He's Got His Boots On The Wrong Feet: The Longest Day (1962)

I am a sucker for the big budget Hollywood spectacle film, particularly when Steven Soderbergh is afforded the chance to direct some of the biggest stars in a crime heist movie on three different occasions.  It is not every day, however, that I can actually sit down and enjoy these works, particularly since many of them are rather lengthy endeavors, necessitating a fair amount of screen time for the various performers.  When I do though the rewards are rather clear, the last example being How the West Was Won, a film so absolutely engaging and expansive, both narratively and literally in its use of Cinerama a work so captivating that it catapulted directly to the top of my favorite westerns of all time in the process.  To achieve the same sort of feat with a war film would seem a bit more daunting, particularly since it is predicated on depicting rather graphic elements, particularly when said film is set in and around the storming of the beaches of Normandy.  While my theory can really never be tested, I would like to formally posit that the deciding factor in the success of such grand Hollywood narratives, rife with all-star casts might be the figure of John Wayne, present in the aforementioned How the West Was Won, he too is featured prominently in 1962's The Longest Day, a work that is also made possible by the directorial efforts.  While the film seems to sell Wayne as the major figure, it also consists of a variety of other notable Hollywood leading men, such as Robert Mitchum, Henry Fonda and even features Sean Connery, who was then just becoming a star for his role as James Bond.  These cameos were all absolutely delightful, but the absolute piéce-de-résitence comes in the form of a rather brief appearance by Rod Steiger, who is by far one of my most adored of actors, mostly for his sleezy and slimy roles, although he plays it straight here.  This is a tangent I know, but it is worth noting.  The Longest Day at a runtime of just under three hours succeeds at telling a story of the scale of the days leading up to and immediate aftermath of D-Day, looking at all person involved, both allied and enemy, never forgetting to accept that such a depiction can only succeed if it is capable of showing both the higher up strategy and the on-the-ground grit.  The Longest Day is what a war film should aim to achieve and it is all the more successful if you happen to have Mitchum and Wayne in your corner.

The Longest Day focuses on the invasion of Normandy, agreed by most historians to be the big moment of change in a lengthy and hard fought war.  As such, narrative plot would seem rather redundant as it is a well-known historical event, particularly in regards to its tragedy.  Yet, what The Longest Day does is not provide viewers with an absolutely linear narrative of the events, but three interlocking experiences of American, British and German forces during the events.  The American experiences focuses specifically on the planning of the beach storming, with figures like Lieutenant Colonel Benjamin Vandervoot (John Wayne) and Brigadier General Norman Cota (Robert Mitchum) prepping their men for what will, undoubtedly, be a very grueling and life threatening mission.  Vandervoot takes a very technological approach, whereas Cota seems quite ready to dig his feet in and push alongside his men.  Meanwhile other figures emerge from the American forces, whether it be the waxing poetics of a wary Destroyer Commander (Rod Steiger) or the adamant demands of Brigadier General Theodore Roosevelt, Jr. (Henry Fonda) that he live up to his father's reputation.  The British forces center on their own technological endeavors, particularly creating dummies to airdrop and distract German soldiers, their key figures include the somewhat existential Flying Officer David Campbell (Richard Burton) and the wise cracking Scottish soldier Private Flanagan (Sean Connery).  Indeed, this is all juxtaposed with the frantic worrying of the German soldiers whose own insistence on their superior status is put into question when they realize that they are not only incapable of verifying when the American storming might happen, but that they are equally ill-equipped to stifle the French Resistance occurring in the areas with which they have occupied.  This is not to say that they do not fight with poise, indeed, they kill many Allied troops, some before they even land on the ground, causing much frustration for Vandervoot and while it is certainly a hard-won victory, the Allied forces do secure Normandy, the closing moments depicting Cota as he drives off in a moment of celebration, the camera panning out to the various soldiers working away at rebuilding the area, however, suggests that this victory is only a minimal achievement.

