Heller in Pink Tights (George Cukor / U.S., 1960):

George Cukor in the sagebrush, Le Carrosse d'or proceeds next to the covered wagons. (The muddy Cheyenne the Healy Dramatic Company pulls into might have been written by Louis L'Amour, but the saloon with the sliding painted nudes belongs unmistakably to the maker of Sylvia Scarlett.) The impresario (Anthony Quinn) introduces the leading lady (Sophia Loren, opulent, gold-dyed, and quick as mercury), famed for "feats of prestidigitation" but uninterested in long-term relationships, their group is expansive enough to accommodate former child stars (Margaret O'Brien), Broadway troupers (Eileen Heckart), and forgotten silent-era thesps (Edmund Lowe). "Blood and thunder" are fine but not adultery, censors already thrive in the Old West, Mazeppa replaces La Belle Hélène. The heroine in princely drag and toga-wrapped bodysuit rocks the audience, the hired gunfighter (Steve Forrest) wins her in a poker game and rides along the collect his prize, wiping his sweaty brow with the bloomers she left behind. Cukor never loses sight of the theatricality that infuses both the fanciful incarnations of the saltimbanques and the genre conventions of the Western—if a vista is composed with pale skies and Cavalry riders, it is as a backdrop for witty comediennes under purple and orange parasols. The diva desired by three men in town gives way to the cowboy desired by three women in the desert, the Indian attack become an impromptu carnival when the warriors reach the abandoned carriage and romp through the wardrobe. Between Sirk's Take Me to Town and Malle's Viva Maria!, the horse that leaps over the stage lights. "These amateurs are the curse of my life!" A gem of sensuality and élan, where even the Bonanza madam knows her Shakespeare: "Yeah, we're all actresses, ain't we?" With Ramon Novarro, George Mathews, and Edward Binns.

--- Fernando F. Croce

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