Paul Lawrence Smith and Antonio Cantafora, international screen figures, achieved significant European box office success in the 1970s by replicating the slapstick formula of Bud Spencer and Terence Hill. Their career trajectory included American academia, Spaghetti Westerns, and cult cinema.
The Bottom Line:
- The Impostor Economics: Italian production houses capitalized on the box office demand for Bud Spencer and Terence Hill by casting physical lookalikes Paul L. Smith and Antonio Cantafora in high-energy clone pictures like Carambola (Karambol).
- Critical Evolution: Both actors successfully broke away from their initial typecasting, with Smith transitioning into prestigious Hollywood character work such as Alan Parker’s Midnight Express, while Cantafora established a prolific career in European art-house cinema alongside directing greats like Federico Fellini.
- Cross-Cultural Legacy: Despite launching as an unauthorized commercial replica of a dominant cinematic duo, the Šimon and Matouš (Simone e Matteo) films secured enduring cultural permanence, heavily amplified by distinct local dubbing markets across Central Europe.
The Anatomy of Italian Cinema Exploitation
When Italian film studios spot a lucrative cultural wave, speed is everything. In the early 1970s, the box office dominance of Bud Spencer and Terence Hill—anchored by their trademark blend of lighthearted brawling, deadpan banter, and sunny Mediterranean settings—created an insatiable international appetite. Rather than attempting to negotiate with the original superstars, nimble producers deployed a classic tactic of the era’s exploitation film economy: if you cannot secure the franchise, build your own.
Enter Simone and Matteo, known to regional audiences as Šimon and Matouš. The resulting features, including Carambola (1974) and subsequent escapades like Šimon a Matouš jedou na Riviéru, bypassed traditional studio gatekeeping through sheer kinetic energy and physical mimicry. But the men behind the beards and blue eyes were far from simple industry extras. They possessed distinct theatrical backgrounds that ultimately carried them well beyond the boundaries of imitation.
From Harvard Yards to the Spaghetti Western Circuit
Paul Lawrence Smith cut a striking figure on screen, standing 193 centimeters tall and scaling past a metrical centum early in life. Born in Everett, Massachusetts, in June 1936, Smith’s early trajectory pointed toward the academy rather than the soundstage. He earned a master’s degree from Harvard University, studying psychology and philosophy before pivoting decisively toward the dramatic arts in New York following a chance encounter with filmmaker Otto Preminger during the production of Exodus in Israel.
That initial Middle Eastern sojourn marked Smith deeply. He returned to Israel later in the decade, volunteering during the Six-Day War and marrying locally before relocating to Italy in 1973. In Rome, his staggering physical resemblance to Carlo Pedersoli—better known as Bud Spencer—secured his entry into the Italian genre machinery. With his heavy build, formidable scowl, and natural comedic timing, Smith locked down the role of the burly, punch-ready enforcer.
Yet, legal battles quickly followed international exposure. When an American television distributor attempted to market their films under modified monikers—rechristening Smith as “Bob Spencer” and his co-star as “Terence Hall”—Smith launched a successful legal challenge, fiercely defending his individual professional identity against outright impersonation marketing. Following his European breakthrough, Smith returned stateside to secure heavier dramatic credits, most notably earning acclaim as the sadistic prison guard Hamidou in the 1978 drama Midnight Express, alongside appearances in fantasy epics like Red Sonja.
The Painter Behind the Blue-Eyed Rogue
Playing the counterweight to Smith’s heavy-handed brawler required a very specific kind of cinematic charisma. Antonio Cantafora, born in Crotone, Calabria, in 1944, stepped into the shoes of the slick, quick-witted blonde originally epitomized by Terence Hill. Having studied under prominent theatrical director Alessandro Fersen, Cantafora initially cut his teeth in the twilight years of the Spaghetti Western boom with projects like El Desperado.
When paired with Smith under the anglicized pseudonym Michael Coby, Cantafora faced the daunting task of duplicating Hill’s feline agility, winking irony, and card-shark dexterity. He executed the assignment with precision. Yet, unlike his towering co-star, Cantafora maintained a lifelong anchor in European auteur cinema long after the knockoff comedy boom subsided. He transitioned smoothly into character work for celebrated directors, appearing in Federico Fellini’s Intervista and Dario Argento’s The Card Player.
Beyond the screen, Cantafora cultivated a serious parallel career as a fine artist, returning continuously to his Calabrian roots for inspiration. He exhibited hundreds of works internationally, frequently accompanied by his wife Ester, who provided musical accompaniment at his gallery openings. His death in Rome in April 2024 closed the book on an era when Mediterranean genre cinema could spin an unauthorized imitation into genuine artistic longevity.
Comparative Industry Impact: Originals Versus Replicas
| Metric / Feature | The Originals (Spencer & Hill) | The Replicas (Smith & Cantafora) |
|---|---|---|
| Primary Studio Base | Titanus / Various Major Italian Houses | Independent Italian / International Syndication |
| Defining Franchise | They Call Me Trinity / Trinity Series | Carambola / Simone e Matteo |
| Hollywood Crossover | Occasional international releases | Major studio supporting roles (e.g., Midnight Express) |
| Primary Regional Legacy | Global box office benchmarks | Cult television syndication and iconic dubbing status |
The Linguistic Alchemy That Forged Local Legends
No assessment of the Šimon and Matouš phenomenon in Central Europe is complete without addressing the translation booth. In regions like the former Czechoslovakia, foreign entertainment was frequently filtered through meticulous, high-art dubbing traditions. Voice actors transformed the physical comedy into distinct local folklore, lending the imported Italian antics an organic charm that outshone the original production values.
While the films began as a commercial exercise in cloning cinematic gold, the underlying dedication of Paul L. Smith and Antonio Cantafora ensured they avoided the fate of disposable chaff. They did not remain mere footnotes in cinematic theft. Instead, through stubborn talent and eventual career diversification, the impostors carved out a permanent, affectionate niche in international film history.