War films are all about depicting the emotional toil and physical strain of the endeavor.  For some directors this means a venue to explore the futility and fragility of the human psyche in such a space, perhaps most evident in Kubrick's war films, certainly Full Metal Jacket and Paths of Glory (and to a lesser extent Fear and Desire).  Other directors see it as a moment to praise those who take their burden with great dignity and pride, most obvious in Saving Private Ryan, but it could be argued that it works this way in Oliver Stone's Platoon as well.  The Longest Day manages to traipse, ever so carefully, between both worlds, noting that it is not simply a matter of depicting valiant individuals, because during war it is a matter of destroying the enemy and many individuals on both sides of the fight are merely there out of forced necessity.  This was certainly true for Nazi inscription of soldiers, but the zeitgeist at play in World War II America caused such a fervent patriotism that to not join the war effort was tantamount to treason.  As such, The Longest Day captures the humanity of war for all those involved, save for a few sly and ill-willed Nazi officers.  Accepting the death that is necessary in such a narrative, The Longest Day manages to both deal with images of the dead in a very stoic and dignified manner while also not overselling the image in any degree of exploitative nature.  It is a careful navigating between both worlds, but one that pays off successfully when it is later referenced if only in very indirect terms in the closing moments of the film as the soldiers, fresh off of their storming of the beach, drag themselves up the hills working in a near zombie-like fashion never allowed a moments rest.  Furthermore, while the film does situate the narrative around central figures like Wayne's Vandervoot and Mitchum's Cota, it does not glorify their presence as anything more or less important than the lowly ranking cooks and infantrymen.  Indeed, this film paints the picture of the barracks with such a loving stroke as to capture both the glee in the homosocial bond and the constant threat of death that leads to an anxious dialogue and bonding between each member of the crew.  Despite its decidedly masculine orientation, this film depicts World War II with poise and dignity in a way only twenty years detachment from its occurrence could ever hope to achieve.

Key Scene:  The soldiers hanging from power lines is about as stark a war image as you can get without actually encountering actual footage.  What makes the scene work, however, is Wayne's reaction, one that is so sincere as to suggest he is looking at the real thing.

I snagged this bluray up as a result of the downfall of Blockbuster.  Considering that others, undoubtedly, invaded the store and did the same it should show up on Amazon in the coming days.  I suggest you grab a copy immediately!

Hey Pilgrim, You Forgot Your Pop-Gun: The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962)

Leave it to 1962 to be the year that repeats the most during my month of westerns and even more  impressive is that it has further proven to be a year of excellent pieces of cinema, both How The West Was Won and Lonely Are The Brave vying for my favorite film of the entire month long marathon.  The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance could easily compete with these films on many levels, precisely considering that not only does incorporate the Ford/Wayne combination which carries the same sort of admiration and validity as Leone/Eastwood, yet what makes Valance particularly notable is that it also includes James Stewart, who is putting on some of the best work of his entire career as a wide-eyed and overly idealistic character, which he would make a career out of, but, nonetheless, takes on a new level within this film.  As I have come to realize as I have gotten through this entire month of films, I am realizing that one of the main things of westerns post 1960 is the manner with which they will first set up the expectations of the traditional western, only to immediately deconstruct them in wild and unimaginable ways.  While Valance does not deconstruct the genre in the ways the El Topo or Sholay it does reconsider the types of masculinity that not only occupy the space of the west, but, more importantly, who is respected based on their varying degrees of masculinity.  Of course, the notion of masculinity has always been of huge importance within the western, but it is decidedly so for Ford, one only needs to reflect on his classic Stagecoach and the introduction of Wayne in this film to really realize that fact.  The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance manages to perfectly divide itself between the shootouts and gunslinging notable for a Ford western, including excellent performances by both Lee Marvin and Lee Van Cleef to heighten the intensity, as well as being what could be a theoretical prequel to Mr. Smith Goes To Washington where a beleaguered politician realizes the world of back door deals within the most minor of political interactions.  What Valance is, aside from a great western, is a prophetic and established statement on the way society interacts with itself on an intimate, as well as large scale.

