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| Greatest one-sheet ever? |
"One of these days we're gonna tangle assholes" - Overweight Southern Gentleman in Johnny Firecloud
There are instances wherein a single line of dialogue encompasses the thematic totality of a film. This isn't one of them but it definitely happens sometimes, I swear. Johnny Firecloud can be encompassed with the phrase "greatest Indiansploitation film of all time". Or Injunsploitation. Or Nativex Amerisploitation. Whatever, we have fun with words here.
Native American soldier and acrimonious Anton Chigurh hairstyle predecessor Johnny Firecloud (Victor Mohica, actually Puerto Rican) returns from Vietnam to his quiet desert town only to find he still gets NO RESPECT from the local hillbillies. He's not white, you see. They prefer white people down south. After his grandfather (in full Indian Chief regalia) is kinda-sorta accidentally lynched by a hick-mob while the cops watch from afar, Johnny will be brought to the brink, become the eagle, and stereotypical vengeance will be unleashed, tomahawk in hand and scalp off head.
What's striking immediately is that, for a David F. Friedman production, that word "production" can actually be followed with "value". This one had a budget and it shows. $220k (a fortune for a Friedman picture and about $200k more than your average exploitation flick) purchases real actors, tracking shots, cranes, proficient lighting, believable sets, etc. Plus the whole thing is shot in scope! This is some of the most professional grindhouse fare I've ever seen.
It's always a pleasure to witness actors of any caliber giving it their all and going for broke, especially when the product will more than likely devolve into irredeemable silliness. Johnny Firecloud embodies this spirit at every turn, with ludicrous dialogue and woe-is-me-monologues delivered with nigh-disturbing conviction. Why can the sheriff (played by David Canary aka the twins on All My Children for 27 years) empathize with Johnny's plight, despite partially being the reason for it? We learn in an earnest, weepy confession that he was dishonorably discharged from the military for being a homosexual. He's a minority too!
There is a fairly sophisticated concept flowing through the veins of this picture, though I'm certain its inclusion was entirely accidental. But we are exploring the film as it is, not the intent (which, as in the case of any exploitationer, is MAKE MONEY, STUPID). The gaggle of gluttonous cow-folk endlessly taunt both Johnny Firecloud and his grandfather for their Native American heritage. Their adherence to stereotyping is so vicious that Johnny curbs his morals and just says "fuck it." He becomes the stereotype they seem to beg for while conveniently forgetting that the warrior cliche is still a WARRIOR cliche. Johnny, the quintessential tomahawk-tossing badass, exacts bloody revenge on the limbs and scalps of his enemies. This race-baiting is fascinating in its implications. What if all those bullied by ignorant Americans embraced the violent aspects of stereotypes? Pathos!
But of course we have little time for our minds to wander philosophical tunnels and mine sweet cerebral ore, because Sacheen Littlefeather is in the schoolhouse getting raped to death! Thank you David F. Friedman for never letting us think too long.