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Monday, Nov. 27, 1978
And why was the Kremlin making such a
fuss about him ?
Even the most knowledgeable American pop-music fan would be hard pressed
to identify Dean Reed. But in the Soviet Union, the Denver-born
country-and-western singer is more popular than Frank Sinatra. His
frequent concert tours of Communist countries draw S.R.O. crowds; his
songs, which frequently blend Marxist-inspired lyrics with twanging
strains of the Nashville sound (one big hit: War Goes On), sell in the
millions. Last week the 40-year-old singer gained a new notoriety in
his homeland; he turned up as the focus of the Kremlin's latest effort
to get back at the U.S. for Jimmy Carter's criticism of the repression
of Soviet dissidents.
Last month Reed and 18 other protesters were arrested and jailed in
Delano, Minn. They were charged with trespassing on the right of way of
a 427-mile high-voltage power line long opposed by many farmers and
environmentalists. When word of Reed's arrest was flashed to a shocked
Soviet public, the news agency Tass dispatched a special correspondent
to cover the trial.
Capitalizing on Reed's popularity, the Soviets also started a drumbeat
of staged flackery on the arrested singer's behalf. The newspaper
Komsomolskaya Pravda reported that telegrams "expressing wrath and
indignation at the arbitrary rule of U.S. authorities" were pouring in.
A quartet of Soviet classical composers fired off a message to the
White House prodding Carter to "urgently intervene to put an end to
arbitrary action and ensure the release of Dean Reed." Reed helped the
cause by refusing to post $300 bail, going on a hunger strike with some
of his fellow prisoners and announcing, "I consider myself a political
prisoner."
In fact, Reed is an indifferent performer by American standards and a
habitual agitator. He left Colorado 20 years ago, after winning
fleeting local fame by outrunning a jackass in a 110-mile foot race.
Turning up in Latin America, he was arrested in Chile while
symbolically laundering an American flag outside the U.S. embassy. Then
he moved on to Rome, where he starred in eight spaghetti westerns, and
was arrested again in an anti-Viet Nam demonstration. During the 1960s,
Reed also made several triumphant tours of the Soviet Union. Audiences
there were impressed by his boyish good looks, syrupy baritone and
eclectic repertoire of folk, rock and mellow protest songs. He soon had
a huge following of Soviet fans, who considered him a "typically
American performer."
Declaring himself an "independent Marxist," Reed settled in a plush
lakeside villa in East Berlin in 1973 and married an East German; they
are now divorced. He has kept his American citizenship and periodically
revisited the U.S. He came to Minnesota to promote El Cantor, a movie
about a Chilean singer who Reed claims was tortured to death after the
fall of Marxist President Salvador Allende.
The Russians clearly expected that Reed would be convicted, thereby
justifying their charge that the U.S. crushes dissent. Unfortunately,
the jury acquitted Reed and his codefendants. The singer himself
hailed the verdict as a "courageous and unpopular decision." The Soviet
press reported the acquittal but then fell silent—presumably waiting
for another victim of American injustice.
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The Fellowship of Humanity
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E-Encyclopedia of Dean Reed...Дин Рид в России:
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Reed’s first wife, Patricia, whom he married in 1964, was a
successful actress in her own right, and had previously dated Ricky
Nelson and Elvis Presley.
His mother and daughter visited him in East Berlin. He apparently
planned to return to the U.S. again in June of 1986, to attend his
daughter’s High School graduation — which raises some interesting
questions.
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И это та газета, в которой напишут это!-
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Dean Reed
Artist
Representative Albums:
Country, The Very Strange Story of Dean Reed: The Red Elvis!, Die Grossen Erfolge
- Genre: Avant-Garde
- Active: '80s
- Instrument: Vocals, Guitar, Main Performer
Biography
Virtually unknown in his homeland, Colorado native Dean Reed was an
international rock star, actor, and leftist peace activist who enjoyed
tremendous success in South America, East Germany, and the Soviet Union.
Musically, Reed drew mainly from early rock & roll and country, as
well as pop balladry and protest folk, a mixture that earned him the
nickname "the Red Elvis." His outspoken political views were also a
large part of his appeal, but it got him arrested in several countries,
deported from Argentina, and kept him in perpetual hot water with the
U.S. State Department. His socialist leanings, however, made him welcome
behind the Iron Curtain, where he became one of the few Western rock
& rollers to enjoy prominent exposure. Reed died in East Berlin in
1986 under mysterious circumstances, still anonymous in his native
country; however, documentarian interest in his rather extraordinary
life suggested that that might not be the case for all time.
Dean Reed was born in Denver on September 22, 1938, and later moved to
Hollywood to pursue a show business career. At age 20, he signed with
Capitol Records and began releasing rock & roll singles (nine
total), none of which made much of an impact in America. However, one of
the songs, "Our Summer Romance," was a runaway smash in South America,
and Reed decided to embark on a tour. He proved so popular in countries
like Chile, Argentina, Peru, and Venezuela that he wound up staying to
pursue a career that eluded him in the States. Over the next few years,
the newly christened Red Elvis released several singles and LPs that
helped consolidate his status as one of the continent's most popular
performers; he also began appearing in movies and became a regular
presence on Buenos Aires television. Additionally, Reed became known for
his willingness to perform for free in prisons, and was applauded for
his stance against U.S. nuclear testing in the region. But his
left-leaning, pro-peace politics eventually became problematic for the
Argentinean government, who booted Reed out of the country in 1966.
Reed moved to Rome, where he carved out a career acting in spaghetti
Westerns for a few years. More significantly, he embarked on his first
tour of the Soviet Union that year as well, and became a wildly popular
sensation. He also became a major headache for the U.S. State
Department, as his visibility in Eastern Europe grew and as his
criticism of U.S. involvement in Vietnam grew increasingly vocal. Reed
began attending international peace conferences with regularity, met
with Fidel Castro, and in 1973 officially moved to East Berlin. Reed
continued both his singing and acting careers behind the Iron Curtain,
and even periodically wrote and directed his own films, such as 1981's
Sing, Cowboy, Sing. The new center of Reed's musical career became
Czechoslovakia, where he usually recorded the albums that later made
their way to the U.S.S.R. and East Germany.
In 1985, Reed returned to Denver for a screening of the biographical
documentary American Rebel, for which Reed recorded the new song "Nobody
Knows Me Back in My Hometown," written specifically about his life by
John Rosenburg. The following year, Reed was slated to begin work on the
self-penned film Bloody Heart. Just before production was to begin in
June 1986, Reed's body was found in a lake near his East Berlin home.
