Cry Blood, Apache (1970)

Low-budget crap riddled with amateurish editing, godawful dubbing, and vapid performances, this violent Western was presumably made to kick-start the moribund acting career of Jody McCrea, a second-generation performer who spent the ’50s and ’60s playing supporting roles in forgettable movies (including various Frankie-and-Annette Beach Party flicks). The son of famed cowboy actor Joel McCrea, Jody McCrea stars in and co-produced Cry Blood, Apache. The picture begins when a group of outlaws massacre the residents of an Indian village while searching for the location of hidden gold. The criminals abduct a survivor, pretty squaw Jemme (Marie Gahva), but one of the hoodlums, Pitcalin (Jody McCrea), tries to protect her from abuse. Meanwhile, an unnamed Indian brave (Marcus Rudnick) returns to the village and discovers the carnage, so he sets out to find the killers and exact vengeance. (The scene of Rudnick screaming in pain after finding his family dead is so overwrought that it’s unintentionally funny.) Right from the start, the picture makes zero sense. If Pitcalin’s such a nice guy, why is he hanging around with killers? And since Indians of the Old West era didn’t value gold, why not simply cooperate with the heavily armed whites and avoid the slaughter? Anyway, such logical considerations are immaterial, because nothing about Cry Blood, Apache merits close inspection. Most of the movie comprises tedious scenes of the criminals trekking across the prairie, with one member of the group, Deacon (Jack Starrett), giving long-winded religious speeches. (Starrett, who also directed the picture, was a prolific helmer of offbeat exploitation films throughout the ’70s, with subsequent credits including 1973's Cleopatra Jones and 1975's Race With the Devil.) Aside from the drab story and the lifeless acting (Jody McCrea being the worst offender), the most pathetic aspect of Cry Blood, Apache is the soundtrack, because nearly every line of dialogue sounds like it was looped in a wind tunnel. FYI, Joel McCrea turns up at the beginning of the picture to play his son’s character as an older man, then exits the movie as quickly as possible. Smart move.

Cry Blood, Apache: SQUARE

Race With the Devil (1975)

With its enjoyably ludicrous premise and its tasty combination of leading players, Race With the Devil should be a winner—I mean, come on, it’s a drive-in thriller starring Peter Fonda and Warren Oates as a couple of everydudes who witness a murder committed by Satanists, escape in their Winnebago, and suffer through a frightening chase across the Lone Star state. What’s not to like? Well, there’s a whole lot of dead space between the kicky opening act and the wild finale, and the middle of the movie is surprisingly turgid. Director Jack Starrett, whose career started with a couple of lively biker movies, had a bad habit of landing on projects with wobbly scripts—just like Race With the Devil, his movies Cleopatra Jones (1973), The Gravy Train (1974), and A Small Town in Texas (1976) sound great in concept, but end up being tough sits in reality. Part of the problem, obviously, is that Starrett concentrates on generating pulpy sensations instead of building credible characters. Individual scenes in his ’70s movies are exciting, but there’s very little emotional momentum to keep people watching during quiet sequences. Which brings up a major issue with this particular picture—just how many quiet sequences does a movie called Race With the Devil actually need? During the picture’s spongy middle stretch, Fonda and Oates sit around and chat a whole lot. They also fall into the classic Satanist-movie trap—relying on third parties who turn out to be in cahoots with the devil worshippers. Still, Fonda and Oates share an easy chemistry, so some scenes are mildly pleasurable just for the fun of watching two interesting personalities share the same space. The supporting cast isn’t of much note, with Loretta Swit of M*A*S*Hfame and the lovely Lara Parker playing the heroes’ wives—both actresses do a lot of screaming—and reliable screen heavy R.G. Armstrong snarling his way through a trite role as a redneck sheriff. Considering how sluggish this movie gets, there’s some irony to the tagline in the flick’s whiz-bang trailer: “When you race with the devil, you’d better be faster than hell!” Had the filmmakers heeded that advice, Race With the Devilcould have realized its considerable potential.

Race With the Devil: FUNKY