Enzo Santaniello: “Let me tell you about the time Henry Fonda shot me”

Enzo Santaniello, a Roman of Neapolitan origin living in Velletri, was killed in cold blood by Henry Fonda, the icy, blue-eyed hitman Frank, when he was just seven years old and went by the name of Timmy McBain. That climactic scene from the 1968 film "Once Upon a Time in the West" has remained unforgettable, not least thanks to the music of Ennio Morricone, who gave Sergio Leone Bruno Battisti D’Amario’s electric guitar – described as ‘like a sword’ – a refined musician who passed away on 5 August (interviewed for this column on 5 July 2021). Until the age of eighteen, Santaniello was an actor in high demand in film, television and advertising, well-known enough to be featured in the crosswords of weekly magazines and to have an exclusive contract for adverts for Elah pudding and custard. Fans of Bud Spencer remember him from the film “Lo chiamavano Bulldozer” and often invite him to commemorative events.

Perhaps this was partly down to the red hair he inherited from his paternal grandfather, a Neapolitan with Norman roots: his ancestors were from Alcamo in Sicily. When I was seven, I was cast in Siro Marcellini’s “Lola Colt – Face to Face with El Diablo”. I, Pablito, died in the arms of Lola Falana. I also appeared in “The Four of the Ave Maria” alongside my mum, my sister and my brother, playing the part of a Scottish family.

I had a small part in the 1968 film "Odissea", in which I played the blind poet Demodocus, and a major role in "Giovanni ed Elviruccia", a TV drama starring Paolo Panelli and Bice Valori, which is well worth watching again, not least for Morricone’s wonderful score.

Perhaps he’d seen me in “Lola Colt”. And Timmy’s older sister, who was the first to be killed by the bandits, is actually my sister. Simona was eighteen, but she was initially turned down because she turned up for the audition dressed in the style of the time: a miniskirt, a headband, and heavy make-up. The agent suggested she come back without make-up and with her hair in plaits. So they took her on.

We were filming in Almería, in the desert area of Tabernas where they’d set up the McBain ranch. It took over an hour to get there from the hotel where the crew were staying. I was the youngest and therefore the most pampered. In the massacre scene, I come out of the house when Frank and his men have already killed the others. Leone would say to me: “Now go, but you don’t know what will happen to you – they might kill you too.”

Fonda had to spit, but didn’t know how. What’s more, the desert climate had dried out his throat, so they got him some liquorice sticks and he spent a while practising until he managed to spit. Leone was keen to get it right.

Her wonderful scent has stayed with me; even at the hotel I could tell where she’d been. Unfortunately, I had a bit of a mishap: as I’d been standing motionless in the sun filming that scene all morning, I suffered heatstroke and was hospitalised for two days. My mother kept me company, but Fonda also came to visit me with his wife, and a prop master built me a rocking horse on the spot. I would have loved to take it home with me, but I don’t know what became of it. I still regret it.

For a year and a half, they provided me with a private tutor.

Without ever pushing things too far. There wasn’t the media hype there is today, where you feel like a star just for having been on “Big Brother”. I also acted alongside Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor in Zeffirelli’s “La bisbetica domata”, but I didn’t boast about it. I remember instead the July heat, dressed as a pageboy, at the De Laurentiis Studios on the Pontina.

What’s more, I had been a fan of his ever since I had seen “Lo chiamavano Trinità…” at the Supercinema. Working with him felt like a dream come true. A refined filmmaker and a gentle, kind giant. He used to call me “the redhead”.

Based on a screenplay by Sergio Donati. A fine, underrated film. Dorelli was brilliant; he could do everything – he even provided the voice-over for me. The music was by Morricone there too.

I could have chosen to carry on, but I simply didn’t, even though I enjoyed it. There was just one time I felt embarrassed: it was in “San Pasquale Baylonne, Protector of Women”, one of those comedies that were popular at the time. I emerged, dusted with flour and completely naked, from a cupboard where I had been secretly flirting with Giuliana De Sio, who was making her debut. I felt uncomfortable, with the film crew and the onlookers from the village, Posta Fibreno, all standing round watching.

I am a dental technician; I work with my wife, who is a doctor, and I formerly served as a diving instructor as a hobby. I’ve never boasted about my past: it was only when social media became widespread that people started getting in touch. A month ago, I was invited to Torella dei Lombardi, the birthplace of Sergio Leone’s father, where they’ve set up a museum. I gave him an original still from “Once Upon a Time in the West”. A piece of my heart that my mother had kept safe. When I look back at the photos of me acting alongside Henry Fonda, I can still hear Morricone’s music playing on set. Many years later, I became friends with Maria, Ennio’s sister, who passed away a few months ago. My wife used to play burraco with her. Come to think of it, what a small world it is.