The cause of his death was never officially determined. In 1992, the BBC
aired a documentary on Reed's life, titled Comrade Rockstar, which was
written and narrated by Reggie Nadelson and later released in book form;
the following year, German director Peter Gehrig put together Glamour
and Protest, another chronicle of Reed's life. In late 2001, it was
announced that Tom Hanks had signed with Dreamworks to star in a
fictionalized account of Reed's life. ~ Steve Huey, All Music Guide
Actor
Dean Reed
- Born: 1938 in Denver, Colorado
- Died: 1986
- Occupation: Actor, Director, Writer
- Active: '70s-'80s
- Major Genres: Western, Mystery
- Career Highlights: Sing, Cowboy, Sing, Mi Primera Novia, Adio's Sabata
- First Major Screen Credit: Mi Primera Novia (1966)
Biography
A native of Denver, CO, American actor Dean Reed started his career as a
folk singer. He is best known for working in Euro-Westerns. He first
lived in South America, then in East Germany. ~ Sandra Brennan, All
Movie Guide
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E-Encyclopedia of Dean Reed...Дин Рид в России:
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E-Encyclopedia of Dean Reed...Дин Рид в России:
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The mysterious Dean Reed, “The Red Elvis”, motorcycles through Moscow.
Denver-born Dean Reed graduated Wheatridge High in 1956. In 1958 he took off
for Hollywood, but instead, became a huge star in South American countries Chili,
Peru & Argentina where he heavily embraced Marxism. He later moved to Europe
where he became a socialist singing sensation in the U.S.S.R. and East Germany.
Reed’s body was discovered in a lake outside near Berlin in 1986. There is still
speculation on his cause of death. Was he murdered by the Russians, the Germans
or even the Americans, or is was it suicide? Reed is buried in Green Mountain
Cemetary in Boulder.
Dean Reed was also a TV star and an actor, starring in many spaghetti westerns
like Adios Sabata and this odd film below:
Phil Everly & Dean Reed DREAM1979 | Fachak
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E-Encyclopedia of Dean Reed...Дин Рид в России:
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22,
1938, in Denver Colorado. He went to Hollywood where he signed a record
contract with Capitol Records in 1958, but his third single, "Our
Summer Romance" was so popular in South America he went to tour there.
More popular than Elvis Presley, he stayed to enjoy his incredible fame
in Chile, Peru, Argentina. He made albums, starred in movies and had his
own television show in Buenos Aires. He was known as Mr. Simpatia
because he worked for free in barrios and prisons and protested ...
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I Ain_t Got You
Our Summer Romance
- "Our Summer Romance"
- Although the summer's gone
- I'll try to carry on
- although you won't be with me
- and when school is through
- I'll still be loving you
- for nine months can't be so long
- I'll cherish every vow
- forever and for now
- and feel your lips meet mine
- And when the nights grow cold
- in dreams it's you I'll hold
- and dream of that wonderful day
- when I'll hold you again
- and dream of heaven then
- and think, that time was not so long
- I love no one but you
- my love belongs to you
- someday I hope to marry you
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Dio li crea... Io li ammazzo!
-1967
God Forgives: His Life Is Mine
God Made Them... I Kill Them (USA)
Plot Outline:
A
bounty-hunter (Dean Reed) is hired by the residents of a small town on
the Mexican border to stop a series of gold robberies by marauding
outlaws who are coordinated by the town's corrupt banker.
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Dean Reed |
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Slim Corbett |
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Pietro Martellanz |
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Rod Douglas (as Peter Martell) |
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Piero Lulli |
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Sheriff Lancaster |
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Agnès Spaak |
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Linda Veras |
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Dolly |
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Ivano Staccioli |
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Judge Kincaid |
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Fidel Gonzáles |
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Job |
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Giovanni Ivan Scratuglia |
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Member of Rod's gang (as Ivan Giovanni Scratuglia) |
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Piero Mazzinghi |
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Mayor Toland |
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Rossella Bergamonti |
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Bruno Arié |
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Giuseppe Alizeri |
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Appio Cartei |
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Robert Norek |
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NEVER PLAYED BEFORE
IN A COLLECTIBLE PROMO EDITION
IN A PAPER POCKET SLEEVE
WITH THE ENTIRE MOVIE
AUDIO 5.1
REGION: EUROPE 2- PAL
Duration:90 min- DOLBY DIGITAL
AUDIO : ITALIAN - SUBTITLES : Greek
You can buy it at E-bay
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Dio li crea... Io li ammazzo!
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Dio li Crea...Io li Ammazzo
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Release : 1968
Gritty Italian director Paolo Bianchini (aka Paolo Bianchi) made this
violent spaghetti western, which compensates for its standard plot by
the sheer grimness of its tone. Dean Reed stars as an infamous
bounty-hunter named Compton, who is hired by th e residents of a small
town on the Mexican border to stop a series of gold robberies by
marauding outlaws. The fact that the robberies are being coordinated by
the town's corrupt banker is no surprise, but Fernando Di Leo's script
makes up for its pr edictability with pure energy. The film is
well-photographed by Sergio D'Offizi and acted by a veteran cast --
Peter Martell, Piero Lulli, Agnes Spaak, and Ivano Staccioli are among
the faces familiar to genre fans, and Marcello Gigante's low-key sco re
only adds to the tension. . . . .
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Download Link 720 MB
Rich playgirl Kit Jordan (nee Katherine Lawson Chandler) is in Acapulco
vacationing with her current husband, Pete Jordan, formerly an American
beach boy working the Acapulco shores for rich women. Meanwhile, the
body of one of Pete's fellow beach boys, Billy Andrews, washes to shore.
On his wrist is a bracelet engraved with "Love is thin ice." The police
investigate whether it was murder or suicide. Conflict arises when
Billy's old girlfriend, Carol, makes a play for Pete, and beach boy Hank
tries to score with Kit, and the stability of the marriage is put to
the test.
Written by
K. Jackson |
Love Has Many Faces (1965)
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Directed by: Masato Harada
Cast: Hiroyuki Watanabe,Chris, Leslie Malton,Claus-Theo Gartner
Rating: NR
Review Summary
Running Time: 1 hr. 50 min.
