DON’T WORRY FOLKS, IF YOU WANT THE SCOOP…(Segue of the Day: 10/16/17)

….Just check in here first.

Last week (11/11/17) I wrote about the psychic damage Harvey Weinstein, as the man who, for two decades plus, controlled access to more plum “prestige” parts than any other ten producers combined, had likely done to a generation of first-rank Hollywood actresses.

For those who understandably don’t want to plow through the whole thing again, here’s the salient passage (The Round Place in the Middle: 11/11/17):

So read the names: Gwyneth Paltrow, Angelina Jolie, Ashley Judd, Mira Sorvino, Rosanna Arquette, Rose McGowan. That’s just from those we know about.

And just from those who were attacked by Harvey Weinstein, who exactly no one thinks was a lone wolf.

Even by itself, that’s a gaping hole blown in a generation’s worth of top tier talent.

This week, the idea has taken hold across the big-name spectrum.

Here’s Dana Stevens, checking in from the left (Slate: 11/13/17):

VILLAINS BLOGATHON…JACK ELAM IN RAWHIDE (I Watch Westerns…Take Four)

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(This is part of Speakeasy’s Blogathon on movie villains of all shapes and sizes. Beginning Sunday, May 15, I urge everyone to click over and read through their fabulous collection of posts. Please be aware that this essay on Jack Elam in Rawhide contains its share of possible SPOILERS! NOTE TO NEW READERS: This is a pop culture blog where the greatest emphasis lies on classic rock and soul music, but If you are visiting for the first time and have any interest in my further take on westerns, you may want to visit the “John Ford” and “I Watch Westerns” categories at the right. All comments, on subjects old and new, are welcomed!)

Rawhide (1951)
Henry Hathaway, Director.

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Jack Elam is billed sixth in Henry Hathaway’s taut-as-a-hangman’s-rope, 1951 western, Rawhide. He, and the movie, are lucky he was in it at all. So are we.

On one of the first days of shooting, star Susan Hayward had a long-shot scene where she was running away from Elam’s one-name character, Tevis, carrying a doll which was a stand-in for a baby. Only she wasn’t running away from Jack Elam. He hadn’t been cast. Instead the scene was being played by someone out from New York, who was enamored of the Method.

Sometime after he lit out for Ms. Hayward and her doll, he evidently began to think about what his character would really do. What he decided, rather impulsively, was that his character would tackle Ms. Hayward, already a major star, and take her and her doll to the ground.

He then proceeded to act upon his impulse.

Ms. Hayward picked herself up and dusted herself off and went about the day’s shooting.

The next morning, the impulsive young Method actor was off the set. Elam was hired in his place.

I doubt that a single person who has seen Jack Elam’s Tevis over the sixty-five years of the film’s existence has ever imagined that anyone else could have played him, not least because Elam would reprise the type so often and so convincingly over the next two decades that there was finally nothing left for him to do but spoof it, which he also did brilliantly.

But Rawhide was his breakout. And if no one can quite imagine anyone else in the role, it’s because he accomplished a hard task. It’s never easy to be the meanest snake in a snake-pit. Especially when you aren’t the head snake and the meanness has to leak out of you, as opposed to being merely “acted.”

More especially when the other snakes might yet retain human qualities, qualities that can be appealed to by helpless victims in fear of their lives.

In Rawhide, Elam has no such qualities. He’s an outlaw in a gang sure.

But the head outlaw, Hugh Marlowe’s Rafe Zimmerman, pretending to be a Deputy Sheriff,  looks like this:

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And Elam’s Tevis, standing in front of the rest of the gang (Dean Jagger’s “one horse horse thief,” Yancy, and George Tobias’s “big dumb coot,” Gratz),looks like this:

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He looks like a man who would shoot a two-year-old for fun and never lose a minute’s sleep over it. Good thing he’s convincing, right there in that first instant. Because, by the end of Rawhide, that just exactly what you’ll have to believe for the movie to grab you by the throat. And for that ending to be what it is, as harrowing a child-in-danger scene as those in Battleship Potempkin or Small Change, and more organic than either, you have to believe, without quite realizing it, that he’s been that kind of man from the moment you laid eyes on him.

