The Last Wagon (1956) - Directed by Delmer Daves

As further confirmation that Delmer Daves was the western genre’s great moralist director, we have this fascinating and pointed psychological western to point to. The Last Wagon, along with others from Daves in this era, like Jubal and 3:10 to Yuma, make distinctive reference points to Biblical allegories….each film examining the west as a sort of proving grounds for faith, justice, and moral uprightness. Daves positions his characters in situations that cause them to question their sense of right and wrong. These temptations and conundrums are positioned against men of good mental and spiritual fortitude in Jubal and 3:10 to Yuma. But in The Last Wagon, our protagonist is of questionable moral standards to begin with and even we the audience aren’t quite sure what to make of our own judgements of him.

Daves co-scripted the film and helped create a fiendishly clever psychological mess of a plot. Comanche Todd (Richard Widmark), named so because he was raised mostly by Comanches, has been captured by Sheriff Harper as Todd was wanted for the murder of Harper’s three brothers. After taking him captive, Harper and Todd meet up with a wagon train, and Harper ties Todd to a wagon wheel to keep him captive. Tempers flare when some of the wagon train members begin to show care for Todd, while Harper wants none of that. During a fit of confusion, Todd manages to kill Harper, leaving the wagon train to deal with Todd themselves. A group of younger individuals from the train decide to go skinny dipping during the night, Jenny (Felicia Farr) and her brother Billy (Tommy Rettig), Jolie (who’s half Native American – played by Susan Kohner) and her racist step-sister Valinda (Stephanie Griffin), and two other young men named Ridge (Nick Adams) and Clint (Ray Stricklyn). When they all arrive back at the wagon train in the early morning, they find everyone has been slaughtered by Apaches……except Todd. This positions all six of the young survivors into a situation whereby their only hope of survival is to let the seemingly “evil” Todd lead them across the dangerous territory to safety…….if they can trust him.

I’m not sure Daves could have found a more perfect actor to play Comanche Todd than Richard Widmark. Widmark was of course typecast a bit during his days as morally corrupt and slimy, often playing bad guys or good guys gone bad in numerous film noirs and westerns throughout his career. Widmark has a fascinating ability, though, to rise above this sort of typecasting through his impressive range. Here he’s believably tough, rugged, fatherly, caring, daring, vengeful and just about any other adjective you could use to describe his character. What works so well is that we are never quite sure of what he’s capable of. His past exploits, as assumed by most of the 6 survivors, are seen in different lights. Jenny finds a rugged handsomeness and danger in him that she is attracted to, and at one point even grimacing with pleasure as Todd digs a knife into an Apache’s chest. Billy finds Todd to be a father figure, learning from Todd’s teaching and mentoring while he is leading them through the dessert. Valinda despises Todd completely, not trusting him one bit and fearing for her safety, despite the fact that he saves her life after she’s bitten by a rattler. Ridge and Clint can’t quite make up their minds most of the time, as their own fears of inadequacy to care for the group force them to follow Todd’s direction even though they don’t always like it. Jolie finds a quiet camaraderie in Todd, as his sympathies and understanding of racism she appreciates. Widmark is able to reflect back all of these qualities that are needed in convincing fashion, and it’s one of his best and most confident performances.

Many things are done to near perfection in this film: Wilfred Cline’s terrific Scope cinematography, the excellent action sequences (love those gunpowder explosions), the terrific supporting roles (especially Felicia Farr as the sexually yearning Jenny….in fact Farr added fine performances to Jubal and 3:10 to Yuma as well), the self-aware script that doesn’t shy away from topics of racism, fornication and spirituality. True though the plot is the sort of thing that could be construed as cliché, the film elevates beyond the usual through the continued Biblical reference points. On more than one occasion, there’s mention of preaching and the Bible, with even mention of Todd’s birth-father being a circuit preacher. This allows for an appropriation to Todd as wandering prophet or savior to this group of 6 people. He preaches, prophesies, and enacts lessons of survival and safety and protection to his newfound family or “congregation” if you will. It’s almost like he’s Moses leading the Israelites through the desert. At the end of the film, the question of law versus justice comes into play, as Daves’s script allows for a very pointed examination of judgement….both man’s and God’s. Our understanding of Comanche Todd and everything we think he’s done gets turned upside down in the finale, with God smiling down on him in reprieve  based upon his lifesaving exploits, which although on the surface seems wishy-washy,  is actually not dissimilar to the miraculous rain shower at the end of 3:10 to Yuma based on Van Heflin’s faithful service, or even Glenn Ford’s redemption and survival at the end of Jubal by refraining from adultery. These endings are all remarkably consistent and in line with Daves’s unique brand of psychological western.

Cemetery Without Crosses (1969) - Directed by Robert Hossein

Robert Hossein’s only entry into the spaghetti western genre was this beautiful and fatally romantic masterpiece. His unique perspective and sense of subtlety allows the spaghetti western here to retain an interesting sense of restraint and pacing. As far as influences go, perhaps the film is more inspired by the likes of Visconti's impassioned melodramas than Leone or Corbucci. But by using the conventions of the traditional spaghetti western on the surface, he’s able to comment and build upon them through his emphasis on different aspects. He takes a tale filled with revenge, and the lone, hired gunman, but he’s able to delve into the psychological state of this character, among others, due to his insistence upon the emotional FEELING of the situation, which in its own way, is as exhilarating as any shootout that occurs in the film. There isn’t nearly as much overt violence though, as in The Great Silence, but the characterizations are passionate, moody, sexy and filled with a sensuality rare in this genre.

This film is a bit difficult to track down, but it is well worth seeking out if you can find a copy or can watch it on YouTube. Hossein makes his mark by infusing the plot of this film with a culpable sense of emotion, compassion, and sympathy. This level of intense psychology and humanism is what elevates this film above others in the genre. Cemetery Without Crosses concerns several elements we’ve seen in other films, but as I mentioned, the emphasis is shifted. A man named Ben is hanged by the rival ranching family, the Rogers, for a theft dispute, right in front of Ben’s house and in front of Ben’s wife Maria (a beautiful Michele Mercier). Maria seeks out Ben’s friend Manuel (Robert Hossein), a gunman, to exact retribution upon the rival family and there is a back and forth of revenge tactics, with Maria cold-heartedly seeking retribution. Despite Manuel’s apprehension of the situation, he can't help but become involved because of his pining love for her, which he’s unable to fully express. The film ends with a significant remorse for the cycle of revenge that is never able to be stopped. This fatalistic, gloomy tone is operatic to the extreme.

