One Man's Sunset Is Another Man's Dawn: An American Tale: Fievel Goes West (1991)

While I do not have the most liberal tastes in film known to humanity, I am certainly willing to extend my boundaries in the name of discovering hidden gems within the lesser known corners of a genre and while I have certainly included farther stretches in terms of a "western genre" film so far this month, adding the sequel to the much adored An American Tail animated film is probably the biggest surprise. Of course, it is not, by any means, a stretch to include it within the viewing list, because it is very much a pioneering narrative as envisioned through the world of a few animated mice.  In fact, if one can overlook the fact that it is intended as a children's movie this is probably one of the more straightforward offerings in the western since revisionist westerns became the cool thing to create.  Between the voice cameo of an aged James Stewart and the always hilarious John Cleese this manages to be both a highly engaging children's movie, as well as something that could be easily enjoyed by adults or fans of classic films, both westerns and non, because it makes quite a slew of hilarious cinematic references.  Furthermore, much as was the case with the recent Studio Ghibli delight The Secret World of Arriety, the directing duo of Phillip Nibbelink and Simon Welles manage to take the world of very tiny creatures and then place that within a larger world of the exploits of a group of cats who themselves exist within a larger world of humans, it is a meta-meta-world (trust me I know it sounds pretentious, but it is deservedly called such) and the animation often suggest these layers within their composition.  Furthermore, Fievel Goes Wests exits at the tail-end, no pun intended, of the great revival in animation, which was occurring mostly at Disney, but certainly applies to this movie as well. While works like The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast and to some degree Fievel Goes West, certainly possess problematic societal commentaries and a tone of stereotypes that must not be overlooked, even the most staunch of theorists find it tough to dismiss the absolutely mesmerizing quality of each picture.  It is a shame that Fievel Goes West had a release year simultaneous with Beauty and the Beast because in any other year it would have proven to be the standout work.

This sequel to An American Tale, once again focuses on The Mousekewitz family a family of Russian mice who have move to New York to pursue the American dream, headed by the go-get'em attitude of their young son Fievel.  This sequel again focuses on the family, although it is clear that their living situation in Bronx is far from ideal, thus spurring a desire to move out west when given an opportunity by an awkwardly animated mouse who possesses multiple tickets to the western town of Green River.  It is realized, by Fievel, during their trip that the mouse was actually the work of the dastardly and somewhat dandy cat Cat R. Waul who plans to use the labor of the mice to build a small metropolis in the streets of Green River only to devour the mice in "mouseburgers" upon completion of their task.  Fievel is unable to convince others of the issues, particularly since they all seem inclined to overlook the threat in the face of the new found vigor and success offered in the wild west town.  Eventually, Fievel must recruit the help of his friend the vegetarian cat Tiger, whose arrival to the west results in his being held up as a god to a tribe of Mousecassin indians.  While Fievel and Tiger certainly have ambition they lack the skills to properly face the gang of cats, who have managed to become so liked by the mouse folk that they long the date of their party and implementation into the village, particularly Fievel's sister Tanya who is being given a chance to sing during the festivities.  Acting fast, Fievel recruits the help of local dog sheriff Wylie, although his efforts are initially in vain, because the aged dog seems indifferent to suffering.  Eventually coming around to aiding the small mouse, Wylie, Tiger and Fievel take on Cat R. Waul and feline posse, making quick work of the some what bewildered cats who seem incapable of comprehending exactly how a group different animals could work so well together.  In the end they succeed and Green River becomes a place for friendly animals to co-habitate and as a point of respect Wylie appoints Fievel as a sheriff in the town.

