Fort Apache

John Ford’s Fort Apache is a great movie about a bad commanding officer.

Henry Fonda is a lieutenant colonel in the cavalry, assigned to command Fort Apache.  It’sa dusty outpost in Utah’s Monument Valley (which is actually Navajo country, but that’s not important right now).  He feels he’s been sidelined to a posting beneath his dignity, mentions his “years serving in Europe,” and refers to Civil War generals as old friends.  This leads us to believe that he missed the War Between the States, perhaps serving as an attache somewhere in the Old World while the new one tore itself apart.  He’s steeped in military history, has a powerful sense of decorum and tradition, and must have thrived in the courts of Europe.  The Army dropped the ball in sending him to the Frontier.

In one of his first official conversations, he learns that his senior enlisted leader (Ward Bond) has been on-station for some time, had been advanced to Temporary Major in the war, won the Medal of Honor, and saw his son graduate from West Point.  In other words, he learns that his senior enlisted leader is a personal and professional success, as well as an expert on the local conditions.  He dismisses the man like a servant.  Naturally, the SEL’s son is a lieutenant in the command and a fine young officer.  Fonda forbids his daughter (Shirley Temple, growing up nicely), from seeing him because he’s “of a different class.”  How European.

Shortly thereafter, he meets one of his captains, a young John Wayne.  The captain has the respect of his men, a diplomatic relationship with the local Indians, and an expert knowledge of the terrain.  When Wayne questions some of his orders, Fonda interprets it as a threat to his status. 

I am here to tell you that when you have a top-performing SEL and hard-charging junior officers, you are in the catbird seat as a commanding officer.  These people are assets to cultivate, not burdens to force into line.

Fort Apache isn’t The Caine Mutiny with horses, however.  While it uses the same basic premise of a bad CO to create tension, Fonda’s lieutenant colonel is a bad CO not because he’s a coward or an incompetent, but because the Army did him a disservice in plunking him in the middle of the Indian Wars with no training and no time to get up to speed on life on the frontier.  The men of his command do their best to back him, to advise him, and to carry out his orders, but what he really needed was a couple of years as somebody’s second-in-command.

This is great stuff.  I thought Fort Apache was going to be a seige movie, with Fonda and Wayne fending off hordes of attackers in an increasingly desperate attempt to hold their fort.  Nope.  This is a movie about Fort Apache and its denizens as they adjust to their new CO and the constant challenges and perils of life in Indian country.  When a fight does come, it comes for reasons we understand, reasons grounded in personalities and conflicts that flow from character.  We care about Fonda because he isn’t a jerk, he’s just a guy who’s way out of his element.  We care about Wayne because he’s John Wayne and there’s a reason why he’s one of history’s greatest movie stars: the guy radiates trustworthiness and competence.  In the context of this film, he’s a man you’d be proud to command and happy to follow.  We care about all these people because this is an observational film, one that puts us at home in Fort Apache’s insular society and gives us a stake in the well-being of its people.

This is a great movie, one that looks fantastic (John Ford shooting in Monument Valley: I mean, c’mon), tells a great story, and even serves as an object lesson for military officers like me.  I’m only sorry it took me this long to see it.

Rango

Rango is a great Western.  It’s a great kids’ movie.  It’s just plain great.

This beautifully animated film both ribs and pays homage to the Western, and particularly the spaghetti Western.  It’s a tale of an evil boss and a new sheriff, and it references enough classics of the genre to keep the aficionado in deep clover.  More importantly, it tells its own Western story, and it does so well enough to capture the imaginations of children for whom it represents their first exposure to the genre.

Johnny Depp voices the titular Rango, a chameleon who dreams of adventure and heroism.  When he wanders into an Old West town populated with (beautifully rendered) desert creatures, he tries to blend in.  After all, that’s what chameleons do.    Next thing he knows, he’s the sheriff.  Now, if he can only figure out how to work that gun …

And away we go.  Rango has gunslingers, saloons, jailbreaks, and even a plucky belle struggling to save her ranch.  It also has great music, funny jokes, and the most beautiful animation I’ve enjoyed since Kung Fu Panda.  I loved it, my wife loved it, and my kids loved it.  Now, if only I can get ‘em to watch Stagecoach.

