The Great Silence (1968)
revisionist in the context of the western refers to something inherently anti-western; i.e. something that is against traditional tropes of the western genre.
Bloodshed in snow-bitten Utah..
There are far less spaghetti westerns set in endless, cutting snow than are set in sparse and barren desert. From a production standpoint, this makes sense: snow (whether true snow or shaving-cream/soap mimicry) is bothersome and impractical. Not much good comes from snow—actors having trouble with their horses in the drifts and banks, the camera's depth of field swallowed in white. But in all westerns the land itself is an actor (however directionless); nothing but deep snow was suitable for director Sergio Corbucci and his grim film The Great Silence (1968).
The second film in Corbucci's mud and blood trilogy, The Great Silence (Il grande silenzio) is a subversive, revisionist spaghetti western—a mute gunslinger by the name of Silence (Jean-Louis Trintignant) is hired out to slaughter the infamous bounty-killer Tigrero (Klaus Kinski) and so put an end to his brutality. Caught between these monumental gunmen is the new-assigned sheriff Gideon Burnett (Frank Wolff) sent to impose order in the disorderly Utah settlement of Snow Hill.
It is a film chiefly concerned with the idea of defining a lawful man in a land of lawlessness.
Casting and trouble on the set (mostly Kinski-related):
Trintignant, Kinski, and Wolff fit into their parts well as traditional archetypes of the western genre (lone wanderer, hunter, and sheriff respectively); however, in the nature of Kinski, there was more than a little bit of animosity on the set. Kinski often insulted and berated costar Frank Wolff—referring to Mr. Wolff as a filthy Jew and other such insults to his heritage; naturally, Wolff tried to strangle Kinski. Apparently such statements on the part of Kinski were only meant to stoke Wolff and so prod him that their rivalry might seem more authentic for the camera; that's how Kinski phrased it.
Regardless of whether or not this contributed significantly to their onscreen animosity, the tension is palpable. On these characters' first tri-fold meeting, Tigrero (Kinski), Silence (Trintignant), and Sheriff Burnett (Wolff) are shut in together on a coach ride from the fringes of town and into Snow Hill proper. Piled and tied to the roof of the coach is Tigrero's recent bounty—the bodies of wanted men stacked and packed and bumping along with the horses' gaits. The scene is simple enough—three strangers packed into a confined space. But familiar strangers united in their anticipated arrival to Snow Hill: Tigrero to turn in his bodies and collect payment, Silence to kill Tigrero, and Sheriff Burnett to rein in the lawless town. It is a brilliant scene; the tension slumps off only for a moment as Tigrero orders a coach stop so he can get out and unearth yet another body for his bounty which he'd preserved in snow.
Throughout the film Silence and Tigrero are beautiful foils to one another. Trintignant, in the role of the mute gunslinger, must talk with his eyes and the subtle positioning of his limbs and weight. His performance is necessarily reserved and precise. In contrast Kinski as Tigrero is talkative, smug, and wholly unswayed and unbothered in his indiscriminate killing. The smugness seldom leaves Kinski's face and, at most times, the character is almost playful in nature. Until he isn't.
The film also stars accomplished actress Vonetta McGee in one of her first roles as the widow Pauline whose husband was gunned down by Tigrero and his band. Kinski mentions in his autobiography that he was involved with McGee in an on-set affair. He refers to her as Sherene Miller. And why? Well who knows; perhaps to feign some gesture of anonymity (but this is largely pointless as he includes enough extraneous details and information to infer her identity—additionally, no such effort is made in the original print run of his autobiography).
His recollection of said affair:
In Cortina d'Ampezzo, I make the first snowbound Western. Biggi and Nasstja are happy and cheerful; they frolic in the snow, go sledding all day, skating, and ride jingly, horse-drawn sleighs to the mountains. But the instant I'm alone with Biggi, we argue and hit one another. This time the reason is the black American actress Sherene Miller, who's also starring in the movie. —p. 191 Kinski Uncut
He goes on to describe more about her body and the sex in terse but graphic enough language (which I'll not be including in this post). And apparently Marlon Brando was also pursuing McGee at this time as he was involved in a different film but running in the same circles:
In Rome Marlon Brando bangs away at Sherene's door every night. He's filming some piece of garbage and lives in the same 'pensione' as Sherene. I hope she finally opens the door and lets him in so I can attend to other twats. —p. 191 Kinski Uncut
This affair is alleged. I can't tell (and don't much care) whether or not Kinski really did have such an affair with McGee—but it's important to emphasize that the validity of this statement is questionable; Kinski's autobiography is widely regarded as a final sensationalist performance piece rather than a wholly honest catalogue of his career and life.
Studio v. Sergio Corbucci
note: I am now going to discuss the end of the film. Spoilers.
If it wasn't Kinski starting shit, then it was the studio itself. Studio heads considered the slaughterhouse of an end too brutal. They wanted something warm—a happier ending. The film was to premiere in the Christmas season of 1968, and the studio heads wanted the ending to align with the warm-and-fuzzy spirit of the season.
They asked Corbucci to film a second ending.
The alternate ending is comparably unsatisfying to the original. Corbucci filmed it to be intentionally silly: Silence's good hand survives Tigrero's crippling with a plated glove fit under his leather glove, and Corbucci has Tigrero killed off comically easily as Sheriff Burnett inexplicably returns from his earlier death in the film. The survivors walk out over Tigrero's body and smile. It all happens in quick and inglorious succession.
There is a third ending, too, in which Silence survives but has his hands crippled, and Tigrero walks out with his men like he changed his mind about that final bounty. It is hardly worth mentioning as it's pieced together badly and offers no real resolution.
After this circus the studio begrudgingly released the film with its original end (in all its gutting agony). But in a final middle finger to Corbucci, the studio kept The Great Silence limited in its release to a select few theaters. It was banned in the UK and essentially kept out of American theaters by its own studio. If Corbucci wants to fuck around with the studio's time and money, well the studio can duck around with Corbucci's success as a director. And so the film didn't perform well on its initial release and continues to hold cult status as a criminally under-recognized spaghetti western.
note: It is rumored that what we know of as the alternate ending was meant to be the original ending. But apparently Trintignant himself took issue with his character's survival, deeming it too unrealistic an ending (according to Trintignant). The amount of rehearsal and choreography that went into the triumphal ending (the timed firing of blanks and the stunt—Trintignant shattering through a saloon window) put some teeth to this claim: this is a lot of effort to go through for an alternate ending.
This is a case where the filming of the western mythos becomes in itself myth. Any two people might say something completely different about the ending of The Great Silence: on the true end, on how many endings, on the intention of the original ending, etc. These spaghettis were often filmed fast and cheap one after the other; it is no surprise that details of one production get lost in the mad slog as Cinecittà sets get used and reused and one production blurs to another.
Silence as compared to Django, briefly.
Django (1966), Corbucci's first film in the mud and blood trilogy, performed far better than Silence. The Django name cannot die as it is used again and again in this genre. After all, the original Django is a triumphant film allowing for the title character to grow outside the bounds of the initial installment (much like Sergio Leone's man with no name).
But The Great Silence was never meant to be like this. It is a bad end, but inevitable; one hunter kills another in the vast, open-air slaughterhouse that is the west. It is a properly hollow ending for Corbucci's existential exhibition.