Also known as Return Of Django and the far more apt, Vengence Is A Colt 45, Son Of Django is one of the more blatant examples of the legion of spaghetti westerns hoping to hitch their wagon to Sergio Corbucci’s gritty, iconic and gothic entry into an overcrowded genre.
Simply put, there’s barely any trace of the titular gunslinger in the film at all unless you want to believe that the faceless wretch who gets shot in the back at the start of the film actually is the Django. While I admit that Son Of A Guy Who Just Happens To Be Called Django hasn’t quite got the same ring to it, it’s best to just let the rampant lack of Django continuity just wash over you and take Osvaldo Civirani’s as it comes.
However, even if you do that, Son of Django just ends up being warmed up leftovers served from the plate of Sergio Leone that trades well worn tropes and cliches as much as the dusty characters trade bullets.
When he was nine years old, Jeff Tracey’s father, “Django”, was shot down from behind by a mystery assailant who then followed up this act of cowardice by burning the house down. Years later, we catch up with Jeff as a grown man who is still looking to discover the murderer’s identity to repay him with a bullet. Finding employment as a travelling gunslinger, Jeff eventually arrives in Topeka and finds a town caught in the feud between two powerful ranchers, Thomson and Clay Ferguson – two men who once knew his father.
Deducing that one of them must have been responsible, Jeff announces his arrival by gunning down a bunch of Clay’s men who get typically threatening and then is promptly thrown into jail where he meets a charismatic Frenchman known as Four Aces who is aligned with Thompson. The two escape, but Jeff declines a job offer from Thompson as he is suspicious as he is quick with a pistol, but keeps an eye open for clues.
As the territorial dispute escalates and innocent ranchers and their families get caught on the crossfire, Jeff is approached by roving preacher Gus Fleming who reveals that it was he who saved Jeff from a burning building as a child and seemingly has come to offer his services. However, as time goes on, it soon becomes apparent who the guilty party is, and while Jeff prepares to get some long awaited revenge and doesn’t care how many henchmen he has to drill bullets through to get it.
As the bullets fly and a surprising amount of wounded goons choose to throw themselves screaming off roofs instead of just falling down, Jeff’s final goal is in sight – but will he strike the killing blow, or will one of the many other wronged parties step in first?
While not only trying to claim some disparate connection with the original Django, Son Of Django does its upmost to try and steal as much as it can from A Fistful Of Dollars as the story of a quick drawing anti-hero playing both sides of a warring duo of ranchers against one another. In fact, the stories are so similar, it’s a wonder Civirani didn’t end up in the hoosegow on account of grand theft movie – but the annoying thing is that there’s a slightly more original plot just sitting there, waiting to be utilised. There’s not that many western whodunits that I can recall, but the movie choosing to not really capitalise on the question of who out of the two available suspects actually shot Jeff’s papa. I mean, it’s there; but it never seems to be that major of a plot point.
As a result, we’re stuck with another moody gunslinger looking for some very belated payback and thanks to Gabriele Tinti’s lack of charisma and some clumsy dubbing that sounds like it was whipped up in a single looping session by whomever was around at the time, it’s tough to give much of toss about anything that goes on. Similarly, the story is crammed full of filler that even gies nowhere or simply doesn’t make much sense. I had absolutely no clue about what was going in the opening fifteen minutes that takes in numerous shootouts, a horse theft and a guy who looks suspiciously like a real life Yosemite Sam, but doesn’t even attempt to establish the why’s and wherefores of any of it.
Elsewhere, a subplot involving a victimized farmer and his hysterical wife also add nothing to the story save dragging the finished film to a ninety minute runtime as the husband spends what feels like an eternity getting beaten up by grinning thugs and the wife succumbs to a bit of villainous manslaughter – neither of which are acknowledged much by the other characters.
Even the more familiar tropes of the western are carelessly spead through with Guy Madison’s protective priest being about as well fleshed out as the cowardly Sherriff (who weirdly resembles Pedro Pascal a little) suddenly regains his courage with absolutely no build up whatsoever.
Even those other reliable fallbacks of the Spagetti Western such as the score or the cinematography are nothing to send a telegram home about with the movie’s main theme sounding an awful lot like the opening jingle of a 70s game show and when the lyrics kick in, it gets even worse. However, I will concede that I’m not fit to truly critique the cinematography as the copy of the film I watched was as murky as a neglected fish tank…
However, those of a more undemanding disposition will have to admit that the final shootout sees enough dangerous looking falls from stuntmen who blatantly aren’t being paid enough to get the blood pumping. But beside the occasional burst of action, it appears that talent appears to skip a generation when it becomes clear that this “son” isn’t fit to drag Django’s coffin.
🌟🌟
We Have Issues 