TSPDT placing: #623
Directed by: John Ford
Written by: John Ford (story) (uncredited), Patrick Ford, Frank S. Nugent (written by)
Starring: Ben Johnson, Joanne Dru, Harry Carey Jr., Ward Bond, Charles Kemper, Alan Mowbray, Hank Worden
By 1950, John Ford had already fully-developed the ideas and motifs that would form the core of his most successful Westerns. Always present, for example, is a strong sense of community, most poignantly captured in the Joad family of Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath (1940). Within these communities, even amid Ford's loftier themes of racism and the pioneer spirit, there's always room for the smaller human interactions, the minor friendships and romances that make life worth living. Wagon Master (1950) came after Ford had released the first two films in his "cavalry" trilogy – Fort Apache (1948) and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949) – and it covers similar territory, only without the military perspective and, more damningly, the strong lead of John Wayne. Ben Johnson and Harry Cary, Jr. are fine actors, but they feel as though they should be playing second-fiddle to somebody, and Ward Bond's cursing Mormon elder, while potentially a candidate for such a role, isn't given quite enough focus to satisfactorily fit the bill.
In Wagon Master, Ford seems so comfortable with his tried-and-tested Western formula that any character development is largely glossed over. Ben Johnson's romance with Joanne Dru is treated as an obligation more than anything else, and Harry Cary Jr's charming of a Mormon girl is so perfunctory as to be almost nonexistent in the final film, leaving one to ponder the survival of deleted scenes. Only in Charles Kemper's charismatic and shamelessly-villainous Uncle Shiloh does Ford try some different, and it works, even with his being surrounded by a troop of insufferably hammy slack-jawed yokels. Where Ford does succeed is in orchestrating the conglomeration of three distinct races of Americans – the values-orientated Mormoms, the easygoing horse-traders, the eccentric travelling showmen – into a cohesive community of pioneers looking towards a bright future. This apparent harmony is thrown into disarray by the arrival of Uncle Shiloh's gun-toting outlaws, who exploit the lawlessness of the Western frontier but ultimately lose out to the noble cowboys who "only ever drew on snakes." 
Ford reportedly considered Wagon Master among the favourite of his films, and perhaps this has something to do with the absence of big names like John Wayne or Henry Fonda. Armed only with his stock selection of usual players, Ford is able to generate a sense of community by avoiding placing focus on any one character, though most of the Mormom travellers still remain completely anonymous. Despite being undoubtedly well-made, I can't help feeling that this film only does well what other Ford pictures did even better: the terrific majesty of the the Western frontier was presented more beautifully in She Wore a Yellow Ribbon; the romances and friendly squabbles among community members took greater prominence in Fort Apache; the early relations with Native Americans, only hinted at here, were more thoroughly examined in The Searchers (1956); the bold pioneering spirit of the early settlers was explored more movingly (albeit by Henry Hathaway and George Marshall) in How the West Was Won (1962). Wagon Master is pure John Ford, but it isn't a landmark.
6.5/10
Currently my #15 film of 1950:
6) Destination Moon (Irving Pichel)
7) All About Eve (Joseph L. Mankiewicz)
8) The Asphalt Jungle (John Huston)
9) Gone to Earth (Michael Powell, Emeric Pressburger)
10) Panic in the Streets (Elia Kazan)
11) Stage Fright (Alfred Hitchcock)
12) Rashômon (Akira Kurosawa)
13) The Killer That Stalked New York (Earl McEvoy)
14) Armoured Car Robbery (Richard Fleischer)
15) Wagon Master (John Ford)
The surviving outlaws of the Old West – William Holden, Ernest Borgnine, Robert Ryan, Edmond O'Brien – cling to the tattered vestiges of their former ways, embracing an outdated code of "honour" that feels woefully inadequate in the modern world: they are "unchanged men in a changing land. Out of step, out of place, and desperately out of time." But unlike 'Ride the High Country,' which featured genre stalwarts Joel McCrea and Randolph Scott as washed-up Western heroes, none of the "Wild Bunch" ever were heroes. Having always lived on the dark side of the law, as wanted outlaws, how can these men possibly recover any sense of nobility? They do, indeed, march wordlessly across General Mapache's headquarters to reclaim their captive member, but only after passively watching him endure hours of torture. Is it guilt that prompts Pike Bishop to come to the aid of his companion? With the old Western heroes long dead, must it fall to its villains to display some sort of decency? Is that what our society has come to?