What I particularly love in this film is the way that the Maria character is fully responsible for the progression of the plot. It is her desires and her wishes that propel the cycle of violence as see seeks out retribution and this focus on the female experience is an important thing to note. Clearly Manuel is in love with her, and this is a significant reason for why he wants to please her, even though it goes against his own better judgement as he wants to express his love for her in this way. Michele Mercier is terrific in her role, contributing much through her dark eyes, as does Hossein as the melancholy and lovelorn gunfighter. A significant sense of mood is contributed by the soundtrack, which is a blending of 50’s style western pop music and also an overtly romantic Spanish flamenco guitar piece, apparently written by Hossein’s father Andre, which is lush, vibrant and often played while people are traveling over the desert landscape. Hossein blends all of these operatic and melodramatic elements with the typical gunplay, infusing the film with a fatalistic and romantic tone.

I think my favorite moment in the film though, is the final showdown between Manuel and the Rogers family in the middle of the street. In the terrific draw scene, one of my favorites in any western, we see Hossein facing, not 1, but 4 men…….and as quick as you can imagine, he blows each of them away before any one of them can get to him. But even this sequence is reserved in the way that the editing is put together, as the visual and sound almost occurs so fast, you just see the outcome of the dead men falling instead of the hand reaching into the holster and the full moment captured via the camera. In Hossein’s world, though, there’s always one more retribution around the corner and you can never run away from revenge. No one escapes from death once they've entered that cycle of doom. Cemetery Without Crosses is probably the most elegant and refined spaghetti western that I’ve seen, and proof that elegance is not mutually exclusive from the genre, it just takes the right approach to make it work. Hossein thus created a work that stands apart from the rest.

Shane (1953) - Directed by George Stevens

Note: This review appears at Wonders in the Dark for the Top 50 Westerns Countdown, coming in at #14.

There are westerns with greater size and scope (The Searchers). There are westerns that are more taut and suspenseful (High Noon). There are westerns that are more pure (Seven Men From Now) and filled with more psychological depth (The Naked Spur). But there is no other western that is as emotionally resonant as Shane. Weaving throughout its running time is a point of view of a young boy, perhaps not so dissimilar from young boys over the last 150 years or so, brought up first on dime novels and cheap western stories and then eventually silent films and the boom of Hollywood cinema, pushing a brand of western and selling a mythology that continued to further the daydreams of millions of youth across this nation. I too fall into that group. I can remember playing in the backyard with my brother when we were kids growing up in the 80’s. Inevitably we would end up playing cowboys and Indians or some sort of old west themed adventure, utilizing things we’d picked up in movies, tv, and books in order to build a repertoire of dialogue and action, that in our minds resembled some sort of reality, when in fact we were recalling a western mythology, and even though this mythology has basis in reality, it became larger than life through stories and lore that were told and retold generation upon generation. Shane is in fact a film about the mythology itself, taking an examination of our western hero worship and adding incredibly rich layers of emotion which remain remarkably effective in their ability to maintain an honest sweep, unchallenged by any other film in the genre, with everything seemingly put together to achieve a definitive emotional arc.

Taking Jack Shaeffer’s popular novel Shane from 1949 and improving it for the screen, was director George Stevens. The plot actually resembles stories of chivalrous knights in shining armor, roaming the countryside in search of people in need of help. Shane begins at this sort of moment, as a lone gunfighter rides down from the mountains into a valley, where a young boy named Joey Starrett (Brandon De Wilde) is watching him from his family’s farm. Shane meets Joey, and his parents, Joe (Van Heflin) and Marian (Jean Arthur), but before he can be properly welcomed, Joe mistakes him for being part of the Ryker gang, a group of bullies who happen to arrive to Joe’s claim moments later. They charge that the Starret’s land belongs to them. Joe nearly runs Shane off his land. But, Shane senses trouble, hanging around the back of the house as the Rykers catch a glimpse of the mysterious stranger and ride off. Joe realizes his mistake and invites Shane to stay for dinner, and soon asks Shane to stay on as hired help. From the word go, young Joey and Marian are in love with Shane: Joey, idolizing his gun and mannerisms and Marian showing off for Shane, bringing out her fanciest china for dessert and enlivening her femininity. It’s not long before Shane becomes a family favorite and entrenched in the local atmosphere, trading in his white buckskin and gun for farm clothes. This attempt at normalcy for him is continually threatened, as the Rykers to try to push Joe and all the other homesteaders off the land, finally resorting to hiring a cold-blooded gunman out of Cheyenne named Jack Wilson (Jack Palance) to do the dirty work. As one character remarks, “That’s the trouble with this country. There isn’t a lawman for 100 miles.” Joe is soon prodded to come to town one night to meet with Ryker, but Shane realizes this is a suicide mission for Joe and comes to grips with the fact that he’s the only one equipped to save the Starretts and the other families in the valley, strapping on his gun and white buckskin, heading into town for a final showdown with Wilson and the Rykers.

Shane has a far reaching influence upon many western films since it’s creation, providing inspiration to elements in Sergio Leone’s A Fistful of Dollars, and Once Upon a Time in the West, and in fact Clint Eastwood’s entire career was built upon the sorts of themes and motifs in Shane (let’s do forget about his awful Pale Rider, a terrible remake of Shane that is often so similar and hokey as to induce chuckles), especially when we think about everything from High Plains Drifter to Unforgiven. There’s also elements that can be seen again in Cimino’s excellent Heaven’s Gate, with the similar Johnson County War as context. What sets Shane apart from all this is the emotional pull of the film, derived from the homespun point of view of the Starrett family, and usually by the young boy Joey. He is privy to both the entrance and exit of our hero Shane, and to many of the critical moments in the film, particularly the fight in the saloon between Shane and Callaway (Ben Johnson) where he’s looking from under the saloon door, the brawl between Shane and his father in their yard, and primarily the final shootout scene between Shane and Wilson after he has followed Shane from their home all the way into town. Though he is naïve and trusting, there is a certain innocent and unfiltered quality to Joey’s portrayal that allows for a great deal of understanding between the audience and this character. Seeing events through the eyes of a child creates a significantly different emotional response for the audience, taking a story that could be rationalized and analyzed and instead making it instinctual and emotional. It’s not always Joey’s point of view though, as we also regard the situation from the character of Marian. Played with divine sensitivity and fragile femininity, Jean Arthur came out of a 5-year retirement to make this movie for George Stevens and the 52 year-old veteran actress came up with one of her greatest performances, simultaneously playing the devoted wife, caring mother, and pining woman who looks at Shane with significant amounts of feeling which she can barely begin to hold back or express, remaining stuck in the middle. Her longing is best conveyed when the family has all returned from the saloon fight and she’s bandaging Joe’s and Shane’s cuts. She leaves the group to say goodnight to Joey in his room and returns to the main room to find Shane has gone outside. She watches him from the open door. She turns around to see her husband….walks over to him and says, “Hold me. Don’t say anything. Just hold me.” It’s not just we the audience that notice her and Shane could have a thing together. Ryker mentions to Shane about how lovely Marian is, invoking a harsh response from Shane. Even Joe at the end of the film relates to Marian he believes she will be taken care of if he were to die. One of the film’s significant improvements upon the book is in fact the characterization of Marian. In the book she is rather flighty and unsubtle. Jean Arthur brings an authenticity that isn’t present in the book. The loveliest and most tender moment in the film occurs between Marian and Shane, after Shane has knocked Joe cold in their fight in the yard outside the house. Joey is tending to his father after feeling betrayed by his hero for hitting his father with his gun. Marian comes over to Shane and in their moment together, so much is said by what is unsaid….

