Rat Pack buddies Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin were prized for their ability to appear relaxed on camera, but in 4 for Texas they're nearly asleep. It must have looked good on paper: reuniting the crooners and teaming them with two international sex symbols in a jokey Western under the guidance of topnotch director Robert Aldrich (Kiss Me Deadly). Ursula Andress, as a riverboat owner who hooks up with Dino, unleashes her bedroom purr to great effect, but formidable Anita Ekberg had a bad year in 1963 (she also got stuck in Bob Hope's immortal Call Me Bwana). A tasty roster of character actors is wasted, although Charles Bronson and Victor Buono are amusing as unsavory citizens of 1870s Galveston. Even the Three Stooges, in their Curly Joe configuration, wander through. After a terrific opening sequence in the desert, establishing Frank and Dean's rivalry, this one quickly goes south. --Robert Horton

Set against the majestic beauty of the great Northwest, Matt Calder (Robert Mitchum) is a rugged widower with a questionable past who decides it's time to start a new life with his young son, Mark (Tommy Rettig). But their peaceful existence is sabotaged when Matt is robbed and pistol-whipped by cold-blooded gambler Harry Weston (Rory Calhoun). Unexpectedly, Weston's fiancée, Kay (Marilyn Monroe) postpones her wedding so she can nurse Matt back to heath. In his pursuit to exact revenge at any cost, Matt takes Kay and Mark on a treacherous ride down a roaring river, where they're at the mercy of wild animals and a lawless frontier.

Robert Aldrich pulls no punches in his unrelentingly brutal story of a reign of terror perpetrated on Arizona settlers by a bitter Apache warrior and the cavalry's frustrated attempts to stop him. Burt Lancaster, a longtime Aldrich collaborator and star of the similar 1954 Western Apache, brings his laconic, quietly authoritative presence to the role of McIntosh, a blunt-speaking, introspective old army scout with more respect than hate for his enemy. A very young Bruce Davison is the green-as-a-sapling Lieutenant DeBuin, fresh from West Point and filled with Christian ideals, thrown into the field against the vicious, tactically brilliant Ulzana. DeBuin is shocked and appalled at Ulzana's brutality--torturing male homesteaders to death, raping the women, leaving a trail of mutilated corpses--and as he struggles to understand Ulzana his values of Christian charity soon melt into racist hatred. Ulzana's tactics were familiar to Americans in 1972 who followed the war in Vietnam and the guerrilla attacks of the Vietcong. Like The Wild Bunch before it, Ulzana's Raid removes the sentimentality of Western ideals in its harsh portrayal of the violent world, though unlike Sam Peckinpah, Aldrich leaves the violence off-screen and allows the audience to see only the horrific aftermath. (These scenes are often graphic and not recommended for the squeamish.) It's a disturbing and powerful film, where the concept of good guys and bad guys becomes meaningless and the battle between cultures ultimately comes down to survival in a harsh world. --Sean Axmaker

"You're the first friend I ever had," grins flamboyant mercenary Burt Lancaster to lean, laconic Gary Cooper with a smile that suggests that he may be the last. They're a pair of Americans abroad looking to cash in on the Mexican revolution by selling their services to the highest bidder in this energetically cynical south-of-the-border Western. They meet cute, conning, robbing, and out-witting one another in a bit of one-upmanship that bonds the men in mutual admiration, and then team up to escort a royal convoy through revolutionary country. When they discover its secret stash of gold bullion, they revert to their old way, selling out anyone it takes to get the treasure for themselves, even each other. Played out as a seat-of-the-pants con game of shifting alliances and double crosses, this is a cheerfully ruthless tale that served as a veritable blueprint for the Italian spaghetti Westerns of the 1960s. Director Robert Aldrich has a real flair for turning rogues and opportunists into deviously riveting characters, and went on to work the same sort of magic on Kiss Me Deadly and The Dirty Dozen. The cast of character actors features Ernest Borgnine, Charles Bronson, and Jack Elam in the gang, George Macready as Emperor Maximilian, and Henry Brandon as the martinet German captain Danette. --Sean Axmaker

Robert Aldrich pulls no punches in his unrelentingly brutal story of a reign of terror perpetrated on Arizona settlers by a bitter Apache warrior and the cavalry's frustrated attempts to stop him. Burt Lancaster, a longtime Aldrich collaborator and star of the similar 1954 Western Apache, brings his laconic, quietly authoritative presence to the role of McIntosh, a blunt-speaking, introspective old army scout with more respect than hate for his enemy. A very young Bruce Davison is the green-as-a-sapling Lieutenant DeBuin, fresh from West Point and filled with Christian ideals, thrown into the field against the vicious, tactically brilliant Ulzana. DeBuin is shocked and appalled at Ulzana's brutality--torturing male homesteaders to death, raping the women, leaving a trail of mutilated corpses--and as he struggles to understand Ulzana his values of Christian charity soon melt into racist hatred. Ulzana's tactics were familiar to Americans in 1972 who followed the war in Vietnam and the guerrilla attacks of the Vietcong. Like The Wild Bunch before it, Ulzana's Raid removes the sentimentality of Western ideals in its harsh portrayal of the violent world, though unlike Sam Peckinpah, Aldrich leaves the violence off-screen and allows the audience to see only the horrific aftermath. (These scenes are often graphic and not recommended for the squeamish.) It's a disturbing and powerful film, where the concept of good guys and bad guys becomes meaningless and the battle between cultures ultimately comes down to survival in a harsh world. --Sean Axmaker

Burt Lancaster was cock of the walk in 1954. The Lancaster-starred From Here to Eternity had just swept the Oscars®, his personal production company Hecht-Lancaster could do no wrong, and he had marquee magic in two back-to-back Westerns directed by Robert Aldrich, Vera Cruz and this one. There are moments in his performance as Massai, the Apache warrior who wouldn't surrender with Geronimo, that seem choreographed to express the actor's exultation. Massai has hard going all the way--starting with having to recross half the continent on foot after escaping from a prison train bound for Florida--but Lancaster the ex-circus athlete who insisted on doing his own stunts fairly sings with the ecstasy of movement as he scampers over rocks, rolls unscathed between the wheels of racing wagons, and generally makes the screen look like his private gym.

Apache wasn't the first Western to sympathize with Native Americans done wrong, but it's among the liveliest--although, ironically, it was destined to be outshone in power and complexity by Aldrich and Lancaster's masterpiece Ulzana's Raid nearly two decades later. Typically of its time, Apache features non-Indians in all the Indian roles, including Jean Peters as Massai's beloved Nalinle and Charles Buchinsky (later Bronson) as her other suitor, Hondo, one of the tribesmen who has donned U.S. Cavalry blue. John McIntire contributes his crusty moral authority as Al Sieber, the real-life scout who helped defeat Geronimo and then Massai, and respected both. John Dehner is, as usual, a real bastard. --Richard T. Jameson