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance starts in the future with the return of Ransom "Ranse" Stodard (James Stewart) to the town of Shinbone, along with his wife Hallie (Vera Miles) in what initially appears to be a minor political move to meet with the constituents for his former town.  Yet when they arrive at a funeral home it becomes clear that they are indeed their to pay their respects to their late friend Tom Doniphon (John Wayne) who has died assumedly of old age.  During his reflections on his time in Shinbone, Ransom begins recalling his initial trip to the west, quoting Horace Greeley in the process, yet it is during his initial arrival to the city when Ransom's stagecoach is robbed by the notorious Liberty Valance (Lee Marvin).  This interaction leads to Ransom promising that he will assure that Liberty meets justice sometime in the future, an act that leads to mocking on the part of Tom upon Ransom's arrival, Tom believing that the only way to undermine the gunslinger is through the use of lead, knowing full and well that law will never retain the devilish individual.  As Liberty continues to ransack the town, Ransom and Tom come to odds about the proper way to deal with the criminal, all the while their town, along with the larger state, attempt to push to statehood and endeavor that draws in Liberty who wants a say in the endeavors with the hope that it will afford him more power for his cattle business, and a larger influence over the community he has instilled a great fear within.   Ultimately, Ransom realizes his legal threats hold no water against the wild and irrepressible Liberty leading to a shootout in the streets of Shinbone that lead to Ransom being injured, but, ultimately, to the death of Liberty.  This heroic act leads to Ransom becoming the icon of the town and a heightened political figure, one who is elected to senate on the basis of him being the "man who shot Liberty Valance," which is to some a point of praise, while to others it is a vilified action.  Yet when Ransom is second guessing his own respectability as a politician, Tom informs him that he may have helped a bit in the downing of the gunslinger on that fateful night, adding a fire to Ransom's political aspirations, so much so, that he makes a career of it, being certain to return to Shinbone to thank Tom for his help upon his death, not to mention forever being hesitant to embrace his hefty moniker.

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance certainly falls with the "traditionalist" framework when discussing it as a western.  It includes the definitive good guy figure, as well as the obvious and unquestionable bad guy figure.  However, where it takes a decided departure is when it comes to consider who is the better of two goods, as opposed to the more often considered lesser of two evils.  One is hard pressed to decide who they are expected to like more between the stoic and determined Tom and the idealistic and equally determined Ransom.  They are approaching ethics and justice from two completely opposing spectrums and Ford devours the possibilities, often having the presence of Liberty's threats be at the very least secondary to the action occurring within the film, in fact, for a film that bases its title upon the killing of such an assumedly central figure, Liberty Valance essentially serves as a concept with which the two good guys must conceptualize how to properly deal with an issue.  Tom is fully convinced that the only way to counteract Liberty is through an equal, and, therefore, greater use of led, hoping to gun him and his wild posse down in the streets, whereas, Ransom believes that like a secular preacher he can raise his authoritative book of laws and by some form of magic they will essentially stop the possessed man in his tracks.  Of course neither Ransom or Tom is completely right, one being so inclined to use violence that he completely overlooks its very real effects on a community that must repair every bullet hole or lost life in the process, whereas the lack of immediacy with Ransom's political threats result in a grey area of time where lawlessness is allowed in hopes of future reprimands.  In typical Ford fashion everything is realized by the end, but it proves a burden for both men to acknowledge that their embraced ways of life are inevitably predicated on their own reliance, even if minimal on the belief systems of the other.  Tom is forced to embrace the power of a political voice to stretch beyond the confines of a city and exact moral change to the masses, while Ransom comes to realize that when seeking justice in some cases it is absolutely necessary to break a few bad eggs, often with necessary voice, a framework that Ford cleverly extends to the political process.  In essence, neither framework is completely correct, but viewers are certainly assured that Liberty was completely wrong.

Key Scene:  The entire "steak" ordering scene is acting and editing at some of its finest of the era.

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance is currently available on Netflix Watch Instantly and while a small computer can be a bit oppressive to its large statement, it is certainly worth watching in this format as soon as possible.

Acting Out Their Dreams, It Came To Be: How The West Was Won (1962)

Epic of epics...all is epic.  I begin with this play on the classic Bible verse because I am rather certain that How The West Was Won may well define the greatest of filmic endeavors.  Sure a ton of people love Gone With The Wind, but it also has a tone of social problems and suffers from historical detachment, where as this sprawling western, even in its set of troublesome imagery, is so grand and epic in proportion that it required an entirely new filming style all its own to be undertaken.  Shot in Cinerama, a film and projection style that required three cameras of film to be recorded and, subsequently, projected separately, to view this film is to see something break the very wide boundaries of the cinematic western landscape.  I have a nice television and one of decent size and even I found myself hoping that it would extend beyond the edges just a bit more, as though my widescreen television was somehow preventing this film from reaching its full potential.  If this new style were not enough, How The West Was Won is also set up in an episodic format showing a somewhat connected history of information answering the statement in the title.  With directors like John Ford offering segments, as well as sections including a veritable who's who of Classic Hollywood stars, How The West Was Won is easily one of the greatest achievements in the dwindling days of the old style system that would be turned on its head only years later.  Borrowing heavily from the cinematic experimentation of Abel Gance and the desire for the grand of D.W. Griffith, How The West Was Won is definitively and undoubtedly a masterpiece.  I really wish I had saved this as the last film of the marathon, because it is easily the culmination of all that is glorious and adored about the western as genre, is a what one should think of when considering a film to be "sweeping" in its narrative.  It has a two and a half hour runtime, but with the intermissions, fully realized storyline, even if segmented and some of the most awe inspiring cinematography I have seen in a film in quite some time, the winding down of this film and its brilliant burst into the future came all to quickly and left me hoping for another set of stories.