Marion: You were through with gun-fighting?

Shane: I changed my mind.

Marion: Are you doing this just for me?

Shane: For you, Marion - for Joe - and little Joe.

Marion: Then we'll never see you again?

Shane: Never's a long time, ma'am. Tell him, tell him I was sorry.

Marion: No need to tell him that.

At this moment it might appear that Marian will in fact lean in for a kiss….but Joey calls to his mother, reminding her of her own moral code. She instead reaches out for a handshake that means so much more than that.

Marion: Please, Shane. Please (and then there’s this long and beautiful pause)………….. take care of yourself.

Alan Ladd, a rather undersized actor, is actually the perfect choice by Stevens to play Shane, as the book describes Shane as “not much above medium height, almost slight in build.” Ladd needs to portray a sort of handsome boyish quality that would make Joey and Marion attach to him, and also display a quiet perseverance and calmness. Another improvement upon the book is in fact the character of Shane. In the book, he’s far more dangerous, mysterious and unpredictable. Ladd makes him more likable and gentle, allowing the audience to emotionally invest in his relationships with the family members, without us questioning his motives. Some have claimed Shane is out to lay down his guns from the beginning of the film and seek refuge in community and domesticity. I disagree. It’s only after he sees the opportunity to stick up for the Starrett family in the face of the Rykers does he see the need to stay with them. You can also see how he relishes the opportunity to take Joey’s soda bottle from him to turn it into the bar, as an opportunity to challenge Callaway to a fight. This is not the action of someone ready to lay down his fighting spirit. He knows what he’s doing and is rather charmed by the Starretts, but even he knows there is a destiny at play here. Many have sensed a Christ-like portrayal and even some have claimed that Shane dies at the end. I disagree with this reading as well, and even the book doesn’t go this route. If Stevens wanted to sacrifice him that way, he could have done it more blatantly. 

Jack Wilson (Jack Palance) as the hired gun out of Cheyenne is a larger than life figure to rival Shane’s back history, forcing Shane into action to confront an evil only he can defeat. Palance’s portrayal of the archetypal “bad guy in black” is loaded with mythology and a quiet, focused sense of impending death, like some grim reaper out to collect souls. Even his entrance for the first time into the saloon causes a dog to cower away in fear. One of my favorite moments occurs upon his first visit to the Starrett home as Wilson gets down from his horse and gets a drink of water. Despite the fact that Shane is in farm uniform, they eye each other with a certain regard, sizing each other up, a precursor to their iconic showdown at the end. Their final duel actually hinges upon Wilson gunning down the rather small character of Torrey (Elisha Cook Jr.) midway through the film. Wilson understands Torrey is a “hothead” and knows he can goad him into a draw. He knows once he kills Torrey, the rest of the homesteaders will begin to get scared and leave the valley. This dark and somber sequence begins with Torrey and his friend Shipstead riding into town. Wilson calls to Torrey and asks him to come over to where he’s sitting by Grafton’s Saloon. Torrey can’t resist the temptation, and he slips and sloshes through the muddy street to reach Wilson. They both walk parallel to each other toward Grafton’s saloon…and then stop and face each other, Wilson taunting Torrey with southern degradations, standing 5 feet above Torrey who’s at street level. Wilson guns Torrey down in the saddest and most unglamorous death that side of McCabe and Mrs. Miller.

There are two additional things that make this scene incredibly impactful. One was the fact that Stevens wanted Torrey’s body to be launched backward violently from the impact of the bullets. To achieve this, Stevens had Elisha Cook Jr. fastened with a harness that was yanked to create the illusion that he’d been pushed back 10 feet from the blast. It’s an effect that makes the gunshot and the death seem that much more violent without actually showing blood, lending the death a strong sense of gravity. Second, with Stevens being a war veteran, he didn’t want anyone underestimating the destruction that a gun could do, and this was emphasized even to the sound of the gunshot. Gunshot sounds in most westerns are rather weak and muted on the soundtrack and are usually that particular stock gunshot sound that can be heard across hundreds of westerns. It starts to become unimpressive when you hear the same thing over and over again. To achieve a unique, deafening, and fearsome gunshot effect for Shane, Stevens experimented and recorded the sound of a Howitzer cannon firing into a garbage can, thus capturing a shocking and explosive sound which helps to deglamorize the violence and emphasize the lasting impact of a loss of life. Stevens also understood that if you heard the gunshots too often, it would no longer have impact. It’s almost a full hour into the film before Shane teaches Joey to shoot. Once those enormous gun shots go off on the soundtrack, it’s incredibly jarring and sounds unlike any other gunshot in any other western. It’s literally the loudest thing you hear in the movie…which is as it should be. Torrey’s death is given further magnitude with much emphasis paid to the funeral sequence involving all the homesteaders. This becomes a polarizing moment for many….some convinced they should stay and some convinced they should leave. Thus, Torrey’s death provides the hinge upon which the mechanics of the finale swing, emboldening the homesteaders, in particular Joe Starrett who realizes something must be done to respond to this death. It can probably be argued there is no other death in any western in which a side character’s passing provides such an important impact upon the story.

The iconography of the final showdown between Shane, Wilson and the Ryker brothers, as Shane jarringly reappears in his white buckskin riding into town, is enhanced by the pounding and propulsive score leading up to  that sequence. Indeed, the score written by Victor Young is astounding throughout the film, as he seemingly wrote a theme for most of the characters, from the playful tune to mark Joey’s perspective, to the romantic ballad given to Marian, to Ryker’s descending notes of doom upon every appearance and also Shane’s larger than life nostalgic notes. I think the highlight is that finale march by Shane into town with Joey and his dog running after. Young’s music builds the stakes and the suspense as it leads us to Shane’s entrance into the saloon, with Shane taunting Ryker and then challenging Wilson’s manhood, dictating the scene’s action.

Shane: So you're Jack Wilson.

Wilson: What's that mean to you, Shane?

Shane: I've heard about you.

Wilson: What have you heard, Shane?

Shane (pausing): …….I've heard that you're a low-down, Yankee liar.

Wilson (softly): ……Prove it.

Then the sudden and swift power of this final shootout unloads with a deafening roar, young Joey looking on from under the door as Shane shoots both Wilson and Rufus Starrett in quick succession. Joey involves himself in the proceedings when he yells “Shane lookout!”, giving Shane a chance to shoot Morgan Ryker off the upstairs balcony, probably saving his life. After the final shootout, Joey must say goodbye to his hero, as Shane rides across the valley and up into the mountains, with those iconic words said by Brandon De Wilde, "Shaaaaaaaaane........Come Baaaaaaaaaaack!!!"

