★ Riders of the Whistling Skull: Cowboys, Crypts, and Some Real Bumpy Bones ★

Okay, so let’s just lay it all out straight away: this 1937 western with a bonkers title, *Riders of the Whistling Skull*, is the kind of flick that pops on late at night when you really ought to get to bed but end up eating tunnbröd with cheese and just… not. Bob Livingston, Ray “Crash” Corrigan, and Max Terhune – yeah, those boys – these guys rode more horses on screen than we Swedes have moose in Dalarna. If you want A-list, well, it’s not exactly Hollywood’s heaviest hitters here, but their charm is mighty, I gotta admit.

Now, the director, Mack V. Wright, he’s like the dude who always brings a weird but interesting salad to the party. Not your main course, but you’re glad it’s there. The pace rattles along faster than the Arlanda Express, full of dusty shootouts, a member of the expedition vanishing, skeletons popping up, and all these pulpy, “what’s behind that rock?” surprises. The soundtrack, though… feels like something played by my cousin Jimmy at our family midsummer, a bit out of tune, but growing on you eventually.

I watched this as a kid in the 80s on some late-night “cowboy-rulle” marathon with my older brother, Joakim. We’d try to whistle like in the title every time someone sneaked past a cactus. Never managed. That whistling still haunts me when I’m out picking svamp in the woods. If you ask me, there’s a certain charm here – and maybe a bit of unintentional comedy when the gang stumbles around the spooky skull cave. Feels almost like the time I got lost looking for ICA in Norrköping – a mix of terror and giggles.

Sure, it’s not Ingmar Bergman, but it’s a western-mystery-mashup with just enough weirdness to make your kvällsmacka taste better. Stick around for the last act when the baddies show their true färger – you won’t regret it. Or, maybe you will. I dunno – but that’s half the fun!

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