Western Grand Guignol

For a Few Dollars More. The first big-league Italian-made western, A Fistful of Dollars (TIME, Feb. 10), was a production as synthetic as its scenery. Its sole distinction was that it introduced Clint Eastwood as The Man with No Name. Now The Man is back, again played by Eastwood, but this time he comes equipped with a better plot, some real outdoor landscape, and a cast that looks even meaner than he does. As before, acting is forbidden; histrionics are kept to a contest of who can give his lip the tightest curl and who can give his eyes the narrowest squint. The competition results in a slit decision between Eastwood and Lee Van Cleef, another Hollywood-to-Italy refugee cast as a rival bounty hunter.

At the inevitable showdown, the two men make a lot of threatening sounds but never get around to any blood sport. Two hotheads, they reason, are better than one, and together they ride out to gun down a gang of Mexican bank robbers and split the reward. As Van Cleef and Eastwood close in for the kill, bodies begin to pile up like cordwood, and enough lead is exchanged to re-equip the Egyptian army. Long before the end, the violence becomes a bit like a Grand Guignol show--raucous, incessant and absurd.

Through it all, Eastwood walks around with a woolen blanket covering a fleece-lined vest and shirt--in the midst of what is supposed to be an El Paso summer. He and Van Cleef scarcely look at their victims before knocking them oft, never waste a shot, and never utter a sentence when a grunt will do--which gives the picture, despite moments of serious relief, the feverish aura of madcap comedy. For those who like an elemental western with galvanic gestures, a twanging score full of jew's-harps and choral chanting, and a lofty disdain for sense and authenticity, the film will be ideal.

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