Though filmed in 1951, the film didn’t release until 1953, due to Stevens’s remarkable diligence to editing and re-editing. One can see from the way he incorporates different points of view, angles, edits, sound effects, and musical scoring, that he paid so much attention to the look and feel of the final product. It is reported that the scene when Shane teaches Joey how to shoot took 116 takes. Jack Palance in fact had so much trouble mounting horses that Stevens had to use a shot of Palance dismounting and then played it in reverse to show him mounting. Additionally, the whole shoot was plagued with terrible weather in Jackson Hole, with rain often postponing the schedule. The shoot went over-budget and overtime significantly, but the film did huge business at the box office, raking in $20MM with a budget of $3MM. Shane has been a highly popular western throughout the decades, yet I would wager that even 10 or 15 years ago, this film wouldn't have placed anywhere outside the top 10 of any western countdown, maybe even top 5. I wonder whether today’s audiences find the emphasis on emotion as fulfilling as audiences in prior decades? We seem to be ingrained these days to distrust or even to mock honest emotion. Thus, more subversive works, and particularly the spaghetti westerns get more interest these days, or at least films that are filled with more psychological shading. Call it old-fashioned if you want, but the sort of story and execution on display in Shane is actually what many of the more modern westerns are built upon, including the spaghettis. Without the mythology, there is nothing to subvert. Without the traditions inherent to the genre, there is no need for revision. This film plays better as an emotional experience than as a revisionist western, and for some, that may be a drawback. But, for my money, Shane is the grandest and most emotionally involving examination of western mythology and thus my personal favorite western. Stevens has such a terrific sense of pacing throughout that allows a beautiful emotional arc to unfold, giving weight to life and death, to childhood and family, and to a man’s code of honor. This is Steven’s most lasting legacy with this beautiful film.

She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949) - Directed by John Ford

Note: This review appears at Wonders in the Dark in the Top 50 Western Countdown, placing at #24. 

"Sentimental" is often a pejorative term used to describe a certain kind of art that wears its heart on its sleeve. Regarding film in particular, Ford, Capra and Spielberg have had the term flung at them in condemnation at times. Sentiment is actually neither good nor bad in and of itself though. It is simply a mode for conveying a certain feeling that the director is trying to express, but more often than not, the term has significant negative connotations for some. John Ford was certainly fond of sentiment, or nostalgia or whatever you want to call it, and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon is probably his greatest use of it in westerns at least, wrapping the film with a heartwarming charm. As the second film in The Cavalry Trilogy (and best to my mind), it followed Fort Apache and came before Rio Grande. It’s significantly memorable for several reasons even among Ford's films. Among them the beautiful cinematography by Winton C. Hoch, in color, as he made iconic use of Monument Valley and incorporated imagery borrowed from the paintings of Frederic Remington; furthermore, this just might be the prime example of Ford’s “kitchen sink” approach to making westerns….meaning everything but the kitchen sink….where he weaves action, romance, sentiment, comedy into the plot and often turns on a dime to switch gears. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention the most memorable thing about the film: John Wayne’s epic and beautiful evocation of traditional Fordian values as he portrays an aging hero, cavalry officer Captain Nathan Brittles.

Wayne stars as Brittles, Cavalry Captain of a troupe of men stationed in the southwest at Ft. Starke. He is a week away from retirement and is charged with one final task, which is to escort the Major’s wife Abby (Mildred Natwick) and niece Olivia (Joanne Dru) to a stagecoach post where they will be catching transportation back east. As added backdrop to the storyline, General Custer has just been killed at the Little Bighorn and many of the American Indian tribes are joining efforts, becoming a threat in the area. There’s also a charming subplot that has Olivia being courted by two cavalry gentleman named Flint Cohill (John Agar) and Ross Pennell (Harry Carry Jr.). When Brittles leads the troupe to the stage coach post, he finds that it’s been attacked by the American Indians as part of the uprising and he retreats back to the fort, failing in his mission and feeling like he has let everyone down. On his final day on the job, he redeems himself by fending off a potential war, stampeding the tribe's horses out of their camp, forcing their retreat to the reservation.

Ford has a way of emphasizing the rituals of daily cavalry life, infusing a knowing recognition of tradition, values, and nostalgia into the story. Early on in the film, we see flags and bugle calls, the early morning assemblies and inspection of the troupes. We also see the picture display on Nathan’s desk of his late wife and daughters. This touching memorial sets off another type of tradition, whereby Nathan seems to spend every evening out in the little adjacent cemetery where the three of them are buried. Their tombstones read their death was in 1867, and knowing that the current year is 1876 (Custer’s Last Stand was this year), that means Brittles has been doing this little ritual for 9 years. It is these rituals and traditions and the camaraderie of the troupes on display that make the film so uniquely Fordian, as one of his defining traits as a director was his emphasis on upstanding values…..heroism, loyalty, sacrifice, determination. These aspects lend themselves toward the sentimental side of things, but the film succeeds because of it, not in spite of it, generating a significant amount of sincere emotion and warmth from the American spirit on display and a sort of homespun catharsis begins to form. Comedy helps offset the sentiment, and Ford weaves in a great deal of comedy relief courtesy of Irish actor Victor McLagen as the often drunk Sergeant Quincannon, allowing for Wayne’s comedic sense of timing to play off him nicely… “You got a breath on ya like a hot mince pie!”.

Photographer Winton C. Hoch won the Academy Award for best color photography for 1949, and his work here at framing individuals with Monument Valley in the background is often breathtaking. You could just press pause once in a while and look at it like a painting. I particularly love the way that Hoch framed and filmed the scene where Wayne sits and talks with his late wife on the ridge of the cemetery with the rose-colored hues of a sunset bathing the scene in a lovely pink color. Of particular note is the interesting scene filmed on the plains during a thunderstorm, which was apparently not pre-planned, but Ford wanted to keep filming once the storm came up, forcing Hoch to continue filming in the darkening light, something uncommon considering this was a Technicolor film (and at a cost of $1.6MM, the most expensive western ever made up until that point). But it’s one of the most memorable scenes in the film, perfectly capturing the flailing mood of Brittles and his troupe at that critical moment in the film. Richard Hagemen (a Ford favorite) donated a wonderful score to this film, as he captures the myriads of moods on, going from jaunty and comedic to melancholy and sentimental, flipping the tone as deftly as Ford is able to do, even incorporating snippets of Irish music and the lovely strains of “Dixie” at one point.