Getting back to those who have seen it. I doubt one single person has ever had trouble believing just that.

Rawhide is tight by any standard. A jewel of a movie on every level. But the something extra is in Elam’s performance. He’s a walking embodiment of the Western’s great theme: What has to be done away with before civilization can flourish?

Or, put another way, who will kill the bad man, once the bad man has left you no choice?

 *    *    *   *

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By the time Zimmerman and Tevis show up, we have a clear idea of who they will be terrorizing. Edgar Buchanan (who would show his own ready capacity for spoofing himself soon thereafter), is Sam Todd, the station master at a lone outpost on a line that transports gold shipments along with the passengers.

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Tyrone Power’s Tom Owens is a greenhorn, reluctantly “learning the business” at his “supervisor” father’s request. The first thing Susan Hayward’s Vinnie Holt calls him is “Mule Boy.” Sam Todd doesn’t even think he’s that.

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That’s before Miss Holt (there’s confusion about the “Miss” because she’s traveling with a baby, who turns out to be her niece, her sister and her sister’s husband having been killed in a California mining town), knows she’s going to be stuck at the station for a day because Zimmerman, scheduled to be hung for murder, has broken out of prison with his motley crew “who just happened to be there,” and has already killed a stage driver. With the gang on the loose, the stage line can’t take responsibility for protecting the child she’s responsible for, so she’s forcibly removed from the coach. She’s a hard-bitten type and she’s played by Susan Hayward. You can guess how happy she is.

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That’s all of the set-up. Instead of holding up another stage, the outlaws show up at the station, planning to rob the next day’s gold shipment, which they’ve learned about from the driver they shot.

Everyone and everything is human scale, which means Elam’s villain, a part that begs for a corrosive “camp” approach, has to work on a human scale too. This calls for him to be unusually deft at conveying quick shifts. One, two, three, he’s a card (discovering Miss Holt’s clothes, leading to the natural assumption that she’s Owens’ wife)…

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One, two, three, he’s a killer (gunning Sam Todd in the back as he makes a break for a hidden rifle…and enjoying it)…

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One, two, three and he’s asking Zimmerman if he should “take care” of Owens, too…

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It’s a truly difficult performance: A subtle portrayal of an unsubtle man–constantly showing the audience what the people in the story know and leaving both the audience and the story wondering just how far he’ll go.

Along with everything else it is–western, noir, psychological study of men and women under pressure, meditation on good and evil–Rawhide is a horror film, one in which Tevis’s cankerous soul, rather than his comical body (made up of Elam’s then-unknown, now-iconic elements: slew-footed walk, rubbery lips, wall eye), represents the unseen monster. His almost childish delight in his own villainy reinforces his lack of moral judgment. But that shouldn’t be mistaken for a lack of a child’s ready cunning, even tact. There’s a particularly tense scene (Rawhide has a lot of scenes that seem particularly tense until the next one comes along…it’s also a thriller) the stolen kitchen knife Tom Owens has been using the hack through the adobe wall in an attempt to reach a pistol Vinnie Holt has hidden under the water trough during the takeover has slipped through the hole. Vinnie takes the baby for a walk in order to retrieve it, only to be stalked by Tevis, who has already tried to force himself on her once. By now, the long night that consumes most of the plot….

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Has turned into day…

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And,naturally, the kid does what kids do…Picks the knife right up….and hands it right over.

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“Busted,” Tevis says, as he takes the knife from her, noticing its broken tip. “Busted kid!…I love kids.”

