IL MOMENTO DI UCCIDERE

IL MOMENTO DI UCCIDERE

THE MOMENT TO KILL

French: LE MOMENT DE TUER

German: DJANGO-EIN SARG VOLL BLUT

DJANGO A COFFIN FULL OF BLOOD

Director - Anthony Ascott (real name: Giuliano Carnimeo) 1968

Cast: George Hilton (Lord), Walter Barnes (Bull), Loni von Friedel (Regina), Renato Romano, Arturo Dominici (Forrester), Rudolf Schundler (Judge Warren), Remo De Angelis (Dago), Giogrio Sammartino (Trent), Carlo Alighiero (Forester), Ugo Adinolfi, and Horst Frank (Jason Forrester).

An Italo-German Coproduction

P.C.E. Produzioni Cinematografiche Europee, Euro International Films (Rome), Terra Filmkust (Berlin)Produced by Vico Pavoni

Story by Tito Carpi, Enzo G. Castellari

Screenplay by Tito Carpi, Francesco Scardamaglia, Bruno Leder

Set Designer Alberto Boccianti

Costumes Enzo Bulgarelli

Assisted by Stefano Bulgarelli, Francesca Romana Cofano (c.s.c.)

Assistants to the Director Fabio Piccioni, Hans Billian

Continuity Vittoria Viscrelli

Production Inspector Cecilla Bigazzi

Cameraman Mario Pastorino

Assist. Cameraman Michele Pensato

Sound Engineer Massimo Jaboni

Make-up Sergio Angeloni

Hair Stylist Lina Cassini

Editor Ornella Micheli

Music by Francesco De Masi

Directed by the composer

musical copyright National Music-Milan

The song "Walk By My Side" by De Masi Alessandroni-De Mutisis sung by Raoul

English version Criterium Production

Syncronization C.D.S.

Filmed at the Cinecitta Studios

Director of Photography Stelvio Massi

Technicolor - Techniscope

Production Manager Dino Di Salvo

Distributed by Euro International

Missing gold was not an unusual catalyst for a Western plot, so perhaps these filmmakers felt that doing the old story in Western costuming, but with the look and atmosphere of an "Old Dark House" thriller would make it unique. Perhaps it was, but they should have made certain that an audience had something to care about before spending so much time on guys creeping around in the dark.

Creating the characters of Lord and Bull, a duo of former confederates who became hired gunmen, and then casting the roles with George Hilton and Walter Barnes, was a step in the right direction. But these were the kind of characters suitable for an expansive adventure story, not guys about whom suspense could be generated in an "hide and seek" gun battle.

Director Giuliano Carnimeo and Cinematographer Stelvio Massi came up with a stylish look for the film, with unusual camera angles and inventive staging. But, in collaboration with Editor Ornella Micheli and Composer Francesco De Masi, they weren't able to give this enough of a pace to keep things from getting pretty dull. There was plenty of time for sharp audience members to guess all of the upcoming plot twists. What perhaps wasn't predictable was the odd freeze frame ending.

There were many familiar faces to enjoy seeing again, but no one delivered a really notable performance. The casting of Arturo Dominici as Horst Frank's father was an interesting decision, but unfortunately it didn't pay off with an interesting result.

Walter Barnes expressed regret over his performance as Bull. He felt he could have done so much more with the role, if he hadn't been so distracted by the divorce proceedings brought against him by his wife in Germany.

(Thank you to Eric Mache for a chance to see the English language pre-record from Holland.)

Broderick Crawford in THE CASTILIAN

From: SO YOU WANT TO MAKE MOVIES
My Life As An Independent Film Producer
by Sidney Pink