The Furies

Only a fool or a hero would name his ranch The Furies.  T.C. Jeffords is both.

New Mexico, 1875ish: T.C. Jeffords (Walter Huston) rules over one of the biggest ranches in the territory.  He’s larger than life.  He’s a hero on the range.  And he’s spending money faster than he’s making it.  His daughter, Vance, is unamused.

His daughter is Barbara Stanwyck.  She loves him.

But

you

do

not

mess

with

Barbara Stanwyck.

Which is the film’s strength and its weakness.

See, here’s a movie that takes these two iconic actors, Huston and Stanwyck, and sets them up in this great conflict: he’s promised her the ranch, but he’s burning through its resources so fast that the promise is turning empty.  She loves him, but she has to fight him to save his legacy and save him from himself.  And it’s great stuff, it really is.  The Furies gives us two smart and capable people and lets them have at it, and it’s here that it really shines.

But The Furies tries to have it both ways.  See, it gives Stanwyck this love interest who does things like slap her to put her in her place.  She accepts this, which seems totally out of character both for the young Ms. Jeffords and the actress playing her.  When she kissed this guy after his assault, my jaw hit the floor.  I expected her to put a knife in his gut – or, at the very least, swindle him out of house and home.  I mean, this is Barbara Stanwyck we’re talking about, here!  But no.  Later, there’s some business about the guy telling her that she’s going to shut her mouth and do what she’s told, she accepts it, and I sat there agog.

I’m not saying this isn’t a good story.  I’m certainly not saying there aren’t some great things here.  I’m not even saying that this isn’t a reasonable portrayal of how someone of Stanwyck’s character’s age and background might behave.  I’m saying that, given what I (admittedly, as much a prisoner of my time and culture as the next guy) know about women, it’s inconceivable to me that a woman like Stanwyck’s Vance Jeffords would respond to abuse as she does in this film.

So enjoy the foolish hero.  Enjoy the resourceful heroine.  Wince at the cavalier attitude toward domestic violence.  This is a flawed picture, but it works nonetheless.  The Furies is a damn fine western.

Ride the High Country

RIDE THE HIGH COUNTRY is one of the best movies I've seen all year. I'm having trouble figuring out where to begin writing about it.

Let's start with the location. California's Inyo National Forest is one of the most beautiful places in the world, particularly in the fall, when the aspen groves turn luminous yellow. This is the high country for which the film is named, and director Sam Peckinpah and DP Lucien Ballard shoot it so vividly, so marvelously, that I could
practically smell the sagebrush and feel the bite in the air.

Next, we'll roll into the story. The brief summary, "Old friends ride into the mountains to bring back a shipment of gold, but greed threatens to tear them apart," sounds so TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE that it led me to pass this film by. But there's so much more to this film than that summary, so much more unexpected grace and brutality, so much more humor and truth, that a summary does it scant justice. This is a film about who we are and who we want to be; it's the stuff of great drama, and it's realized greatly.

That realization can't happen without performances to give it life, and Randolph Scott and Joel McCrea anchor this movie by giving us men who've been heroes and scoundrels and who may have one or more switches still inside them. Their lives play out in a world that's moving on, and these men need to learn to move on with it, if they can. Mariette Hartley and Ron Starr represent the new generation, people with lots of mistakes still to make, and it's a pleasure to watch their characters get their feet under them.

This is a beautiful, exciting film. I didn't know what was going to happen next, but I came to care about these people and invest in their choices. I made time to see RIDE THE HIGH COUNTRY, and it was time well spent.

The Assassination of Jessie James by the Coward Robert Ford

THE ASSASSINATION OF JESSIE JAMES BY THE COWARD ROBERT FORD ("ASSASSINATION," hereafter), is what you get when you put the director of photography in charge of editing. Here's a movie filled with beautiful images that linger, linger, and finally overstay their welcome. ASSASSINATION is an interesting movie. It's a beautiful movie. It could have been a great movie if it had just moved the heck along.