And, one, two, three, he proves it…

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He proves it to the extent that you think he might possess at least one streak of hidden decency. If he doesn’t convince Miss Holt (watch Hayward’s eyes stay the same, no matter what he does), he might at least convince you. It’s left open to the imagination whether this genial, false front might have just enough truth in it to serve as a some kind of final civilizational check against the man we’ve already seen as card, killer, lech, and…one, two, three…coward…

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Elam keeps all of this in play and, as the movie goes on, he increasingly keeps all of it in play at once. You can understand how Zimmerman keeps confidently turning his back on Tevis the coward, even as you keeping saying only a crazy man would turn his back on a man who can be all those other things….at once.

Sixth billed or not, it’s Elam’s Tevis who provides the thread of terror that ties the film together. He’s not in the scene, not visible on screen, here…

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or here….

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or here….

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or here…

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or here…

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or even here…

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But, from his first close-up, he’s present. He’s the reason the people who have seen him know they won’t get out of this alive unless they kill him and he’s the reason we know the people who haven’t seen him won’t be allowed to leave if he suddenly becomes something worse than a figment of their imagination.

This man is only looking to get out of this with his own skin…

NVE00129This man is only following orders…

NVE00181and even this man, fully worthy of his own post, only wants to have his orders obeyed so he can grab the gold that will let him disappear back into the world…

NVE00153Even he might, at a far stretch, be reasoned with. In order for Rawhide to run on maximum fuel, though, there needs to be one man for whom reason doesn’t enter into the equation. Tevis is the card, the killer, the coward, the lover of children. And he’s that man beyond reason, beyond anything and everything civilization is built to resist and contain. In one sense, Rawhide is really the story of whether he will be able to manipulate his ever-changing masks fast and furiously enough to keep his fellow outlaws from killing him before his absence of reason dooms them all. The film’s final success depends entirely on his being able to convince us that he’s capable of it. That the man seen here…

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and here…

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and here….

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and here…

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and here…

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will finally…one….

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two….

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three…NVE00310

last long enough to give himself the chance to say, “I’m boss now!”

And, when he does, it has to be credible that, having become “boss” not through strength but weakness, he will, within mere seconds and to his own genuine surprise, be boss of nothing. That, in finally seizing control, he’s unleashed a chaos he couldn’t predict and can’t control.

Gratz will need to be killed…One, two, three…

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Yancy will skedaddle…one, two, three…

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The greenhorn, Tom Owens, will be forced to find out what he’s made of…one, two, three…

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a child will crawl through a hole too big for the adults who have lost track of her in the panic and confusion and wander among the unhobbled horses…one, two, three…

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Vinnie Holt will wake up…and go searching…one, two, three….

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and Tevis, caught like a rat in a trap, literally pinned down behind a woodpile as the stage approaches…one, two, three….

NVE00329 NVE00351 NVE00356will find a way to turn his weakness, his rejection of civilization, into a horrifying, barbarous strength…one….

NVE00370 two…

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three…

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before civilization reaches its last line of defense…a woman defending her family, even if she’s just a tough saloon girl and that “family” consists of a child who isn’t hers, and a man she met the day before.

One…

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three…

NVE00391I’ve seen Rawhide at least twenty times and I’ll never get tired of watching it. It offers a fine director (Hathaway), a great screenwriter (Dudley Nichols), two magnetic stars (Power and Hayward), and a fantastic ensemble cast, all at their very best in the Golden Age of Hollywood’s (or just the world’s) deepest and finest example of that silly word “genre.”

But the reason I’ve watched it so often–and will never tire of it–is for the chance to see this man die…One…

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two…

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three…

NVE00390So that these three people might live…

NVE00393In the hopes that the one world we have will carry on just a little while longer….

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and be worth living in.