We ended principal photography with only ten days left to finish with Cesar. We needed to complete his battle close-ups as well as his voice dubbing in that time, due to his absolute commitment to report to the DONOVAN'S REEF location for immediate shooting. Thanks to the wizardry of Rich Meyers, and to the luck that brought Al Wyatt to Madrid to direct the action scenes of ROMAN EMPIRE for Bronston, we met the deadline. Gentleman that he always was, Cesar promised to return or do anything that might be necessary for completion. He volunteered to do it with no further payment and he meant it - a truly remarkable man.
During the early days of production, we were confronted with our last casting problem. The cameo role of King Sancho of Navarre, the hard-drinking monarch of that kingdom, was the last role open for an international name. It called for an actor of real stature, and the scene in which he destroys the wine cellar of the Castilian lord who was protecting Fernan Gonzales could yield an Oscar for supporting actor. I had not cast the part because I saw it as a perfect vehicle for Broderick Crawford whom I met on GOLD LOVERS.
I don't suppose there are too many people now who remember how important Brod Crawford's name was in 1963, but he was one of the few "name" actors who had accepted and joined TV, and his series was being played all over the world. He was popular in every major country, including Japan. Getting Crawford not only meant acquiring prestige and a fine actor, it also meant additional box-office dollars. I waited until the last possible moment to cast the role in the hope that I could get Brod for the part.
I discussed the part with Paul Ross, who continued as our press agent and represented Brod as well. Paul told me Brod Crawford was remarrying and wanted to come to Europe for his honeymoon. If I could coordinate our shooting schedule with his free time, he would come to Spain with his bride. When I inquired what he would cost, I was told he wanted two round-trip first class fares, all expenses in Madrid paid for, and $5,000 for incidentals to be paid to him in cash on his arrival. Despite Espartaco's attempts to stop me, we changed our schedule to get Brod Crawford's entire role shot in one week.
We got even luckier: Brod called to tell me he had been able to clear three weeks of hiatus time and would arrive early. He arrived at the Barajas airport with his young wife of forty-eight hours; she was breathlessly excited and he was hopelessly drunk. There was no nicer person than Brod Crawford, and he was in the same professional class as Cesar Romero, but he was an alcoholic. His normal breakfast consisted of a mug full of the most powerful of Spanish brandies (150 proof) covered with about two teaspoonfuls of coffee. For the rest of the day he nursed either Scotch of brandy in a bottle he always carried with him.
We tucked him into bed at the Hilton upon his arrival and kept him sober for two days while he went over the script with us. He gave us his word he would be sober for the big scene where he played the drunken king. He promised not to touch a drop for twenty-four hours before the scene, in exchange for our commitment to allow him full freedom to do as he pleased at other times. Brod was a real pro, and he never missed a call or scene. The problem with his drinking was his inability to speak lines. He not only forgot them, he was unable to speak intelligibly even though he could go through all the action the scene required. Everyone loved that big, shaggy, warm-hearted kid.
The whole Brod Crawford incident ended badly. He came into his big scene cold sober and proceeded to fluff every action. After three hours of failure, we gave up and let him drink again. He got through the scene, but we never knew what he said for dialogue. The only thing that saved the voice dubbing was his very distinctive gruff voice. Everyone knew it was Brod Crawford talking so the bad lip sync got by. I liked Brod, but I swore never to work with a drunk again - until I met Victor Mature.

IL SEGNO DI ZORRO

IL SEGNO DI ZORRO

French: LE SIGNE DE ZORRO

German: ZORRO, DER MANN MIT DEN ZWEI GESICHTERN

Spanish: EL CAPITAN INTREPIDO

U.S.: DUEL AT THE RIO GRANDE and THE MARK OF ZORRO

Director - Mario Caiano 1962

Cast: Sean Flynn (Don Ramon Martinez), Daniele de Metz (Manuela), Gaby Andreux (Senora Gutierrez), Walter Barnes (Mario), Mario Petri (Captain Martin), Armando Calvo (Gen. Gutierrez), Virgilio Dalgado Teixeira, Mino D'Oro (Don Luis), Gisella Monaldi, Guido Celano, Alfredo Rizzo, Piero Lulli (blacksmith), and Folco Lulli (Jose).Armand Galou, Vittorio Bonos, Gigi Bonos (wagon driver), Fernando Poggi, Aldo Cecconi, Pietro Ceccarelli, Manrico Melchiorre, Mimo Billi, Ugo Sasso, Tonio Selwart.