Kei (Hiroyuki Watanabe) is a professional motorcycle
racer with a young daughter from an earlier marriage and a busy
schedule that takes him to Berlin during the racing season and to Canada
in-between. Sam (Leslie Malton) is a motorcycle mechanic who meets Kei
on the racing circuit and the two eventually fall in love with each
other - in a most charming and captivating manner. The unique quality of
this standard love story is that absolutely nothing is made of the fact
that Kei is Japanese and Sam is both American and Caucasian - it is a
breakthrough in finally ignoring race. As in many other Japanese films,
the original title is an English word, "Windy" - and inscrutable in its
application to this story. ~ Eleanor Mannikka, All Movie Guide
Movie Details
Title: Uindii
Running Time: 110 Minutes
Status: Released
Country: Japan, West Germany
Genre: Romance
Acting Credits
Hiroyuki Watanabe
- Kei Chris
- Anna Leslie Malton
- Sam Claus-Theo Gartner
- Leo Barbara Stanek
- Barbara Olivia Pascal
- Denise Deborah Sasson
- Monique Dean Reed
- Gains Patrick Stewart
- Mr Duffner
Dean Reed
Actor/Director/Producer/ScreenwriterGender: Male Birthplace: Denver, Colorado
Full Biography
From All Movie Guide: A native of Denver, CO, American actor Dean Reed
started his career as a folk singer. He is best known for working in
Euro-Westerns. He first lived in South America, then in East Germany. ~
Sandra Brennan, All Movie Guide
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Uindii (1984) Alternate Title: Races
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Shep
Dale says:
"Shep" was a shepard breed more or less. None of our dogs were purebreeds
and most of times we chose them from the many "homeless" dogs at dog pounds.
...When Dean and I were
very small, before we left Lakewood, Colorado for El Monte, California, we
had a collie dog named "Pal." Pal would run away but always came back. He
pulled us little boys with his growling teeth across the grass when we sat
on a gunny sack. Dad had lots of gunny sacks that the chicken feed came in
for our 10,000 chicken farm. " |
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"Dean and I lived together in the apartment that our family built at 637
Marine, Boulder, Colorado. It was the school year of 1956/1957.
I was a senior (BS/EE) and Dean was a freshmen (Meterology). |
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Descendants of Thomas Reed
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| Generation No. 1 |
| 1. THOMAS1 REED was born 1783 in Pennsylvania, |
| and died 12/21/1853 in Reed Cemetary, Ashmore, Ill., Coles County. |
| He married ANNA KIRKHAM 11/24/1806 in Spencer Co. Kentucky, daughter of |
| ROBERT KIRKHAM and JANE BOYD. |
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| Children of THOMAS REED and ANNA KIRKHAM |
| are: |
i. ROBERTSON MITCHELL2 REED. |
ii. ELIZA REED, b. 10/11/1810, Kentucky; |
| m. JOHN MITCHELL MCALISTER, 10/11/1833. |
iii. JANE REED. |
iv. WILLIAM REED, d. 10/18/1845. |
2. v. CALEB REED, b. 12/1/1818, Spencer Co. Kentucky; |
| d. 11/10/1903, Ashmore, Ill.. |
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| Generation No. 2 |
| 2. CALEB2 REED (THOMAS1) was born 12/1/1818 |
| in Spencer Co. Kentucky, and died 11/10/1903 in Ashmore, Ill.. He |
| married JANE CARTER 2/22/1844 in Coles County, Ill., daughter of JOHN CARTER |
| and MARY TEMPLETON. |
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| Marriage Notes for CALEB REED and JANE CARTER: |
(as written by Lucile Marker Scott in the Genealogy |
| she did on the Thomas Reed family) |
| I know very little about my great grandfather |
| and grandmother Reed. Mom said she didn't see them often as she was |
| growing up. They lived in Ashmore and that was quite a trip for their |
| mother and four children to take with horse and probably wagon over bad |
| roads. Mom said it was a long day for her. She loved to read |
| and said the only reading material there was the Bible and Sunday School |
| paper. The bright spots of the day were her grandfather always got |
| some ice to make ice tea and bought some beef steak. Both were treats |
| for them as they didn't have them at home. Another bit of excitement |
| was watching the trains go through Ashmore. Mom said it made the |
| grandparents so happy to have them come to visit for the day. Mom |
| said that in later years it made her ashamed to think that they really |
| didn't want to go as there was so little for them to do. There were |
| no cousins for them to play with. |
| Children of CALEB REED and JANE CARTER are: |
i. SAMUEL H.3 REED, b. 4/9/1845; d. 10/2/1928; |
| m. (1) NANCY JANE DUDLEY, 8/1/1869; m. (2) ANNA PETRONELLA SHERMAN, 9/6/1883. |
ii. MARY C. REED, b. 10/31/1847; d. 12/19/1855, |
| Reed Cemetary. |
iii. MARTHA ANN REED, b. 10/12/1849; m. |
| JAMES THOMAS WRIGHT, 11/19/1873. |
iv. THOMAS B. REED, b. 1850; d. 4/11/1851, |
| Reed Cemetary. |
| More About THOMAS B. REED: |
Fact 1: 4/11/1851, Reed Cemetary |
| 3. v. GEORGE ROBERT REED, b. 4/25/1851, Coles |
| County, Ill.; d. 6/2/1886, Ashmore, Ill.. |
vi. EMMA JANE REED, b. 7/13/1852; d. 6/13/1886; |
| m. JARRETT ELBRIDGE DUDLEY, 2/4/1887. |
vii. JOHN CARTER REED, b. 4/27/1857; d. |
| 10/11/1921; m. MARY CHRISTINA SCHEER, 1/17/1883. |
viii. THOMAS LOGAN REED, b. 2/16/1860; |
| d. 12/22/1925; m. ELLA MYRTLE REDDEN, 8/22/1888. |
ix. JAMES R. REED, b. 8/3/1862; d. 9/3/1864. |
x. IDA MAY REED, b. 4/20/1864; d. 7/9/1954; |
| m. (1) HENRY PAUL BOVELL, 10/15/1884; m. (2) WALTER N. THOMPSON, 11/25/1894. |
xi. ALBERT M. REED, b. 4/22/1867; d. 3/8/1890. |
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| Generation No. 3 |
| 3. GEORGE ROBERT3 REED (CALEB2, THOMAS1) |
| was born 4/25/1851 in Coles County, Ill., and died 6/2/1886 in Ashmore, |
| Ill.. He married ELIZABETH MARTIN DAVIS 3/30/1876 in Coles County, |
| Ill., daughter of JAMES DAVIS and ANNA TURNER. |
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| Children of GEORGE REED and ELIZABETH DAVIS |
