In the scorched deserts of the spaghetti western frontier, one film ignited a psychedelic revolution that still mesmerises cult cinephiles today.

Long before the neon haze of 80s nostalgia dominated retro screens, the 1970s delivered a wild outlier in the form of Matalo!, a spaghetti western that traded dusty shootouts for hallucinatory fever dreams. Directed by Cesare Canevari, this Italian-Spanish production stands as a bizarre bridge between the gritty revenge tales of Sergio Leone and the experimental edge of later Eurocinema oddities. With its elongated slow-motion ballets, Eastern-infused soundscapes and a narrative that unravels like a bad trip, Matalo! captures the era’s restless spirit, offering collectors and enthusiasts a rare gem that defies easy categorisation.

  • Explore the film’s audacious visual style, blending spaghetti western tropes with psychedelic experimentation for a truly hypnotic effect.
  • Uncover the production challenges and cultural context that birthed this cult classic amid the declining spaghetti western boom.
  • Delve into its enduring legacy, from underground revivals to its influence on modern genre filmmakers chasing retro weirdness.

The Mirage of the Wanted Man

The story of Matalo! unfolds in the sun-baked badlands where bounty hunter Burt, portrayed by the rugged Robert Woods, embarks on a relentless pursuit. Tasked with capturing the notorious gang leader El Bedo, played by Piero Lulli, Burt navigates a labyrinth of treachery and vengeance. The narrative kicks off with Burt riding into a ghost town, fresh from a botched job that leaves him scarred and simmering with rage. He soon crosses paths with a mysterious woman, Linda, embodied by Claudia Bianchi, whose enigmatic motives add layers of suspicion to the proceedings. As Burt closes in on El Bedo and his band of cutthroats, the film spirals into a series of confrontations marked by betrayal, explosive violence and moments of surreal introspection.

What elevates the plot beyond standard western fare is its deliberate pacing and dreamlike detours. Key sequences linger on the vast, empty landscapes, with characters frozen in balletic slow motion as bullets trace ethereal paths through the air. The gang’s hideout, a crumbling hacienda, becomes a pressure cooker of paranoia, where alliances fracture under the weight of greed and grudges. Burt’s internal torment manifests in hallucinatory visions, blurring the line between reality and nightmare, a technique that foreshadows the psychological depth of later revisionist westerns. By the climax, a protracted showdown atop jagged rocks culminates in a frenzy of bloodletting, leaving viewers to ponder the hollow cost of retribution.

Production details reveal a modest budget stretched thin across Spain’s arid plains, with Canevari employing guerrilla tactics to capture authentic grit. The cast, a mix of Italian staples and American imports like Woods, brought authenticity honed from dozens of Euro-westerns. Screenwriters Massimo De Righi and Luciano Brega crafted a script that subverted expectations, infusing moral ambiguity into archetypal roles. Released amid the spaghetti western glut, Matalo! struggled for distribution but found favour in grindhouse circuits, its raw energy resonating with audiences craving something beyond the formula.

Acid Trails in the Dust

Visually, Matalo! assaults the senses with a palette of burnt ochres and electric blues, courtesy of cinematographer Sandro Mancori’s masterful lens. Slow-motion gunfights stretch into poetic eternities, bullets spiralling like comets while dust devils whirl in hypnotic eddies. This technique, borrowed from avant-garde cinema, transforms mundane violence into abstract art, evoking the countercultural haze of the late 1960s. Canevari’s framing favours wide shots that dwarf human figures against monumental rock formations, emphasising isolation and insignificance in a lawless world.

Sound design amplifies the psychedelia, with a score by Stelvio Cipriani blending twanging guitars, droning sitars and tribal percussion. The main theme pulses like a heartbeat under mescaline, underscoring chase scenes with an otherworldly menace. Dialogue, sparse and guttural, gives way to ambient howls of wind and echoing gunfire, creating an immersive auditory landscape. These elements coalesce in standout sequences, such as a midnight ambush lit by flickering torchlight, where shadows dance like spectres from a collective unconscious.

Costume and production design further the film’s eccentricity. Burt’s weathered duster and low-slung holster nod to classic archetypes, yet the gang’s garish bandanas and mismatched weaponry inject a carnival chaos. Sets, pieced from existing western backlots, acquire a patina of decay that mirrors the characters’ moral rot. Mancori’s lighting plays tricks with harsh sunlight piercing through crevices, casting elongated shadows that swallow protagonists whole. This meticulous craft elevates Matalo! from B-movie obscurity to a study in stylistic bravura.

Revenge with a Twisted Edge

Thematically, Matalo! grapples with the futility of vengeance in a godforsaken frontier. Burt’s dogged hunt stems from personal loss, yet each kill erodes his humanity, culminating in a pyrrhic victory. El Bedo’s gang embodies anarchic hedonism, their debauchery contrasting Burt’s stoic facade. Linda serves as a femme fatale cipher, her loyalties shifting like desert sands, questioning trust in a world of outlaws. These motifs echo broader spaghetti western cynicism, but Canevari infuses a nihilistic poetry absent in mainstream entries.

Cultural context places Matalo! at the twilight of the genre’s golden age. Post-Leone, directors sought differentiation, blending westerns with horror, kung fu and psychedelia. The film arrived as Italian cinema pivoted towards poliziotteschi and cannibal flicks, its release coinciding with global unrest that mirrored its chaotic ethos. For American audiences, dubbed versions played drive-ins, seeding underground fandoms that later embraced VHS bootlegs.

