Johnny Yuma's heart pumps the blood of our savior. "Death Riders," the vagrant says. Johnny Yuma dips his canteen to parched lips. "Kill me," the vagrant adds, and Our Lord obliges, six-shot echoing in the two-tone beige expanse. For a casual observer: That was a waste of water, and a bullet.
Mad Max burns a dusty apparition from a smoking tire fire. This is resource management. When the bad man wants a shave, the razor is oh so very close. To prove, of course, he can. The barber is no threat to him. To anyone. He is the barber. Two holes in the Sheriff and a forlorn youth dragged behind a revved-up motorcycle like a presidential pedigree poodle.
For the Death Riders, serious gunplay can be usurped with a knife. That is the nature of the blade. To wit, Johnny Yuma is the only one who can put a stop to the Death Rider's wanton pillaging. Our messiah awaits.
The boy's not ready, but he will be.
Johnny's got smart binoculars and a harmonica. He ain't afraid of some Dudley Do-Right talking about devil's breath. A civilized chase ensues. Legless Cambodians and Bosniaks look bereaved.
"I see you Johnny Yuma. It's obvious you're no tire farmer." No, he's a double agent. I christen thee Yojimbo. Only a fool sees through the charade of a crossfire.
A boy is dead and the villagers have shown predictable cowardice. Let's kill them all.
Mad Max burns a dusty apparition from a smoking tire fire. This is resource management. When the bad man wants a shave, the razor is oh so very close. To prove, of course, he can. The barber is no threat to him. To anyone. He is the barber. Two holes in the Sheriff and a forlorn youth dragged behind a revved-up motorcycle like a presidential pedigree poodle.
For the Death Riders, serious gunplay can be usurped with a knife. That is the nature of the blade. To wit, Johnny Yuma is the only one who can put a stop to the Death Rider's wanton pillaging. Our messiah awaits.
The boy's not ready, but he will be.
Johnny's got smart binoculars and a harmonica. He ain't afraid of some Dudley Do-Right talking about devil's breath. A civilized chase ensues. Legless Cambodians and Bosniaks look bereaved.
"I see you Johnny Yuma. It's obvious you're no tire farmer." No, he's a double agent. I christen thee Yojimbo. Only a fool sees through the charade of a crossfire.
A boy is dead and the villagers have shown predictable cowardice. Let's kill them all.