| are: |
4. i. THOMAS RILEY4 REED, b. 9/17/1877, Ashmore |
| Twp. Coles Co., Ill.; d. 8/8/1927, Ashmore, Ill.. |
ii. ESTELLA EDNA REED, b. 9/1/1879, Coles, |
| Ill.; d. 9/20/1906; m. JOHN WILLIAM STONE, 9/4/1904. |
5. iii. VERNA ANN REED, b. 2/4/1885, Charoeston, |
| Ill.; d. 2/12/1984, Charleston, Ill.. |
6. iv. GEORGIA ROBERTA REED, b. 1/2/1887, Ashmore |
| Twp., Coles County; d. 4/22/1978, Ashmore, Ill.. |
|
| Generation No. 4 |
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| 4. THOMAS RILEY4 REED (GEORGE ROBERT3, CALEB2, |
| THOMAS1) was born 9/17/1877 in Ashmore Twp. Coles Co., Ill., and died 8/8/1927 |
| in Ashmore, Ill.. He married NELLIE MAY TOWLES 7/16/1902 in Oklahoma |
| City, Ok., daughter of HENRY TOWLES and AMANDA DAVIS. |
| More About THOMAS RILEY REED: |
Cause of Death: complications in a tonsilectomy-Asthma |
Medical Information: Died at age 50 yrs. following |
| tonsil surgery in an attempt to relieve his asthma which he had suffered |
| for many years. |
| More About NELLIE MAY TOWLES: |
Cause of Death: stomach cancer |
| Children of THOMAS REED and NELLIE TOWLES |
| are: |
7. i. CYRIL DALE5 REED, b. 5/20/1903; d. 10/29/1982, |
| Arizona. |
8. ii. FAYE ESTELLA REED, b. 8/1/1907. |
9. iii. GEORGE HENRY REED, b. 2/12/1911, Charleston, |
| Illinois; d. 5/18/1982, San Antonio, Texasl. |
iv. FLORENCE MAY REED, b. 11/2/1912. |
10. v. ROBERT WAYNE REED, b. 10/29/1915, Ashmore |
| Twp. Coles Co., Ill.. |
| 5. VERNA ANN4 REED (GEORGE ROBERT3, CALEB2, |
| THOMAS1) was born 2/4/1885 in Charoeston, Ill., and died 2/12/1984 in Charleston, |
| Ill.. She married HARRY ROLLY MARKER 8/20/1905 in Charleston, Ill., |
| son of COLUMBUS MARKER and ELLEN COFFIN. |
| More About VERNA ANN REED: |
Fact 1: 2/12/1984, Roselawn Cemetery, Charleston, |
| Ill. |
| More About HARRY ROLLY MARKER: |
Fact 1: 10/4/1962, Roselawn Cemetery, Charleston, |
| Ill. |
| Children of VERNA REED and HARRY MARKER |
| are: |
11. i. LUCILE5 MARKER, b. 5/14/1907, Frankfort, |
| Ind.. |
ii. HAROLD FRANKLIN MARKER, b. 1/27/1912, |
| Frankfort, Ind.; m. DOROTHY JOHNSON, 2/14/1904, Balboa, Canal Zone. |
| 6. GEORGIA ROBERTA4 REED (GEORGE ROBERT3, |
| CALEB2, THOMAS1) was born 1/2/1887 in Ashmore Twp., Coles County, and died |
| 4/22/1978 in Ashmore, Ill.. She married ALVA OTIS UPDEGRAFF 12/29/1909 |
| in Coles Co., Ill., son of GEORGE UPDEGRAFF and KATHERINE DEDAY. |
| More About GEORGIA ROBERTA REED: |
Cause of Death: Heart Attack |
Medical Information: Died at age 91 yrs., in |
| her sleep after having mowed her large lawn the day before. She seemed |
| to be in good health. |
| More About ALVA OTIS UPDEGRAFF: |
Cause of Death: Complications following a stroke |
| Children of GEORGIA REED and ALVA UPDEGRAFF |
| are: |
12. i. ROBERT DONALD5 UPDEGRAFF, b. 12/18/1910. |
13. ii. DOROTHY LILLIAN UPDEGRAFF, b. 5/20/1914. |
14. iii. JAMES EDWARD UPDEGRAFF, b. 1/23/1919, |
| Ashmore Twp. Coles Co., Ill.. |
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Dean Reed - The late Dean Reed was one of the biggest pop stars to ever hit the Soviet Union. His brother Dale R. Reed reports he was planning to return to Colorado to live when his body was found floating in an East German
lake as a result of what the Stasi (an infamous East German police
authority) termed an "unfortunate accident." Dale also mentioned that
Dean was a big star in South America before he started performing in the USSR. Correspondent Eric Rosenburg reports that Dean hails from Wheatridge. Another correspondent Oskar Back has passed along info that Dean "hails from Lakewood,
according to biographer Jennifer Dunbar-Dorn" Brother Dale did not
elaborate on Dean's suburb of origin although Westword reported many
years ago that Dean is from Colorado. Dale reports Dean was born
September 22, 1938. Their mother Ruth Anna Brown of Boulder, died on
September 3, 2000.
- ref e-mails rec'd from Dale 2kJL29, 2kSe23Sa, and Oskar Back 98Se10; E.Rosenburg 99JL04.
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Date of Birth:
29 August 1941
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1958 University of Colorado
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Pine-Ridge
The Pine Ridge Indian Reservation (Oglala Oyanke in Lakota) is an Oglala Sioux Native American reservation located in the U.S. state of South Dakota.
Pine Ridge was established in the southwest corner of South Dakota on
the Nebraska border and consists of 8,984.306 km? (3,468.86 sq mi) of
land area, the eighth-largest reservation in the United States, larger
than Delaware and Rhode Island combined.
The Pine Ridge Indian Reservation
is known name,isn't it?...There is a National Park of Wild Horses
there, and it is The Center of Eco-tourism (ecotourism — tourism,
including travel to their places of relatively untouched nature to
get)...
So change shows a hypocrisy of white people!- just like it is in life
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Caught between homes
By Susan Stone
25-04-2008
For some, their homeland is where they were born - chosen for
them by parents, or other authority figures. For others, it's a place
they chose - somewhere they feel most themselves, most connected. But
sometimes people get caught in the middle.
Some might say that's what happened to American pop singer-turned
socialist superstar Dean Reed. In the 1960's and 70's, Reed toured Latin
America singing songs of peace, brought country music to Moscow, then
moved to East Germany, where he became an ideological pop icon and movie
star.
Dean Reed
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The Red Elvis
Reed is the subject of a documentary film from Germany called "The Red
Elvis," that's been playing in film festivals around the world and has
just come out on DVD. The film's director, Leopold Gruen, wanted to tell
Reed's strange story, but also raise questions about identity and
nationality, especially in the context of the once-divided Germany.
