Bring mir den Kopf von Alfredo Garcia

This dark, almost nihilistic film is apparently the only one of Peckinpah's not to be interfered with by a studio or someone of similar standing. The result is exactly what its director intended, a gritty and slow-burning pseudo neo-noir that takes its time getting to the squib-squirting shootouts that Peckinpah is known for. The story is centred around a head: the head of Alfredo Garcia, to be exact. After he impregnates a gang boss' young daughter, the man finds himself on the wrong end of an assassination contract. That's where our protagonist comes in; Oates' dive-bar pianist knows someone who knows where Garcia is, so he sets out to make some quick cash but gets much more than he bargained for. Most of the first half of 'Bring Me The Head Of Alfredo Garcia (1974)' is dedicated to the relationship between the hero and his girlfriend, which is given the time it needs to feel real. It's the underlying heart of the narrative. After a certain point, the picture takes a sharp turn and becomes a lot more bloody. Its final third sees its protagonist try to justify his actions in increasingly dangerous ways, taking violent risks seemingly for no real reason. In the end, though, that's the point: none of it was worth it and any reasoning is futile. It's a bleak conclusion, for sure, but it makes for a stark and distinct experience. Once it gets properly underway, the piece is rather enjoyable in a pulpy sort of sense. It's compelling to see our hero go through his downward spiral and there's this looming feeling of dread that builds as the thing approaches its conclusion. It's a dark flick, but it's often entertaining and is held together by a decent central relationship. 7/10

BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA is Sam Peckinpah's most intimate and underrated film. I can think of few other films of this caliber that are as neglected or unsung.

A bizarre, sleazy film that has Peckinpah's signature trademarks - his romance with John Huston's TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE, loners, Mexico at it's grittiest, slow-motion violence.

When I saw it the first few times, the film seemed to wander aimlessly at various stretches and Peckinpah's direction felt tired to me. Even though Peckinpah can still lift you two inches off the ground with his action sequences, it doesn't have the kinetic impulse running thru it like THE WILD BUNCH, STRAW DOGS, THE GETAWAY or CROSS OF IRON.

Knowing now what I do about his career, I suspect the tiredness was authentic, due to his battles with studio executives and a self- destructive life. This knowledge and the ensuing years of experiencing the picture, have taken on added meaning and enriched it for me. Bennie the down and out piano player, memorably played by Peckinpah's Bogart, Warren Oates, is a wonderful alter ego for the director.

Starring Oates and Isela Vega and a strong supporting cast which includes Gig Young, Robert Webber and Emilio Fernandez. The excellent score is by Peckinpah's best composer, Jerry Fielding.

It may take several viewings but sit back and relish the sad poetry of an authentic film artist, Sam Peckinpah.

It kills me the way the user comments on the IMDb are so often flooded with basic storyline information and/or outright spoilers. (i.e., "Warren Oates plays Benny, a drunken blah blah blah.") Everybody wants to be the next Roger Ebert (though God knows why.) "Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Garcia" is a title custom-designed to SAY ALL THAT NEEDS TO BE SAID. Tell me THAT title, tell me Warren Oates is in it, and I'm there. Granted, it's been a good 30 years, so some of the particulars of the story have leaked out. But read any other comments here, and you risk knowing more than you should the first time out with this one.

This movie flattened me. Desperation and flies, lots of flies. Yes, Peckinpah's films are violent. When I was a little kid in the early 70s, way before I was allowed to see movies like this, I knew of Peckinpah's reputation. Now I see that the violence herein is a total smokescreen, a sign of the times, a way to sell movie tickets. Human emotion is where these films are really at.

Peckinpah was Jim Thompson with a camera, and he told some great stories in a maverick style. Today's pre-fab, "hip" postmodern filmmakers are not worthy of a brutal, bizarre tale such as this. Sure, Kill Bill was a lot of fun - but the viewer hovers safely on the perimeter, like one flipping noncommittally (if enthusiastically) through the pages of a comic book. You will not be able to view Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Garcia with such entertainment-value indifference. You'll be up all night typing (like me), or drinking, or doing whatever it is you do when your head is reeling from a true cathartic viewing experience.

El Jefe is outraged to find that his daughter has fallen pregnant to a man who has upped and gone, after learning the identity of the rascal (Alfredo Garcia), he offers one million dollars to anyone who can bring him the head of the Lothario running man. On the trail are hit men Quill & Sappensly, Bennie & his prostitute girlfriend Elita, and some other Mexican bandit types, all of them are on a collision course that will bring far more than they all bargained for.

This was the one film where director Sam Peckinpah felt he had the most control, the one where we apparently get his own cut and not some chopped up piece of work from interfering executives. Viewing it now many years after its release it stands up well as a testament to the work of a great director. On the surface it looks trashy, we have homosexual hit men, grave robbing, potential rape, murders abound, prostitution, lower than the low characters, in short the film is awash with Peckinpah traits. Yet it would be a disservice to even think this film isn't rich in thematic texture, for the journey that Bennie that our main protagonist takes is one of meaning. He is a loser, but we find him on this quest to find not only fortune, but respect and love. It's a bloody trail for sure, but it has much depth and no little Peckinpah humour to push the film to the bloody but triumphant finale. Warren Oates is rewarded by Peckinpah for years of sterling work for him by getting the lead role of Bennie, and he grasps it with both hands to turn in a wonderful performance that splits sadness and vibrancy with deft of ease.

Bring Me The Head Of Alfredo Garcia has a harsh quality about it, be it the violence, or be it the sadness of the characters, but what isn't in doubt to me is that it's harshness is cloaked in Peckinpah splendour. 9/10

Sam Peckinpah's hallucinatory bloodbath was considered career suicide when released in 1974; today, this scuzzy, squirrelly road movie looks less like self-parody than self-autopsy. As such, it has aged better than some of Peckinpah's more "reputable" movies. Like John Cassavetes' THE KILLING OF A CHINESE BOOKIE and Brian DePalma's BLOW OUT, it's a thinly veiled allegory about the muck a filmmaker will wade through to get his movies made. Peckinpah's stand-in is Warren Oates, an actor who always brought a rotgut reek of authenticity to his roles; here, he's a washed-up pianist who stands to score a bundle if he completes one simple task--fetching the severed head of the yutz who impregnated a Mexican warlord's daughter. When Oates isn't defending his not-unwilling girlfriend (Isela Vega) from rapists Kris Kristofferson and Donnie Fritts (!), he's carrying on a boozy, uh, tête-à-tête with the brown-bagged head on an endless drive down Mexico way. But Oates isn't the villain--that distinction is reserved for the effete suits (the slimy duo of Gig Young and Robert Webber) on his tail. Oates is just a guy trying to maintain enough of his integrity to see a dirty job through: He's one of those screw-you Peckinpah heroes who completes his assignment just so he can wage war on his bosses. The movie has such a gritty, oozing, flyblown feel you could swear it was shot on No-Pest Strips instead of celluloid, and as Oates bears down on oblivion it slows to a druggy crawl: Each cut is like a dying man's blink. No matter-in its sick, ornery way, this is one of the director's most personal movies, and worthy of far better than its laughingstock status.