Into town the stranger rode,
No history or name.
Revenge was due, a debt was owed,
And yet no other came.
All in town their worry showed
But covered up their shame,
Remembering the episode
For which they were to blame.
The still and sullen streets forebode
A secret, savage aim.
Into town the stranger rode,
And justice did the same.
________________

MPAA rating: R

For someone who loves movies, I do seem to have some glaring blind spots when it comes to expanding my repertoire. I’m a stranger to Tarantino and zombie films (though I don’t really care to be acquainted), and I’ve just recently begun exploring the most recent James Bond, Oliver Stone, and classic Hitchcock. One actor/director I know more by reputation than experience is Clint Eastwood. High Plains Drifter is actually the first western I’ve seen of his, and it confirmed why he is such a commanding screen presence.

Drawing from Eastwood’s experience with spaghetti westerns, High Plains Drifter also borrows certain elements from the likes of Seven Samurai and High Noon. Like Seven Samurai and its American remake The Magnificent Seven, the small desert town of Lago, named for the oddly located lake bordering it, lives in fear of the return of vengeful bandits and looks to a skilled stranger for salvation. Like High Noon, the film builds to the inevitable showdown between the lone defender and the encroaching enemy. A key question that sets High Plains Drifter apart, though, is “Is the town worth saving?” The townspeople in Seven Samurai and High Noon were prone to ingratitude and fear, but the settlers of Lago sit upon a cruel secret that takes much of the sympathy out of their plight.

Eastwood has played many a tough guy for the ages, not least of which is the nameless Stranger who rides into town without a word, backed by Dee Barton’s spookily atmospheric score. When the Stranger proves his grit and his aim by killing Lago’s supposed defenders, the sheriff begs him to protect them, promising him anything he wants in return. Despite his distaste for the town, the Stranger agrees and proceeds to take full advantage of the open-ended offer, ordering free drinks, the entire hotel to himself, and other unreasonable demands that seem meant to punish the town as a whole. The film walks a fine line between the Stranger’s abuse and how deserving the town may be of it, crossing the line on occasion when he freely rapes two women, who unrealistically don’t seem to mind too much after the fact. Except for that needless exploitation, Eastwood’s Stranger proves to be a compellingly mysterious anti-hero, whose intentions for the town itself remain uncertain right to the end. When asked what comes after the showdown, he defiantly replies, “Then you live with it.”

Far from Eastwood’s first rodeo, High Plains Drifter is a brazen western that questions the decency of frontier folk. Aside from Eastwood, Billy Curtis plays his closest ally, the diminutive Mordecai who has also felt the town’s malice, and Richard Bull appears as a shopkeeper, a year before he played the owner of Oleson’s Mercantile on Little House on the Prairie. I can’t say how High Plains Drifter compares with Eastwood’s other westerns (yet), but it’s a somewhat haunting entry in the western genre that gives a whole new meaning to “painting the town red.”

Best line: (the Stranger, after an overdue assault from his rape victim) “Wonder what took her so long to get mad?”

Rank: List Runner-Up

© 2016 S. G. Liput
411 Followers and Counting

Easily my favorite western, True Grit is a story of perseverance and justice the likes of which I have yet to see in the genre. Based on Charles Portis’s 1968 novel, both the 1969 film and the 2010 remake have their strong points and are so similar that I had to include them together (same as my post for A Christmas Carol; the poem pretty much covers any version).

The 1969 True Grit has always been a staple in my house. As evidenced by his lone Best Actor Oscar win, John Wayne found his best role as larger-than-life, trigger-happy, one-eyed marshal and “fat old man” Rooster Cogburn. Kim Darby occasionally overacts, but she displays Mattie’s fierce resolve while remaining appropriately girlish. Many have decried Glen Campbell’s performance as LaBoeuf, criticism I believe he didn’t deserve. While he’s not what I would call a skilled actor, there’s nothing particularly distracting or dreadful about his performance. Besides, when you consider that Elvis Presley was the original choice for LaBoeuf, Campbell seems even more preferable. The Colorado scenery is stunning, and Rooster’s exhilarating charge against Ned Pepper’s gang is (or should be) as iconic a gunfight as any filmed.