"There's a lot in this film concerned with questions of homeland, and
belonging. This is a really important theme - where do I really belong?
Where am I from? What role do I play? He was dealing with this
throughout his whole life - this kind of restlessness."
Where to call home?
Reed's restlessness led him around the world, and helped him find
success behind the Iron Curtain, but it also left him feeling unsettled.
Though he often denounced the policies of his birth country very
publicly, he made sure to post a small American flag in his girlfriend's
apartment as reminder of home. He was loved and admired in East
Germany, where he settled in 1972. But as support for the East German
regime waned in the mid-1980's, so did Reed's fan base.
He was seen as a tool of that regime, and just not cool anymore, says Leopold Gruen.
"His music didn't really stand for rebellion. It was the opposite. He wasn't some kind of ‘American Rebel."But
he was a shade too rebellious for many in the USA. Dean Reed tried to
make a comeback there in 1986, but he stirred more spite than sympathy
when he appeared on American news magazine "60 Minutes" comparing US
President Reagan to Joseph Stalin, and claiming he'd like to run for
Senator in his home state of Colorado. The negative public response hit
him hard, and within a few months, he took his own life at the age of
48; three years before the fall of the Berlin Wall.
A star in Germany
Though he's not well known by Germany's younger generation, or by those
who grew up in West Germany, Dean Reed hasn't been forgotten. There's a
fan club, several websites devoted to him, and many biographies. His
story has also piqued interest in Hollywood - movie star Tom Hanks has
been researching a feature film about Reed's life.
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Néstor Fabián y el festejo de cumpleaños en un programa de radio,
el 30 de Noviembre de 1965,
junto a Violeta Rivas y Dean Reed.
Gentileza de Beatriz Pirola
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E-Encyclopedia of Dean Reed...Дин Рид в России:
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Dean Reed: The Man Who Rocked the Iron Curtain
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TV
Talk of the Nation, June 13, 2006 · In the '70s and '80s, Dean Reed's albums went gold in the Soviet Union,
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| Eastern Europe and parts of Latin America. He made movies and TV specials and |
played to packed audiences of adoring fans.In 1986, as glasnost
created cracks in the Berlin Wall, Reed drowned in East Berlin, a death
that was variously ascribed to the East German secret police, the KGB
and the CIA.
Reggie Nadelson is a writer and filmmaker who
became obsessed with the life of this Colorado cowboy and traveled to
Berlin and Moscow to find out more about him. She helped produce a BBC
documentary about Reed, and wrote Comrade Rockstar: The Life and Mystery of Dean Reed, the All-American Boy Who Brought Rock n' Roll to the Soviet Union.
Excerpt: 'Comrade Rockstar'
Reed on the cover of Chilean movie magazine Cine-Amor
Reed sings to members of the PLO.
'DEATH IN BERLIN FOR DEFECTOR WHO
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| CHANGED HIS TUNE MYSTERY OF POP STAR IN LAKE: IT WAS MURDER SAYS MANAGER DEAN |
| REED, THE SINGER WHO WENT EAST AND THEN WANTED TO COME IN FROM THE |
| COLD'The
crumpled newspaper cuttings dated June, l986 were in my bag as I
climbed up the viewing platform near Checkpoint Charlie and looked down
at the Berlin Wall on the first day of my search for Dean Reed. How he
died, and who he was; most of it lay on the other side of the Wall that
split the world for as long as I could remember. It was November, l988. |
Down
a jumble of gray streets fifteen minutes from the center of West
Berlin, the Berlin Wall wasn't marked on a lot of Berlin maps, but it
felt like the border of the world. Whenever I heard the phrase "Iron
Curtain," in my mind's eye I always saw the Berlin Wall.
I saw it
for real now, in front of me, this curtain of fortified concrete, eight
feet high, twenty-nine miles long, topped with balls of barbed wire,
covered on the Western side with graffiti, splattered in the East with
blood. I was on my way to the other side, to East Berlin, where Dean
Reed lived and died, to see his house, to find his albums, to try to get
a sense of who he was, this man who had haunted my dreams since I had
first seen him on60 Minutes.
Dean Reed's death had been
the subject of plenty of speculation. People variously believed that he
had been murdered by the East German Stasi, the KGB, the CIA, and
neo-Nazis. From the top of the viewing platform at Checkpoint Charlie, I
could see not just the Berlin Wall but the other side. I looked at the
unsmiling border guards in a watchtower peering through binoculars at
the tourists, who looked back through their cameras. Between us was the
dead zone of no-man's-land. A few months later, a twenty-two-year-old
waiter jumped over the Wall because he could no longer wait, and he was
shot dead. He was the last person to die there. |
On
the platform near me, a West German woman was showing the Wall to an
English friend. Turning to me, she said, "Do you think they shall take
this down? They are sometimes talking so." "I hope so. Wouldn't it be
great?!" I exclaimed.
She smiled knowingly, tucked her beautifully
cut blonde hair behind her pink shell of an ear, and shouldered her
Gucci bag. "If they take it down, there will be trouble," she said.
"First Turks shall come over, and then German nationals. These East
Germans shall take our jobs. They will invade our department stores." |
That's
what really got to her: if they dismantled the Wall, the East Germans
might charge into the KaDeWe, denuding it of most of its 400 varieties
of sausage and all of the handbags. She didn't have to worry. Two years
later, on the Sunday in
November when the Wall was sliced open and East Germans raced into the West, The New York Times
reported: "The big department stores such as KaDeWe were closed,
despite recently passed legislation that would have allowed them to stay
open."
"You know what I am thinking?" she asked.
"What?"
"If the East Germans take the Wall down, we in the West will have to build another."
I
climbed down from the platform and got back in the car. The line of
cars moved slowly into the border crossing. Leslie Woodhead, who was
hoping to make a drama-documentary out of the Dean Reed story, was with
me on this first trip East and I was glad. He had worked in Eastern
Europe a lot and I figured he was knowledgeable when it came to doing
business in Communist countries. As we pulled into the crossing proper,
passing from West to East, then stopped, a man pushed a little mirror on
wheels underneath the car in front of us. |
"The spy's carpet sweeper," Leslie said.
My
stomach turned over as we edged forward. A pale border guard put his
head out of his cubicle like a jack-in-the-box and stared into the car. I
had never been to the East before, but I'd seen all the movies.
The
building where you showed your passport reminded me of a drive-through
confessional; the young soldier, like an angry priest, snatched my
passport, then snapped his window shut, leaving us to wait without any
identity under a sickly white light in no-man's-land.
Eventually,
the guard returned our passports and we bought day visas inscribed on
what felt like cheap toilet paper, stiff, slick, brown, foreign.
