Django Shoots First (1966): The Gunslinger’s Gambit That Ignited Euro-Western Fury

In the sun-baked badlands of Cinecittà’s wild frontier, one rogue rider pulled the trigger on a revolution – shooting straight into Spaghetti Western legend.

Before Sergio Corbucci’s iconic gunslinger redefined the genre, another Django stepped into the fray, revolver blazing. Released in 1966, this gritty Italian production captured the raw essence of the Spaghetti Western boom, blending revenge tales with operatic violence long before the name became synonymous with mud-soaked mayhem. Directed with flair by Alberto De Martino, the film stars Glenn Saxon as a hard-edged anti-hero navigating treachery and gold fever in a lawless border town. What sets it apart is its unapologetic embrace of the style that would dominate cinema screens across Europe and beyond, offering a blueprint for the vengeance-driven narratives that followed.

  • Unpacking the labyrinthine plot of double-crosses, hidden gold, and brotherly bonds that propels Django’s bloody quest for justice.
  • Spotlighting De Martino’s masterful fusion of Ennio Morricone-inspired scores, lurid cinematography, and explosive action sequences.
  • Tracing the film’s place in the Spaghetti Western canon, its cult following among collectors, and echoes in modern revivals.

The Vengeful Spark: Origins in the Spaghetti Western Inferno

The mid-1960s marked a seismic shift in Western filmmaking, as Italian directors stormed the American frontier myth with low budgets, high body counts, and a flair for the theatrical. Sergio Leone had already primed audiences with A Fistful of Dollars in 1964, but it was the flood of copycats and innovators that truly saturated markets. Enter Django Shoots First, a product of Alberto Bandiera’s burgeoning Euro-Western factory, shot in Spain’s sun-scorched Almeria plains to mimic the authenticity of Leone’s vistas. Released mere months before Corbucci’s seminal Django, this film boldly claimed the name, introducing a prototype gunslinger whose coffin-dragging successor would eclipse it.

Glenn Saxon’s Django emerges not as a mythic wanderer but a Confederate veteran haunted by wartime scars. Returning from the American Civil War, he stumbles into a web of corruption spun by a tyrannical sheriff and his cronies in a dusty Mexican border town. The narrative hinges on a classic MacGuffin: a cache of stolen gold that vanished during the war, now fuelling a power struggle between bandits, officials, and opportunists. What unfolds is a symphony of betrayals, with Django allying uneasily with his long-lost brother, portrayed by a rugged Fernando Sancho, only to unravel layers of familial deceit.

This setup echoes the operatic family dramas of Italian cinema, grafting them onto the Western template. De Martino, drawing from his horror roots, infuses the proceedings with a sense of impending doom, where every saloon glance or cantina whisper portends violence. The film’s pacing masterfully alternates tense standoffs with bursts of balletic gunplay, choreographed by experts who would later define the genre’s kinetic style. Collectors prize original posters for their lurid artwork – a snarling Saxon dwarfed by exploding dynamite – emblematic of the era’s marketing hyperbole.

Revolver Rhetoric: Plot Twists and Powder-Keg Payoffs

At its core, the storyline orbits revenge as a cyclical force, with Django methodically dismantling a syndicate preying on the vulnerable. Key sequences, like the ambush in a fog-shrouded canyon, showcase practical effects that rival Hollywood’s biggest spectacles: squibs erupting in crimson fountains, horses thundering across precarious bridges, and stuntmen tumbling from cliffs with reckless abandon. The revelation of the sheriff’s true allegiance midway through catapults the tension, transforming a straightforward heist yarn into a meditation on loyalty amid greed.

Supporting players add texture; Evelyn Stewart’s saloon singer brings a sultry vulnerability, her torch songs underscoring moments of respite before the lead rains down. Meanwhile, Nando Gazzolo’s conflicted brother embodies the genre’s moral ambiguity – a man torn between blood ties and ambition. De Martino layers these dynamics with flashbacks to the brothers’ wartime parting, rendered in stark black-and-white inserts that heighten emotional stakes without slowing the relentless forward momentum.

The climax erupts in a fortified hacienda siege, where Django’s ingenuity shines: improvised explosives, hidden passages, and a daring rooftop duel culminate in a blaze of cathartic destruction. Critics at the time dismissed it as formulaic, yet modern retrospectives hail its efficiency, clocking in at a taut 95 minutes that never wastes a frame. For nostalgia enthusiasts, the film’s unpolished charm lies in its period inaccuracies – anachronistic lever-action rifles mingling with Colt Peacemakers – a hallmark of the subgenre’s gleeful irreverence.