The pioneer is a major trope within a handful of westerns, and while it has yet to be a major narrative in any of the previously reviewed films it, nonetheless, manages to have elements in the various stories, particularly the idea that something new is offered in the world of the west, whether it be opportunity or a chance to escape a miserable past.  Fievel Goes West take the trope of the pioneer and studies it, literally, to the most minuscule of proportions.  Often for pioneers in the western narrative, travel and movement are a result an unforeseen opportunity, or in the pursuit of  something deemed lost.  For The Mousekewitz's the movement is influenced by their hope for a life void of constant hunger and fear of attacks from cat bullies, whereas Tiger hopes to reconnect both with his friend Fievel as well as regain the love and admiration of his former girlfriend Miss Kitty.  The pioneering trek is far from easy, as it is often depicted in the western, and for a majority of the trip Fievel is lost to the family when he falls of the train and must wander through the desert.  Furthermore, minor tropes like dangerous wildlife and the threat of native attacks emerge as well, although they are minor in comparison to other elements.  Some degree of the escape often has an intangibility about it as well, for example, both Miss Kitty and Tanya seem to desire to leave to find their voice, which while literally referring to their singing possesses a layer of assumption that the new frontier will also provide them the opportunity to challenge entrenched and restrictive gender norms.  The musical element only aides this consideration with its purposefully idyllic tempo and escapist nature, the singing of Rawhide specifically manages to exoticize the west and ignore the very real despair faced by the stark desert landscape.  Finally, pioneer narratives often involve an exploitative individual who serves as an antagonist, usually providing more hindrance than help (refer to my recent review of Meek's Cutoff), or in the worst cases have ulterior motives that will harm the pioneers, in Fievel Goes West it is a literal desire to consume the mice for sustenance.  These various elements paired together make Fievel Goes West a wonderful animated feature, as well as a great consideration of the pioneering tale within the western framework.

Key Scene:  The entire cat saloon scene beginning with Tanya singing through her dance number with Cat R. Waul's paw speaks to the layers of worlds going on in this film and is nothing short of spectacular.

Should you even remotely enjoy animated films there is no reason not to grab a copy of this and An American Tail for a steal on DVD.

To Kill A Man You Shoot Him In The Heart: A Fistful of Dollars (1964)

Call him what you will, whether it be the don of the genre or the godfather of spaghetti westerns, one can hardly deny the very significant place that Sergio Leone holds in regards to the stylistic, iconic and somewhat implausible expectations for perfection associated with the western.  Of course, Leone is not the only name in the world of westerns as previous review have shown, but I would contest that his decidedly auteur style suggests one of the most identifiable ones by a long shot.  One can easily pick out a Leone film from a line up for its screen breaking wide shots, and heavy use of close-ups, not to mention a tonality that is both visual and incredibly tonal with what was often the blistering score of Ennio Morricone.  At no point in this film could one attempt to find a scene or shot that is ill-conceived or out of place, Leone took to making westerns the way that Hitchcock took to thrillers, always assuring that each moment had a layer relating to its preceding and following moments, while also standing alone as a stellar shot or scene.  Yet, when one views a film like A Fistful of Dollars they can find themselves initially put off by its somewhat desultory narrative, one that just seems to ramble and move about with a bit of uncertainty.  While this assumption is true, to dismiss the film for such a style is foolish, because in this wandering style, Leone captures a part of the west that is rarely embraced, the real and troubling uncertainty faced by every individual who navigated that space, whether it be the pioneer, the sheriff, or in the case of this film a man whose past seems to precede him, although it is never quite clear what he was or is running from.  Much like, Shane, the first film I reviewed this month, A Fistful of Dollars excels at making the stranger a central figure in the west, yet wherein that film seemed to create a distinction between the regular and the strange, the entire world of A Fistful of Dollars, and Leone's larger Man With No Name/Dollars Trilogy.  To Sergio Leone the west is a very fascinating and visually appealing place, yet in that sort of awe and intrigue lies something on the verge of falling apart and destroying all that is respectable or held sacred.

A Fistful of Dollars focuses on the experiences of Joe (Clint Eastwood) although his travels through a Mexican border town have earned him the name of "foreigner."  Joe makes it rather clear from the onset of the film that he is solely concerned with making money and will do so with a set of unscrupulous morals.  Joe, is initially dismissed by the various parties involved, only to to discover that behind the very stoic talk comes a quick firing hand with fatal accuracy, almost instantly resulting in Joe being showered with respect by a group of locals, while becoming a point of threat for the local powers.  Of course, Joe realizes that creating friends is far from a productive endeavor and decides to take the powerful tycoons and pit them against the locals, navigating between both sides as he sees fit, again concerning himself with gaining more money.  Yet even in his attempts to avoid ethical involvement, Joe does step in during a shootout that runs the risk of harming a small child and realizes that history of a group within the area, thus causing him to undertake the task of freeing a jailed man, an action that leads to him becoming even more despised by the Rojos, who capture Joe and beat him while in their possesssion, hoping to destroy his will, as well as his expert shooting arm.  Upon escaping Joe uses tricks and the tension of the moment to pit the Rojos against their rivals, resulting in a bloody shootout where few survive, all while Joe watches from the cover of a nearby covered wagon, taking a trip underground as he plans a counter attack and eventual attack upon the remaining members of the Rojos.  During this hiding in a mine shaft, Joe hones his firing skills to perfection, while also fancying himself a bulletproof vest out of an old mine cart, providing him with the skills and protection to return and gun down the remaining members of the Rojos in a near godlike fashion, and when Joe is a near victim to a stealthy sniper attack it is none other than one of the admiring townsfolk that saves his life, allowing Joe to ride of into the sunset as is appropriate.