Screenplay by Casey Robinson, Guido Malatesta

Director of Photography Adalberto Albertini

2nd Unit Director of Photography Luigi Filippo Carta

Eastmancolor - Totalscope (Dyaliscope in Germany)

Music by Gregorio Garcia Segura

Music Publisher Campi

Film Editor Alberto Gallitti

Art Director Alberto Biccianti

Costumes Virgilio Ciarlo

Set Designer Bruno Cesari

Production Manager Luigi Nannerini

Assistant Director Alfonso Brescia

Sound Enzo Silvestri, Mario Morigi

Studios: Titanus - Farnesina

Exteriors Rome, Bari, Biarritz, Saint Jean De Luz

Produced by Fides (Paris). Compagnia Cinematographique Mondiale (Rome), Benito Perojo (Madrid)

Distri. Titanus

Prod. Reg. 2822

A pretty good tale of a son revenging the hanging of his father on a false charge of treason, was spoiled by someone's insistence that a Zorro connection needed to be made. Our hero was not Zorro, nor do we ever see him leave the "Z" found three times during the film. At one point he improvised a black mask to hide his identity, but he never donned a black cape, nor did he adopt the duo life of dandy-by-day, and masked avenger by night. If one could ignore the slapped-on aspect of this film, it could be enjoyed for some good action and high spirits. Ramon, a proud young Basque, was told by his mother that his real father was a Spaniard and that he now lived in Mexico. Don Martinez had written and asked Ramon to visit him.

With his faithful servant Jose, Ramon traveled to Mexico and quickly got into a cantina brawl with three thugs; Mario, Francesco and Romero. Having bested each of the three, Ramon found himself having to face all three at once with swords. Giving out a cry of "Ai-yei-yei-yei", Ramon and Jose raced off on their horses. Recognizing the cry, the three thugs realized that they have just picked a fight with a fellow Basque.

Having a Basque hero gave this swashbuckler a novelty at odds with the effort to turn it into a Zorro movie. Once again, though, if one could ignore the "Z"s, it worked. (Perhaps I could just dub down a copy of the video and edit out those annoying shots.)

Walter Barnes played Mario, one of the three Basque brawlers who sought out his countryman, and ended up joining the effort to topple the villainous General Gutierrez. While this role wasn't much different from the other brutish parts he'd played before, Barnes was able to infuse this effort with more humor and vitality than usual. His interaction with his two friends especially suggested more acting ability than most of his earlier performances had.

After his rather poor debut in IL FIGLIO DEL CAPITANO BLOOD (U.S.: THE SON OF CAPTAIN BLOOD), it was a pleasant surprise to see Sean Flynn looking lively in this lighthearted effort. From galloping about on horseback, or easily swinging up into a tree, or flying gracefully into a swordfight, Flynn easily bettered his previous performance. Did Mario Caiano, who had a minor job on CAPITANO BLOOD, see how to better use the American than director Tulio Demicheli did, or was it just personal growth by the actor?

Writer Casey Robinson was another holdover from CAPITANO BLOOD, but didn't show similar improvement. The plotting for IL SEGNO DI ZORRO was pretty standard. In order to get his hands on the silver mine, the villain killed our hero's father. And then, to swindle the government, he had his own men, disguised as bandits, steal the silver shipment. Naturally, our hero, in collaboration with an underground rebel group, foiled the plot and then joined the uprising of the populace which stormed the villain's villa.

Caiano directed the usual scenes with enough verve to make the standard stuff enjoyable and the performances agreeable. Assisting in making this film-going experience pleasant were some new and attractive faces, especially Daniele de Metz, and some fondly remembered veteran performers, including Barnes, Mario Petri, Folco Lulli of IL RATTO DELLA SABINE, Piero Lulli, and Gigi Bonos.

(Thank you to Wolfgang Meise and Ally Lamaj for helping me to see this in German, and George Badal for helping me to see this in French.)

The Battles of THE CASTILIAN

From: SO YOU WANT TO MAKE MOVIES

My Life As An Independent Film Producer

by Sidney Pink

We managed to finish principal photography on time, but we were left with a tremendous number of action and battle scenes to be shot. The only scene of major importance Seto had been able to film was the climactic final battle at Hazinas. We used the actual site of that historic battle and filmed it exactly as the tales of Jerifan related it.

History tells of the Moorish battle strategy of forming their huge armies into a giant crescent composed of their well-armed infantry. The first attack was led by the cavalry, which was reputed to be the finest and most ferocious in the world. After the cavalry herded the opposing forces into a circle of defense, the main infantry attacked in that fearsome crescent which, like a nutcracker, could close around the defensive circle and annihilate the enemy troops, leaving them no escape. This tactic expunged all opposition without any defeats, but Fernan Gonzales found a way to defeat the crescent.