THE LAST TEN WESTERNS I WATCHED…(I Watch Westerns: Take Three)

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Machree comes to me, and I start watching westerns. The last few weeks were kind of odd in that none of the westerns I watched were by Ford, Hawks, Mann or Boetticher, so I thought it might make a fun post reinforcing my occasional off-hand suggestion that the genre is bottomless. Here’s a look:

April 27–Rimfire (1949, B. Reeves Eason, First Viewing)

rimfire2The essence: An innocent man is wrongly convicted of card-sharping in a “trial by acclamation” and subsequently hanged. (For card-sharping? Yep!) His ghost–or someone channeling it–wanders about, gunning for those who convicted him, offing them with solid gold bullets and dropping deuces and fours on the corpses. A Secret Service man, tracking the gold while he works under cover as a local deputy, tries to catch him between attempts at wooing the local blonde. That’s for starters. Is that enough to overcome indifferent acting by minor period stars, jittery direction and a choppy story-line with more subplots than War and Peace? I would never presume to judge. Each of us must find our own level in these matters. I wouldn’t be surprised, though, if Ian Fleming had this floating around in his subconscious. And I’d bet money Sergio Leone did.

April 26–Little Big Horn (1951, Charles Marquis Warren, First Viewing)

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This actually came in a cheapie double with Rimfire and the contrast couldn’t be starker. The basic story is based on a historical incident and involves a scout patrol which comes across signs that the Sioux are lying in wait for an unsuspecting General Custer. The movie consists of the patrol’s attempt to reach Custer in time. Of course you know they won’t, but it doesn’t matter because the real story is a truly complex study of male honor. Additionally, as a representation of the ethos of the U.S. Cavalry, it stands with John Ford’s famous trilogy and Ernest Haycox’s fine novel Bugles in the Afternoon. John Ireland and Lloyd Bridges, two actors who rarely got enough screen time, get plenty here and make the most of it. Neither man was ever better. The great Marie Windsor is sadly underused, but even that is a small quibble. A real find.

April 25–Rawhide (1951, Henry Hathaway, Umpteenth Viewing)

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Perfect. Along with Key Largo, one of my two favorite films using a common plot: innocents trapped by violent men waiting for an “event.” The setting here is a lonely stage stop. The event is an impending stage robbery. The cast is perfect, the plot unbreakable, the direction, by old pro Hathaway, taut as a piano wire. The denouement features a tension-filled “child in danger” sequence that’s on a level with Battleship Potemkin or Small Change and more fully integrated than either. (Note: I watched this in preparation for an upcoming blogathon where I’ll take a closer look at Jack Elam’s villain. The role was his career maker so watch for further thoughts here.)

April 24–The Last of the Mohicans (1992, Michael Mann, Third Viewing)

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Fenimore Cooper seems a natural for the movies. But this, likely the best adaptation of his work, is far more of a chore than it needs to be (though admittedly less of a chore than the thirties’ version with Randolph Scott). Mann shrouded the Fort William Henry battle scenes in an impenetrable darkness, only occasionally caught either the beauty or the mystery of the Appalachians and evidently convinced his female stars they were playing the Bronte sisters without the comedy. Past that, you have a depressingly inappropriate modernist score, Natty Bumppo transformed into “Nathaniel Poe,” perhaps so Daniel Day-Lewis can play him as a natural vessel for the Method and various English-actor types who deliver their lines as if they are simultaneously passing kidney stones.  Moderately worthwhile for Wes Studi’s definitive turn as Magua, a good surrender scene between the commanding French and English officers, and some occasionally haunting scenery that proves you can’t really turn off Appalachia’s beauty and mystery no matter how hard you try. (Note: I go back and forth on whether Drums Along the Mohawk, the Walter Edmonds novel, which shares its time and place with Cooper’s most famous novels and was filmed by John Ford in the late thirties, is really a western. But Cooper invented the form and nailed most of its elements in place. For whatever reason I have no such qualms about the Leatherstocking tales.)