Joe, as a character, is rarely named, in fact, I am not sure his name is expressly given in the narrative, instead; he is often referred to as either the foreigner, or as the stranger, a very apt title considering that the stranger is a highly important trope within the western.  The idea of the stranger, of course, is not unique to this genre, nor to film and finds a common place in a lot of Jewish folklore.  Essentially, the stranger moves into a space, often out of nowhere and without a tangible identity.  Furthermore, the stranger as trope is usually an individual with some degree of a trouble past that they rarely discuss.  These elements are certainly true within the context of A Fistful of Dollars and arguably possesses one of the greatest cinematic examples of the stranger ever realized.  Joe is, firstly, a stranger in that his whiteness is othering and while the film is in English, one could assume a language barrier as well.  Beyond this, he is a man who is quite limited in what he will say, instead, desiring to prove his point by actions, both violent and helpful.  These actions, while, ultimately, reflective of the sole concerns of the stranger, in this case Joe, usually extend beyond their desires and invariably affect the town or city they have entered.  It is no stretch to say that Joe's presence irreversibly changes the state of mind of the community, not to mention the population, yet it is, again, all intended to save face for Joe whose financial hopes clearly influence his decision, although he is not void of a sense of moral duty.  In fact, in many instances, particularly within the western genre, the stranger's moral beliefs are not incongruous with the townsfolk and when a wrong has been done a large scale they find themselves relating to the community on more than an acquaintance based level, thus spurring into action and saving the town, even receiving praise and adoration in the process.  Yet, as is the final element for the stranger, their inability to remain in any degree of stasis results in their movement away from a town with which they have changed, in some ways improving it, while at other times detracting it from its traditions.

Key Scene:  The final shootout of course, Leone knows how to build to a explosive crescendo and while this is certainly no The Good, The Bad and The Ugly it is, nonetheless, something to behold.

I watched this on DVD and while it was not terrible, I would suggest just dropping some cash on the bluray release trilogy, it will certainly prove to be money well spent.

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.

We're Not Lost, We're Just Finding Our Way: Meek's Cutoff (2010)

I first came to the work of Kelly Reichardt via Wendy and Lucy, a film that while not perfect, proved to be a huge step in terms of reconstituting who is afforded the opportunity to occupy the space of a film, particularly in regards to gender.  Furthermore, while it is feasible that I had seen Michelle Williams in a film prior, it was certainly the first major work in which I can recall her performance, especially in its bleak sense of dread and disillusion that has become, to a degree, her trademark.  Meek's Cutoff had been on my "to watch list" upon its initial release and, unfortunately, kept being pushed aside or overlooked for other viewing experiences, yet when I began planning my month of westerns, aside from the obvious classics, this stood out as a necessary work to, especially since it was by a female director and ostensibly stood to revert the genre, an element I am continually seeking in this thirty movie marathon.  Of course, Meek's Cutoff is not a perfect movie, much like Reichardt's previously mentioned film, Meek's Cutoff suffers from spouts of existential wandering and stagnant cinematography that appears to lack an ultimate motive or payoff, yet when the narrative finds its occasional grounding it does so with such an excellent eye and focus that it makes up for many of the emergent issues.  The beauty of this film is not in its execution, however, but in its complete disavowal of the gender oppression which would have occurred during that era.  The idyllic films within the western genre canon, seem set on dissecting every detail as to why male-based rationality and bravery ruled out over feminine "hysteria" and emotions.  Meek's Cutoff demands that a viewer truly consider the likelihood of such blind subservience, particularly in the face of dehydration, starvation and a growing sense of failure.  Otherness becomes less obvious when survival becomes key, although Reichardt is no idealist in this context and furthers to critique to say that perhaps such moments of challenge against authoritative gender norms found direction based on the ability to markedly define a lesser body.  Regardless, Meek's Cutoff, while not an absolutely standout film, nonetheless, takes a genre and considers its prevalence historically as well as within an contemporary and changing filmmaking world.