How The West Was Won, as noted, is a series of stories, all focused on creating narrative as to how the west, or more specifically, the expansion westward influenced the persona and history that would be America.  The film begins with a story entitled The Rivers focus on Zebulon Prescott (Karl Malden) and his family as they make their way west via a large raft, making said journey along with another family.  Along the way they meet a fur trapper named Linus Rawlings (Jimmy Stewart) who one of Prescott's younger girls takes a liking to, despite Rawlings's suggestion that he is not the marrying type. Although when their paths repeatedly intersect it becomes clear that marriage is a necessity. The next story The Plains  centers on another member of the Prescott family Lilith (Debbie Reynolds) living as a showgirl in St. Louis, only to discover that she has obtained through the donation of a wealthy admirer a stake for gold in California, which leads to her being followed by gambler and pseudo-admirer Cleve Van Valen (Gregory Peck) whose debonair manners woo many women, but he proves to need real feelings to eventually win over the suspicious Lilith.  The next section focuses on The Civil War and the experiences of young soldier Zeb (George Peppard) whose parents are Linus and Eve (Carroll Baker) of the earlier river story.  He, despite Eve's reluctance joins the war effort and becomes a hero after taking down a rebel deserter who infiltrated the ranks of the Union in order to assassinate high ranking officers, one of which is played brilliantly by John Wayne.  Next the section called The Railroads focuses on the invasion of the "iron horse" into the plains and its particular affect on the native populations, a group which wild man Jethro Stuart (Henry Fonda) attempts to protect, only to realize that he can only promise natives safety and trust for himself and not the entirety of the colonizing white man.  Finally, the film ends in a section titled The Outlaws in which Zeb who is now a marshall in a western town takes on an infamous enemy and outlaw named Charlie Gant (Eli Wallach) resulting in an intense and high-paced shootout on a moving train.  After Zeb slays Gant the film focuses on Lilith and the rest of the Rawlings family returning home, before the film takes to a visual flight from the desolate landscapes of the old west to the modernized and skyscraper heavy modern world of Los Angeles suggesting an evolution over a length of time, but one that is always tied to the endeavors of the early settlers.

I cannot get How The West Was Won out of my mind and it is almost entirely due to its unusual cinematic style.  The triptych style of Cinerama filmmaking allows for the narrative to unfold as something very much out of a story book, each character moving throughout the space from being minor almost incomprehensible characters in the background of shots to larger than life figures occupying the space at the center of the screen.  The sort of wide-angle/fisheye visual style that results form this particular filmmaking style also intensifies the emotions of characters within the narrative, Jimmy Stewarts fumbling suaveness heightened to a point of inescapable charm, or Debbie Reynolds's ethereal beauty consuming the entire space of a shot, making each scene melt behind her.  Similarly, it allows for an understanding of how truly consuming the landscapes of the west would have appeared to  the initial settlers, with plateaus and valleys seeming to stretch on into some eternal distance, again a result of the way the juxtaposed images create a new degree of depth.  What is also magical about this particular style is that it captures action and movement in a degree that arguably has the same effect as 3D or IMAX in that the images pop-out of their space when coming into the screen, although Cinerama has an extra layer, because it will also as easily pull a viewer into the centrifuge of a piece of action, the oncoming train scenes and the barrel rolling wagon scene serve as two opposing examples of the possibilities that this new depth allowed.  It was a brilliant choice to cast huge names in these roles, even in uncredited parts, such as Lee Van Cleef and Harry Dean Stanton, because their larger-than-life personas match the intensity and grandiose nature of the filmmaking.  Think here of John Wayne's presence, even if incredibly brief, he steps into the room occupies the space and seems so at ease that one forgets that he is only occupying one of three possible frames.  However, what proves to be the most rewarding element of this style is the moments when the films flicker differently if ever so briefly. My favorite one being a moment when Lilith is dancing and she appears to leap through a frame without touching the ground, these accidents, could be chastised as problematic, but in this context they add a layer of mythology and adoration to something that is decidedly larger than life.  Cinerama aimed at blowing the lid of of filmic possibilities, and in the same vein How The West Was Won aimed to do the same for the genre.