Casey Affleck plays Robert Ford, a man who gives Frank James the creeps just by being around, and who creeps him more the more he is around. Unfortunately, he creeps us out, too, making the seventeen hours the movie spends with the guy remarkably uncomfortable. Robert is, um, fond of Jessie in a creepily warped hero worship / deeply closeted homosexual kind of way. But Robert makes the ultimate mistake for a hero worshipper: he gets too close to the object of his admiration and learns that his hero is just a man, after all.

In the case of Brad Pitt's Jessie James, his hero isn't just a man, but an increasingly unstable psychotic who represents a danger to himself and everyone around him. Hell, by the time Ford takes his shot, it's a no-brainer. And in the moral world of the James gang, a world in which shooting a man in the back is just another day at the office, it makes perfect sense. And that works, and Pitt and Affleck are both quite good (as is the underappreciated Sam Rockwell as Robert's older brother Charley), and everything's fine, but the movie is just so damn slow.

This is a picture whose sunsets seem like they're in real time. Caterpillars mature into butterflies faster than ASSASSINATION moves along. Everything is so stately, so operatic, and for what? The murder of some other murderer? Maybe you have "get" the romance of the James Gang to "get" this movie, but all I saw was a bunch of thugs being led by a charismatic thug who eventually got what was coming to him.

No, thanks.

3:10 to Yuma

3:10 TO YUMA is both a fine western and a sad commentary on the current state of the western.

James Mangold has crafted a fine western with an extraordinary cast, featuring two of the finest leading men in pictures today: Christian Bale and Russell Crowe. The men sell antagonism, respect, and something approaching friendship, and I enjoyed watching the development of their relationship over the course of the film. The film itself has nearly everything one can expect from a western, including evil water barons, post- Civil War hostility, Apaches on the raid, and the impending changes brought on by rail travel. It also features some decent western stuntwork, but it's this very stuntwork that makes 3:10 TO YUMA a sad commentary on the current state of its genre. Where are the horses trained to fall and tumble? Where are the stuntmen trained to ride them? For that matter, where are the stuntmen trained to hop from horse to horse, or carry out any of the other feats we've come to expect as followers of the genre? I think that 3:10 TO YUMA tried to provide us with some of those thrills; but its genre has seemed unprofitable for so long that modern stuntmen simply aren't building the skills necessary to pull off first-class western stunts.

And that's too bad, because the western genre still has so much to offer. 3:10 TO YUMA, while a remake, stays fresh, compelling, and exciting up to the very end. Though it stumbles with a leaden confession late in the game, it delivers fine western action and he-man pathos throughout. It's more TOMBSTONE than OPEN RANGE, and that's ok. Here's a movie that just wants to entertain us, and it succeeds.

{hesitates ... hesitates ... aw, to heck with it}

Catch this movie.

The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada

BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA so fully informs THE THREE BURIALS OF MELQUIADES ESTRADA that a "required prerequisite" notice should have been posted on theater doors. This is not to say that THREE BURIALS steals from GARCIA - not at all; but it shares GARCIA's sense of place, its unblinking observation of the human condition, and (with variations) its most important prop. It's the kind of movie Peckinpah might have made if Peckinpah still believed in redemption.

Tommy Lee Jones, who directs from a script by Guilllermo Arriaga, plays a foreman on a South Texas ranch. He hires Julio Cedillo (Estrada) and comes first to respect him, then befriend him. When Barry Pepper's high-strung INS agent mistakenly shoots the young cowboy and the incident is swept under the rug, Jones takes action in the only way that makes sense to him. What follows is a Western by people who "get" Westerns. The cowboys here don't pose silently for aesthetic effect, a la BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN. They keep their mouths shut because you don't flap your yap in the desert. The landscape is integral to the tale, but 3B isn't about gawking at the horizon. This movie gets personal in the way only film can - it puts you right into the hearts of its characters - not by having them tell you how they feel, but by making you feel the same way.

GARCIA shares this film's versimilitude, and it covers much of the same ground, but there's a crucial difference: where GARCIA is about a man trying to believe in himself, 3B is about one who never thinks to stop believing, perhaps with tragic consequences. Nevertheless, the latter and the former exist in very much the same world. I'll leave it for you to decide which ending you prefer.