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Rating: There are days, and today is one of those days, when it feels like I have superpowers. Specifically, the power to turn everything I touch into crap. I feel my feet heavy: I drag them with difficulty as if my shoes were made of lead. My sharp gaze only sees asphalt, not the sun, and stays low among my thoughts. I decide to drown them in a cup of coffee: I get lost in the residue mixed with sugar on a sticky bottom. “Hey, you didn’t take your change!” Typical. My mind jumps around like a fish out of water and I can't focus on what I'm doing because I'm already thinking about what's waiting for me next. The idea of a drink tickles me: like in those American movies where bars, with their soft lighting and atmospheric music, are an icy Coke on a sweltering summer day. Those movies where you drink something strong, strictly at the counter, and in no time something beautiful and unexpected is bound to happen. But I have superpowers today: who the hell could I meet!
- “Hi!”. Silence. Again, but with a louder and more decisive tone. “Hey, Paolo, I said hi!!”.
- “Oh sorry, I didn’t see you. I’m in a bit of a hurry: you know, I have a dentist appointment“, as I pathetically recite the scene, clearly speeding up my pace. I don't feel like company. Not now.
I turn off the phone and relax on the couch. I take the newspaper, but flip through it with my brain turned off. Vowels, consonants, and figures slide through my field of vision. They fall to the ground and stain the floor. I try to pick them up again by rereading them, but they drop dead on the table again. My head spins. The CD enters, and the notes bounce around the walls. It's the most beautiful in my opinion by Queen. A sumptuous Brian May for the darkest, hardest rock, and most eclectic work they've ever composed. I lean back and "The March Of The Black Queen" makes its regal entrance with pompous choirs, restarts, and baroque orchestrations for a song full of fantasy, originality, strength, and melody. And then again the magnificent "The Ogre Battle", its twin sister by structure. Unexpectedly, they don't leave the mark as I had anticipated. Perhaps, I tell myself as I get up, I need to laugh; so I ask my friend Mel for help. I still remain in the heart of the '70s, precisely in '74, but I move to America. Westward.
- “How are you, ma’am? Don't you think it's a wonderful day today?”
- “Shut up, nigger!”
Brooks, with his third work, tackles a hilarious and irreverent parody of a sacred genre in the States: the Western. A Gene Wilder in top shape perfectly embodies a drunken gunslinger with a flash Gordon talent. In gestures, tone of voice, gaze, and movements, he mocks the typical western hero as best as possible. There are plenty of jaw-dropping scenes in the less than '90 total minutes, but the ultimate; the one capable of embodying the essence of the work is undoubtedly the groaning concert of "cowboys" who start farting heavily at dinner. In the end, they were more like an army of John Waynes; they were four cowboys eating beans, drinking coffee, and drunkenly shooting aimlessly with bent and rusty guns.
In the fearful and dusty town of Rock Ridge, perpetually at the mercy of outlaws, all the cliches of the case are present. In fact, a ramshackle duo of good guys arrives: Wako Kid, a boozy gunslinger with the fastest hand in the West, and a likable and sharp black sheriff who will fight against the wicked plan of the ugly and bad guy of the moment. Respectively played by Mel Brooks in dumb mode (eerily resembling Bush Jr.), and by Harvey Korman in top form: absolutely hilarious in every line of the script. That the good guys win is a given; how they achieve the feat doesn't concern us at all. In this intoxicating and exaggerated screenplay, the generous dose of pungent satire on racism is exceedingly delightful, for which an extraordinary comic genius is needed.
Ultimately, "Blazing Saddles" is a collection of often hilarious gags, but somewhat disconnected and standalone compared to a deliberately wobbly and impossible plot. Just to clear up any doubts, Brooks ends the film directly in the Warner Brothers studios with a brawl between cowboys and tap dancers. With an exceptional cast, in which stands out beside Wilder and Korman the superlative performance of the Teutonic tart played by Madeline Kahn, this film is a comedy of unmatched caliber: irreverent, intense, and gifted with great rhythm. It doesn’t reach Young Frankenstein levels, but we’re certainly not far from those dizzying heights. For this reason, it is a pity that "Blazing Saddles" is relatively unknown to most: almost banned from television at a sensible hour.
The end credits roll, and my feet finally feel light again as, satisfied, I turn off the TV: feathers from a pillow dancing in the air while a phone materializes in my hand.
- “Hey, hi! Sorry about earlier: you know the dentist really did a number on me??” Chuckles...
Ilfreddo
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