By no means the worst of the Spaghetti Westerns that invaded cinemas in the 1960s, Navajo Joe alas doesn’t rank among the best of the genre either. For that we can blame almost everyone involved, from Burt Reynolds to director Sergio Corbucci, the writers of the clunky dialogue, and the inept dubbing.
Reynolds signed up believing Sergio Leone would direct the movie, only to discover the other Sergio had the gig. While Corbucci came to be regarded as Italy’s most successful exponent of the genre behind Leone, thanks to classics such as Django, this 1969 release was one of his weaker efforts.
The title character is the sole survivor of a massacre which claimed the life of his wife. Hell bent on revenge, Joe tracks down the gang responsible, led by Duncan (a one-dimensional Aldo Sanbrell, who is given a 30-second back-story to explain why he’s so ornery and evil).
Joe thwarts a scheme by Duncan and a crooked banker to rob a train full of money, but conveniently surrenders after Duncan holds hostage the beautiful part-Indian Estella (a vapid Nicolette Machievelli, who sounds and looks Italian, which she is).
The violence is unremitting, with women and children among the victims, but is often poorly executed (e.g. air punches which clearly miss the target), while some night scenes plainly occur beneath a blue sky. There are some trademark touches of black humour, but I suspect nowadays most of the laughs are unintentional.
Reynolds had shown his prowess in Westerns with his recurring role in TV’s Gunsmoke, but as Joe he lacks both menace and presence, and even far better actors than him would have struggled with the dreadful lines he has to utter. The score by Ennio Morricone (credited as Leo Nichols) is frequently over the top, and the uninspiring theme song is tiresomely repeated.