Last but certainly not least, is Wayne’s performance, which has to be one of his very best, even among performances in Red River, Rio Bravo, The Searchers, and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence. In this challenging role, Wayne plays a man about 20 years older than he was, with graying hair, a mustache and a few extra wrinkles on display at times. He is able to incorporate many of his masterful acting traits throughout the film, from his commanding sense of leadership and duty, to comedic timing, to romantic sentiment, it’s all here on full display and he rarely ever expressed such brilliant range as in this film. There are even a few critical moments, like when Brittles receives that silver watch, or when he is talking of his failures with the Major, that tears begin to well up in his eyes. One can see that Wayne really put a lot of effort into this one. I was talking with my 5 year-old daughter a week ago and she told me her favorite actor was John Wayne. I said that’s a great choice. We sat down and watched this film together, and in the middle of the film, she remarked, “John Wayne is such a good actor.” My personal favorite moment is when Wayne gets upset at the two young soldiers for preparing to fight over the love of Olivia with a poor choice of timing. 

Brittles: "Button your shirt Mr. Pennell. Thought better of you. 4 years out here and still acting like a wet eared "kaydet" on the Hudson. What is this all about Mr. Cohill?"
Cohill: "Sir I decline to answer…..respectfully."

Brittles: "Mr. Cohill. It is a bitter thing indeed to learn that an officer who has nine years experience in the cavalry…. The officer to whom I am surrendering command of this troupe in 2 more days…. Should have so little grasp of leadership….. as to allow himself to be chivied into a go at fisticuffs…. while taps still sounds over a brave man’s grave..... God help this troupe when I’m gone."

Wayne uses his inflections and his eyes tremendously during this scene and I could literally watch this scene over and over again. Some may complain that the film is too sentimental for its own good, but I would hearken to say that with the sensitive portrayal by Wayne and the careful balancing act of the script and Ford's handling of values, that Ford was intending everything with a high degree of sincerity, and not taking shortcuts. Some also may complain about the portrayal of the American Indians in the film. I would agree that the portrayal certainly isn't all that enlightened, but the film isn't really about them or about personalizing their story. That would come much later in Cheyenne Autumn. It's about Brittles and the Cavalry and about military tradition and honor. Everything in this film comes together for this to be one of the most Fordian of all Ford films, as it contains so many elements that make Ford great and is a prime example of his effective storytelling. It’s simply a lovely film that gets better every time I see it.

Seven Men From Now (1956) - Directed by Budd Boetticher

Note: This review appears on the Top 50 Westerns countdown at Wonders in the Dark, placing at #28. 

“The reason that people understand the westerns I made with Randy Scott is that they were simple…..nothing in those Scott pictures would make the audience say, “What did he mean? What was he trying to say?........I said it very simply, and that’s the way I make my pictures. One doesn’t have to sit there and say, “Well, I don’t know….ethically….and maybe he meant…” That’s a lot of crap: to be so artistic that you don’t make sense.”

Budd Boetticher - 1972 - Excerpt from The Director's Event

For it is indeed the most intelligent western I know while being at the same time the least intellectual, the most subtle and the least aestheticizing, the simplest and finest example of the form.

Andre Bazin - 1957 - Cahiers du Cinema

Through a series of 7 films that Budd Boetticher made in conjunction with his star Randolph Scott, the western saw some of its finest films get made. The best of the bunch, The Tall T, Ride Lonesome, Comanche Station, and especially Seven Men From Now were all written by Burt Kennedy. It was a tremendous stretch run for a director, writer, star combination, and it's really only in recent years that Boetticher's films have become more available and more lauded, finally landing Boetticher in the same discussion with Ford, Mann, and Leone (and I think Daves could be included as well). It turns out that Seven Men From Now, in particular, has been little seen for decades and only available in archive prints until about 2005. Because the film was produced under John Wayne's Batjac film company (as opposed to Ranown Productions), it had different distribution rights than the other films in the series, and after Wayne's death, the film remained in hiding for the most part. It's almost hard to believe that a film THIS good was so hard to see for so long. It is high time that this film gets seen because it's one of the most perfect westerns ever made, and is worthy of consideration for top 10 status. Perhaps in years to come, this film, and Boetticher's works in general, will continue to receive more recognition within the western genre.

Seven Men From Now was the first of the series, the best of the series, and laid the framework for the films in the Ranown cycle. Randolph Scott stars as Ben Stride, ex-sheriff, who is hunting a group of 7 criminals who stole $20,000 from the Wells Fargo freight office......and also killed Stride’s wife in the process. He’s out to track them down, kill them, and return the money. He lost his job following the event, so is now taking law into his own hands, not waiting for anyone else to do that job. He kills two of the men early in the film in an excellent setpiece in the rain, dropping us right in the middle of his quest. Then he comes across a married couple, John and Annie Grier (Walter Reed and Gail Russell) traveling west from Kansas City who are trying to reach California. He helps get their wagon out of a muddy ditch and then decides to ride along with them for a while. It is clear one of the reasons he stays with them is that he has eyes for Annie. They happen across two ex-cons, Bill (a brilliant Lee Marvin) and Clete (Don Barry), both of whom Stride once put behind bars. These two are tracking the same criminals and want the money for themselves. Friction builds as Stride and Annie begin to develop feelings for each other, while Bill begins to prod and tease them as he notices it, right in front of John, the husband. Before long, Stride steps aside from the group in order to face down the remaining criminals and deliver justice in the proverbial showdowns that ensue.

John Wayne's Batjac production company bought the script from Burt Kennedy, with the original intention of having Wayne star as the lead character. He was tied up with making The Searchers at the time though, and instead chose Randolph Scott to star, which I think was the perfect choice. Scott seems like some kind of perfect amalgam of all the great western lead actors, somehow encompassing the little bits and pieces that we like about Wayne, Fonda, Stewart, Eastwood etc., but is remarkably balanced, not dipping too far into any particular acting stereotype. I like his stoicism, his smirking nonchalance, his deft masculinity...... I almost can't even imagine Wayne in Scott's role here. Scott is far more down to earth, which fits Boetticher's simple, bare-bones aesthetic. What I find consistent in all of these films that Scott and Boetticher made together, is the genuine goodness of Scott’s characters, despite the fact that he often has reasons to be angry and vengeful: he is polite to women; he is chivalrous and does good deeds without expecting anything in return; he usually has a good degree of patience and calmness in the face of danger; he rarely ever raises his voice or speaks harshly of anyone. There's something so unassuming and unpretentious about him.  For me, he is the prototypical, no nonsense cowboy of all time. No wonder Andre Bazin likened Scott to William S. Hart. Nothing ever seems to phase this guy, not even in the final showdown in this film, when he’s hobbling on one good leg, using his shotgun as a cane, and has to face down Lee Marvin in a draw who has two guns and two good legs. Boetticher utilizes Scott's persona to build a simple purity of the western as artform, which appeals to true western aficionados. Boetticher stripped his works of over-reaching and complex, extracurricular contexts. They are not about unspoken backstory or some mystery, per se, to rely upon characterization (Mann), nor do they rely on the “kitchen sink” approach (throwing in comedy, romance, sentiment, action, social commentary etc.), like Ford uses, nor are they moral proverbs like Daves’s films (3:10 to Yuma, Jubal, Broken Arrow), nor are they social allegories (High Noon) or reflexive mythological examinations (Shane). They are in a sense, about the here and now....the ever present moment and the decisions made in those moments. Yes Stride has a backstory providing a set-up, but there isn't really anything hiding. The pre-destiny of the situation is written on Scott's face. It is about what Stride is doing in the moment as he rides, as he thinks, and as he talks. The purity of the storyline and lack of pretension reverts the western to its essentials. Many have often called Boetticher's films, "chamber westerns" and this is because they're so focused and lean, without a wasted moment, but they also contain a certain limited list of characters who are thrown together and must work out their problems in a relative isolated situation. Despite the simplicity, there is a remarkable range to Boetticher's best works...brutal and violent, austere and stoic, tender and sensitive, and nearly perfect in their clarity.  