Meek's Cutoff follows a small band of pioneers making their way through the desolate Oregon Trail in hopes of starting the life anew.  The group includes the stern Solomon Tetherow (Will Patton) and his wife Emily (Michelle Williams) as well as the other couples William (Neal Huff) and Gloria White (Shirley Henderson) and Thomas (Paul Dano) and Mille Gately (Zoe Kazan).  Their lack of expertise on travel requires them to involve the help of Stephen Meek (Bruce Greenwood) an arrogant and somewhat ruthless guide who appears to lack the knowledge he suggests in terms of navigation.  The group, already drawn thin by lengthy travel, in worsened when discovering that they are running dangerously thin on water, without any assurance that they will find it in the immediate future.  Becoming frustrated by the lack of success, the group, particularly Emily begin to challenge Meek in terms of his authority.  Upon the discovery of a Native American man, played by Rod Rondeaux, the groups animosity towards Meek grows when he violently attacks him for not telling them where to find water.  It is only upon the notion, by Thomas, to barter that the Native man agrees to lead them in exchange for two blankets.  During the continually grueling trip tensions as to the nature of the Native vary from Millie's believe that he is signaling to his tribe for attack, while Emily and Thomas defend his presence, Emily even going so far as to help by fixing his moccasin.  Trouble strikes, however, when the Tetherow wagon rolls out of control and breaks apart, leading to a loss of goods.  Meek frustrated by the Native who begins perusing the goods, pulls a gun on him, which quickly leads to Emily defending the Native.  At this point, Meek's power is clearly cut and the travel continues with equal paranoia and a sense of helplessness, yet when the group arrives at a tree with green foliage all hopes are rekindled, because it suggests the presence of water nearby.  With little explanation or communication the Native simply continues on his way, only Emily notices his movement away as the narrative closes and the credits emerge.

I could talk about the tropes of masculinity within the context of the western and the manner with which this film directly rejects such constructions, but they are rather obvious, particularly with Emily's appropriation of power through the phallic rifle, while still maintaining the domestic abilities that allow her to barter with the Native by fixing the shoe, whereas, Meek is a failed masculine figure in his lack of basic knowledge and failed attempts to bring everyone on board with a backward-looking notion of social constructs.  These things are there in the forefront and decidedly important, but what caught my attention was Reichardt's interesting filmmaking style.  The choice to go digital and reject the widescreen tradition of the western is captivating, especially since she still relies on the wide shot composition for many scene, which manage to still be stunning.  Furthermore, she shoots in natural lighting a choice that makes the daytime images seem stark, the dusk and dawn images mesmerizing and the nighttime shots nearly incomprehensible.  This method of filmmaking, for this genre specifically, is fascinating, it is a choice often reserved for horror films or indie psychological dramas, but has a big payoff here in its consideration of exactly what is so idyllic about the western as a film genre.  Within the narrative Reichardt clearly rejects the sentimentality and traditionalism attached to the era, because it was terrible for everyone involved and doubly so for anyone without a voice or power.  Secondly, aside from a few moments each day the living conditions within the world were far from comfortable.  The near black scenes of night, remove the sort of homely comfort associated with the campfire of the old west and remind viewers that it would probably have been quite impossible to visually communicate in the darkness, while providing pioneers with little to no comfort.  The digital camera only makes the dark even more incomprehensible, instead of possessing the sharp "true blacks" of a strictly film era.  In the matter of less than two hours, Reichardt's film narratively and structurally reconsiders the relevance of the western in contemporary society, unfortunately, its obtuse ending fails to provide any tangible alternatives.

Key Scene:  There is a rather stellar speech about destruction and chaos about halfway through the film that is a highlight from a consistently solid film

This is on Watch Instantly and I suggest checking it out, although it is necessary to come at the film with an appropriate frame of mind, because it is a highly perplexing and philosophical engagement.