Creep, I thought silently. "Have a nice day," I said, and the guard looked startled.
Whenever
Dean Reed went through Checkpoint Charlie, though, he apparently always
said "hi" to the guards, and Hans, or Heinz, or Hermann, whoever was on
guard duty, would go home and say, "Dean Reed passed by today." He was
so famous that for years you could just write DEAN REED, EAST BERLIN on a
postcard and it would get to him. |
| The empty
streets that led away from the border were full of potholes. The walls
of the dank gray buildings that lined the roads were still pocked with
shell marks from a war that had been over for more than forty years. I
was expecting posters with socialist slogans or banners or stylized
graphics of Lenin's head, but here were none, only the crappy streets
with half the streetlights broken, crumbling buildings stained by the
insistent rain, and shop windows that featured maybe a sparkly nylon
blouse or a can of Spreewald pickles or some fancy china no one wanted.
Still there was something thrilling about being here; I had crossed the
Berlin Wall. How could I have known then that, in two years' time, the
Wall would be a pair of earrings in Bloomingdale's? |
"I
want a Dean Reed record, please," I said to the clerk at the Melodia
record shop on the Leipzigerstrasse, where "Winter Wonderland" was
playing. The saleswoman, who had thick ankles and thick glasses, ignored
me. I shouted at her the way you do when you don't speak a language and
feel that if you say it loud enough in English someone will understand.
"Dean Reed, please. Bitte?" I added and pointed vaguely at the albums.
"Winter
Wonderland" was more her sort of thing. It was the most popular song in
East Germany that year except for "Baa Baa Black Sheep." "Oh
Tannenbaum" was also high on the charts, but it was almost Christmas.
"Dean
Reed, Dean Reed," I insisted, my voice rising. A man with a little
green fedora shot me a disapproving look. "Shhh," he hissed.
The
woman with thick glasses turned away impatiently, nodding brusquely
towards the door, and so I began to speculate that, even dead, Dean Reed
was a non-person, a subject not for discussion in this country where
you could not discuss much, not out loud anyway.
Outside, in the
streets, the shoppers plodded by, their expressions dour and disengaged.
On the Alexanderplatz, a brutal piazza big enough for an army to
maneuver in, a wind came up and drove the freezing rain in slanted
sheets against us. "Be Our Guest" in German flickered in neon
on the Stadt Hotel. The doorman there loomed up out of the gloom,
wielding his umbrella like a Kalashnikov.
"Nein! Nein! Nein!"
He
was absolutely furious. We were not hotel guests. Only hotel guests
were allowed inside. There were rules. He was the doorman. This was his
door.
"Go," he shrieked and hid under the umbrella. Across the
square we found a forlorn espresso bar. Its walls were a sort of
distempered duck-egg blue and the table tops were covered in scratched
linoleum. But the Flying Pickets were on the sound system and the
espresso machine, which had clearly been lovingly cared for, gleamed. It
shimmered with the suggestive promise of sunny countries and laughter
and good coffee. "Halifax," Leslie said. |
"What?"
"This
is Halifax, 1951. Where I grew up. The Bon Bon Coffee Bar on Commercial
Street. You could listen to Guy Mitchell and Frankie Laine and Ruby
Murray on the jukebox . . . you don't know what I'm talking about, do
you?"
I ordered something from the menu. It was some kind of chopped beef on toast. Minced, minced beef, I thought. Leslie shuddered.
"That looks like dog's vomit."
The Dog's Vomit Cafe' was how I came to think of the duckegg blue espresso bar on the Alexanderplatz.
"How
could Dean Reed have lived here?" Leslie asked, his voice full of
disbelief and some despair. "What could he have wanted badly enough to
live in this bloody place?"
East Berlin must have had something,
something to entice a man like Dean Reed, I thought to myself. Maybe
this was just fac,ade; maybe it was too soon to understand. After all, I
had friends in London who preferred East Berlin to West, who talked
about the opera and museums, the Berliner Ensemble, and the socialist
ideals. Maybe it was too soon for me to get it. People in the west
sometimes spoke of the quality of friendship in the GDR, the way you
could take the time to sit and talk because no one was rushing to work
in a country where everyone was always fully employed. A couple of years
later, however, when the Wall came down, everyone saw that what lay
behind the fac,ade was much worse that it had seemed that first day. Not
only ugly, but polluted, impoverished, run by gray-faced old despots
with a vicious secret police so ubiquitous that one in every three or
four citizens was involved with it. |
Right now,
though, I wanted a record. There were none in the West because Dean Reed
had never played in the West or recorded there.
On the
Alexanderplatz was a second record store; in the drizzle, a line had
formed outside it. A couple of muscular black American GIs, presumably
stationed in West Berlin, passed us and held out their hands, palms up
in despair as if to say, "They told us you could get cheap stuff here,
but there's nothing to buy." I could see the record shop was almost
empty. Still, our line of forlorn customers stood in the rain because
you were not allowed inside without one of the orange plastic shopping
baskets which were in short supply. As one customer left the shop, he
handed on his basket to the next person in line. |
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baskets were too small for the records, though, I realized when I got
one and went into the shop. The clerks didn't care if you bought
anything either and they were irritated if you didn't have the right
change; there was nothing much to want anyway. Right there in the dreary
record shop, I lost whatever was left of my political virginity, of any
vestige of the socialist fantasies I was raised on as a "Red Diaper
Baby" in Greenwich Village. My mother had been in the Communist Party
when she was young, and I came of age in the Sixties when everyone
believed in peace and love and universal disarmament. Even in the late
l980s, I probably clung to some kind of sentimental version of it all. I
had friends whose parents still stood up when they heard the
"Internationale," in one case during a performance of Reds at the
movies. ("Down in front," somebody shouted from the balcony. "We want to
see them kiss!") |
So my absolute conversion to
capitalism came with a small orange plastic shopping basket in a record
store on the Alexanderplatz in East Berlin. Simple-minded, maybe, but
the practical effects, the everyday results of a system, were always a
lot more potent than any theory.
Rock records were scarce in the
East, though before long rock and roll would be the soundtrack for the
revolutions of the late eighties. Swaying mobs with lighted candles
would appear in Gorky Park in Moscow; the crowd in Prague's Wenceslas
Square in l989 would rattle their key chains like a cheery punk band to
celebrate the Velvet Revolution; in East Berlin, as early as l987, kids
climbed into the trees near the Wall to listen to concerts in the West,
or to look at the new Soviet premier who was a lot like a rock star. |
"Gorby,
Gorby," the kids hanging in trees near the Berlin Wall would shout, as
if the Soviet premier were that year's rock star. And, in a way, he was.
