“There ain't nothing sacred about a hole in the ground or the man that's in it. Or you, or me.”

A tough, bleak and deliberately repulsive neo-noir as a self-portrait of a former marine turned cowboy filmmaker trying to drink himself to death in Mexico; Warren Oates even modelled his look and performance on Peckinpah. One with a perversely grim sense of humor and romance about the central pulpy, ultimately pointless mission to trade in the rotting head of a corpse for money (and by extension one last chance at freedom or love), until suddenly it very brutally strips you of all beauty and hope of anything after the mission and becomes this ugly, fatalistic and feral horror-western.

That grave…

“Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia” is a director in dialogue with his own demons. Demons — that just so happen to take the form of a decapitated appendage. 

Outside of Bob Fosse’s “All That Jazz,” there has never been such a nihilistic and uncensored self-portrait of a filmmaker in his own work. 

In “Head,” Sam Peckinpah renders an image of himself through the character of Bennie, played by Warren Oates. Bennie - a two bit barroom pianist - goes on a odyssey of errors to collect the bounty on the literal head of a dead gigolo. 

Coming off the catastrophic release of “Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid,” which saw the film mangled beyond recognition, Peckinpah escaped to…

What is the worth of a man’s life?

Probably while in a fit of self-loathing, Peckinpah sought to provide the world a mirroring of his own self-destruction and personal inner monologue in the form of Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia, a film which sees a bounty placed on the head of a dumb schmuck who knocked up the daughter of a cartel boss. Seeking to make a quick buck, sleazy piano player Bennie (Warren Oates in the performance of his career) hits the road to retrieve it with the help of his prostitute girlfriend, about whom he cares little (or at least that’s what he tells both her and himself). His journey that follows is one of loss,…

It was a matter of time for Sam Peckinpah to direct a Mexican film, the dark antithesis of John Ford's portrayal of relationships and conflicts between Mexico and the United States. And what does he place as the centerpiece of his new film?

Mexican cultural variety?
No.

A greater appreciation towards Mexican people?
No.

An elaboration on the border/socio-cultural conflict between the two nations?
No.

A discussion of the cultural heritage of the rural communities of Mexican society?
No.

He makes a twisted, dark-comedy surreal exploitation of the Mexican underworld and challenges it to its highest ranks propelled through an existentialist Warren Oates in a surprisingly difficult performance. The theme of it all increases the structuralist ambiguity but, masterfully, the…

You can only double down so many times before you go bust. It's maybe around the time that Bennie is dousing his head (his own head) in a trough of turbid water that he realizes he's made one too many bad decisions and nothing he does from here on out is going to redeem him. Or maybe it's confronting his paymasters, with the merchandise in a basket - the only thing of sentimental significance left - that he talks himself into a course of action that equates to martyrdom. If he's gonna go, he's gonna take everyone down with him, especially the root cause of all this bloodshed and suffering. $10k won't buy his compliance any more. It probably never…

“i’m gonna make you rich.”

What a statement this thing is. Sam Peckinpah once said this was the only film he made exactly the way he wanted to make it. After studio interference and compromises on even his most celebrated work, this was the picture that came closest to his own vision. You can feel it. Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia plays less like a movie than a manifesto torn from an open wound, with nothing held back. It is bleak, grimy, funny, strangely tender, and so emotionally exposed that it almost becomes uncomfortable. He went south of the border to make it, beyond Hollywood’s reach, obsessing over the right bars, the right faces, the right scorched landscapes…