In our final battle, we re-enacted the exact (according to legend and history) battle and tactics involved. Fernan aligned all of his troops in the form of a cross, with the arms reaching almost all the way across the valley. The main body of the cross was a half-mile long file of foot soldiers, twenty abreast, and at the rear of the column was the Castilian cavalry. His plan called for this cross to march toward the Moorish troops; when the cavalry of the Moors attacked, the foot soldiers parted and allowed the Moors to go through. At this point, the Castilian cavalry turned tail and ran, leading the Moors into a small valley where they were ambushed and decimated by expert Castilian archers.

Meanwhile the Castilian cavalry returned to the scene of the battle. The crescent of the Moorish infantry was unable to bend the arms of the Castilian cross to encircle their forces. After a short battle in which the Moors were unable to accomplish what they had been trained to do, they broke and ran, with the Castilian cavalry in full pursuit. Of course, legend had embellished this defeat with all kinds of supernatural help, including visits to earth by Spanish patron saints brandishing swords of fire, but this did not diminish the obvious military genius of the backwater Spanish hero Gonzales. This battle set the high-water mark for the Moorish invasion, but the Moors never got any further. It remains a remarkable achievement.~Our shooting plan called for us to establish the shots with four cameras (again my TV training stood me in good stead) located on two hilltops that commanded a view of the entire valley. Two of the cameras had long focal-length lenses for a master shot encompassing the entire length and breadth of the valley. Their field of vision included all the Moorish troops, numbering 5,000 on foot and 765 horses and cavalry. They were formed in the crescent, with the horses and riders moving across the front of the crescent of infantry.

It was one helluva sight. We had to keep the horses in motion, because most were untrained gypsy plow and work animals who were almost impossible to keep in any kind of order. It took us three days of rehearsals to get those raw extras to obey our commands. Our Castilians numbered 1,300 infantry and 300 cavalry, and it took us five days of rehearsal to get them disciplined enough to form a cross and keep it for the ten minutes required to get the shot. We were finally able to get the two cameras with the deep optical lenses positioned to portray the entire panorama of these two giant armies marching to the attack.

The other two cameras with shorter focal-length lenses were placed where they could pick up much closer shots of the action of smaller groups. This was about all we could do with such a mass of humanity. We decided that after we finished with principal photography of the picture, we would pick up all the close action between the heroes and the villains as well as the specialty action of our stunt men. This proved to be the best and least expensive solution. As I later learned from Al Wyatt and Yakima Canutt, the directing of action and stunt scenes is a highly specialized and difficult job. They should know, they were the greatest at it.

We were finally able to get that big scene on film. It took a total of three weeks of planning, hundreds of thousands of pesetas, and grand-scale preparation for moving, feeding, and housing almost 10,000 people and animals. The final result is approximately five minutes of film. It is spectacular, but I never want to do that again. Perhaps DeMille or Bronston with unlimited budgets and expert technicians enjoyed this kind of filming, but not me. Never again.

DUELL VOR SONNENUNTERGANG

DUELL VOR SONNENUNTERGANG

U.S.: DUEL AT SUNDOWN

Director - Leopold Lahola 1965

Cast: Peter van Eyck (Don McGow), Carole Gray (Nancy), Wolfgang Kieling (Punch), Mario Girotti (Larry McGow), Todd Martin, Giacomo Rossi Stuart,Deineler Bitenc, Kurt Heintel, Jan Hendriks, Carl Lange, and Walter Barnes (Vater McGow).

Screenplay by Leopold Lahola, Anya CorvinBased on an idea by Inarek Blasko and Leopold LaholaDirector of Photography Janez KalisnikMusic by Zui BorodoAssistant Director Dragoljuh SlojanovicScmilt Wolfgang WehrumProduction Manager Willy ZeynDesamlletung Dr. Alexander GruterA production of Corona Filmproduklion G.M.B.H. Munich And of Eichberg G.M.B.H. MunichIn collaboration with Jadran Film, ZagrebDistributed by Omnia Deustche Film – Export G.M.B.H.

If someone wanted proof that all Westerns made by Germans weren't like the Winnetou films, this movie would do the trick. Unfortunately, what this movie was wasn't good.

Older son Don McGow was put in charge of the cattle drive. However, an argument with his younger brother, Larry, sent Don away to cool off. Returning, Don found the cattle stolen, the foreman dead, and Larry missing. Soon, our hero set off to discover where was the herd and what had happened to his brother.