The stylisation of Sergio Leone (particularly 
Leone has stated that "the rhythm of the film was intended to create the sensation of the last gasps that a person takes just before dying." That most of his set-pieces end in a bloody shootout suggests the aptness of this analogy. However, like Leone says, the heart of his pictures is not to be found in the moment of death – however gratifying we may find it – but in the final gasps for air. Once Upon a Time in the West opens with an astonishing ten-minute prologue in which three armed outlaws (Woody Strode, Jack Elam and Al Mulock) impatiently await the arrival of a train. The minutes pass by almost without dialogue. In the sweltering heat, the men lazily brush away flies; a windmill creaks as it spins idly in the breeze; a telegraph machine chatters inside the railway station. This simple act of waiting, in less talented hands, could easily have been tedious, but Leone rejects the standard perceptions of time by allowing the viewer to immerse themselves in the canvas that he has just painted.
As in the director's previous effort, the film's main characters blur the line between "good" and "bad" (and "ugly"), but the clear villain of the piece is, memorably, Henry Fonda as Frank. His against-type performance is wonderful, not because it's a far cry from his usual persona, but because it isn't. Close your eyes, and you'll hear that same righteous drawl that spoke with such rectitude in 12 Angry Men (1957). But Juror #8 he certainly isn't; Fonda adds a nasty, sadistic sneer, and Leone focuses most closely on the actor's hypnotic blue eyes. It's almost frightening how Fonda's squeaky-clean persona can be corrupted so readily. Claudia Cardinale plays Jill McBain, a stunning widower who refuses to bow down to those who murdered her husband and his family. Morricone's score only has good things to say about Jill, but Leone appears to admire her precisely because she, like her male cohorts, is not a hapless innocent. A former prostitute, this lady from New Orleans has absolutely no qualms about sleeping with the enemy. No pride, only objectives – that's how you survive in the West.
Then there's the cast, of course. Jennifer Jones plays Pearl Chavez, a half-breed Injun who is invited to live on a respected Texas ranch after her father (Herbert Marshall) murders his unfaithful wife and her lover. Pearl's ethnicity is shamelessly exploited to perpetuate the stereotype that Native Americans inherently possess some sort of uncontrollable base sexuality; Pearl spends most of the film fighting to keep her clothes on, and she is instinctively drawn to Lewt (Gregory Peck), a downright bastard with almost adolescent sexual urges. Joseph Cotten plays the selfless McCanles brother, and Lillian Gish and Lionel Barrymore (probably the only Hollywood actor to carry on a prolific career from a wheelchair) are excellent as the owners of the ranch. The cast is rounded off nicely by Charles Bickford as a genial rancher, and Walter Huston, who hilariously overplays his role as a preacher ("The Sinkiller") and steals every scene. Indeed, most of the performers overplay their roles, perhaps recognising that the story (adapted from a novel by Niven Busch) would not work if played entirely straight.
What I found most interesting about Duel in the Sun is how, even as early as 1946, it subverted the traditional notions of honour and nobility that formed the backbone of the Western genre. Joseph Cotten's character remains the film's only decent male, and yet he is dismissed mid-way through the film, and must settle on marrying a woman who is far less sensuous and desirable than Pearl Chavez. The film's climax involves two lascivious lovers scrambling through the dirt to each other's arms, only seconds after mortally wounding each other with bullets (inspiring the film's derisive nickname "Lust in the Dust"). Their attraction is purely physical – Pearl is disgusted by Lewt's moral decadence, and yet is inexplicably drawn to his embrace, even after sealing his demise. If the film's intention was to present Pearl's struggle for acceptance into "honourable" white society, then she nevertheless ends the film as she started, stranded between conflicting instincts and emotions that she can't control. Her bid for nobility has failed. Perhaps this is the birth of the Revisionist Western.
