Hedges Capers sounds like two items on a country club Karen’s list of things to complain to the help about. In actuality, Hedges Capers is the obscure folksinger who somehow scored the lead role of the weirdo backwoods fantasy The Legend of Hillbilly John. There’s a reason you’ve never seen him onscreen before or since: He’s no actor. Yet out of many, many songs he sings here, the best is the one Capers doesn’t warble, with vocal duties outsourced to Hoyt Axton, whose throat kicks ass.
In the Appalachian Mountains of North Carolina, Hillbilly John is a balladeer. That’s just a nice way of saying “guy who never stops playing his guitar, even in public.” After Grandpappy (Denver Pyle, TV’s The Dukes of Hazzard) is smote by the devil, John vows vengeance with the only weapon he has: vicious halitosis bluegrass tunes strummed-de-dummed on guitar strings made of pure silver.
Who knew 100% silver was Satan’s green Kryptonite? Heck, who knew Satan resided in the Appalachians? (Insert Hillbilly Elegy joke here.)
Originally (mis)titled Who Fears the Devil, the flick draws from a pair of Manly Wade Wellman short stories — and sure feels like it. From meeting a witch (Susan Strasberg, The Delta Force) to fighting a giant prehistoric bird (animated via stop-motion) whose feathers sizzle like acid, our hero and his hound dog saunter from one self-contained adventure to the next. The script by Melvin Levy (The Cry Baby Killer) neglects connective tissue, except for the common denominator of “goddamn mountain superstition” (as Murder at 1600’s Harris Yulin puts it).
Too bad so little of Legend is fun. Getting acquainted with the movie’s world — one of “salt pork” and “tarnation” — teases viewers into thinking they’re in for a barn-buster, only to drag. Best known as host of TV’s One Step Beyond anthology, John Newland manages to pull off a couple of interesting touches from his director’s chair. One is questionable: tinting a voodoo sequence entirely in yellow. The other is inarguably terrific: having the film violently leap off its sprockets as the devil kills Grandpappy. The whole of Legend cries for such ingenuity, primarily when elongated spells of the film prompt snores.
The final shot isn’t quite Planet of the Apes, but it’s something of a surprise — and more Billy Jack than Hillbilly John. If you watch this movie, you’re in for a unique experience; just remember that uniqueness does not guarantee success. If you’re allergic to banjos and/or action verbs with dropped Gs, take your Benadryl beforehand, lest ye break out in hives. —Rod Lott