Key Scene:  While every moment is excellent, I would say to get a full feel for what is made better by the choice to use Cinerama then The Railroad section is perhaps the best example of all the elements working simultaneously.

While I watched this on the DVD version, I cannot begin to imagine how much better it would look on bluray, particularly since it offers the option to watch it is "smile box" format which aims to recreate the feeling of attending an original Cinerama screening of this work.  I mean look how much I had to minimize these pictures just to fit them into the blog format.

No Stranger Ever Good Newsed Me: Red River (1948)

It really little surprise that Howard Hawks would find himself doing double time in my month of westerns, considering that both the previously viewed Rio Bravo, as well as the wonderfully classicist Red River stand as the giants within the genre.  As one of the employees at my local record stores suggest, Hawks had a certain ability to pick a genre and hit whatever he made within its confines out of the park, think not only of the westerns in question now, but his screwball comedies, most notably His Girl Friday and Bringing Up Baby, not to mention exceptional films in other genres as well.  As equally critically acclaimed as Rio Bravo, if not slightly more underrated, Red River is a chiaroscuro picturesque focus on the cattle herding element of western expansion, a narrative which in any other director but Hawks' hands would prove unbearably slow paced and lacking in the action necessary for the western.  However, as established with the previous discussion of Rio Bravo, Hawks is not a director whose primary aims are those of action, he is a narrative oriented filmmaker, yet, given his cast and the emotional investment of each line of dialogue the film, nonetheless, becomes very vibrant and fast-paced, making the even more intense scenes of shootouts and stampedes seem otherworldly in their excited pacing.  Also this is an unusual western from my frame of reference because it involves the presence of something unexpected, John Wayne playing the antagonist, a surprise doubled by the narratives beginning which would suggest him to be the good guy.  Of course, John Wayne is not the out and out bad guy, although he does engage in some dastardly actions throughout the film, he is simply a figurative obstacle for the coming of age of Montgomery Clift's character and sets in as an intriguing consideration of what exactly comes of those whose unbridled drive for success inevitably result in their tragic downfall.  Red River is a film whose plot is so straight-foward as to almost seem arbitrary, but within the mask of simplicity, Hawks provides viewers with a consideration of how self-identity is formed on an epic scale.

Red River begins with Thomas Dunson (John Wayne) informing his pioneering group that he is seeking his own course of action detached from their trek, much to the dismay of the pioneering leader, as well as his lover whom he casts away concerning himself for her safety.  This highly melodramatic scene is incredibly brief and the narrative then transfers to Thomas and his ranch partner Nadine Groot (Walter Brennan) searching about the land with the intent of finding an appropriate place to create a cattle ranch only to run into a rather aggresive young man who attempts to hold Thomas up with no success.  The young man Matt Garth (Montgomery Clift) proves to be wide-eyed and lost a fact that leads Thomas to take him under his wing and teach him the ways of cattle driving, with the hopes of finding an assistant and future owner for his establishment.  The narrative then progresses again a couple of years to find Thomas having trouble maintaining a profit with his cattle leading to a belief that he will have to take the herd over a long distance to sell them and make a nice profit.  This trek while dangerous receives the support of Matt  and Nadine and eventually even gets the help of a whole crew most notably Cherry Valance (John Ireland) a man almost of equal age to Matt and the two create a mutual admiration.  Thomas before the trip makes it rather clear that the trip will be intense and warns against anyone coming who might want to quit.  Once on the trip this statement proves quite valid as weather, stampedes and the psychological state of the crew prove too much to bare, leading Thomas, heavily relying on a bottle of whisky, to come down hard on any perpetrator, whether it be for minor theft or desertion.  Eventually, Thomas and his actions prove too much for Matt and he stands up to the aging man taking it upon himself to drive the cattle to a new location.  This endeavor is successful for Matt, after a minor run in with a group of attacking natives, yet Thomas, folows close on his trail, considering that a few scenes earlier he vowed to kill Matt upon finding him again.  Despite the outright success of the transactions, Matt is fully aware that he must face Thomas in the street, or else fear his constant presence for the remainder of his life.  When the two meet in the streets it turns from incredibly violent to familiar jousting to humor in a matter of moments.  Thomas, realizing that Matt has grown to be successful retracts his death threats and instead offers to share their future cattle brand and identity.

