One of my favorite teen memories surrounds the film "Day of Anger." I saw it at the El Rey Theatre in Walnut Creek, California in 1972 as part of a double feature with "Superfly." Don't ask me how that match-up was booked, but I went with a couple of friends and thanks to the new release paired with it, the place was nearly packed. Old school singleplex with 1000 or so seats. Everyone was hushed and into the story until Lee Van Cleef stomped into the scraggly bar in the scraggly village, banged on the wooden plank serving as the bar and demanded: "Get me Wild Jack!" For a moment the theater remained hushed. Then, from a few rows behind us, a guy yelled out "WILD JACK! What kinda name is that?" Suddenly taken by the over-the-top melodrama, the crowd turned the whole experience on its end and started howling at what now seemed to be a self-referential satire on the spaghetti western genre. Of course I didn't think in such high-falutin' terminology at the time, I just thought it was funny. With all due respect to serious aficianados of the genre, it was just one fun night. One of the guys I went with suggested that we go back and repeat the astonished "WILD JACK!" comment the next night, but we figured, I think rightly, that you had to be there, it was a one shot thing, with perfect timing that had us laughing too hard to take it seriously when poor Scott Mary finally had his day in the sun and finished off his mentor while reciting the final rule of the gunfighter.
Review of Day of Anger