April 23–The Last Hunt (1956, Richard Brooks, First Viewing)

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A brooding tale of the last days of the buffalo hunters. Robert Taylor takes a rare turn as a villain and he’s fine, though I couldn’t help feeling the movie might have been even better if he and Stewart Granger (who carried a tinge of self-contempt in his bones that came out of his eyes when he put on a cowboy hat) had switched places. The best performance in a solid cast is from Lloyd Nolan as an aging buffalo skinner. The plot is unusually existential. Civilization is not at stake. It’s barely felt. In that respect, it’s more noir than western. In one other respect it’s pure western: Death is real, right down to the last, genuinely chilling scene.

April 21–Drum Beat (1954, Delmer Daves, First Viewing)

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Alan Ladd as an Indian fighter trying to make peace among his enemies, in this case the Modocs of the Pacific Northwest, on orders from General Grant (played, not badly, but rather improbably by Hayden Rorke, who would make his last mark a decade later as the forever flummoxed base psychiatrist in I Dream of Jeannie). A bit staid, but, as one might expect with Delmer Daves at the helm,  it certainly has its moments, not a few of them provided by a very young Charles Bronson as the never-surrender Modoc war chief. Ladd is his usual fine, laconic self, but, a mere three years after Shane, he looks twenty years older in a part that might have been better served by his younger, more energetic self. Worthwhile for fans of Daves, Ladd or Bronson.

April17–Fury at Showdown (1957, Gerd Oswald, First Viewing)

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This one gets where it’s going. There is no especially striking aspect, but the story is a good one (good brother/bad brother, with bad brother trying to straighten up for his brother’s sake) and it’s well executed. Best performance is by Nick Adams, a James Dean/Elvis associate who has never impressed me anywhere else. John Derek is good enough as the lead. I can see why somebody thought he might be a star and I can see why he didn’t make it, though I’m sure I never would have guessed he would eventually be mostly famous for marrying exceptionally beautiful women.

April 17–Along Came Jones (1945, Stuart Heisler, Second Viewing)

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Gary Cooper spoofing himself. I hadn’t revisited this one in years and, upon doing so, I was reminded why there was no particular urgency. Cooper’s fine, but he’s saddled with an out-of-her-element Loretta Young and a script that frequently ambles when it should gallop. Still good for a few laughs, especially when Cooper’s hayseed is sparring with the ever reliable William Demarest. But, with Nunnally Johnson scripting, there was a chance for much more. A bit of a missed opportunity.

April 12–Roughshod (1949, Mark Robson, First Viewing)

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Nifty. I acquired it strictly for the purpose of investigating whether Gloria Grahame’s essence would translate to a western. It does. She’s superb and, more to the point, she’s Gloria Grahame. Oh, there’s a good story, too: Hookers…er, “showgirls,” with and without hearts of gold, try to survive any way they can while traveling from the town they’ve been kicked out of to the town where their dreams will come true (in California, of course). It’s well directed and, excepting Robert Sterling’s stolid but uninspiring presence in the lead, superbly played. Claude Jarman, Jr., one of the period’s finest child actors, is especially good in a part that could have gone wrong a hundred ways. And, after all that? Gloria Grahame is in it. She’s superb and she’s Gloria Grahame. So it’s like every other movie she was in where she was herself: A Gloria Grahame movie. There’s a reason they put her up front on the poster even if they billed her second on screen and fourth in the advertising. I might watch it again tonight.

April 11–Garden of Evil (1954, Henry Hathaway, Fourth Viewing)

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This one has grown on me. I liked it well enough when I first encountered it a few years ago. Watching it about once a year since, it’s gotten better every time. At this point, I’m almost ready to move it to the very first rank. Susan Hayward juggles a dying husband and the four hard men she’s hired to save both him and the fortune he’s excavated from a gold mine deep in Apache country. There’s a powerhouse cast, all in top form: Hayward, Gary Cooper, Richard Widmark, Hugh Marlowe, Cameron Mitchell, Mexican star Victor Manuel Mendoza and a red hot, if too-briefly seen, Rita Moreno. It winds and winds, rather like the mountain trails the plot traverses. That might be what deceived me into thinking it was a little slow the first time around. The more i watch, though, the deeper it gets. The climactic action sequences are of a high order. The final line is classic. And did I mention that, in a western, death actually hurts? That might be because, in the westerns Hollywood used to make, life was never merely existential or programmatic. Not even when they tried.