While I could pull from trope upon trop with this film, I want to talk about something that has been discussed on this blog in detail before that, of course, being the idea of the homosocial bond.  This is the intensely intimate relationship shared between men in a believe that their identities as brothers through situation is highly valued.  This is often depicted in war and sports films and certainly has a heavy presence in westerns as well.  The interesting thing with its manifestation within the context of Red River is that it quickly crosses from the purely homosocial to the distinctively homosexual.  I know it is a trick to read into films with such an anachronistic framework, but as the late Alexander Doty would argue, when it comes to repressed narratives such appropriation is necessary and when it is offered it should not be ignored.  Red River very much has a set of homosexually fueled relationships whether it be the tense relationship between Thomas and Matt which is both paternal and one of longing, they fail to kill one another because they are "too soft," yet it is also highly likely that their intense feelings of passion block them from doing so.  Yet the relationship that is really worth noting is the one between Cherry and Matt which is highly lustful from its onset, during their initial encounter the two size one another up, and each shares in a gaze of the other that is decidedly drawn out, an act that is quickly followed by the two exchanging guns and showing off their skills as marksmen...by this point the tension is palpable, although never fully enacted upon.  If this is not enough to justify the reading one can consider the scenes around the campfire when women are discussed by either man, the other often looks at them in a disgusted manner, hoping it to be a joke as to no betray their shared longing, in fact, in a bit of clever dialogue, Hawks often has these discussions cut off, not as a means to suggest the characters silence, but, instead; to say that talks that betray the homosocial, and, in this case, homosexual longing are not welcome.  Tragedy strikes in the films closing, however, when Cherry dies at the hands of Thomas, allowing for a female character to fully invade the narrative and reject both forms of bonding in the name of a more heteronormative framework.

Key Scene:  The post stampede scene will prove to be one of the most haunting images of the entire month and will stand magnificently next to those from Jarmusch's Dead Man.

This is a film that is leaps above its contemporaries and stands high in the genre as a whole.  Unfortunately, there is no bluray available at the moment so I would suggest renting it until one becomes available.

No Quarter. No Mercy For The Loser: Rio Bravo (1959)

When it comes to the classic westerns, ones that almost all clock in at well over two hours in run time it is not just idea, but a necessity that they prove to be watchable, because there is absolutely nothing worse than a movie that drags on in the context of already being incredibly lengthy.  When it works it is something wonderful, like is the case with The Great Escape or with Seven Samurai.  Fortunately, as a filmmaker Howard Hawks lives in a world where dialogue is always engaging and the plot perplexing and this is certainly the case with his classic star-driven western Rio Bravo, which is both incredibly well-made and highly entertaining.  Within the matter of just under two and a half hours, viewers are teated to a variety of human identity issues being fleshed out and dealt with in great turn, while also avoiding the worrisome threat of being too preachy or misdirected.  Of course, Rio Bravo is more than just a traditional western that happens to just be really cool to watch, it manages to comfortably move about the genre specifics, without really leaving the space of its narrative, in fact, this movie has arguably been the most closed in within terms of character movement, only depicting the individuals within the relation to the town, and more so, within concern to the town jail and hotel.  Such a setup would be restrictive to most directors and performers, but within the world of a Howard Hawks film the more congested and restrictive the space the more he seems willing to absolutely blow the lid off of possibilities, whether it be a great turn at the comedic for John Wayne, or the wonderfully sentimental song number midway through the film.  Far before I ever envisioned this blog as a regular endeavor, let alone planned to devote an entire month to the genre of westerns, many of the individuals whose taste in film I highly admired, referred to the western as being their favorite genre, and while I am not quite committed to that kind of admiration, watching Rio Bravo has certainly led to me heavily reconsidering how much I have thought my top ten films to be solidified.  I would have to revisit my list of favorite all-time films, but considering how absolutely excellent Rio Bravo proved to be i would stand to call it my favorite western at the moment, although it is early in the month, with a ton of other classics on the docket so that is liable to change.

