After their crops are repeatedly plundered by bandit Calvera (Eli Wallach) and his gang, a Mexican farming community decides to hire men for protection. They find help in the form of fearless man-in-black Chris Larabee Adams (Yul Brynner), who assembles a group of seven skilled gunmen willing to risk their lives for a measly $20 each (unlikely, but hey, this is Hollywood).
It's no good after watching hilarious ¡Three Amigos! (1986), which sees Steve Martin, Chevy Chase and Martin Short mercilessly lampooning John Sturges' classic 1960 western, I find it hard to take this westernised version of Akira Kurosawa's The Seven Samurai seriously—not that it would have been easy before, the film's questionable plot, clichéd characters and an overload of schmaltz making it hard to sit through with a straight face.
Brynner, the epitome of cool, makes for a suitably heroic lead, and he is ably supported by Steve McQueen, a young Charles Bronson, and the excellent as always James Coburn. Robert Vaughn, as the gunman who has lost his nerve, is passable, although he hams it up terribly for a scene where his character suffers nightmares. My overacting award for the whole film, however, goes to Horst Buchholz, who shows zero restraint in his portrayal of Chico, a cocksure youngster out to prove his worth; he's so irritating that one longs for him to take a bullet.
Unsurprisingly, Horst features in most of the film's low points—Chico's drunken challenge to Yul, a silly romance with a Mexican peasant girl, and the really daft bit where he wanders unnoticed into the enemy's camp—although Brad Dexter as gold-hungry Harry made me laugh with his corny death scene, whilst the three admiring village kids who follow Bronson provide the most cringe-worthy moments.
The final battle between the magnificent seven and Calvera's bandits is well handled, and Elmer Bernstein's rousing score is effective throughout, but I can't help but feel that the film would have benefited immensely from a singing bush and the occasional use of the word 'plethora'.
5.5/10, rounded up to 6/10 for IMDb: not great considering it's legendary status and the talent involved, but entertaining enough to while away a rainy Sunday afternoon, I suppose.
It's no good after watching hilarious ¡Three Amigos! (1986), which sees Steve Martin, Chevy Chase and Martin Short mercilessly lampooning John Sturges' classic 1960 western, I find it hard to take this westernised version of Akira Kurosawa's The Seven Samurai seriously—not that it would have been easy before, the film's questionable plot, clichéd characters and an overload of schmaltz making it hard to sit through with a straight face.
Brynner, the epitome of cool, makes for a suitably heroic lead, and he is ably supported by Steve McQueen, a young Charles Bronson, and the excellent as always James Coburn. Robert Vaughn, as the gunman who has lost his nerve, is passable, although he hams it up terribly for a scene where his character suffers nightmares. My overacting award for the whole film, however, goes to Horst Buchholz, who shows zero restraint in his portrayal of Chico, a cocksure youngster out to prove his worth; he's so irritating that one longs for him to take a bullet.
Unsurprisingly, Horst features in most of the film's low points—Chico's drunken challenge to Yul, a silly romance with a Mexican peasant girl, and the really daft bit where he wanders unnoticed into the enemy's camp—although Brad Dexter as gold-hungry Harry made me laugh with his corny death scene, whilst the three admiring village kids who follow Bronson provide the most cringe-worthy moments.
The final battle between the magnificent seven and Calvera's bandits is well handled, and Elmer Bernstein's rousing score is effective throughout, but I can't help but feel that the film would have benefited immensely from a singing bush and the occasional use of the word 'plethora'.
5.5/10, rounded up to 6/10 for IMDb: not great considering it's legendary status and the talent involved, but entertaining enough to while away a rainy Sunday afternoon, I suppose.