It's amazing that Henry Fonda made the fantastic "Once Upon a Time in the West" the same year, or thereabouts, that he made this atrocity. Tonally inept, directed like a school play, with an obnoxious, heavy-handed score, this is an object lesson in how not to make a western. As you probably know by now, an impossibly brutal killer terrorizes a small town but no one has the courage to stand up to him. You'd think they could hand out a few guns and encircle the guy, instead of taking him on one at a time. Various central-casting western types cycle through, brandishing their mustaches and petticoats, and seem to have been left to their own devices on such matters as line readings (Keenan Wynn, in particular, barks his dialog as though dictating it to a sign painter). Ersatz Aaron Copeland music kicks up for interminable montages of town-building. Henry Fonda and Janice Rule have the same argument for two hours until, mercifully, some bloodshed makes the conversation moot. You will mourn the two hours of your life you sacrificed on the altar of this inert flick.