There are three movies on Netflix currently starring Allan “Rocky/Red Ryder/Mr. Ed” Lane so you can tell where this is headed right? I had another fifty or so minutes to spare again this week and let’s say right off the bat this boy and his punching show no signs whatsoever of stopping. So I watched. Then I searched. For “Carson City Bandits”. And I found absolutely nothing. Zip, nada, donkey shit from a shitless donkey (somehow). Why? Because that movie does not exist. I was tired and at work and at work I don’t care so my mind wanders and I make stuff up to amuse myself and confuse myself. I did find this picture on my misdirected search though.
Feel free to insert your own cock…joke here. Hahahahaha! But seriously, that came up because the internet is nothing but dicks and tits and people arguing about politics so more dicks really. And robots and Amazon.com I guess. There are some other sites here and there but they all have dicks and tits if you look hard enough. Yes, I checked. I ran “dicks and tits” on Amazon to prove my point. Top three return in descending order? An album called “Choked in Anal Mange”, a mix of 10 erotic eBooks by various authors and “Laurel and Hardy: The Essential Collection”! Go ahead and doubt me, look for yourself and face the things that should not be! Thankfully I got my act together and remembered the title was Corpus Christi Bandits (though Rocky did make Carson City Raiders) and gleefully returned to the internet for pictorial redemption only to confirm the fact that not many these days seem to care about Westerns in general much less one from 1945. So I found like two goddamn pictures. I know I should get some fancy screen grabbing program or another but first I’d need a Kickstarter to raise money to help me underfuckingstand computers in general! Arg, ugh and hmmph, even though I was raised from the dawn of the PC I know more about the life cycle of the Andalusian Fart Finch than I do PCs. And a Fart Finch might not even exist though I pray to God it does! But here’s Rocky Lane’s house anyway:
Looks a little modern I know. And more specifically it’s his mom and dad’s house. And he’s in the military. During World War II. It took about ten minutes before the story-time flashback started and I spent most of that trying to justify the fact that the Netflix synopsis had said something about a Civil War vet’s past catching up with him and this takes place in the 1940s. Rocky’s dad didn’t look a hundred years old and shit…wait, he’s not. He’s gonna tell his oops-baby of a daughter the tale of “Corpus Christi Jim”, a long gone relative with a lively tale to tell. One filled with punching, bandit-ing, intrigue, punching, redemption, punching and also this poor dead bastard who would you believe died from a gunshot and not punching.
Maybe I shouldn’t have blown my show and tell kinda load just yet but I only had two specific pics to use so what the hell. You don’t read this for pics right? You read this for words like “poop” and “fart finch”. And other words I reckon that actually review something like Corpus Christi Bandits. Which is another rambunctious offering from the now defunct Republic Pictures.
It’s formulaic but despite the “rinse and repeat” style I found this one just about as enjoyable as last week’s Black Hills Ambush. I think the pacing ran through those hills a bit better and overall that one was a more cohesive and concise bit of storytelling but C.C.B. has one fight scene in it that rivals the time Keith David and Roddy Piper kicked the shit out of each other for five minutes in They Live and the start of that fight is hands down one of my favorite movie moments ever. Watch as bar owner and general douche-bag Wade Larkin acts scandalized then gets vandalized!
And he deserves it, he deserves everything he gets in this movie from his face full of fists to his ass filled with whoop. Little life lessons are what these old, seemingly schlocky flicks excel at teaching to the discerning eye. There had conflicts and resolutions the likes of which we don’t see too much in these PC smothered days of must be government approved fuckery. Be nice, play nice and bend over backwards to make the guy fucking you have an easier job at it did not exist back when our streets were mostly dirt and a man knew how to build himself a house instead of having Jimmy Carter do it (and on my goddamn dime!)
See, these past two weeks I’ve been taking in films produced in an era when we were proud. On the up and up, saving the world shamelessly and acting like the a country that had guts with big balls hanging off those guts. We were folks that told it like it was whether home or abroad and art imitates life so as much fun as these movies are for me they make me hurt inside too. And Corpus Christi Bandits goes the extra mile as the movie’s first bookend set in WWII and the last one that flashed back to the same time period managed to reflect the attitudes, hopes and aspirations of our Nation in a very unassuming and honest manner.
And they landed with all the delicacy of a slap to my face. I laughed at the end of this film but then I thought about the road we’re on…
I don’t know if we can turn all this nowadays shit around but movies like Corpus Christi Bandits give me the hope, me the pessimist’s pessimist, that we have it in our DNA and better yet, our souls, to do so. And I’m not talking all Judeo-Christian beliefs here. It’s much more simple than that. It’s I live my life and you live yours. And we’re thankful. And we smoke what we want and screw who we want and go where we want and all when we want to do it. 3 rounds in the cylinder this week with a little extra powder in each as thanks for the reminder. The reminder that back in the day, for better or worse, you chose your own path, were appreciative of veterans, punched an asshole because he was an asshole that needed punchin’ and you made a little more out of yourself each day you were blessed to wake up and draw breath. I think tomorrow, despite our current collective distress, I’ll roll out of bed and do just that amigos. I’ll ride and a little bit truer than I did today.