As for the 2010 remake by the Coen brothers, it’s basically the same story with different actors, and the latter half from Mattie’s confrontation with Chaney to her rescue is more or less identical in both versions, though some earlier scenes were unnecessarily drawn out. While most of the events are perfectly recognizable, the film as a whole has a much more serious, pitiless, and…gritty tone. Though there is more language and violence, as I would expect from a modern-day remake, the Coens’ film also carries more Biblical messages and a melancholy score imbued with haunting hymns. Considering the often satirical and strange content of other Coen films, True Grit is one of their most restrained and sincere works, with mere glimpses of their comedic voice. Though I have not read the book, I’ve heard the remake is closer in tone and plot to Portis’s novel; the screenplay succeeds in reflecting both the author and the directors, with peculiarly worded dialogue like “I’m puzzled by this” and “You give out very little sugar with your pronouncements.”

My VC considers the 1969 True Grit sacred territory, like The Wizard of Oz or Gone with the Wind, a film that could never be matched by any remake. I, however, found the remake almost as good as the original. As excellent as Jeff Bridges is as Rooster Cogburn, with more uncouth ways and a more gravelly voice, John Wayne is untouchable and remains the main reason I prefer the first film. His delivery of lines like “Fill your hand, you son of a b****” carry so much more force and vitality than Bridges’. There’s a reason Wayne won Best Actor, while Bridges was only nominated (though he had won the previous year for Crazy Heart).

On the other hand, I prefer Matt Damon’s LaBoeuf over Glen Campbell’s; Damon gives him more personality, though his separations from Mattie and Rooster seemed unnecessary. Oscar nominee Hailee Steinfeld acts more mature as the 2010 Mattie, but she’s more or less on par with Darby, in my opinion. (It’s interesting to note that the role of the ill-fated Moon in the violent dugout scene seems to go to up-and-coming stars. Dennis Hopper played the boy in the original, and though Domhnall Gleeson wasn’t well-known in the 2010 version, he soon will be from his inclusion in J. J. Abrams’ Star Wars sequel next year.) Overall, both films boast an exemplary cast that put them on almost even footing.

The Coens’ film may be more artistic and realistic (the flat prairie setting is more as Oklahoma should look than the mountainous vistas of the original film), but the 1969 version is more enjoyable to watch. Even with the onscreen death of a major character, John Wayne’s greatest film ends on an uplifting “Yee haw” note rather than the somber narration of the remake and book. Both are excellent, but John Wayne tips the scale with the culminating performance of his career.

Best line from 1969: (Mattie) “You are too old and fat to be jumping horses.”  (Rooster, before proceeding to jump a fence) “Well, come see a fat old man some time!”

Best line from 2010: (Mattie’s narration, referring to Chaney’s crime) “You must pay for everything in this world, one way and another. There is nothing free except the grace of God.”

© 2014 S. G. Liput

265 Followers and Counting

A classic outlaw western, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid succeeds wholly because of its two stars. Butch and Sundance are thieving cowards who rob banks and meet a bloody end, but, unlike the very similar Bonnie and Clyde, the film makes them so likable that one can almost overlook their faults. Paul Newman brings great humor to Butch, the brains of the operation, and, as my VC says, “Robert Redford never looked so good” with that mustache. It’s easy to see why both of them are appealing to Etta, played by Katharine Ross from Shenandoah and The Graduate.

The Oscar-winning screenplay boasts stellar dialogue, perfected by the spot-on chemistry of Newman and Redford. Some say the film has jarring mood swings, but I appreciate how the filmmakers presented both the carefree moments of romance (the famous bicycle scene) and moments in which their lawless deeds come back to haunt them. The scenery is also stunning, as Butch and Sundance flee across it from the team of lawmen.

The mostly clean film also won Oscars for Best Song (“Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head”), Best Score, Best Cinematography, and the aforementioned Best Original Screenplay. It certainly deserved them, and my VC would have it even higher on her list. Still, I’m not a fan of antihero movies, even when the characters are so likable. That doesn’t change the fact that they’re criminals, who deserved the hounding and the violent end they met. Even so, the final scene of the two rushing outside to their deaths, guns ablaze, taps into the romantic, adventurous spirit that makes “cops and robbers” so much fun. I’d just hate to be the robbers.

Best line: (Butch) “Well, that ought to do it.” [whole train car blows up] (Sundance) “Think ya used enough dynamite there, Butch?”

Next: #175 – How to Train Your Dragon

© 2014 S. G. Liput

158 Followers and Counting