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Shatner.
His acting defies many laws of physics and all the laws of good taste. By far the horniest of Starship captains, William Shatner's testosterone swollen, scenery chewing, three-year grandstand as Kirk secured him the love of green alien women and slide rule jockeys everywhere. But Shatner's hubris has never been isolated to the TV space opera. Remember: above all else, he is a serious actor. |
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Does anyone remember Bill's haunting ruminations on love, loss and lysergic acid from 1974's "Pray for the Wildcats"? This motocross epic finds Shatner in the company of Robert Reed, Marjoe Gortner and Andy Griffith on a treacherous ride through Baja to "find themselves." True, Andy Griffith's vividly portrayed tequila-crazed sex-criminal threatens to eclipse the other players; but that's when Shatner -his trademarked delivery replete with profound pauses... and SUDDEN BURSTS of expostulation- takes center stage for a monologue on self-discovery and the YEARNINGS of the repressed office stiff. A masterpiece like this cries out for notice.
Keep the Dramamine handy because Oozeywood has, in its collective altruism for fellow psychotronic sentients, seen fit to keep you the viewer apprised of the TORTURED BLISS, the NUANCE, the HORMONAL PEAKS AND VALLEYS of Shatner's non-Trek film career in this regular Oozeywood column. Get ready to be SHATNERED. |
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WHITE COMANCHE (1968)
Recalling the famous Trek episode, "Mirror, Mirror", witness Bill's punishing exploration of frontier identity as the Anglo-Shatner squares off against his fierce brother, the remarkable "Comanche-Shatner" in 1968's "White Comanche".
Johnnie Moon and Notah Moon are twin brothers. One is an innocent cowpoke, the other a sneering, shirtless savage on the warpath. They are destined to battle TO THE DEATH. But not before delivering some of the worst dialogue in movie history:
"And everywhere I go he follows, with his thieving and killing, until I cannot live in peace without being mistaken for the Snake that is the White Comanche."
Behold Johnnie Moon's lament, delivered with all the gravity a starship captain in western drag can bestow. Meisner and Stanislavsky could never have coached a more textured performance than Shatner displays here, in this, his most electrifying of bad westerns. Shatner's conception of the warlike half-breed is defined by three stripes of warpaint under the eyes, buckskin breeches, lace-up moccasin boots and a boss-man tan. Forget the braided rugs worn atop the scalps of his faux-Comanche brethren, the White Comanche sports a three dollar regular-guy haircut. For you see, he is half White, half Comanche. By the way, if you get a thrill when characters use the title of the film in their dialogue, this flick is jam-packed with guilty pleasure? |
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As Johnnie Moon, Shatner delivers his signature range of existential angst. As Notah Moon, Shatner chokes down years of maladjustment with fists full of hallucinogens ("Go ahead," Johnnie goads Notah, "Eat the peyote.... Drug of the Devil... Dream your dreams of hate..."), all liberally seasoned with reprehensible movie-Indian dialogue ("Notah's brother talks like the white man he thinks he is. He is AFRAID to be Comanche"). Joseph Cotten, at the tail end of a 25 year trajectory that charted him from Citizen Kane to this, gamely makes his journeyman's rounds as the sheriff of Rio Hondo, site of the final confrontation.
The score by Jean LeDrut includes toe-tapping skiffle beats on the snare drum, jazzy figures on the standup bass, and orchestral pastiches of Copeland and Morricone. It's everything a Frenchman might imagine a western score to be, plus some continental cheese where he just couldn't help himself.
BLOCKBUSTER AVAILABILITY INDEX: 0.0. Try your local store that will research hard to search for obscure titles. If you're a native of Lost Angeles I urge you now to don your best body armor and make your way into lively North Hollywood, where Eddie Brandt's Saturday Matinee will initiate you into the guilty delights of obscure Shatnered cinema. The address is 6310 Colfax, just south of Victory (phone 818-506-4242). Luckily for non-Angelinos, he does mail-order rentals too.
NATE NICHOLS writes and in his spare time stalks Shatner's ex-wives. |
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