Bad Day at Black Rock

Bad Day at Black Rock is the best western I’ve seen in ages.

It’s the 1950s.  A one-armed man (Spencer Tracy) gets off a train in Black Rock, a dusty town somewhere in the Mojave Desert.  It’s the first time anyone’s gotten off the train in Black Rock for years, and people there don’t cotton to strangers.  Lee Marvin doesn’t like him.  Ernest Borgnine doesn’t like him.  Robert Ryan doesn’t like him.  They invite him to leave.  He declines.  And away we go.

Bad Day at Black Rock succeeds because it’s a slow burn.  It works a quiet tension between Tracy and the people of the town, one that winds more and more tightly as Tracy penetrates to the town’s mysteries, learns just why he’s not wanted.  As the film progresses and we learn more about Tracy and Black Rock, we find ourselves shutting out our world and plunging into its.  The film is so immersive, so fascinating, so tense that we lose track of time.  It’s brilliant.

There’s more going on here than another good thriller, however.  Nevertheless, I’m going to keep mum about it.  If you don’t know Black Rock’s secrets, I don’t want to give you a hint.  If you do, well then, you know.