I'd Rather Plead To A Texas Jury Than Preach To This Gang: Cimarron (1931)

I am willing to excuse a lot in regards to film historicism, given the amont of courses I have taken and reading I have done regarding cultural shifts in America.  For example, I can respect both Holiday Inn and The Jazz Singer detached from their unfortunate uses of blackface, where as I have trouble forgiving and overlooking the racist and sexist elements of The Birth of a Nation or Gone With the Wind in favor of their cinematic exuberance.  A film like Cimarron is doubly problematic, because while it does have a few moments of genuine cinematic magic, it is attached with the fate of being a silent film forced into the mold of a the still newly working talking pictures, and does not manage to take its moments of experimentation and unique camerawork farther than the occasional captivating side shot.  While it is an issue all its own, the fact that the film makes egregious use of racist and sexist imagery to get its message across, only to embrace, in the end, the aid of white America in racial freedom, Cimarron is an insanely problematic and particularly offensive work.  It could be, in a sense, seen as the Western epic thirties version of The Help, a film so infuriatingly frustrating when it comes to race relations that I actively petition it when given an opportunity.  Yet, even the problematic The Help suggests that the white figure in question has a deep-seeded understanding that racial injustice is wrong, in Cimarron all the characters begin as racist and learn to evolve away from such issues.  I want to emphasize here that I am not a person who quickly dismisses the films of the thirties, which are decidedly mixed in results, in fact, I thoroughly enjoy a lot of the output from classic Hollywood in this era, after all it did provide viewers with multiple Marx Brothers classics, and the magnificence that is King Kong.  I wanted to get over my decidedly visceral rejection of this work and embrace it wholly as a realized vision of an early western, but, to be honest, it is hardly that either and fails to capture viewers with any coherent plot, instead, aiming for an audacious and lofty multi-decade narrative that ultimately fails miserably in the two-hour time allotment.  However, it should be no surprise that it won the Oscar for Best Picture upon its release, after all, the Academy rarely gets it right.

Cimarron begins with the race for American expansion to the West at the hands of many ambitious American pioneers of all classes.  The particular movement is to the newly established Oklahoma territory which the United States government has recently made available after the relocation of its native populations.  One such settler Yancey Cravat (Richard Dix) takes this opportunity to relocate his family, including his wife Sambra (Irene Dunne) and their young son. This movement is seen as frivolous and dangerous by everyone except Yancey who views it as a means to make a bigger name for himself within the newspaper business.  The family servant/slave Isaiah (Eugene Jackson) also sneaks along for the ride, an act that Yancey seems hesitant to chastise, mostly because Isaiah will provide a source of work in the bustling settlement town they make it to upon the end of their travels from Kansas.  Yancey is immediately confronted by the ruff and tumble members of the town, particularly as set of gunslingers who find his Yankee ways and desire to establish social etiquette and respect within the town foolish and an invasion of their lawless existence.  Nonetheless, using a chance sermon as a means to state his goals, and rid himself of the pesky criminals in a very real way, Yancey becomes the most established and respected member within his community, pushing the newspaper and the power that comes along with it, much to the frustration of Sambra who sees her familial structure faltering, particularly when her son falls for a Native American girl, much to her anger.  Yancey grows in stature and engages in multiple violent shootouts only continuing to grow in power and progressive idealism, eventually using his sway to help the native populations and act that ultimately severs his bond with Sambra, so much so that it is not until well after the discovery of oil and modernization sweeps up the rustic world of the new west that they are to reunite.  At this point in the narratives closing, Sambra has become an established politician, one of the first women to do so and has turned away from her discrimination of the Native populations.  Yet when she meets an aging and decrepit Yancey on the streets she comes to the realization that it was his actions that made everything possible, forever immortalized in a statue built in his honor in the closing moment of the film.

