid Pitt, Susan Scott, Erika Blanc or Edwige Fenech could have done the job handily, but, to recant Kennedy’s own and accurate misgivings, “Without Raquel – we’ve got no picture.” A word of warning to buff buffs: there is no nudity at all throughout the sanguine proceedings – another dubious decision that, in at least one instance, caused one “raincoat brigade” audience to rise up….errr…or, perhaps more appropriately, down in revolt. That Welch is the weakest link in the cast is another gargantuan hurdle the movie can never clear (throughout production a disgruntled Kennedy constantly referred to the movie as A Titful of Dollars, much to the chagrin of the star and her husband, Patrick Curtis, who was also functioning as the project’s producer). That said, the supporting frontal camera talent is aces – with Christopher Lee (ironically basking in more blood here than in the course of his entire career) absolutely outstanding as an expatriate gunsmith residing on the Mexican border with his gazillion children. Too bad he and Culp didn’t team up to hunt down Hannie’s defilers. Diana Dors also excels in her brief turn as a honky tonk madame; ditto an unbilled Stephen Boyd as a sinister man in black. The entire townsfolk are all Brits struggling with cowboy accents, which is fun in a sort of Carry On sniggering parallel universe – replete with a portly derby-sporting barfly infinitely more adept at proclaiming, “The Ripper’s struck again!” than “They went that-a-way!”