Calluses and grit
Stuff fixed, broken and re-made
Working with your hands
A quickie can be fun. You don’t always have time to lay out rose petals or spend eight hours going Tantric unless you’re Sting and then you know you’ve got all the time in the world because Kyle MacLachlan won’t stab you until right around the year 10,191 (that joke makes sense on only one planet in the entire universe!) So spicing up your life with some speed sessions is a great idea and let me tell you this applies to both sex and Westerns. And I guess light meals and workouts too. Oh and showers. A quick, refreshing shower always helps you feel better. Holla!
With every application of acceleration in our feverishly blurred lives we speed further and further away from our collective past and a brief little black and white ditty like Black Hills Ambush can serve to show us where we came from and where we can go from here if we choose. Sometimes I don’t know where I’m headed with these reviews. Most of the time really. All of almost every time actually. Psychoanalysis and soapbox sermons seep onto the page and then the hilarity tends to suffer. Or skip the honest introspection, because I know these ain’t so much reviews as they are my usually immediate gut deep reactions to a particular film oft devoid of technical merit or art house huff and puff, but skip the critical thinking and Rango gets buried under a mound of shit and dick jokes. And shit covered dick jokes. And Rango doesn’t deserve that. Hooded Angels and The Wild Bunch do but not Rango and not most others neither. So it’s a fine line I tread amigos in literature and life. Shooting from the hip is a pretty satisfyingly sanguineous way to get through every day whether that day leads to heaven or hell or little bits of both. It’s not perfect, never perfect, but it’s mine. I own it. Lock, stock and proverbial barrel. And I’m healthier despite the risks I reckon. Gotta kick hard and ride fast, like this new hero of mine.
That’s Allan Lane and his horse Black Jack. That’s also Allan “Rocky” Lane and his horse Black Jack. What do I mean? Well, from what I can gather Allan Lane found his fame in B-movie sagebrush sagas as himself. Starring in what may be the very definition of a “shit-ton” of films he wasn’t Allan “Rocky” Lane playing such and such or who and who. He was Marshall Rocky Lane, Sheriff “Rocky” Lane and holy fuckmyface it’s plain old Rocky Lane! This cat was so cool he didn’t need a role he just showed up on his trusty steed and started firing off rounds and instantly classic one liners. Like this one he never said:
“Hey nugget, hold my sack while I go kick it up in that bandit’s asshole!”
The crazy thing? That old dude was really named “Nugget”! And although Rocky didn’t exactly say “asshole” he did kick, here we go again, shit-tons of it in just fifty two minutes. Can this guy land a punch? Does a bear shit on your mom’s face in the woods after he’s left her filled with grizzly creampie? FUCK YES HE CAN PUNCH!
Two man-made objects are visible from space. The Great Wall of China and Rocky Lane’s goddamn balls. And while a quick fact check will reveal that the whole “Great Wall from space” thing is a lie nothing can be found to debunk the fact I know in my heart to be true, that Rocky’s awesome balls were exactly that big. In Black Hills Ambush you will see him dodge bullets, save a troubled youth, tell a joke, solve a mystery, ride like the wind (on his buddy Black Jack!) and use his fists to pummel anyone who gets in his way. Look here as he prepares to makes a man eat his own dick all in the name of rough justice!
And rough justice is really the best kind. But like I said he has a sensitive side too. He’s not all fists and fury. Like here when he and his young ward invented the “Reverse Dutch Rudder.
So maybe he is just all fists and fury but would you expect any less from a guy named “Rocky” playing himself ad infinitum? Plus I don’t fault any man for using his fists anyhow long as he’s not hurting anyone. Anyone who doesn’t deserve to eat his own dick of course. And in case you still had any doubts about the fucking awesome factor of one Allan “Rocky” Lane allow me to educate you real good like. Class is in session and this sumbitch was Red Ryder!
This mother fuckin’ Red Ryder!
Side-note: that blue Indian on the left in the poster looks like a quizzical Navajo raised Gerber baby! Back on task! Allan “Rocky” Lane was not only himself annnd Red Ryder but he was none other than the voice of Mr. Ed.
Je-he-he-sus Christ Wilber! Mr. mother fucking Ed! Though he never was credited with the role when it first aired as he thought it was beneath him (until it became a huuuuuuuuge hit) it just can’t be an anymore perfect cap to your cowboy career to go down as the one of the most beloved TV critters of all time. So class dismissed. I’ll bet you learned a thing or two even between all the dicks and shit.
And I learned (or re-learned or just remembered) from this week’s watchin’ that short can indeed be so very sweet. 4 rounds in the cylinder for Black Hills Ambush. Black and white honestly bores me to tears most of the time but a few have surprised me and none more than this one. I was ready to grin and bear it through an hour of what I felt assured would be torture but this just goes to show I don’t know everything. I finished my dinner and kicked back on the floor like a kid in front of cartoons and for a time I was a kid again. Plastic six-gun on my hip and adventure in my heart. Life goes by way too quick and sometimes all we can manage to grab are the brief moments. Never let a one slip by. The story of your life is written in both grand chapters and solitary words. Both can be impressively meaningful. And both are waiting for you right now.
