Red Sun: more sukiyaki than spaghetti [archived newspaper article]

 

Calgary Herald

By Jamie Portman

July 29, 1972

European western starring Charles Bronson

     A train rumbles up to the sunbaked old railway station. Hey! Who’s that leaning against the station wall – that guy with the beady eyes, sweat-brimmed hat, spaghetti mustache and unwashed face?

     Good grief! It’s Charles Bronson, the swarthy hero of umpteen European westerns.

     Bronson’s a fast worker. Before we know it, he’s on board that train carrying out a robbery in his own inimitable fashion.

     “My assistants are going to take up a collection,” he cheerfully informs the gaping passengers. “Just like they do in church.”

SINISTER DUDE

      Unfortunately, one of Bronson’s assistants is a sinister dude in black who, on closer inspection, turns out to be French matinee idol Alain Delon.

     Delon is one of those ice-blooded villains who like to pump bullet holes into people, in this case, however, he’s guilty of the most dangerous type of recklessness. He breaks into a private railway car occupied by the honorable Japanese ambassador to the United States, and rudely steals a magnificent, jeweled gold sword.

     Since the sword happens to be a gift from the Mikado to the president of the United States, the ambassador is understandably vexed.

     MOKUM CONTENT

     Through a set of circumstances better known as screenwriter’s contrivance, Bronson falls into the ambassador’s clutches.

     The ambassador assigns a rocka-faced Samurai (Toshiro Mifune) to accompany Bronson in tracking down the insidious Delon.

     “I commit hara-kiri if I fail,” intones Mifune.

     “That’s something I would like to see,” grins Bronson.

     “And he will cut your head off,” adds the ambassador.

     “That’s something I wouldn’t like to see,” quavers Bronson.

     The basic rule of thumb for made-in-Europe westerns is that the more outrageous their hokum content, the greater their entertainment value. Red Sun, now in its second week at the Westbrook One, ranks high in this category. As Sir Noel Coward once observed, tripe and onions can be a palatable dish if properly concocted.

     And Red Sun is certainly a concoction. These European westerns are usually filmed in Spain with a wildly international production team. Ever since Clint Eastwood riddled out a reputation in his Man With No Name characterizations these movies have been labeled “spaghetti westerns” because of their predominantly Latin origins.

     But Red Sun has a British director in Terence Young, the man responsible for three James Bond films. And even though it’s been filmed in some forsaken part of Spain, it’s less spaghetti than it is sukiyaki.

     That’s because of the formidable presence of Toshiro Mifune as the avenging Samurai. He and Bronson naturally detest each other. Bronson makes several attempts to escape from his awesome comrade, but Mifune is more than a match for him.

DURABLE CHARACTER

     Mifune never gets tired because he can sleep while trudging up the slopes. He also claims considerable expertise in judo. Bronson starts getting really worried when Mifune eliminates mosquitoes from an evening campsite by drawing his sword and chopping the pesky insects in half while they’re actually in flight. Bronson panics, and stupidly shove this frightening person off a cliff, but even that doesn’t work. For the purpose of this film Mifune is about as durable as Dr. Frankenstein’s monster. He may not be credible, but who expects credibility from a motion picture like this one.

     Mifune does have a few human weaknesses. He and Bronson visit an “establishment” frequently patronized by the elusive Delon, and while Mifune solicits the favors of one of the girls, Bronson and Ursula Andress, another of the inmates indulge in such vintage repartee as the following:

     He: “Christine, you’re a whore, you’ve always been one, and you always will be one.”

     She: “You always did know how to speak to a woman.”

     Meanwhile, in some back parlor, some amateur musician is plunking out Robert Schumann’s children piece, The Jolly Farmer, on the piano. Elsewhere in the film, the music is less incongruous, having been composed by modern tune smith Maurice Jarre in his familiar style of torrid opulence.

     Red Sun is unquestionably lively, and also quite bloody. Predictably, Bronson turns out not to have a heart of flint after all. But our first impression of Delon as a double-dyed skunk is thoroughly vindicated by the end of the film. Miss Andress is ornamental, whereas Mr. Mifune is monumental.

      There are alsos several marauding Spanish extras dressed in Apache costumes. In a movie like this, anything goes.