At the same time, Peckinpah is leaning over your shoulder, whispering that David has brought a lot of this on himself.
Were he still alive, “Bloody Sam” Peckinpah might have expressed admiration.
Peckinpah never gave a woman more sympathy in any of his other films.
And that time I started studying it, desperate to discover how Peckinpah had done such a number on me.
Step by gentle step, shot by shot, Peckinpah backs you into a corner.
Peckinpah, for all his reputation as “Bloody Sam,” the maestro of screen violence, cuts that part by at least half.
No one controlled a movie camera and an editing room with more élan than Peckinpah.