Over
that year, during my first encounters with the world where Dean Reed
lived, I finally saw why. He had been a star. He was an American guy
singing the music that everyone yearned for, the music that made you
feel alive if you were young. It was the best, most joyful expression of
the sedition which was the only way to keep from shriveling up in an
oppressive society. In West Berlin, I met a man who smuggled
synthesizers and cassettes past Checkpoint Charlie, not for profit, but
as a gesture of solidarity with the rock and roll underground. |
| In
the record store on the Alexanderplatz, flipping albums methodically,
front to back, in bin after bin, long after I had given up, Leslie
scanned each cover and found nothing. Not for the first time that day I
had the eerie sense that Dean Reed had never existed in this strange
country, where the rules were made to fence people in, to make them
conform, to keep them quiet. How could the exuberant cowboy I'd seen on
TV have been part of it? Suddenly, Leslie whispered at me, "Over here." |
The album was titled Country Songs
and Dean Reed's picture was on the cover. He wore a cowboy hat and he
was smiling and he looked wonderful, full of life. I held the album. I
touched his hat. I carried it gently in the orange plastic basket to the
cashier, who glared at me because I didn't have the right change. I
didn't care. Dean was real now; I could touch him.
Outside, we
located the rental car and climbed in and decided to risk the trip to
Schmockwitz, where Dean Reed had lived. It was not on the map of places
you were permitted to visit, according to the day visa printed on the
stiff oily paper. All day we had discussed if we should risk it. But it
seemed innocent enough, the half-hour drive into the suburbs, and Leslie
turned the key in the ignition. |
I propped the
Dean Reed album on the dashboard. My feet were soaked and I took off my
shoes and hung my socks on the radiator to dry. Outside a thick mist, a
kind of soaking drifting fog clung to the windshield. In an endless
tangle of suburban streets, we got lost.
Then, all at once, we
bumped over the cobblestones into the village of Schmockwitz itself. I
had assumed that Schmockwitz must be the Graceland of the East. There
would, I hoped, be souvenirs, mugs and keyrings, albums and posters, all
with Dean's face on them, maybe even a replica of his guitar or a
talking Dean doll. |
| We pulled up in front of a
tavern, one of those Berlin pubs with lace curtains in the window. As I
opened the door, the buzz of voices went silent. Everyone looked up from
their food. I felt like an interloper as, in unison, a half-dozen hefty
burghers stopped their Sunday lunch and stared at my bare feet. No one
smiled. There were no Dean Reed beer mugs. Backing off, I got in the car
and Leslie drove down a narrow road between bare birch trees. Slush
spattered the window. The rain, heavy now, fell from a greasy leaden
sky. We took a wrong turn. We ended up in front of a large building that
was shuttered for the winter. A sign I could just decode announced that
it was a Communist Party Rest House. The car wheels squealed and we
backed out in a hurry. We were lost in the dark. The woods seemed to
close in from both sides of the road. It was completely deserted. |
| Paranoia
turned on the projector in my head and the movie flickered into life:
it was in black and white with a creepy grain and the pulsing soundtrack
of an irregular heartbeat. Whoever had it in for Dean Reed, whoever
killed him, was somewhere down this road. Someone who was looking for
us. We would miss closing time at Checkpoint Charlie; we were way out of
bounds, beyond the limits of our visa. We would spend the night in an
East Berlin jail among officials who were not only Communists but also
Germans, and perhaps there was a small concentration camp still open
somewhere . . . that would be it, a small camp. Rigid with fear, I sat,
watching my socks flutter on the radiator. I thought I heard the wail of
a German police car siren rise and fall. It was coming closer. |
6A
Schmockwitzer Damm was a low-lying, white stucco house with an orange
tiled roof, a garage, a lawn. A large carved wooden R was perched on a
post in the yard as if it were a ranch: the Double-R ranch; the Dean
Reed Dude Ranch of Schmockwitz.
On the other side of the house
from the road was a stretch of lake the color of tin, where Dean Reed's
body lay for four days before it had been dragged to shore in June of
l986. The place felt deserted, lonely, desolate.
I took the
newspaper clippings out of my bag and read the article by Russell
Miller, a British journalist. Miller, by chance, had arranged to
interview Dean Reed for a magazine the weekend he died. From West
Berlin, where Miller was staying, he had called the house at
Schmockwitz. The interview was scheduled for the next day, but Mrs. Reed
told him that Dean was ill and could not see him. In the middle of the
conversation, a man came on the line—it seemed to Miller that he had
snatched the phone away from Mrs. Reed. He told Miller that Dean was in
the hospital and that he should go home and would be contacted. Then he
gave Miller his name and a telephone number in Potsdam. He was Mr.
Weiczaukowski, he said. Puzzled, Russell Miller went back to London and,
on the following Tuesday, when he heard the news that Dean Reed was
dead, he called Potsdam. There was no Mr. Weiczaukowski at the number he
had been given. He wrote a story for the Sunday Times, and so the mystery was cranked up. It grew and leaked and multiplied.
"I
have over 2000 scenarios," Dean Reed's mother would tell me. "And it's
about up to 3000 now, I think . . . each scenario brings up a new way I
think he was killed." "I read something about maybe there being drugs,
or that there were some political implications," a friend of Reed's told
me. "I've heard the CIA whack," said someone else. "I've heard killed
by a jealous lover. Or the KGB." And so it went. Eventually, the rumors
spread so that nobody could unpick the truth about his death from the
rumors. KGB, CIA, eventually I became hooked on the creepy network of
conspiracy buffs. Already, for months, I'd been trying to get a fix on
it, had talked to Russell Miller, who was as perplexed as I was. Now,
finally, on this dank December day in l987, I was here in this silent,
cold place. The house was shut up. No answers. I said, "Let's go." It
was wet and dark and I was frightened; we had seen the house. I wanted
to go. I felt we were out on a limb with no backup, no way back if we
got lost. But Leslie insisted on getting out of the car to take pictures
of the house because, if he made a drama-documentary, his production
designer would need them. He took his time while I sat in the car. It
wasn't just for the production designer, I could see that. It was an
obsession for him, this part of the world, this other place across the
Wall. In a way he was addicted to Eastern Europe. It tested you and then
you could go home, a no-exit with a revolving door, an adventure with a
return ticket, he always said. "Cheer up," he said now, turning to take
yet one more picture, then getting back in the car and revving up the
motor of the car loud enough to wake the dead. "Listen, honestly, this
is nothing at all compared to when I was filming a documentary about
torture in Brazil." Down that country road, in the encroaching gloom on
the other side of the Berlin Wall was where I seriously began looking
for Dean Reed. The Berlin Wall had gone up in August, l961, which was
just about the time Dean Reed had left America. He never lived there
again, and he died in this lake in East Berlin. Who killed him? Who was
he? A true believer? A spy? Just a guy, an American with a guitar and
great looks and a lot of ambition? |
| Leslie drove a
few hundred yards and stopped and got out of the car. I followed him to
the little cemetery by the side of the road. A few wet flowers lay on a
headstone. It seemed incredibly sad somehow that the dazzling American
I'd seen on TV should end up in this lonely place. I bent down. On the
headstone, in German, was inscribed simply: Dean Reed. Born Colorado, 1938. Died Berlin, 1986. |
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E-Encyclopedia of Dean Reed...Дин Рид в России:
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Download reportage 1,2 MB
Link
30-04-2009 17:21 | David Vaughan
When I first moved to Prague nearly two decades ago, Czech friends were
often amazed that I had never heard of the American singer, Dean Reed.