One of the subtle charms of Seven Men from Now, is in fact the blossoming relationship between Annie and Stride. Both Scott and Gail Russell give beautiful performances. One never truly gets a direct sense that Scott's character is that interested in sex (Scott was reportedly gay, which lends interesting context to many of these films.) But they seem to have a mutual affinity for the sharing of each other's burdens. Gail Russell's performance is greatly enhanced when you understand that she hadn't appeared in a film in 5 years. She had been John Wayne's good friend, as they appeared in a few films together (namely Angel and the Badman), but severe alcoholism had stricken her career and by 1951, she was out of Hollywood. With Seven Men From Now, Wayne was able to provide a part to the 32 year-old Russell, whose naked, emotional tenderness adds so much to the film. She would in fact die from a heart attack due to alcoholism within 5 years of the release of this film. The yearning friendship of man and woman certainly makes for some wonderfully written moments between Scott and Russell, which keeps the film from becoming too masculine and linear for its own good, as the "uncool" aspect of a man and woman falling in love certainly doesn't fit well with the loner cowboy, masculine aesthetic. In fact, Boetticher routinely refuses to cooperate with or relate to cliches in his films, often giving us exactly the opposite of what we expect. For instance in Ride Lonesome, where Karen Steele appears as the curvaceous blonde, there is nary a whisp of interest from Scott's character at all. At the end of that film, the two part ways as nonchalantly as you please. Here in Seven Men From Now (where we have the loner cowboy on a complex, dogged mission) Stride is sidetracked by the potential love of a woman who's rather plain and is in fact married! There's even a sort-of "sex scene" between the two of them, as she lies in the wagon and he sleeps under the wagon to escape the whether, the two of them achingly close. We can also look at the final showdown here, as Boetticher undermines the rules of the western draw..... as when Scott and Marvin draw, we don't even see Scott pull his guns. Instead the camera stays on Marvin as he falls over. Speaking of Marvin, he's incredibly confident and effective here and it's easy to see how he became such a huge star after this. His projection and body language reek of attitude. Marvin's characterization is filled with warmth and life, making him likable to a point and rather intelligent, turning him into a bad guy whom we hate to see die at the end. Boetticher routinely populates his films with personality driven and rather flamboyant villains from Richard Boone, Henry Silva, Lee Van Cleef, Claude Akins etc., giving them a definitive, rounded humanism. 

Regarding Boetticher's approach, it would be a mistake to overanalyze his works, but there's simply too much to enjoy, like Kennedy's unadorned and propulsive script, which would be a hallmark of Boetticher's best works. Furthermore, William H. Clothier's cinematography creates some of the most beautiful and eye-catching visuals in any western film and the color palette is often striking. He was on contract to work with Wayne in his Batjac production company, and the two would collaborate together on 22 films. In particular, sequences involving Gail Russell hanging up the laundry, a particular scene where the wagon rolls away with Scott in the background, and the final showdown, are framed so perfectly, it's astounding. Ultimately though, the legend of a film like this boils down to the way that Boetticher strips everything to a series of man to man conflicts in the form of showdowns, both psychological and physical. Through this, we find the basis of the types of westerns that would be built in the decades to come.

3:10 to Yuma (1957) - Directed by Delmer Daves

Note: This review appears on the Top 50 Westerns countdown at Wonders in the Dark, placing at #29.

Delmer Daves has usually been last in the line of discussion of the great western directors, if he gets mentioned at all. If one were to create a Mt. Rushmore of western film directors, it would look something like this: Ford, Mann, Leone,.....and in most circles Boetticher as well, would probably get all the attention. Maybe the recent Criterion releases of two of Daves's best films (including this one) will begin to highlight his career more. Those that forget to mention Daves in the discussion are certainly creating an oversight. His films stand among the best of the genre in the 1950’s, as he made a series of fascinating moral masterworks, unlike anything else. Daves’s works often incorporate what I call parables (and even one could label them as Biblical parables of sorts), providing a context and filter through which he examines our instincts, our responsibilities, temptations and our challenges as a human race, thereby taking a moral inventory of human nature. In these ways, Daves carves his own niche within the genre, adding this unique perspective not found in other films. 3:10 to Yuma is his most famous work, if also perhaps his best, weaving moral complexity with significant amounts of tension. It's an essential western masterpiece that is also a gateway into the rest of Daves's work.

3:10 to Yuma builds slowly toward a tense climax. It’s about a rancher named Dan Evans (Van Heflin), who with his two boys, happen to witness a stage coach robbery and murder by a gang leader named Ben Wade (Glenn Ford) and his gang. Through some chance happenings, a local posse is able to apprehend Wade in a local saloon, after Wade hangs around town a bit too long in town (for some hanky-panky with the saloon-girl Emmy in a small but terrific performance by a Delmer Daves regular, Felicia Farr). It becomes clear in these early scenes that Ford’s Wade is not only a ladies man, but has a convincing, rather cerebral way with people, and can be in fact, quite gentle and sensitive. In order to raise money for his flailing, drought-ridden farm, Evans decides to be part of a plan to get Wade on the 3:10 train to Yuma so he can be turned in to the Yuma Penitentiary. The train will arrive in a nearby town named Contention. Only, they need to keep Wade’s whereabouts a secret from the rest of his gang in order to prevent the group from descending upon them, and breaking him free. Evans ends up spending a tension-filled afternoon with Wade for several hours in a hotel room in Contention as they wait the afternoon away until the train arrives, in one of the great sequences in western film history.