With a plot that promised alot of action and emotion, this film delivered a listless pace and absolutely no involvement. At time the actors seem to have been directed to not react to what was going on around them, making audience identification difficult at best. And what little action was presented, was so poorly staged that one couldn’t help but wonder what the filmmakers thought they were achieving.

Fans of German actor Peter van Eyck would probably be astonished to find out that he played the hero of a Western, and from his performance here, it would appear that he wasn't very comfortable with the idea either. Aside from an overdone costume - which included chaps, an unweathered vest, huge gloves and a black hat which flapped in the wind - van Eyck didn't look healthy, let alone virile enough to work as a cowboy. His usual aristocratic manner, which perfectly suited the military and espionage parts he often played, seemed at odds with the rough character needed for this story. And having him next to Walter Barnes made the concept of van Eyck being a son very unconvincing.

In reality, Peter van Eyck was born in 1911, about seven years before the 1918 birth of Walter Barnes. Van Eyck died in 1969, about four years after this movie, but not before making at least fourteen other films, including THE SPY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD and SHALAKO.

As the ranch owner, Barnes provided sincerity for the part of a father worried about how his sons were growing up. The filmmakers didn't provide much for the actor to do, but he provided what little credibility their movie had.

In an attempt to make Barnes believable as van Eyck’s father, the filmmakers added gray to his hair and beard, and had him walk with a limp. Unfortunately, the American looked like he was trying to play older, which only focused more attention on how healthy and virile he appeared next to van Eyck.

Italian actor Giacomo Rossi Stuart, already a veteran of a few Italian Westerns, appeared in the small role of the foreman. That the producers wanted to add him to the mostly German and Yugoslavian cast was odd, especially as they didn't give him much to do. But his was always a welcome presence.

Probably the most interesting element of this film was the actor playing Larry McDow; Mario Girotti. This was one of five German Westerns in which this fellow appeared. Two years later, he would dye his hair blonde, adopt the name of Terence Hill, and become a big star in Italian made Westerns. Here, he showed a little of his star quality with his brilliant smile and casual athleticism - he vaulted over fences and onto horses with ease. However, the role of Larry was not the sort of part to bring him to the attention of a very wide audience. But, at least, it didn't prevent him from going on to bigger and better things.

(Thank you to Ally Lamaj for helping me to see the German language version of this.)

An editor for THE CASTILIAN

From: SO YOU WANT TO MAKE MOVIES

My Life As An Independent Film Producer

by Sidney Pink

Seto hadn't the vaguest idea how to stage or photograph a battle scene. Every attempt he made ended in disaster and we soon gave up, realizing we would have to save all of those scenes until the end of our schedule. Originally, our film editor was a French woman in her sixties who went by the affectionate name of Senora Madame. She was a very capable cutter and her technique was good enough for any Spanish film, but like Seto, she was in over her head when it came to our picture. We needed a film editor with the ability to edit battle scenes and create the faster tempo needed for international audiences.

Let me illustrate what I mean by tempo. In European productions, customary cutting called for, say, an actor to walk down a hall, open the door, enter and close the door; and then for the cut inside the room matching the door closing to show him actually inside the room. This kind of cutting slows action too much for American audiences, who are accustomed to being told a complete story in a thirty-second commercial. American cutters show this same sequence of events by following the actor into the hall, cut to a close-up of the door, and then show the actor talking to whoever he went to see. Our audiences do not need a complete explanation to accept the fact and the process of the actor entering the room.

I was having a real problem explaining to Senora Madame Ochoa we could not accept her Spanish-French cutting technique and had to use a different approach. While I was in the States, I met a film editor recommended to me by Eddie Mann and Freddie Berger. His name was Richard Meyers and he was eager to get to Europe. At this time almost all the production activity worldwide was in either Rome or Madrid. Spain had taken over as a center due to its excellent climate and terrain. You could find any outdoor background in Spain, from the frozen Russia of DR. ZHIVAGO to the deserts of LAWRENCE OF ARABIA.

At any rate, Rich was very ambitious, not content to remain an excellent film editor. He had his heart set on becoming a producer-director. He was, however, amenable to the deal I offered, and he came to Madrid with his family to take over as associate producer and supervising editor of the picture. Again the unreal importance of titles in this crazy showbiz world worked for me. Rich was content because he was not merely a film editor, and Madame was happy because she was still officially the only editor on the film. Nothing changed - each had the same job, but they were both content because they saved their faces through titles.

