Jean-Louis Trintignant is a just and laconic gunslinger, whilst Klaus Kinski is a camp and vicious bounty hunter dolled up in a fur coat and leather gloves, as if auditioning for Warhol? The snowy location shooting was clearly an influence on Altman's MCCABE AND MRS MILLER. This western uses the mountain ranges that serve as its location to stunning effect; there are some really exquisite aerial shots in particular.
Probabilmente la migliore pellicola firmata da Corbucci.Caratterizzazioni,interpretazioni(Kinski sempre magnifico),messa in scena,originalità (specie nel finale),musiche ed un'ambientazione cupa ed innevata:tutto è di assoluto livello per un simil-Django meno ironico e se possibile ancora più cattivo.Un vero Cult per tutti gli amanti del genere Western.Non è Leone,ma ci và vicino.....davvero notevole.4*
Kinski's all the more effective here because he''s seemingly underplaying it for once, as a soft-spoken, almost satanic bounty hunter who sits comfortably at the center of a snowbound social ecosystem that relies on the murder of those uncomfortable with it, in order to sustain itself. Morricone's score is a gorgeous, knowingly sorrowful elegy.
A harsh and pitch-black Western about a society eating its own tail. The title works on multiple levels, the obvious being a reference to the film's mute protagonist. The implied "silence" is that of the impoverished, voiceless band of outlaws. It's easier to kill them off for a fee than to mold them into members of society. And the ending. GOD. I hear there's an alternate happy ending. I don't want to see it.
My first Corbucci let me mouth wide open, probably specially because of the schocking ending. While not really familiar whit Italowesterns besides very few Leones, I kept expecting Silence to be granted a happy end. With that not happening the class-confrontation-metaphorical-level got thrown in the foreground.
Having just watched Corbucci's Django, I expected another triumphant yet unrealistic finale in The Great Silence, especially given the similarities leading up to it. I am so glad that wasn't the case. That ending left an incredible impact, I was pretty much stunned.
Like Carpenter's The Thing and Carnahan's The Grey, Corbucci's film finds a bleak, desolate hell in snowscape wastelands, an existential dead end for rough, empty men. There's something more insidious, more haunting, than Leone's westerns here, a sense of the truth of the West, a rejection of the fantasy in favor of grim reality. The ending is one of the cinema's great rejections of dream. Moral terror.