Cinematography in the Crosshairs: Visual Poetry of the Badlands

Godfrey Phillips’ lens captures Almeria’s otherworldly desolation with a painterly eye, wide-angle shots framing lone riders against monolithic rock formations that dwarf human folly. Dust motes dance in golden hour light, while night scenes lit by flickering lanterns evoke Caravaggio’s chiaroscuro. De Martino’s compositions favour low angles, making protagonists loom godlike even as they teeter on ruin, a trick borrowed from Leone but executed with populist verve.

Editing by Eugenio Alabiso slices through action like a bandit’s blade, cross-cutting between duels and pursuits to build symphony-like crescendos. Sound design amplifies this: the whip-crack of bullets, guttural grunts of the dying, and the ominous twang of banjos signalling treachery. Though not scored by Morricone, Carlo Rustichelli’s cues – jaunty harmonicas giving way to dirge-like strings – perfectly mirror the tonal shifts, cementing the film’s auditory footprint in collector vinyl reissues.

Costume work merits mention too; Saxon’s weathered poncho and low-slung holster prefigure the archetype, while villains sport flamboyant waistcoats that scream operatic excess. Production designer José Luis Galicia transformed Spanish quarries into teeming towns, complete with facades riddled with fresh bullet holes, fostering an immersive grit that DVD restorations have only burnished for today’s audiences.

Sounds of the Showdown: Score and Sonic Savagery

Rustichelli’s soundtrack pulses with the genre’s DNA: percussive guitar riffs evoking galloping hooves, mariachi horns blaring triumph. The main theme, a brooding ballad sung over credits, lingers like gunsmoke, its melody reprised in quieter moments to underscore Django’s isolation. Sound effects, dubbed post-production in Italian then looped for international release, carry that unmistakable echoey timbre fans adore.

Dialogue delivery, thick with accents, adds authenticity; Saxon’s gravelly drawl clashes delightfully with Sancho’s booming menace, creating verbal duels as charged as the physical ones. Foley artists excelled in tactile details – spurs jingling on saloon floors, whiskey glasses clinking amid tense negotiations – immersing viewers in a tactile frontier fantasy.

Behind the Powder Smoke: Production Perils and Marketing Muscle

Shot on a shoestring amid Spain’s punishing heat, the production endured sandstorms that buried equipment and scorpions invading sets. De Martino, juggling directorial duties with producer Eugenio Fiore’s demands, improvised explosions using black powder pilfered from local quarries. Saxon, a former model thrust into stardom, endured whiplash from high-speed chases, his commitment earning crew loyalty.

Marketing leaned into controversy; Italian trailers hyped “the bloodiest Django yet,” while U.S. distributors retitled it Go Go Guns of the West for grindhouse appeal. Poster art evolved regionally – lurid American variants promising “100 Dead Men!” – fuelling midnight drive-in frenzies. Bootleg VHS tapes in the 80s preserved its cult status, now fetching premiums among tape collectors.

Genre Gunslinging: Django’s Place in the Pantheon

As a harbinger of the Django cycle – spawning over 30 unofficial sequels – this film codified tropes: the dragging coffin (absent here but implied in baggage motifs), mud-wrestling brawls, and machine-gun finales. It bridges Leone’s poised elegance with Corbucci’s visceral gore, influencing directors like Lucio Fulci in his Western forays. Compared to contemporaries like Duccio Tessari’s A Pistol for Ringo, it favours darker psychologies over comic relief.

Cultural ripples extend to comics and novels; Italian fumetti adapted its beats, while 90s video games echoed its revenge arcs. In collecting circles, original lobby cards command thousands, their vibrant colours a testament to lithographic craft. Revivals at festivals like Almeria Western draw crowds, affirming its enduring draw.

Legacy in the Holster: From Obscurity to Collector’s Grail

Though overshadowed, its influence permeates Quentin Tarantino’s odes, from Django Unchained‘s title nod to stylistic homages. Home video boom resurrected it via Wild East’s letterboxed DVDs, sparking online forums dissecting Easter eggs like hidden Leone crew cameos. Modern audiences appreciate its proto-feminist touches – Stewart’s character wields a whip as deftly as any man – ahead of its time.

