I suppose I'm no different than most other weekend Shatner enthusiasts, but one thing that's always intrigued me about "Le Shatmeister" is his dearth of upper torso hair. Particularly in the early phase of his career, Shatner was often called upon to strip from the waist up, as in countless Star Trek episodes, or in The Devil's Rain, when Ernie Borgnine needed to mess him up big time on Satan's behalf. When I wasn't nodding off during my recent viewing of White Commanche, I found myself wondering whether Canada's All-Bran spokesman acquired his torse chauve congenitally, or if he took time out for complete body wax treatments prior to work engagements.
Knowing that everything I can find on the Internet is true, I turned to Wikipedia for clues. It says that a comprehensive study of over a thousand men of various ages found ten distinct patterns of chest hair. One such pattern is the absence of chest hair, and six percent of the sample study were in this group. However, it's worth noting that some men develop chest hair later in life, so perhaps Shatner has sprouted some "terminal hair" since the 1960s, due to rising levels of androgens. Either way, my guess is that Shatner is part of this group, and did not subject himself to painful hair removal treatments. Pure speculation on my part, of course, but useful as a discussion point to defer having to write anything about this movie.
Speaking of this movie, let me just say "Jesus H. Christ On a Stick," and ask how the hell did an actor as fine as Joseph Cotten end up in a mess like this? Talk about depressing. Off the top of my head, the only worse example I can offer is the indignity endured by Peter Lorre, weeks before his death, cast below Jerry Lewis and Phil Harris in The Patsy. At least Cotten gets to wade through this sewer with Shatner and some decent Euro character actors, but there's really not much for them to work with. The story line manages to be simultaneously trite and vague, and not even Shatner's patented whacked out elocution can save most of it.
Shatner plays good and evil twins, Johnny and Notah Moon. Johnny is righteous and pure, but frequently finds himself the center of attention at lynch mobs because Notah likes hijacking stagecoaches, stealing weapons, shooting men, and raping women, not necessarily in that order. Johnny decides to throw down the gauntlet with Notah, and after exchanging hilarious barbs like "You're as the wild duck that sits in the pond!" they agree to meet at Rio Hondo in four days to settle their differences. One of them must die, since one of them simply moving to New Jersey is out of the question.
Joseph Cotten is the sheriff of Rio Hondo. It's a nice town. He'd like to keep it that way. Folks go to church. That sort of thing. They also go to a saloon with swinging doors that look like they were purchased in the Rite Aid toy and seasonal aisle. Johnny Moon checks into a hotel and starts to settle in, when a stagecoach pulls up, toting corpses and a rape victim, played by Argentinian hottie Rosanna Yanni. Darn the luck if Notah isn't the guy who raped her, so when she accuses Johnny, he has to get into a bar fight, during which every bannister and stick of furniture in the room disintegrates upon contact. Subsequently, she realizes he's not Notah and is obliged to fall in love with him. Obviously there's nothing a rape victim longs for more than sexual activity after being raped, especially if it's with the rapist's identical twin.
To stretch things out until Notah shows up, there's an unrelated subplot about two sordid businessmen fighting over land rights. Joseph Cotten is caught in the middle. Shatner helps him out. A bunch of guys get shot. I wonder what happened to that havarti I had in the back of the fridge. There are some wheat crackers, but I was hoping we'd still have a little bit of that havarti. We really need to get out tomorrow and pick up some groceries. We're running out of chipotle sauce, and most of the vegetables in the crisper drawer are wilting.
Later, after the corpses have been hauled away, Notah arrives for the face off. Good Shatner and Evil Shatner exchange more sarcasm that could only be interpreted by mongooses from specific regions of Northern Africa, and then they ride head on at each other with firearms. Notah is killed, and Johnny gets the girl that his brother raped. They're going to build a home and raise kids, and Joseph Cotten will plunge into drunken despair, not knowing that thirteen years later, he'll be making an appearance on The Love Boat.
By the way is "mongooses" the correct plural of "mongoose"? It doesn't feel right to me, but I'm pretty sure it's not "mongeese" either.
You know, I have to admit I've watched White Commanche at least four times, and as awful as it is, there's something about it that keeps calling me back, like an affordable bean burrito at Taco Bell. Most likely that something is Shatner in his Notah persona, with his incessant "Eye yi yi yi!" screeches and his deranged "sermon on the mount" speech, during which he promises Al Qaedaesque glory to those who help him rape and pillage. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention the score. Have you ever seen Jailbait or Mesa of Lost Women and marveled at the excruciating music shared by those movies, sort of a John Cage/flamenco mish mash? Well, the music in White Commanche slides right up that pipe, and nestles into your brain like some 60's game show theme that can't be dislodged with a guillotine. There's a snare drum shuffle, paired with a monotonous descending bass line, punctuated with muted horns and occasional timpanis. It's mildly abrasive at first, infuriating after an hour, but goddamn if I don't find myself humming it for a few days after each viewing.
Part of me says four and a half Waldos. Another part of me says one-half Waldo. I guess I'll just split the difference.
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