Shalako

THERE MAY HAVE been a picture once in Shalako, but it got lost somewhere along the line. Its premise--European noblemen on a hunting safari in American Indian country--promised a possible reversal of an old Henry James theme, and certainly a chance to see familiar territory peopled by somewhat stranger animals than one finds in your run-of-the-mill western. But it was not to be: after the dramatic novelty of an execrably-filmed first five minutes, the Europeans prove themselves no different from any old tourist-class wagon train passenger. We are left to coast along, languidly carried by the debatable charisma of Sean Connery fighting Indians.

Had well-known director and HUAC witness Edward Dmytryk had the sense to play his rusty vehicle somewhat tongue-in-cheek, the heaped-on cliche might have been more entertaining, particularly given the skill of the cast. But this adaptation of an ancient: novel by Louis L'Amour tends to take itself seriously; consequently all sorts of pedantic accusations can be levelled at it: there are no dramatic climaxes, the dialogue is bad, the color stinks, the film is barely entertaining--little things like that.

On the other hand, by completely failing to realize any of the possibilities suggested by the various scenes, Shalako does propel the mind to tangential daydreaming. I got hung up on how amazingly little screen presence Connery has. A colleague emerged from the picture meditating that someone ought to make a decent picture about mountain-climbers. Another friend who shared this minor unpleasantness with us tried to figure out which part of the USA most resembled the locations in Spain where the film was shot. Yet another surmised, correctly I think, that the reason Shalako is an "outdoor" picture is that the producers didn't have any money for sets when they got through paying off the cast.

Let the record note, however, that Brigitte Bardot stars in the film, and that she is still a glorious beauty and a first-rate actress. Her English accent never fails to interest and amuse, though unfortunately her dialogue is mostly along the lines of "I have no more cartridges," or "You wanted me last night, do you still want me now?"

A lot of people are killed, and you have the satisfaction of knowing that if you don't like someone in the cast he'll probably be dead inside of a quarter of an hour. Still, after 90 minutes of slaughter, when the Indian chief makes a sign like Dave Garroway's and says, "No more killing, there has been enough bloodshed," you may regret that one or two more characters had not hit the Happy Hunting Ground before Bardot and Connery ride into the sunset.