Ride on amigos.
And always ride true.
My weak and strong life
If I was just one aspect
I’d be so damn bored
It’s usually better to get kicked in the balls with no warning. If you see it coming you fret and tense up and all that worry turns into extra pain so it’s better to just not see it coming at all. In that sense McCabe and Miss Miller does you a favor. I won’t tell you how it ends but I’ll bet it does so in a way you probably weren’t expecting, or rather, hoping for. This movie is weird for a Western. To start off with Warren Beatty is a Wookie hunter.
Not really I suppose but this is set in the Northwestern portion of the lower forty eight so in reality that’s probably a dead sasquatch he’s wearing. Some might say the mighty sasquatch is a fictitious being. Those people are squatch doubting cocksuckers and that…that is no lie. The flesh and blood John McCabe stands right in front of you, hat cocked assuredly to one side paralelling his cocksure grin while he deftly deals cards and cooch to the lonely locals and yet he might be even more make believe than Bigfoot.
But he’s right there. Or is he? McCabe isn’t all he appears to be and while being a town running tycoon on the top of your game has it’s merits doing so while keeping the lid on some past and never truly verified shadiness proves difficult. Even with the lovely Miss Constance Miller by your side.
That’s Julie Christie and she gives money to the Palestine Solidarity Campaign supporting a ban on Israeli made goods. Despite her best efforts over the years Snake Eyes has still had all the Uzis he’s ever needed while she’s barely survived without fine Hasidic hair products. And she’s a whore. Not because of the antisemitism but because Miss Miller is a madam and charges five bucks a poke. Which is a lot by today’s standards and even more-so considering that goddamn updo. It’d be like a Chia pet was blowing you with it’s unforgiving adobe like lips. But considering the only other pros in town consisted of an underage girl who tries to stab her customers, a fat chick and Shelly Duvall you might just be lining up around the block for that sandy suck-off.
So McCabe under his coat and Miss Miller under that coiffure have a nice cottage empire a growin’ out there in the woods with saloons and bath houses (all built real time, along with the rest of the town, as the filming progressed!) But then, that most often used of plot devices comes into play. That being the “someone or something fucks with you” plot device. Like Jaws (shark fucks with you), Hook (pirates fuck with you) or Schindler’s List (showers fuck with you!) What? I’m not the one giving money to the Palestine Solidarity Campaign! Chillax.
If only our half-hearted hero and Jew-hating Jezebel could chill and/or relax. Just about the time everything’s running rather smoothly with McCabe and Miss Miller making money handjobs over fist along comes another Wookie hunter to stir the pot.
That’s incredibly goddamn cool Hugh Millais who immediately became one of my favorite characters from any Western I’ve ever seen. You can tell he’s got more skills than McCabe because his coat is grey and presumably from a wiser, elder member of Chewbacca’s family. You can also tell they cloned this guy at some point in his life and made Ian McShane (proven by the fact that “Hugh Millais” is a direct anagram of “Ian McShane” if you swap almost all the letters!)
Hugh and his entourage are the stuff that great Westerns are made from but they feel wasted in this ploddingly anti-climactic film. However, half the fun of McCabe and Miss Miller lies in the fact that this normally aggravating pace does allow you to sit back and take in all the wonderfully varied townies (and cool as fuck Swearengen-esque visitors!) that reside against the snowy backdrop like ghosts in a graveyard huddling close to one another to try keeping warm and pretend to be alive.
People like Rene Auberjonois. Who’s that guy you ask? You know him…he’s this guy.
Or maybe this guy.
Or old school obscure as hell this guy!
Haggard! HAGGARD…is not in this movie but someone almost as gaunt is and it’s his first film appearance as well.
That goofy looking youngin’ is none other that Keith Carradine. He has a big hat, a big heart and both make big targets.
It’s not like he hung himself while jerking off so chllax, again. And maybe give McCabe and Miss MIller a go once you’ve poured a nice glass of whiskey for yourself. Another tough call this week but I’ll load 4 rounds for this one without too much chagrin. It didn’t always head in the direction I would have wanted and my balls still ache from denouement but those are my issues to deal with. In addition the sound quality on my copy was horrible. I don’t know if that’s the case with all versions (mine was an AMC classics four pack along with Jeremiah “The Fucking Man” Johnson, The Train “I haven’t seen it yet” Robbers and The Wild “Fuck this with the deepest darkest dicks of Hell” Bunch). All this means I didn’t enjoy it as much as I could have but the never ending cast of characters, multitudinous and otherwise meaningless side conversations that nonetheless proved delightful and Hugh Millais saved this one for me. Drunk Warren Beatty too, he was charming in that “I’ve been there” kind of way. So middlin mixed with moments of near perfection. Sort of like life at times so I know why I sort of liked it.
Now get out there and find your own near perfect moments. They’re waitin’ out on that trail. Get to ridin’ and as always, ride true.