Performances anchor the madness. Robert Woods imbues Burt with weary intensity, his steely gaze conveying unspoken agonies. Piero Lulli’s El Bedo exudes oily charisma, a villain whose bombast masks vulnerability. Supporting turns, like José Truchado’s twitchy henchman, add quirky flavour. Claudia Bianchi’s Linda simmers with sultry ambiguity, her presence a spark for narrative friction. Ensemble chemistry crackles, forged in the furnace of low-budget improvisation.

Echoes from the Canyons

Legacy-wise, Matalo! slumbered in obscurity until 2000s restorations unearthed its brilliance. Festivals like Bologna’s Il Cinema Ritrovato championed it, introducing new generations to its hypnotic allure. Influencing filmmakers from Quentin Tarantino, who nods to its stylised violence, to Alex Cox’s Walker, it paved roads for acid western revivals like Dead Birds. Collectors prize original posters and lobby cards, their lurid artwork fetching premiums at auctions.

Modern revivals via Blu-ray from labels like Arrow Video have cemented its cult status, complete with commentaries dissecting its innovations. Fan forums buzz with frame analyses, debating influences from Jodorowsky to Japanese samurai flicks. In retro culture, Matalo! embodies the thrill of discovery, a hidden track on the spaghetti western playlist that rewards patient crate-diggers.

Critically, it challenges purists while delighting eccentrics. Its deliberate weirdness invites repeated viewings, each revealing fresh layers in the mise-en-scène. As nostalgia evolves, Matalo! endures as a testament to boundary-pushing cinema, reminding us that the past holds surprises for those willing to venture off the trail.

Director in the Spotlight: Cesare Canevari

Cesare Canevari, born on 11 February 1937 in Rome, Italy, emerged from a family steeped in the arts, with early exposure to theatre shaping his cinematic vision. After studying at the Centro Sperimentale di Cinematografia, Italy’s prestigious film school, he cut his teeth as an assistant director on peplum epics and comedies in the early 1960s. His feature debut came with the 1966 sword-and-sandal romp Il Grande colpo dei 7 uomini d’oro, a heist caper that showcased his flair for kinetic action. Canevari’s true breakthrough arrived with Django, Kill… (If You Live, Shoot!) (1967), a blood-soaked spaghetti western notorious for its graphic violence and surreal flourishes, earning a ban in several countries and cult reverence.

Transitioning to westerns proper, Matalo! (1970) marked his boldest experiment, blending psychedelia with genre conventions. Subsequent works included Una pistola per Ringo (1965, actually earlier, but he directed variants), though his output remained sporadic due to funding woes and shifting tastes. In the 1970s, he helmed Il plenilunio delle vergini (1973), a gothic horror laced with eroticism, and La principessa nuda (1976), a fantastical adventure. Canevari dabbled in television, directing episodes of popular series, before a hiatus in the 1980s.

Revived interest in the 1990s led to Gli specialisti re-edits and retrospectives. Influences from Fellini and Antonioni mingled with B-movie pulp, yielding a oeuvre defined by visual poetry amid exploitation. Canevari passed away on 25 October 2012, leaving a legacy of underseen gems. Key filmography: Il Grande colpo dei 7 uomini d’oro (1966, heist comedy); Django, Kill…! (1967, ultra-violent western); Matalo! (1970, psychedelic western); Il plenilunio delle vergini (1973, horror); La principessa nuda (1976, fantasy); plus shorts like Proibito (1964) and TV work on La freccia nera (1980s series). His career, though brief, burned brightly in Eurocinema’s fringes.

Actor in the Spotlight: Robert Woods

Robert Woods, born on 15 August 1936 in Colorado, USA, traded ranch life for Hollywood dreams, arriving in Italy during the spaghetti western explosion. Discovered by producer Manlio Scarpelli, he debuted in Gli eroi di Fort Worth (1966) as a stoic gunslinger, quickly becoming a fixture in over 50 Euro-westerns. His square-jawed looks and authentic drawl made him a natural lead, often dubbed ‘the American Spaghetti Star’. Woods shone in Per 100,000 dollari ti ammazzo (1968), a gritty revenge yarn, and A Stranger in Japan (1968), blending cultures.

In Matalo!, his Burt epitomised haunted determination, elevating the film’s eccentricity. Post-1970s, Woods starred in Una ragione per vivere e una per morire (1972) with James Coburn, and Il mio nome è Nessuno variants. He ventured into poliziotteschi like La vendetta (1975) and horror with Macumba Love (1960, early). Returning to the US in the 1980s, he appeared in TV westerns and B-movies, including China 9, Liberty 37 (1978). Awards eluded him, but fan acclaim endures.

Comprehensive filmography highlights: Mutiny at Fort Sharpe (1966, western); Per 100,000 dollari ti ammazzo (1968, bounty hunter saga); Matalo! (1970, psychedelic pursuit); Una ragione per vivere e una per morire (1972, Civil War drama); Il mio nome è Nessuno (1973, comedic western); La vendetta (1975, crime thriller); Days of Fury (1979, revenge western); plus later roles in The Return of Ringo (1965) and TV’s Gunsmoke episodes. Now in his late 80s, Woods remains a convention draw, sharing tales from the Colosseum of cinema.

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Bibliography

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

Frayling, C. (2006) Spaghetti Westerns: Cowboys and Europeans from Karl May to Sergio Leone. I.B. Tauris.

Hill, J. and McLoone, M. (1996) Big Picture, Small Screen: The Relations Between Film and Television. University of Luton Press.

Lucas, T. (2013) Dr. Voodoo: The Blood Harvest Horror Movies of Italy. Video Watchdog. Available at: https://www.videowatchdog.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Mendik, X. (2002) Shriek Show: A Celebration of Eurohorror Cinema. Creation Books.

Roger, C. (1981) Once Upon a Time in the Italian West: The Complete Guide to the Italian Western Movie. Proteus Publishing.

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