Les Pétroleuses (1971)
Directed by Christian-Jaque, Guy Casaril

Film Review

Whilst the classic western has always had an enduring appeal for French cinema audiences, France's own attempts at emulating the genre are exceeding few and far between and, of the few French westerns that have been made, virtually none is worth the price of the cinema ticket.  Guy Lefranc's Fernand cow-boy (1956) manages to be a fairly likeable spoof but Jean Bastia's Dynamite Jack (1960) is excruciatingly dull, despite the almost surreal pairing of Fernandel with Adrienne Corri.  The only French westerns that can hold a candle to their American counterparts are the animated adventures of Lucky Luke, represented by René Goscinny's Lucky Luke Daisy Town (1971) and La Ballade des Dalton (1978).  Les Pétroleuses (a.k.a. The legend of Frenchie King) is at the exact opposite of the quality spectrum, a ramshackle spoof that isn't so much a western as a kinky male fantasy gone south, with a butched-up Brigitte Bardot and turbo-feisty Claudia Cardinale proving that the Wild West is definitely no place for a man, especially not when it is deluged in clichés.
 
After watching Mel Brooks' Blazing Saddles (1974) any parody of the classic western is bound to appear trite and sterile, but you don't have to see Brooks' film to appreciate just how awful Les Pétroleuses is.  If the film was scripted there's precious little sign of it - it just seems to be a chaotically cobbled together succession of lame comedy situations that are performed and directed in a way that implies talent had suddenly gone out of fashion.  There are some who will doubtless derive some pleasure from watching Brigitte Bardot play the pistol-firing dominatrix for all it is worth, humiliating every male she encounters as she claims the West as her own with her band of black clad amazons, and her cat fight with Claudia Cardinale is a sight to behold (probably the silliest fight scene ever to committed to celluloid).  Bardot's performance is so over-the-top that it makes you wince, but after being exploited by film producers and directors for two decades, we can forgive her this long-overdue two-fingered salute to an industry she had come to despise.  A woman's revenge is never a pretty sight, even if she is wearing tight-fitting corsets and a low-cut bra at the time.

As well as being (possibly) Bardot's worst film, Les Pétroleuses has the distinction of being the last film in which Valéry Inkijnoff appeared, oddly cast as a Red Indian.  After debuting in Vsevolod Pudovkin's Storm Over Asia (1928), Inkijnoff became a star of French cinema in the 1930s, typecast for most of his career as oriental and other exotic-looking villains.  Here he is completely wasted.  Micheline Presle shows up briefly (too briefly to do the film any good), and for want of a decent male actor Michael J. Pollard is foisted on us, untiringly irritating as a stock comedy sheriff of the kind who is so stupid he looks as if he might garrotte himself every time he ties up his boot laces.  The rest of the cast don't even deserve a passing mention - in the pursuance of mediocrity it's nice to see that no barrel bottom was left unscraped.

Christian-Jaque was virtually at the end of his long career when he directed this film, and this might explain why he shows no flair and enthusiasm for the subject.  Indeed, you wonder if he ever bothered showing up on the set, judging by the asinine mess that somehow ended up on the cinema screen.  Although he receives no on-screen credit, Guy Casaril also directed part of the film, presumably to the same standard of his previous Bardot vehicle, Les Novices, where his work was so poor he ended up being dismissed and replaced with Claude Chabrol (who then decided the film was so bad that he refused to put his name to it).

It's clear that a large pile of French francs was thrown at the film and in some departments - the set design, camerawork and scoring - the production values are on a par with those of the better Italian spaghetti westerns of the time.  But everywhere else - the writing, the directing, the acting - the efforts are at best amateurish.  Les Pétroleuses is sporadically funny in places but overall it provokes more teeth grinding than laughter.  Unless you have a serious fetish about fading buxom beauties in cowboy boots and Stetsons it's not great entertainment - in fact it's about as rewarding as watching a glass of water evaporate.  Let's face it - when it comes to westerns, even comedy westerns, the French just haven't a clue.

Film Synopsis

Louise, nicknamed Frenchie King, is the leader of a woman's gang with her four sisters.  They attack a train and steal important documents belonging to Doc Miller, which include the deeds to a ranch at Bougival Junction.  The arrival of Louise and her gang infuriates Maria Sarrazin, the leader of another gang comprising herself and her four brothers.  Through her influence over the sheriff, Maria tries to have Louise chased out of the town, but in vain.  Louise soon discovers just why Maria is so keen to drive her away: the ranch contains an important oil concession which could make the owner rich beyond the dreams of avarice...