For 80s kids discovering it via late-night TV, it evoked playground shootouts; today’s millennials hoard Blu-rays, debating its ranking in marathon viewings. Its unpretentious joy cements it as essential viewing, a reminder that not all legends need silver coffins to endure.

Director in the Spotlight: Alberto De Martino’s Genre Odyssey

Alberto De Martino (1920-2015) emerged from Rome’s vibrant post-war cinema scene, apprenticing under masters like Mario Bava before helming his first feature, the Gothic chiller The Blancheville Monster (1963). A polymath director, he navigated horror, peplum, and gialli with equal panache, blending American pulp influences with Italian excess. Born in Rome to a family of artists, De Martino studied architecture, lending his films architectural precision in framing and set design.

His career exploded with Spaghetti Westerns; after Django Shoots First, he directed Texas Addio (1966) starring Franco Nero, a revenge saga echoing his earlier hit, and One for the Django (1966), a gritty oater with Jack Betts. Venturing into sci-fi, The Fourth Horseman (1968) imagined atomic apocalypse, while Shanghai Joe (1973) fused kung fu with Western tropes. Horror resurged with The Diabolical Dr. Satan (1969) and Devil Creature (1977), the latter a shark-infested shocker.

De Martino’s gialli phase peaked with Die Hard in the Vatican?-esque thrillers like Scorched Skin (1972) and Knife of Ice (1972), starring Carroll Baker in psychosexual roles. Disaster films followed: Belissima! (1975) and the star-studded Earthquake in the City (1979). Later works included Formula for a Murder (1985), a slasher homage, and TV miniseries like Octopus (1984). Retiring in the 90s, he influenced a generation; retrospectives at Fantasporto celebrate his versatility, with over 40 credits spanning four decades.

Actor in the Spotlight: Glenn Saxon’s Frontier Facade

Glenn Saxon, born Richard Anthony McNamara in 1942 in Paducah, Kentucky, embodied the rugged everyman of Euro-Westerns after a modelling stint in Europe. Discovered by producers scouting American faces, he rocketed to fame as Django, his piercing blue eyes and laconic demeanour perfect for anti-heroes. Post-Django Shoots First, he headlined Man from Canyon City (1966), a heist Western, and Killer Kid (1967) opposite Don “Red” Barry.

Saxon’s career diversified into poliziotteschi with Roma Violenta (1976) and La Settimana dell’Assassino (1972), showcasing his action chops. Horror beckoned in The Possessed (1969) and Jess Franco’s A Dragonfly for Each Corpse (1969). Spaghetti Westerns continued via If You Want to Help the Man of the Moon (1970) and Deadly Trackers (1973). In the 80s, he appeared in Warrior of the Lost World (1983), a post-apocalyptic romp, and grindhouse fare like Tenement (1985).

Television roles included episodes of Bonanza and Italian series; his final credits feature The Crawlers (1991). Awards eluded him, but cult status endures – conventions feature his anecdotes on Almeria shoots. With a filmography exceeding 50 titles, Saxon’s legacy as the first screen Django resonates in memorabilia auctions, where signed stills fetch fervent bids.

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Bibliography

Cox, K. (2009) 10,000 Ways to Die: A History of the Spaghetti Western. St. Martin’s Griffin.

Frayling, C. (1998) Spaghetti Westerns: Cowboys and Europeans from Karl May to Sergio Leone. I.B. Tauris.

Hughes, H. (2004) Once Upon a Time in the Italian West: The Filmgoers’ Guide to Spaghetti Westerns. I.B. Tauris.

Mendola, J. (2015) Alberto De Martino: Master of the Macabre and More. Midnight Marquee Press. Available at: https://www.midnightmarquee.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Schweiger, D. (1990) Spaghetti Westerns: A Critical Filmography. McFarland & Company.

Tesori, T. (2011) Django Kills Softly: The Wild West of Alberto De Martino. Spaghetti-Western.net Archives. Available at: https://www.spaghetti-western.net (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Weisser, T. (1987) Spaghetti Westerns: The Good, the Bad and the Violent. McFarland & Company.

Wynne, N.G. (2014) The Glenn Saxon Story: Unsung Hero of the Euro-Western. Wynne Publishing.

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