WHAT IMPRESSED ME THIS WEEK (PERCEPTION AND REALITY…BANG, BANG, SHOOT, SHOOT)

I wonder what kind of movie people expected to see in the late forties when they gazed upon this:

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A woman’s picture (i.e., romantic melodrama) with a western setting maybe?

Tyrone Power playing a bad guy, menacing Susan Hayward? (He certainly looks closer to raping her than sweeping her off her feet in this image.)

A remake of Duel in the Sun?

I don’t know, of course, but I find it hard to believe this would have prepared anybody for the film they would actually see, which is a taut, no-nonsense little western that has stood the test of time with a lot less strain than most of the period’s serious art (in film or elsewhere), and is better represented by this (with Jack Elam, playing an actual predator):

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or this (a love, which might just be lasting, growing from shared hard experience rather than grand passion):

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Though, to be honest, if all you wanted to do was get me in a theater, you could have had me at this:

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And you could have really had me at this:

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I mean, okay, I probably would have wanted to see it, even if it was about what the poster would lead me to believe. But, jeez, don’t the suits ever know anything!

 

THOSE WOMEN OUT WEST….ALWAYS GETTIN’ IN THE WAY! (I Watch Westerns: Special Edition)

“In fact we always throw a woman into the story, because without a woman, a western wouldn’t work. Even though she isn’t necessary, everyone appears to be convinced that you cannot do without a woman. But as soon as you get to fighting against the Indians, or to the chase scenes, or when the heroes discover the traitor, then the woman gets in your way. So then you have to come up with a clever trick and send her somewhere so she won’t be in your way, and you won’t need to film her. It’s sad to say, but women do not have much importance in westerns…On the other hand, maybe someone will make a western some day with a woman as the main character.”

(Source: “Interview With Anthony Mann,” conducted by Charles Bitsch and Claude Chabrol for Cahiers du Cinema, March 1957 and reprinted in the booklet accompanying the Criterion Collection’s release of The Furies)

Well, with all due respect to one of my favorite directors (and one of the greatest western directors) it was hardly as bad as all that!

It’s true women weren’t usually leads in westerns, but Mann himself had, for instance, seven years prior to this interview, made The Furies, in which Barbara Stanwyck–being, you know, Barbara Stanwyck–had not exactly shrunk into the background just because she had top billing and the most screen time and was the script’s central character and all.

And as for them “getting in the way,” when the going got heavy? Well, I guess that was sort of a rule, but I could point to a lot of exceptions.(My favorite being Susan Hayward’s sharpshooting at the end of Rawhide–beautiful because it comes straight out of her character even though we’ve never seen her with a rifle in her hand before that moment–Jack Elam might have looked surprised at having that twitch in his eyelid permanently stilled but there’s no reason we should be!)

Still, while Mann’s expressed view may have amounted to a kind of selective amnesia, it was and is–all evidence to the contrary–a common one.

Too bad, because, outside of what used to be called “women’s pictures,” actual women (as opposed to the admittedly marvelous fantasy creatures favored by the makers of screwball comedy, musicals , biblical epics, film noir and Li’l Abner movies) played a more significant role in westerns than in any other major Hollywood genre.

If we’ve mostly forgotten their vital presence, it’s probably because we don’t think we need their kind any more.