WARNING: Plot and/or ending details may follow!!! [Paragraphs 3 + 4 Only]
What others have said:
Also recommended from director John Ford:
What others have said:
Cooper, aged 51 at the time of the film's release, won his second Oscar for his portrayal of Kane, an aging hero who finds that he simply can't run away from a confrontation, not so much because he wants to be heroic, but because he knows that he'll never be able to live with himself. As he marches across the dry, dusty roads of the small town – abandoned by those he considered his friends – Kane's ravaged features exhibit a sad loneliness, the pain of rejection and betrayal all too tragically evident on his face {Cooper was suffering from stomach ulcers and back pain at the time of filming, which presumably assisted the actor in demonstrating such pained emotions}. Also starring is the lovely Grace Kelly in only her second film role, and, though she isn't really given much to do, her mere presence is enough to add some warmth to the picture. The story itself unfolds almost in real-time {105 story minutes compared to 85 minutes of running time}, and Zinnemann exploits this to heighten the tension. The camera frequently cuts to a shot of the nearest clock, which steadily and inevitably ticks away towards noon, every second bringing Kane ever-so-closer to his moment of judgement.
High Noon proved one of the most influential Westerns of its time, and films such as Delmer Dave's 3:10 to Yuma (1957) surely could not have existed if not for its inspiration. However, and I suspect I'll be alone in this assessment, I consider the latter to be the superior picture, not because its better acted or directed, but simply because I felt that Dave did a finer job of drawing the odds against the film's hero. Both pictures achieve excellent suspense by continually keeping one eye fixated on the nearest time-piece, but High Noon lacks an intimidating villain for the audience to fear. Indeed, most of the running-time builds up towards Frank Miller's arrival, but MacDonald unfortunately fails to live up to our worst expectations. High Noon was Carl Foreman's final film before he was affected by the Hollywood blacklist, and many critics view the story as an allegory for the McCarthy era witch-hunts: Kane obviously represents the solitary, stoic American citizen who is unfairly abandoned by his friends and colleagues, and leaves the town as a lonely, embittered soul, disillusioned by the cold, dishonourable community that he had once called home.
Following the defeat of General Custer at the Battle of Little Bighorn, the American frontier is in disarray. Tribes of Native Americans – Cheyenne, Comanche, Apache – are forgetting their petty inter-tribal disputes and banding together in opposition to the invading settlers. Capt. Nathan Cutting Brittles, though somewhat reluctant to retire at such as crucial stage of the conflict, embarks on his final objective, though is hampered by the baggage of two women (Joanne Dru, Mildred Natwick) who must be evacuated before winter sets in. The film's storyline is somewhat inconsequential, never threatening to even approach the emotional depth of 'The Searchers,' and some of the film's events are almost incomprehensible to one who is ill-versed in American history and Westerns in general. However, Wayne's profound characterisation of Capt. Brittles forms the picture's core, and he is, indeed, astonishing in the subtle and thoughtful complexity that he brings to his character. The remaining, less-experienced players, such as Harry Carey Jr. and John Agar, aren't particularly memorable, but serve the story adequately and with presumably-sound authenticity. 
Fortunately, John Ford litters the rather lightweight story with an enjoyable amount of humour, compensating for the relative lack of emotional depth with sheer entertainment. Sgt. Quincannon (Victor McLaglen) provides most of the laughs, particularly during a drunken brawl sequence that sees him fending off seven able-bodied soldiers and still finding time to take another sip of whisky between swings. Also mildly amusing is the friction between lieutenants Flint Cohill and Ross Penell (Agar and Carey, Jr.), both of whom notice that Olivia Dandridge (Joanne Dru) is wearing a yellow ribbon, and hope that it is for them. The story's ending struck me as something of an anti-climax, even though, admittedly, it would have been downright arrogant for Ford to alter history. As the Native Americans congregate in preparation for a direct assault on their enemies, Brittles' stern conversation with Chief Pony That Walks (Chief John Big Tree) promises an incredible climactic battle of epic proportions. However, when John Wayne astutely manages to disrupt the planned attack by scattering the tribes’ horses, I couldn’t help feeling just a bit disappointed.
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Intertwined within this darkly-themed tale of obsession and prejudice is a somewhat awkwardly-placed romance between Martin and Laurie Jorgensen (Vera Miles), one that belongs in a lesser Western to this one. The selection of eccentric supporting characters, including those played by Ward Bond, Hank Worden and Ken Curtis, certainly provide some amusement for the audience, but ultimately detract from the murky themes that comprise the heart of the story, of Ethan’s endless search to retrieve his niece from the Comanches; or, otherwise, to purge her “pollution” through murder. As far as Weste
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