Cry Blood, Apache

Poor Joel McCrea who couldn't leave the screen on a high note like Randolph Scott in Ride the High Country. He had to come back to play a cameo in a film his son Jody produced and starred in.

Jody had a minor career in the 60s in those beach films. He had gotten a break playing a deputy in a short-lived television series called Wichita Town that starred his father as a sheriff. He never really established himself and I guess Cry Blood, Apache was a last effort.

IT's just bad all around, bad acting, bad directing, lousy script that god awful music that punctuates all foreign made westerns.

Joel should have just stayed on his ranch.

Poor little programmer of a western, tries to ride in the trail of the Eastwood-Leone "Man With No Name" series and fails. There is an intensely 1960s feel the the performances that make the performances awkward and unconvincing. In addition, the prints have a washed-out look.

Even a graceful opening with Joel McCrea playing the lead character in later years -- the lead is played by his son, Jody -- serves only to make the rest of the movie more awkward.

Released in 1970 and directed by Jack Starrett, "Cry Blood, Apache" is a low-budget American Western about a group of white dirtbags with gold fever who murder a camp of Apaches while allowing a squaw (Marie Gahva) to live in order to take 'em to a gold mine. Meanwhile a relative of the captive, a silent brave (Marcus Rudnick), tracks them down and gets vengeance one by one. Jody McCrea plays the only redeemable person of the bunch while the director plays the hypocritical Bible-quoting nutjob. The burly bearded guy was Leif Garrett's father, believe it or not.

This is actually a late 60s/early 70s exploitation thriller in disguise. Some of the Apache's torture methods, like hanging a person upside down in a stream and placing a bag with a deadly snake over someone's head, are rather chilling without being overly graphic. "Cry Blood, Apache" is a barbaric revenge yarn produced by the protagonist Jody McCrea, who enlisted his dad, Joel McCrea, from retirement to play the old-aged version of his character in the prologue and epilogue for (I guess) name recognition.

The director went on to better things, like 1975's "Race with the Devil," but here he was obviously hampered by the low-budget and the movie comes across inept in some ways (like some of the editing, acting, dubbing & dialogue), which will spur a lot of viewers to hit the 'stop' button (or switch channels). But the film has some rewarding elements despite the tediousness and meaninglessness of it all. For instance, you can't beat the gritty realism. The main characters come across as a group of degenerates with gold fever in the desert, with the questionable exception of Pitcalin (McCrea). Their disheveled and torn clothing looks right. And Rudnick is quite credible as the laconic, merciless and torturous Apache warrior. The obvious question is: Why is Pitcalin riding with these moral-less swine? I suppose because he's desperate and needs the money. While he obviously laments the needless murders, he probably "writes them off" as expected collateral damage.

The eight descriptive words in my title blurb are all fitting for "Cry Blood, Apache." It's also unforgettable.

The film runs 82 minutes and was shot in Arizona and Sequoia National Forest.

GRADE: C

I'd heard this was one of the worst movies ever, but it's just cheap and mediocre. (How disappointing.) It's no worse than much of the era's drive-in era genre cheapies, particularly the sexploitation, biker and horror ones--though I guess by this point it was a fairly rare low-budget western, since that genre pretty much dying out (big-budget exceptions like "True Grit" aside).

Some 19th-century longhaired white cretins rape and murder a small village of Apaches, taking one woman hostage when she promises to take them to a gold mine. When the a young Apache warrior returns home (he'd been absent during this slaughter), he tracks and methodically kills the brutes.

This movie is kinda like a non-graphic version the same time period's porn semi-classic "A Dirty Western"--though what passed for high production values in a porn flick looks pretty low-grade in a mainstream feature. (There's only so much rugged-landscape location shooting can do for an otherwise micro-budgeted movie.) It's all about abduction, loutish behavior and righteous vengeance. Jody McCrea plays the "nice" member of the gang, who tries to save the "squaw" from further rape and violence; his dad Joel cameos as the character many years later, remembering these grim events.

You've got to wonder if McCrea Sr. (in his next-to-last role) had any idea just how sordid much of "Cry Blood, Apache" would be, since the sleazy aura early on is so at odds with the wholesome image he'd preserved as a Hollywood star. McCrea Jr., in his sole effort at producing, is OK--but he sure was cuter as Deadhead in those "Beach Party" movies.

Nonetheless, this movie isn't so bad. It's got a professional orchestral score, decent technical contributions, adequate pacing, OK stunt work, picturesque high/low-desert locations, and competent direction from Jack Starrett, who played the hypocritically evangelical "Deacon and would go on to direct a fair number of TV episodes ("Starsky & Hutch," "Dukes of Hazard") as well as TV movies and second-rung theatrical ones ("Cleopatra Jones," "The Gravy Train," "Race with the Devil").

Yes, those adjectives are pretty tepid. No stretch of the imagination can make "Cry Blood, Apache" good. But t'ain't THAT bad. It's just drive-in routine, circa 1970, with dialogue largely dubbed in post. Actually, it gets better as it goes on, particularly in late vengeful stretches that reach for tragedy and irony--they don't memorably reach either, but they're effective enough in melodramatic terms. (There's a particularly nasty death by rattlesnake.) Still, the ending is corny.

Big bearded "Billy" was the father of child star Dawn Lyn ("My Three Sons") and teen idol Leif Garrett.

If there are any tears to be shed with Cry Apache Blood they will be from the abused souls who end up watching this pitifully soulless movie! My first mistake was thinking that because it had Joel McCrea's name on it, perhaps it should at least be looked at out of curiosity but, not so. I doubt that Joel would have looked at this mess & if he did - would have been ashamed of it. What is clearly a charitable act of lending his name to help promote his son's production (who displays less character than his dads shadow) turns out to be a sad blotch on his own sterling career. This thoroughly sordid mess offers no redeeming features, it's wretchedly written, acted and photographed - vile in every department. Even if found in an op shop for $1- stay away from it lest ye be brain damaged forever after. For the desperately easily pleased only. Note: Joel (who has top billing!) has all of approx three minutes - within a worthlessly tacked-on- top-and-tail that can only qualify as the ultimate, shameful exploitation. If you want to see him in one last quality attempt take a look at "Mustang Country" from '76 - where it appears more likely he may have been coaxed out of retirement, one last time, in an attempt to redeem himself from his son's moronic disaster.