Dubbed the “Red Elvis”, Reed was a household name throughout the
Eastern Bloc.
After a couple of minor hits at home at the end of the ‘50s, the
Denver-born singer spent many years in Latin America. There he embraced the
revolutionary left and became hugely popular. In 1973 he moved to the
German Democratic Republic. Thoroughly approved of by the communist regimes
of the time, he enjoyed a big following in Czechoslovakia.
In 1978 Reed was one of the stars at the World Youth Festival in Havana,
which was attended by some 16 thousand left-wing students from around the
world, including a large contingent from Czechoslovakia. In an interview
for Czechoslovak Radio, Reed poured praise on his Cuban hosts.
Dean Reed: “The Cuban people are a special people, as I think you’ll
have noticed. They are so open, so loving, so giving, and I think that for
every delegate who is here the first moment is shock. Every child, every
old person, waves and screams and wants autographs. Not only is the sun
warm here, the people are warm and loving, and I think that is one of the
greatest differences. There’s such a feeling of openness here.”
Interviewer: “You are very popular with young people in Czechoslovakia
and you have been several times to our country. What would you like to tell
young Czechoslovakian people from Havana?”
Dean Reed: “I send you a little bit of sun, and of course I send you all
of my friendship. I don’t believe so much in official speeches. I’m not
a diplomat. I have other feelings. I think maybe the greatest worth of this
kind of festival sometimes is the direct contact of the Czechoslovak youth,
when they come and meet a Cuban and they come and meet somebody from Angola
and they come and meet a Vietnamese. I think it’s very, very important
the continued work against imperialism and for peace.
“Last night I gave a concert in a theatre. Fidel Castro and Raul Castro
came, and the people stood and applauded my songs, also when I came onto
the stage. And that is also something I shall never forget, the love that
the Cuban people last night when I sang gave to me.”
Interviewer: “What do you think about the fact that you are in a
socialist country which is not far at all from the United States?”
Dean Reed: “It reminds me of my obligation as an American to fight
harder than ever, so that not only Cuba is free, but that the other
countries in Latin America shall also be able some day to have a World
Youth Festival. My country is only 90 miles from here and they have tried
to blockade this people, to stop progress. But they were not able to stop
progress. You know, I’m very, very happy to be able to give my regards
and my love to the Czechoslovak people and I hope to see you all in Prague
again very soon. Ahoj!”
That was the “Red Elvis”, Dean Reed, in 1978. Eight years later, at
the age of just 47, he drowned in a lake near East Berlin. Officially it
was an accident, but after the fall of communism, a suicide note was found
in the Stasi secret police files. To this day Dean Reed’s extraordinary
life and unexplained death continue to arous
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E-Encyclopedia of Dean Reed...Дин Рид в России:
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| 05.10.2004 |
| Der Cowboy im Sozialismus |
| US-Amerikaner in der DDR |
| Ein Feature von Arna Vogel und Christian Blees |
| Produktion WDR 2004 |
| Redaktion Leslie Rosin |
| Der beru"hmteste US-Amerikaner, der in die DDR
u"bersiedelte, war zweifellos der Schauspieler und Sa"nger Dean Reed.
Ausschlaggebend fu"r diesen Schritt war Reeds Begeisterung fu"r den
"real existierenden Sozialismus" und die au?ergewo"hnlich gro?zu"gigen
Bedingungen, die Partei- und Staatsfu"hrung dem Vorzeige-Amerikaner
boten. Andere kamen der Liebe wegen oder flohen als Deserteure der
US-Armee in den Osten Deutschlands. |
| Wa"hrend Dean Reed
auch heute noch von seinen Fans verehrt wird, ist u"ber das Leben der
u"brigen US-Amerikaner in der DDR so gut wie nichts bekannt. Die Autoren
des Features haben ehemalige Dissidenten und Zeitzeugen aufgesucht
sowie in zahlreichen Akten des DDR-Innenministeriums und der
Staatssicherheit gebla"ttert. Dabei zeigt sich: mancher US-Amerikaner
wurde in der DDR bejubelt, viele bestaunt - und alle bespitzelt. |
Das Manuskript zur Sendung im pdf-Format |
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Adiós Sabata poster
Com o intuito de comprar armas dos Estados Unidos, revolucionários
mexicanos roubam um grande carregamento de ouro do exército austríaco.
Com isto os rebeldes despertam a fúria do comandante das tropas
invasoras, que emprega de extrema violência para recuperar o ouro. Mas,
ao lado dos mexicanos, está Sabata, um implacável pistoleiro mercenário,
que tem muitos interesses nesse conflito!!!
Diretor: Frank Kramer
Elenco: Yul Brynner, Dean Reed, Ignazio Spalla, Gérard Herter, Nieves Navarro
Duração: 105 min.
Ano: 1971
Distribuição: Reserva Especial | |
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Link
The name of Sabata is not an English name and if the US actor Lee van
Cleef (1925-1989) has been the first one hero in "Ehi amico...
c'è Sábata, hai chiuso! (1969) and "È tornato
Sábata... hai chiuso un'altra volta" (1970), the Rusian
Yul Brynner (1920-1985) was the Sabata of the third episode of the
series: "Indio Black, sai che ti dico: Sei un gran figlio di... “
(en 1971) with Dean Reed. So why not a forth Sabata film with the
Brazilian-Italian
Anthony Steffen? We don't remember
too the studios and location were in Europe, and almost simultaneous.
Link
Download the source pages here 9 MB | |
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the source pages here 9 MB
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