With Rich in charge, we were able to keep Seto in touch with his coverage, and thanks to his able cutting and production savvy we had very few problems in that department. Now I was able to concentrate on the other miseries in progress.

Espartaco determined that no matter what the cost he would even the score with me, and he caused furor after furor until Emiliano Piedra re-entered the scene. He came as the representative of a now wide-awake Maruja Diaz. When she saw the assets of her company squandered by the obstinacy of the man who had posed as her husband (we learned they had never been married), she called upon Emiliano, who was scrupulously honest and Maruja's best friend.

On her behalf, he quickly executed an agreement with us for our guarantee of completion in exchange for production control. Under Spanish law, final control resided in the Spanish co-producer. What Maruja needed was assurance that Espartaco, who was not a Spanish national, could not in any way conspire with us to defraud her of her company and its share of the film. After seeing the results of the enmity between us (we were not two weeks behind), Emiliano advised her to turn over production control to us legally and thus blunt any power held by her ex-partner. And that was the way we finished the picture. Espartaco was now only an actor, and we were able to control him.

Followup on Eli and Federico

Tullio Pinelli, left, who co-wrote the film "La Strada" with Federico Fellini, far right, is seen in 1957 with the film's co-producer, Dino de Laurentiis, and star, Guilietta Masina. "La Strada" won the first ever Academy Award for best foreign-language film. (Los Angeles Times)

From: DINO The Life and Films of Dino De Laurentiis

by Tullio Kezich and Alessandra Levantesi,

translated from the Italian by James Marcus

(In an excerpt from Eli Wallach's autobiography, the American actor talked about meeting Federico Fellini and being offered a role in a movie to be produced by Dino De Laurentiis. Federico backed out of making the movie, which led to lawsuits by De Laurentiis because of the amount of pre-production money already spent. Here's what is said about that project in the official De Laurentiis' biography.)

Then, in January 1964, as Fellini was preparing to shoot JULIET OF THE SPIRITS, Dino learned that his old friend was squabbling with his erstwhile patron, producer Angelo Rizzoli. Could it be time for a rapproachement? After some amiable discussions, Dino and Fellini signed an unusual contract, dated February 13. According to this document, they would make JULIET OF THE SPIRITS together is Rizzoli declined it, or as an alternative, a film "of a modern kind, i.e. without any costumes." There was also an option for a second film. Alerted to the situation, Rizzoli grew alarmed and accused Federico of wanting to betray him "with that Neapolitan down there."

In the end, JULIET was the last project Fellini would direct for the elderly Angelo. That left the second film. The contract between the old friends had specified an appropriate title, WHAT MAD UNIVERSE, a science-fiction novel Fellini had asked Dino to option. By now, however, the director had something quite different in mind, which he didn't initially share with his partner. This was a short novel by Dino Buzzati called LO STRANO VIAGGIO (THE STRANGE VOYAGE), which he'd read in a magazine eighteen years before: the story of a young man who mysteriously finds himself in the afterworld.

Traveling up to Milan, Federico invited Buzzati to knock out the screenplay with him. And so IL VIAGGIO DI G. MASTORNA (THE VOYAGE OF G. MASTORNA) came into being - amidst many doubts on Dino's part. The producer was less than enthusiastic about filming the other-worldly travels of a dead man. Throughout 1965, while Buzzati moved forward with the script, Fellini and Dino's brothers, Luigi and Alfredo, scouted locations in Naples, Milan, and Cologne. In the new studio at Dinocitta - where the director felt uncomfortable from the very first day, calling it "a space station, in inaccessible outpost" - various sets began to tape shape. These included a scale model of the Cologne cathedral and the airplane in which the cellist Giuseppe Mastorna believes himself to be landing safely. (Instead, the plane crashes, and the protagonist crosses over to the kingdom of the dead.)