Rio Bravo begins with the stumbling and defeated The Dude (Dean Martin) walking into a bar sheepishly attempting to get a drink from anyone who will offer.  When the wily and troublesome Joe Burdette (Claude Akins) thinks it hilarious to throw a coin into the spitoon and watch The Dude fish it out, in steps John T. Chance (John Wayne) the local sheriff to reprimand Joe for his childish and degrading behavior, which invariably leads to a fight, in which The Dude in a moment of clarity helps Chance take back control, eventually leading to the arrest of Joe.  However, the run in with Joe is only one of Chance's problems and he, in fact, is having little success keeping a lid on the ruffians and wild folks who exist in and around his town.  Hoping to get The Dude back on the right track he hires him back on as an assistant sheriff, along with Stumpy (Walter Brennan) in a hopes that their unlikely combination will help to avoid trouble in the town.  Yet, when an old friend Pat Wheeler (Ward Bond) comes into town, along with a new hired hand Colorado Ryan (Ricky Nelson) only to see the dire state of Chance's town, he offers his services.  Chance refuses, however, noting that it is almost certain death and his workers will be too preoccupied with thoughts of their families to serve in any fruitful capacity. Instead, after some prodding and jousting on both ends Chance ends up attaining the aid of Colorado to standup against Joe's brother Nathan (John Russell) and his crew of lackeys.  Furthermore, Chance begins a relationship with Feathers (Angie Dickinson), as well as using Carlos (Pedro Gonzalez Gonzalez) and his hotel as a point of operations.  While the singular focus is on moving trouble from the town, Chance is also quite aware of the necessity involved in making sure that The Dude stays sober, a decidedly hard task when The Dude admits that any stint without hard liquor results in his sadness about his past, however, with some stern words from Chance and a moment of success on The Dude's part he comes around and realizes his possibilities as a crime fighter.  In the end Chance, The Dude, Colorado and eventually Stumpy use their small team to take on Nathan's entire posse, an endeavor made ever slightly easier with the aid of high powered explosives.  In the end Chance and Feathers openly admit their feelings, while Stumpy and The Dude patrol the streets of the much calmer and more civilized town.

Whiskey and heavy drinking are of course one of the major tropes, or at the very least themes within most westerns, and while the consumption of alcohol in heavy amounts is often depicted within the genre, very little is done in the way of drawing attention to the issues of alcoholism or the heavy and continue abuse of liquor.  Of course, the drunkard does emerge in films of this nature, but never in such a way as to be a main character, or one whose actions are explained and grounded.  As such, Rio Bravo, while very much about Chance's own attempts at reigning in an out of control town, perhaps an extension of his psyche, or about Colorado's drive to assert his own young masculinity, ultimately, exists as a film about recovery.  This recovery can of course be taken at a very literal level as The Dude Learns to manage his days without even the slightest of drinking which leads to him having varied mood swings and an absurd diet.  He is written of throughout as an alcoholic, so much so, that only Chance seems to support his push towards being sober, suggesting that much as is the case with Alcoholics Anonymous style systems, that each individual needs a person to work them through the toughest of times and be a voice to engage with or a shoulder to lean on.  Chance, as his name suggests, is a final vestige through which The Dude finds his salvation.  Of course, he is not, by any means, the only character attempting to reinvent himself, but Hawks' directorial style seems to emphasize The Dude and his particular concern for turning over a new leaf.  In many scenes the camera often lingers on The Dude as he fidgets and moves about the space, an unusual technique for the time, let alone the genre, however, perhaps the most obvious moment in which the narrative suggests that The Dude is attempting to redefine or reestablish himself comes when he looks at his reflection in the mirror, seeing himself shaved and clean is followed by his being attacked.  In the past his confrontations with a former self would have led him to the bottle, yet when tied up he must learn to suffice without the crutch, eventually finding solace and comfort in music instead.  The Dude and his movement from an addiction are central to the film, which is particularly intriguing since the film moves and feels like a western, while also being a very focused human drama.

Key Scene: The singing scene of course, so much musical excellence is occurring in that space, it is only a slight let down, however, that John Wayne does not join in the fun.