And let’s discuss that sequence. The film is really a build-up to the final hour in which we watch the battle of wills and manhood between Ford’s Wade and Van Heflin’s Evans. With his short barreled shotgun at the ready, Van Heflin starts the afternoon cool and determined. Slowly, Wade, through a series of conversations, temptations, and bribes, begins to chip away at Evans’s crumbling façade. Sweat begins to drip profusely from Van Heflin’s forehead and we sense as the other gang members learn of Wade’s whereabouts, that Evans begins to question whether this whole thing is worth it. Other men who've said they would help with the cause begin to abandon the efforts as odds become tougher, until Evans is the last man standing. Charles Lawton Jr.’s photography in this second half as it takes place in the room, is shaded with chiaroscuro, as light and shadow comes through the windowpanes, bathing the room in a sort of moral complexity. Nothing is completely illuminated....nothing is completely hidden. Morals begin to constrict, as a corruption and melding of good and evil come together. We sense Wade has a core of decency as we've seen him be sensitive throughout the film, particularly his gentle moments at Evans’s house before they head to Contention. We also begin to question Evans’s motives, as it appears like he’s being persuaded to take Wade’s bribes. Both men, Ford and Van Heflin might give the performances of their careers. Overall this section of the film is a worthy section to diagnose. We begin to see shades of Biblical implications. Wade’s bribes and lies begin to sound like Satan in the Garden of Eden, or when he tempted Jesus in the desert, promising riches and glory. In fact, the Biblical allegory angle also comes up when discussing the drought in the film, that is only broken once Evans is able to prove himself faithful to his cause. He holds firm at the end, and not only is his life spared, his cause emboldened, but the drought is lifted in a climactic thunderstorm that rains down upon the parched land. Some viewers wonder about the overheard, oncoming "thunderstorm" on the soundtrack near the end of the film, prior to the final showdown. All indications appear that Evans hears this alone and we hear what Evans hears. If this is the case, it's almost like a moral prodding or moral signpost, indicating to Evans that he is doing the right thing. These sorts of religious themes are rampant in Daves's best works. Think of The Last Wagon, where a Moses (Richard Widmark) leads his people through the desert. Think of The Hanging Tree, where there is an examination of a flawed Good Samaritan (Gary Cooper). Or even in Jubal, where the lure of sex is strong, but chastity is rewarded, recalling the story of Joseph and Potipher's wife. All of these historical recollections give Daves's films a timeless quality and a remarkable distillation of human nature, reminding us how our desires and temptations haven't changed much through the years. 

Daves’s film avoids relying on usual tropes in films like this, mainly because of his insistence on letting the rancher dictate the outcome. Based on a short story by Elmore Leonard, this is a film that lets the everyman be the hero. This isn’t Shane. There is no strapping gunfighter that will come along and make things easier for the common folk. This also isn’t High Noon, where the seasoned veteran stands up one last time. 3:10 to Yuma is in fact, the Everyman’s shining hour because it allows this rancher/husband/father a chance to stand up for himself and hold to his principles. Even if the initial prospect is for money, it turns out in the end, he does his job in the name of honor. Even after Evans realizes that he will have to do the entire job on his own, he clearly and succinctly views this opportunity as a way of proving himself....if not to his wife, or his children, or his town....but perhaps to a higher power. It would make perfect sense for Evans, without help from anyone, to give up. But, he decides to continue on by himself and succeeds through nothing less than his own sheer ingenuity and determination in the face of ridiculous odds, or perhaps a little help from above. People like Evans and his wife in this film are forced into tough decisions because of the hard-scrabble life they live. Here, the west is a place where these decisions are life and death and where every one of these decisions seems to operate in a complex shade of gray. Daves’s film allows this reality to unfold with precision.  

The Mercenary (1968) - Directed by Sergio Corbucci

In most circles, the discussion over which film is Corbucci’s best is usually over whether it’s his gothic-comic theatrics in Django or his bleak ultra-violent The Great Silence. Both are solid, with The Great Silence probably approaching true greatness more often than the somewhat simplistic but fun Django. The Mercenary is something altogether different, and for my money, my favorite of the Corbucci’s I’ve seen thus far. It sits most comfortably in the Zapata western subgenre, but is basically a spaghetti western in tone and execution. I like The Mercenary slightly better than The Great Silence because The Mercenary is self aware, sly, and takes itself less seriously, subverting the usual over-the-topness of the spaghetti western by over-amplifying everything but infusing a great deal of deadpan humor into its fantastic, explosive action. It’s almost like Corbucci already realized in 1968 the inherent potential pitfalls of a genre built upon heavy doses of spectacle…… Such spectacle was ripe for subversion, so Corbucci takes himself less serious here. 

The Mercenary (or as known in the U.S., A Professional Gun) is a story set during the 1910’s of the Mexican revolution. Spaghetti western veteran Franco Nero plays the Polish mercenary Sergei Kowalski. Sergei agrees to help some men carry silver across the border. A weirdo named Curly (Jack Palance) hears of the plan and kills a few of the men who are part of the silver deal. Sergei then ends up arriving at a town just as a Colonel Alfonso Garcia and his Mexican Army is about to put down some revolutionaries. Kowalski runs into the leader of the revolutionaries, Paco (Tony Musante), during the battle, and Paco pays Kowalski handsomely to get them out of trouble. Kowalski quickly employs his machine gun and dynamite tactics, thwarting the army and saving the day for the revolutionaries. Paco and Kowalski thus begin an odd relationship, sometimes together and sometimes at odds with each other as they fight their way across Mexico and as Kowalski shows Paco how to conduct the revolution. Curly comes back into the picture as the main nemesis when he attempts to track down both Paco and Kowalski to help the Mexican army and for his own personal gain as there is a price on their heads. It’s all rather convoluted as is expected, with crossings, double crossings etc, but part of the fun is the journey.

Corbucci might be the best action director of all the spaghetti western directors, and this film is exhibit A. It could really be described as a full blown action picture set out west, and a really good one at that. Lots of machine guns and explosions everywhere and there’s some great setpieces. Of particular note is that first sequence where Kowalski sets up the machine gun, mowing down the whole Mexican Army, before strapping dynamite to a car and driving it straight at the cannons. Another brilliant scene is when Paco, Kowalski and crew dress up as part of a parade on a float…..they quickly whip out their machine guns in mid-parade and mow down tons of soldiers. It’s a colorful and explosively photographed scene. Then there’s the huge battle sequence near the end of the film, where the Army employs an airplane to drop bombs on the town. Of course Kowalski is able to shoot it down with just his rifle! Amazing stuff and so brilliant, almost upping the ante with each additional scene. In the fantastically framed showdown sequence (one of the greatest of such scenes imaginable), Curly meets a clown-faced Paco in the middle of a bullfighting ring, while Kowalski referees the duel from the side, tolling a bell three times before Paco and Curly shoot each other with rifles. The joy of this scene is the close where Curly realizes he’s been shot by looking at his white carnation turning red.

Other terrific elements? Allejandro Alloa’s cinematography employs nice handheld shots and eye-catching compositions, in what is probably Corbucci’s most artistically framed film. Ennio Morricone adds another terrific score to the spaghetti western genre, this one is a whistle-infused score that is distinctive and beautiful in its lilting simplicity (Tarantino borrowed it in Kill Bill Vol 2). Franco Nero is terrifically deadpan and masculine as the Polish mercenary, employing a near-winking attitude throughout that keeps us on our toes. I particularly love the scene where he’s treated like royalty in the dessert and complains that he is too hot, so everyone empties their canteen into a wooden bucket so he can take a shower. Hilarious. I also love the moment when Kowalski is leading Paco with a rope behind his horse to turn him into the authorities to get his reward…..but then the Army comes by, letting Kowalski know that the reward on his own head is even higher than Paco’s. The next shot shows both of them being led by ropes behind the army as they’re taken to the firing squad. This sort of lightness of touch, amidst the explosive bombast is what is so appealing about this film. It’s incredibly balanced and nuanced and a testament to the kinds of layers that Corbucci infuses into his films. True it’s a rather blatant testosterone fest, but it's one of the best of its kind.

