Le rescapé de la vallée de la mort

Five Bloody Graves is one of the few real drive-in westerns. It's directed by the much maligned Al Adamson, who made many colorful schlockers in his day. With it's nonstop violence and gory excess, this is no exception.

In this the west is depicted as a vast wasteland of hate and savagery, populated by half mad characters including death himself. There isn't much plot except for numerous people wandering around the rugged Utah landscape trying to massacre one another. Being that this is narrated by the grim reaper, there's not much mystery as to where most of the characters wind up.

Incidentally, John Carradine, Scott Brady, and Robert Dix were back together a year later in a better drive-in western, Cain's Cuttroats.

As far as the detractors go, many of them were tricked by the deceiving advertising on the video box into thinking that this is a horror picture. Fans of B-westerns will most likely be more forgiving than the average viewer.

Al Adamson! Truly one of the Princes of schlock filming and a true heir to Edward D. Wood Jr.s Throne of cheese! Adamsons films have everything that makes the true crap movie so frightening: Illucid scripts, continuity errors of epic proportions, acting somewhere between barely OK to truly awful, former movie greats fallen into rough times, no budget whatsoever, cameos by the director himself (not in the Hitchcock manner, more in the Ed "Glenn or Glennda" Wood way)... you name it.

Said that, this is one of his less crappy movies (we are talking about Adamson standards here though), mainly because of a really good director of photography (newly immigrated Vilmos Zsigmound, who later would shoot movies like Maverick and Assassins) and a gorgeous background scenery.

But be not fooled! There is still plenty of badness provided, starting with the mind numbing narration by Death himself, reaction shots that don't match either the scene before or after (most often then not not even the time of day!), gratuitous violence of the disturbing kind etc. etc. etc.

Watch out for appearances of B-movie legend John Carradine, the movies own screenwriter Robert Dix, 50s Western staple Victor Adamson and ubiquitous Scott Brady.

To see Adamson at the peak (or rather bottom ) of his art, be sure not to miss the unbelievable "Dracula vs. Frankenstein", a movie that puts Plan 9 to shame! Highly recommended for fans of Adamson is also David Konow's great biography: Schlock-O-Rama: The Films of Al Adamson

There's one saving grace in this movie: the scenery. It was shot in some rugged and truly beautiful country in Utah, but Al Adamson is such an incompetent hack of a director that he doesn't really do anything with it--it's just kind of "there" in the background, and the few times where you get a glimpse of some of the spectacular views that SHOULD have been seen a lot more often, it looks like Al just happened to be pointing the camera at that particular spot rather than actually having planned the shot (although "Al Adamson" and "planned the shot" are two phrases that don't usually belong in the same sentence). Few things in this film make sense, starting with the title--even if anyone could figure out exactly what a "bloody grave" actually is, there are a lot more than five people killed, the only graves shown are at the end of the picture, and there are only four of them. Having a title that is not only senseless but untrue should give you an idea of what's to come, and since this is an Al Adamson movie, it doesn't fail to live up--or down--to that expectation.

The "action" is laughably inept, as it invariably is with any Adamson film. Scenes seem to be inserted out of nowhere. At one point there's a shot of the survivors of an Indian attack holed up among some big rocks in a dry, desert area awaiting another attack. The next shot shows a half-dozen Indians charging through a lush, green valley, yelling and whooping. The next shot is of the same people in the same group of rocks, but you can't see or hear the Indians. The next shot is the yelling and whooping Indians charging through the valley again. Then back to the shot of the people in the rocks. And that's it. There's no Indian attack, the valley the Indians were charging through is never seen again and, come to think of it, neither are the Indians. As further proof of Adamson's razor-sharp film-making skills, during an attack on a ranch house the number of Indians keeps changing--six attack the house, two of them are killed and one rides away. So where are the other three? Then one Indian fires a burning arrow at a ranch house from a distance of about five feet, and the house proceeds to burn to the ground in about ten seconds. Throughout the movie there's a hilariously pretentious voice-over from "Death" that makes no more sense than anything else. Adamson did manage to get a few professional actors for the picture--John Carradine, Scott Brady, Jim Davis, Paula Raymond--but he also populated it with several of his usual gang of inept "discoveries": Kent Osborne, John Cardos, Vicki Volante. Cardos isn't all that bad, actually, but Osborne and especially Volante are awful. Darlene Lucht (here billed as Tara Ashton) plays one of the prostitutes on a wagon attacked by the Indians, and she's actually not bad at all (and a real beauty, to boot). But the idiotic script (an example: Ben, who's supposed to be the Indian "expert", says that Yaqui Indians are actually Apaches but that the Mexicans call them Yaquis. That is flat-out untrue; Yaquis and Apaches are two entirely different tribes), the badly done "action" scenes, the confused editing, the wildly inappropriate music score (while Joe Lightfoot is chasing the man who raped and murdered his wife, the music that's playing is a pseudo-jazz/rock tune you'd hear in a '60s teen musical with go-go dancers in a cage doing the frug in a "hip" nightclub) all combine to make this even more of an atrocity than the usual Adamson epic. I realize this is an Al Adamson picture, but this one is a stinker by even his almost non-existent standards. Don't waste your time.

This is a terrible film and anyone seeing it might be inclined to think it's one of the worst films that any director could make. Well, that could be true, but not if it's Al Adamson--the jerk that directed this dull film. No, FIVE BLOODY GRAVES is practically a Merchant-Ivory production compared to such Adamson "classics" as FRANKENSTEIN VS. DRACUL A, HORROR OF THE BLOOD MONSTERS and BRAIN OF BLOOD.

The film begins with some totally pointless and stupid narration by the Hollywood actor Gene Raymond. This is pretty sad, as in the 1930s, he was a top Hollywood star and the husband of Jeanette MacDonald--here, he plays "Death" with all the subtlety of Grim from "The Adventures of Billy and Mandy" thanks to a dumb script.

As far as the rest of the film goes, it's mostly the "bad Indians" killing the innocent (or semi-innocent) Whites. While this plot isn't too unusual, it was unusual for 1970, as by then Westerns had mostly begun to show Indians with a bit more depth--but not here. Yep, they're mostly just blood-crazy savages. In this mix are some incompetent actors and amazingly unattractive actresses (considering they are SUPPOSED to be alluring) and subplots involving rape that seem to have been added only to "spice up the film".

The music is odd, as it really doesn't sound very appropriate for the film. I suspect it was lifted from another film but only recognized one small section that was lifted from the old "Star Trek" television show.

While none of this is good at all, the worst thing about the film is how gosh-darn dull the whole thing is. There just isn't much to keep your attention (other than a little bit of nudity). Not nearly as silly or stupid as Adamson's horror films--this one is just bad.

Compared to other Al Adamson films this is pretty good, hence the 3 stars. Only two things worth noting, it starred John Carradine, who as well as classics was known for making turkeys and if you're English it suddenly plays the theme music to the News at Ten, which caught me completely off guard.