And so it was on to the second film of the night, the hysterically nonsensical “My Name is Nobody.” For the uninitiated my husband and I attempted to explain the significance of the spaghetti western, notably the fact that the Italian made westerns ushered in the era of the “dirty western,” and on average were much better than American westerns. From there everyone got very chatty, which was just as well because I don’t think we could have followed the movie with a map and a compass.
In the beginning things were looking up. Henry Fonda showed up and kicked a bunch of guys’ asses with some great trick photography. And then Nobody (Terence Hill, star of the “Trinity” series and TV’s “Lucky Luc”) showed up. His first on screen task: catch a fish by stunning a grasshopper, floating it in a lake and waiting with a large stick with which to beat any fish that ventured to the surface to nibble the “bait.” “That’s awesome!” declared my husband. The rest of us conceded that fishing, in a boat, with beer, was indeed for pussies.
From there things got progressively harder to follow. Nobody basically just wanders around the countryside, getting into as much trouble as possibly, annoying the hell out of Henry Fonda and displaying his parodic proficiency with a pistol. I assumed that he was trying to prove he was the best gun fighter, to what end was unclear. Brendan was pained by the “European” sense of humor, which relied fairly heavily on broad slapstick. I was more pained by the circular reasoning of the badly dubbed dialogue. “This makes no sense,” I whispered, a faint note of desperation on my voice. My sister dryly added, “This movie is flawed.”
My husband astutely referred to Nobody as “the Harlem Globetrotter of gunfighters,” and Will became upset with me as the funk music I had promised him wouldn’t be coming, started to play. Derek wished for 5 minutes without shooting. Nick and I bonded over the fact that we both registered the midget on stilts at the same time.
By the time the film finally decided to approach its inevitable conclusion, we were all feeling the pain. Brendan was chanting for the credits before the climactic final shoot-out, however he was in the minority since the rest of us just wanted to see where the hell all of this was supposed to be going. But could we hold out that long? “Oh my god, it’s not over?!” bellowed Nick. My husband commented on the “epic-ness” of the picture, despite the fact that nothing really happens. At least not anything that made any sense. Will thrashed in pain and we all rolled our eyes at the never ending voice over.
And then it ended. On a freeze-frame, mildly homo-erotic, ass-joke.
Rumblings from the Peanut Gallery: Although no one raved about either film, I did catch Bob singing the theme song to “Cat Ballou,” so I have to assume that it was the crowd favorite. Brendan was on a real roll annoying people with his comments, including Bob, who didn’t appreciate Brendan’s reference to gun-fu. Derek the newbie got a couple of good ones in, including a plea for Nat King Cole to show up in “My Name is Nobody.” There was a fairly heated debate between my husband and myself over whether Henry Fonda could be Henry “Fucking” Fonda, like Lee “Fucking” Marvin, but I’m pretty sure I won that one. All in all not a bad night, although I think I’m going to have to program “Barbarella” soon since it doesn’t seem like the boys have seen it.
Next week, buxom babes: “Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill”  and “Up!” 
Mariko McDonald and her husband host a weekly film night in their apartment, affectionately known as the Den of Sin. It’s kinda like evil film school. Monthly screening schedules are available at http:filmgurlland.blogspot.com and if you happen to live in the Vancouver, BC area and are interested in catching a screening please drop her a line at filmgurl79@hotmail dot com. Suggestions, hate mail and cute pictures of cats also accepted.
And of course you can always offer up some juicy Back Talk>>>