Other pieces of scenery were hammered together, among them a Neapolitan set at Vasca Navale, and Dino procured hundreds of costumes. But now Fellini revealed an alarming listlessness. The maestro was in fact experiencing the crsis that he'd depicted earlier in 8 1/2; he was a director about to embark on a film he no longer wanted to make. He had come to believe that MASTORNA was bringing him bad luck - that messing around with the afterlife was not a smart thing to do. On September 14, 1966, Fellini had the following message delivered to his producer: "I must tell you that I've been debating within myself for some time, and that I've finally come to a conclusion... I can't begin the film because, despite everything that's happened, I wouldn't be able to complete it.... I'm so sorry, caro Dino, to have arrived at this decision, but it's the only thing I can do."

A war between the two friends exploded, with the newspapers fanning the flames. Dino filed a claim for 1 billion lira in damages; the court granted him 350 million and a bailiff showed up at the villa Federico shared with Giulietta Masina to begin the seizure of property. Since the attached goods added up to a smaller sum than the grant by the court, Dino also asked for the seizure of any funds still owed to Fellini by Rizzoli.

The skirmish was interrupted by the official premiere of THE BIBLE at San Carlo di Napoli. Meanwhile Luigi and Alfredo De Laurentiis did everything they could do to broker a truce between the director and producer. Fellini had made the situation worse by declaring that he was ready to make the film for a different producer. In fact, he may already have been in the midst of secret negotiations, but the intermediaries kept trying to cobble something together.

Finally Dino and Federico agreed to meet one evening in January 1967, in the park surrounding the Villa Borghese in Rome. When the appointed time arrived, the producer joined the director and his lawyer in their car. The trio circled the park slowly, over and over, with Dino's car and driver following. After an hour, the first car came to a halt, the occupants climbed out, and the two enemies exchanged a peacemaking embrace. All around them, meanwhile, retainers from both sides, who had been squatting on the grass, leaped forward in jubilation.

Since Fellini no longer wanted to work at Dinocitta, preparations for the film recommenced in the old studios at Vasca Navale. There was some thought of signing up Mastroianni for the lead role, but he was unavailable in April or May, when the shoot was scheduled to begin. It was also too late to hire an American star, so Fellini settled on Ugo Tognazzi. On March 13 he sent Dino a cheerleading note: "I've decided to use Tognazzi. Godspeed and good luck to us all" The actor, who hadn't yet made his break into real stardom, was overjoyed at the news and ran off to telephone his father. But on the evening of April 10, at a decisively unfavorable juncture, the director was rushed to the hospital with severe chest pains.

Dino couldn't believe it. Suspecting Fellini of faking illness to get out of making the film, he sent down his own team of doctors to the Salvator Mundi Clinic. But when the physicians returned with a catastrophic diagnosis - possible cancer - De Laurentiis was unable to hold back his tears. Luckily the next day examinations put these fears to rest. Federico was suffering from pleurisy, an infalmmation of the membrane separating the lungs from the abdomen, with complications from anaphylactic shock. The doctors prescribed a long convalescence, which had just begun when Dino himself had to be rushed to the hospital after an attack of appendicitis.

Did all this put MASTORNA on hold? Of course not. The recuperating director soon received a visit from Paul Newman. He'd been sent by Dino, who hoped that the maestro would cast him as Mastorna in place of Tognazzi - who, unjustly dropped from the project, ended up suing everybody.

In May the convalescent Fellini told one interviewer regarding Dino, "There's no longer any acrimony between us. On the contrary, I believe that Dino has a great deal of regard for me." It wasn't clear, however,whether the director still wanted to make the film of if he intended to make it with somebody else. As pragmatic as ever - and perhaps equally disenchanted by a project that had brought him such grief - Dino ended the suspense by relieving the director of his obligations. In return, on August 21, Fellini signed a contract to make three films with De Laurentiis over the next five years. He would never make a single one.

By now, the padrone of Dinocitta had lost all hope of breaking even on the project. Another Neapolitan producer, Alberto Grimaldi, nonetheless expressed interest in acquiring the rights to MASTORNA and reimbursing all of Dino's expenses. On September 25 Grimaldi presented Dino with a check and brought the entire dispute to an end. Fellini recounts the grand finale in this way: "Dino fell to his knees, shouting, 'San Gennaro exists, he's right here in front of me, his name is Alberto Grimaldi!" Today Dino dismisses this little scene as more fruit of the director's imagination, but he does say, "Not even this new San Gennaro could pull off what would have been a real miracle: convincing Fellini to make the film."

(Fellini would make SATRYICON and CASANOVA for Grimaldi instead.)