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For law breaking too horrible to mention in the presence of a lady, Tuco is a wanted man; there's a price on his head of $2000. For this sort of reward three chancers are brave enough to take on Tuco, hoping that there's safety in numbers. What they fail to prepare for, a mortal mistake, is the intervention of Joe (Clint Eastwood). He's smart enough to realise that Tuco would make a great partner, with the reward being split every time. It's a fine plan and Tuco eagerly agrees, like a horse to hay. The only problem is that one day their bargain turns sour, curdled by the searing heat of the midday sun.
Right from the stylised opening titles of The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly Leone demonstrates a wonderful clarity of purpose. In a single shot, implying the callous toughness required to prosper here, the baked desolation of his characters' environment fills the screen. With extravagant pacing, dots on the horizon resolve themselves into men; grizzled, dirty and undoubtedly smelly but still human. Yet these three mean nothing to Leone, merely acting as a bridge to give us Tuco, il brutto, the Ugly. Wild of spirit and gesture, Tuco lives to sup from the spring of life. He'll take anyone on, drink till dawn and still have enough energy to bed a whore.
This exceptional performance, by Eli Wallach, is the first of two elements that lift The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly beyond any comparable movie. Here Wallach wields his ability to make Tuco amusing, cunning, warm, likeable and dangerous, without seeming to act at all. Instead he constructs Tuco out of tiny, insignificant moments, the ones which tap directly into the subconscious. For example, Tuco is about to hang and he's bored, having heard it all before. Just as Tuco's judge recites a few especially juicy crimes, he turns to an old, respectable lady tutting in the crowd and unleashes a magnificent snarling grin in her direction. She shrinks back in horror, publicly repelled and secretly attracted by Tuco's devil-may-care attitude. So Wallach shines, nailing Tuco's speech pattern, nervous laugh, posture and flickering eyes with precision.
Yet Leone doesn't stop there, instead he repeats the trick for Van Cleef and Eastwood. They're both introduced by a flourish, establishing their characters without constraining further growth -- hired guns, successful killers by dint of honed reflex and innate cunning, they're willing to slaughter anyone for a price. Though Wallach is more affecting than either Van Cleef or Eastwood, all three have the virtue of fitting into their role like an old pair of shoes. Leone's casting in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly is beyond criticism. Eastwood, a long-serving student, is casually confident, witty and rather lucky. Van Cleef, just as much a Western icon, projects an icy demeanour, content to let others do the talking. Together Wallach, Eastwood and Van Cleef strike sparks off each other; a great leading trio.
On the other hand Leone's direction is silky smooth, an exquisite orchestration of counter-balanced events. A symphony of co-ordination, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, marshals the forces of photography, editing, musical score and overall framework. These elements permeate and enrich the film, yet there is a single scene that captures each at its height. Occurring near to the tale's end, we find Joe, Tuco and Setenza in a standoff. At first Leone deploys long shots to place all three within a single frame, establishing the spatial dimension. Then the pace of Ennio Morricone's unbelievable score quickens, becoming strident, and Leone has Tonino Delli Colli move closer in. The camera takes in one person at a time, each nervous as the seconds crawl by. Now the editing breaches a threshold, becoming noticeably rapid, each cut decreasing in length. Morricone hits fever pitch, the screen is filled by hands, guns and (eventually) eyes, narrow and squinting. In a concussive spasm of violence the shooting starts and ends. The scene functions like clockwork, notching its pressure ever higher; possibly one of the greatest set-ups in cinema history.
Remarkably The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly is full of such incidents, delightful in isolation, superlative in sequence. With a seemingly simple yet engrossing story, Leone effectively gives a master class in how to make the best use of widescreen. From the space of the desert; the prostrate form of Eastwood collapsed; the synchronised figures of stalking gunmen; the impossible length of a glinting rifle barrel; Delli Colli fashions images of wonder. His concentration reaches its height with the many close-ups of a hand and a gun, where each flex of the fingers and hesitant move tells us the gunman's mental state. Certainly a case of "less is more." In the grip of Leone, a commanding, intelligent and visual director, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly improves on his earlier films while presaging what was to come. A classic.
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