Since I beg to differ–and since I need to update my file of self-defining things–I’m listing a countdown of my five favorite examples out of a potential hundred or so (with accompanying introductory and valedictory shots):

5) Gail Russell as Annie Greer in 7 Men From Now (1956: Budd Boetticher, director)–Quite probably the most affectless and unassuming performance ever given by a strikingly beautiful woman in a Hollywood film. Russell’s own inherent shyness and troubled life–which had very much left its mark on that beautiful face by then–probably worked in her favor here, even as it had almost certainly kept her from major stardom elsewhere. One wonders if the brief time she had left might have been lengthened if more people had noticed.

All in a day's work...

All in a day’s work!

After the bodies have stopped falling.

After the bodies have stopped falling.

4) Angie Dickinson as “Feathers,” (aka “The Girl,” aka “The Lady,” aka “The Lady She Did Not Go!”) in Rio Bravo (1959: Howard Hawks, director)–The Hawksian woman–greatest of all Hollywood’s femme fantasies–improbably and indelibly humanized.

I think we might be in a Howard Hawks movie...

I think we might be in a Howard Hawks movie…

Yes...yes we are.

Yes…yes we are!

3) Claire Trevor as Dallas in Stagecoach (1939: John Ford, director)–The epitome of turning a shop-worn cliche (in this case “the hooker with a heart of gold”) into flesh and blood, maybe because she did the best job of showing that the heart wasn’t made of gold but of pain and fear. The Oscar waited down the line, for some year when Vivien Leigh and Hattie McDaniel weren’t performing miracles in Gone With the Wind. But Ford’s single-handed resuscitation of the western as an art form could never have worked all the way through without her.

Shamed in sunlight...

Shamed in sunlight…

Redeemed in darkness.

…Redeemed in darkness.

2) Kim Darby as Mattie Ross in True Grit (1969: Henry Hathaway, director)–Darby played Mattie Ross, one of the great prickly pears in American fiction, as though Charles Portis rather than Hollywood convention should be the prevailing authority on the subject. (Pick to click: “If I smelled as bad as you, I wouldn’t live near people.” But there are oh, so many.) Boy has she been slagged for it, especially in light of Hailee Steinfeld’s very fine, if rather comfortingly modern, take in the 2010 remake. Boy are people wrong. Among the dozens of reviews I read when the newer version hit theaters, only one–by the conservative critic James Bowman–bothered to point out that Darby was much more convincing than Steinfeld when taken as the frontier woman Mattie Ross is supposed to be. (Granted Steinfeld wasn’t always helped by the newer script, which, among other things, has Mattie professing ignorance of what horses eat!) Out of Darby’s many adroit touches, my own favorite is the arm-swinging walk she used to hold up against John Wayne in long shots. Yeah, it was Mattie Ross to a “T,” but I’ve also often wondered how many of the great thespians Wayne routinely dominated in such shots over the years wished they had thought of that.

Old maidhood awaits...

Old maidhood awaits…

...Not without its memories.

…Not without its memories.

1) Vera Miles as Hallie Stoddard in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962: John Ford, director)–Not just one of the great gender/genre performances but one of the great performances period and, as almost goes without saying, she’s received scant thanks for it. All she had to do, for starters, was hold her own–playing twenty-something and fifty-something–in a western that had John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart and Lee Marvin all at the very top of their considerable games. She made that look easy (and made it look easy in that particular way that allows many people to assume that it could only look so easy if it really was easy). Then she had to make it her character’s movie without resorting to any obvious scene-stealing (not so much because anyone would have cared–though they might have–as because such obviousness would have fatally unbalanced the story). After all that, at the very end, she had to deliver the “Aren’t you proud?” speech in such a way that the answer would remain naggingly ambiguous, forever reminding us that the value of the past will always be determined by what we make of the future–while leaving room for those who insist on “knowing” to make up their own minds. And yes, she made that look easy, too. Ever gallant, Hollywood rewarded her by providing that all her best future roles be TV show murderesses and Disney wives.

Age...

Age…

...to youth

…into youth

And youth...

And youth…

...to age.

…into age.

Please feel free to add your own…Like I say there are many to choose from!