A Fistful of Dollars (1964) - Directed by Sergio Leone

Note: This essay appears at Wonders in the Dark as part of the Top 50 Westerns Countdown, placing at #45.

It wasn’t the first spaghetti western, but A Fistful of Dollars was certainly the one that really put the whole sub-genre on the map. This is the film that synthesized several key ingredients that would make the spaghetti western into influential cinema, namely the iconic “Man with No Name”….aka Clint Eastwood who dishes out hefty doses of justice and deadpan humor. There is also the presence of Ennio Morricone, who wrote so many fabulous scores for several spaghetti westerns and is nearly synonymous with the sub-genre, who provides a clanging and lilting score that in its own way, is as memorable and jaunty as anything he ever wrote. And of course the assured direction from Sergio Leone, whose confidence in what he was doing seems to ooze from just about every scene in the film. These three together helped take the spaghetti western from its low budget roots and turned it into a western revival, with a legacy and influence that has seemed to transcend the western altogether.

Although Leone would go on to create more lavishly spectacled and densely thematic works (particularly his magnificent Once Upon a Time in the West), there is a certain appeal in the taut economy of storyline here in A Fistful of Dollars. As “The Man with No Name” (Clint Eastwood) rides into a border town near Mexico, he is told of the local feud between two families, the Rojo clan, led by the evil Ramon (a deliciously vile Gian Maria Volonte), and the Baxters, led by Sheriff Baxter. The Man with No Name determines he can profit off of this feud by facilitating the escalating violence and looking for ways of exploiting the situation. He winds up in the middle of some controversy when he sees some gold being stolen by Ramon and his gang, whereupon he sells information to both families to get them to engage in a fight over the “survivors” of the massacre. While this is going on, TMWNN learns of a woman named Marisol who is being held captive by Ramon, keeping her from her husband and small boy. TMWNN finds a way to free her from her captors, but Ramon and crew find out about this and soon beat him to a pulp (I’m not sure which film Eastwood looks worse in….this one after the beating or in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly after the walk through the desert with Eli Wallach). Through pluck and ingenuity, he escapes, and as Ramon believes the Baxters are hiding him, he and his gang set fire to the Baxter house and murder the entire family. TMWNN heals up and returns to town to exact revenge upon Ramon and rid the town of the Rojo clan in a fantastic showdown.

It’s well known that this film borrows significantly from the plot of Yojimbo, Akira Kurosawa’s wonderful 1961 work that already was borrowing on iconography of westerns to begin with. A Fistful of Dollars is basically a remake of Yojimbo, and in fact Toho films sued Leone and the producers for the Asian rights to the film after they saw it and determined how much it borrowed from their film. During the early 60’s, in fact, the melding of the samurai concept and the western had already occurred a few years earlier in the blockbuster western, The Magnificent Seven (based on The Seven Samurai). But, Leone adds so many of his own elements to the film. First and foremost, was getting Clint Eastwood to play the lead, who at the time was mostly known for his work in the Rawhide TV series. Eastwood came to Italy, without being able to speak any Italian, and in fact was making very little money on this low budget film. One of the key elements for why I think Eastwood is so effective in this film and the entire Dollars trilogy, is that he doesn’t do anything quickly. He moves slowly. Eastwood even talks as if he’s just awakened from a nap. It's not quite a whisper, but not really projecting either. Everything with Eastwood is smooth and subtle, highlighting a hyper-cool machismo…..he’s cool and he knows it. But the effect of all this languorous moving and talking, is that the action moments come across as that much more impactful. He moves deliberately and smooth and slow with everything he does, except when he shoots….and Leone often makes a point of showing us his hands as he shoots the gun as this is the only time he moves with any quickness whatsoever. Eastwood’s deadpan humor also goes a long way here, allowing him to subvert his own approach and keep the pastiche from getting too thick. Eastwood’s emblematic portrayal of The Man with No Name, adds to what I consider to be a critical element of the spaghetti western, which is the meditation on the masculine identity. In Eastwood’s Man with No Name, we have the ideal personification of a man who asks for nothing, needs nothing and relies upon only himself for sustenance, using ingenuity, skill, and his sly humor to get him through. It is Eastwood's alone-ness and self sufficiency that recalls classics of the western genre, but in this case, there is a self-awareness subverting the traditional intent. This is a quality that would come up not just in other Leone films, but in many of the great spaghetti westerns, particularly those from Corbucci, like Django, and The Mercenary. Just about the only glimpse into The Man’s past is after he helps the family, the woman asks…“Why do you do this for us?”. He replies,“Why? Cause I knew someone like you once and there was no one there to help." Leone also plays upon reference points of western culture and iconography, elevating the images, the characters, and the sounds into a kind of reflexive mythology, incorporating elements from other westerns, most often recalling George Stevens' Shane. Speaking of sounds, Morricone's soundtrack here is loaded with what sounds like noises....whistles and clanging things that give a sort of caricatured personality to the proceedings. Leone and Morricone were always on some kind of miraculous level. Yes the music isn't as iconic as in The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, but the understated and comedic matter-of-factness of the score here fits very well with Leone's more simple approach in this film. In addition to the music, the visuals are rife with close-ups and attention-grabbing widescreen framing, reflecting the self awareness inherent to the spaghetti subgenre, as it reflects a post-western consciousness. A Fistful of Dollars isn't just a western..... it's a western that knows it's a western.

In a significant supporting role, Gian Maria Volonte is Ramon, the personification of evil. His evil is best seen in the sequence where he massacres the Mexican army with the Gatling gun and there’s this certain way that he grimaces with pleasure every time he shoots the gun. There’s also that dark, violent and nasty set piece where Ramon’s crew burns down the Baxter house and massacres the family, including Baxter’s wife in cold blood. Eastwood is watching the whole massacre from his concealed location in the coffin after he got beat up. This sets up a brilliant denouement where Eastwood not only wants revenge for Ramon’s treatment of him, but also their full-on display of evil incarnate, setting up a herculean confrontation where Eastwood must take on Ramon and his whole clan (Not without some help from a protective bullet proof breastplate). In the final showdown, Leone pulls together all the elements that would become iconic about the spaghetti western…. the drawn out suspense, the machismo and taunting, the sweaty close-ups, the clanging score, the art of surprise. A Fistful of Dollars must be recognized historically and cinematically for what it represents and what it popularized. True there are better spaghetti westerns, but few are as unassuming and compact as this one can be, as Eastwood’s understated humor and the short running time seem to reflect a “less is more” approach that I find immensely likable.