This whitewashing, very literally, of the American west is a problem that proves to occupy many westerns of the classic era, whether it be the contentious relationship in both the classic John Wayne vehicles Stagecoach and The Searchers or in the pseudo-western River of No Return.  Yet in these films the Native American population fights against the seemingly unquestioned invasion of White Americans by using physical violence and blocking of their navigation of the space.  The very opposite happens in Cimarron there are seens of Yancey and his family literally walking through the spaces of the so-called "injuns" of the area, expecting them to simply move out of the way of their larger and oppressive stage coaches.  Furthermore, there is a very spoken disregard for the native bodies within the film, Sambra constantly degrading their every action and assuming them to be so savage as to be beyond even basic human respect.  In fact, when a Native American man provides her son with a gift of a feathered hat, she quickly takes it from him and tells him not to talk or even acknowledge any native members.  In fact, she is completely in favor of walking over the space the various natives occupy if it assures the continued advances of the American ideal of whiteness.  When native voices are allowed to speak it is in a problematically demur and incredibly performative, one can recall both versions of Ruby Big Elk speaking in fractured sentences and "native proverbs" that are paired with excessive arm gestures.  The native identity in this film is one of simultaneous exploitation and exoticization, never allowing their narrative even the slightest of value.  I could embrace the film for its earnest depictions of what reality was for Native American populations during this wild time in American History, but that would suggest that the writers and filmmaker had the express intent of drawing attention to such injustice, whereas it is rather clear that they see it as a mere fact of the era.

Key Scene: The opening sequence is quite enjoyable in its action heavy nature, although the metaphor it exudes is far less awesome.

The only way I would suggest watching this is if you were attempting to navigate your way through all the Academy's Best Picture winners, if not, avoid this film it is hardly worth the drawn out two hours it demands.

It's Easier To Pull The Trigger Than Play Guitar: Desperado (1995)

It is only fitting to include this hyper neo-western on my viewing docket for the month, because, after all it is a complete embracing and rejection of the traditional western that preoccupies itself with white, male issues and often passively incorporates Mexican characters as a means to create narrative cohesion, usually in an exploitative manner, reflect on my recent discussion of Rio Bravo for an example.  While the character of Carlos is certainly not out-and-out exploitative, one cannot help but question his relevance to a plot aside from filling a narrative gap.  What one is provided with in Desperado is a complete and highly visceral consideration of the experiences of, next to Native American persons, the most othered bodies within the traditional western, the Mexican/South American identity.  Robert Rodriguez's pseudo-sequel to El Mariachi (A film I absolutely adore) Desperado is in some ways better than its predecessor, while also lacking a considerable amount of its gritty low-budget honesty.  Robert Rodriguez, much like his filmic compatriot, Quentin Tarantino creates films that are so heavily invested in multiple genres and references as to almost not be any specific style, yet the nature of Desperado is, if anything, wholly a western that also happens to be a film about the drug trade.  Desperado stands as an excellent reminder that Tarantino, while a rebel and provacateur of a filmmaker, does not exist on a spectrum all his own, and very much exists in the same world as Rodriguez.  In fact, I know this will seem sacrilege to fans of this style of film, but in many years in which the two have released films in the same relative space, I would contest that Rodriguez has offered the better product.  Rodriguez, unlike Tarantino, manages to continually surprise, such was the case with Machete, a film I dismissed only to find it absolutely engaging and appropriately excessive.  Desperado is a cinematic fiesta that is tightly paced, while being slow and introspective when necessary, borrowing from a melodramatic tradition integral to Spanish cinema, while also embracing the b-movie world where Rodriguez clearly learned his film language.  Many genres formulate, instersect and explode on the screen in one of the globe's most criminally underrated auteurs work.  I would call Desperado a minor Rodriguez film, but even that makes it stand far above its counterparts.

Desperado preemptively follows the character of El Mariachi (Antonio Banderas), I say preemptively because he is introduced through a tale told by barfly and "brother" of El Mariachi Buscemi (Steve Buscemi) who informs a local bar, that is a knowing front for corruption and drug trafficking about his presence and killing at another bar, particularly his unusual means for carrying weapons via a guitar case.  El Mariachi is introduced within the context of a performance, one that is excellent, but goes unappreciated by the mostly white patrons.  As a result, El Mariachi goes on a quest to end the evil reign of Bucho (Joaquim de Almeida) whose evil ways have led to a border town turning into anything but habitable.  El Mariachi moves about the town, almost like a shadow, searching for Bucho and destroying all those who seem to get in his way, yet viewers are also provided a glimpse into the world of Bucho as he ruthlessly exploits everyone around him, regardle
ss of loyalty or family ties.  When El Mariachi finally discovers the bar which much of the trafficking takes place it results in an intense shootout with countless deaths.  During his retreat from battle El Mariachi is chased by one of Bucho's men and shot, only to be rescued and nursed back to health by bookstore owner Carolina (Salma Hayek) who sees El Mariachi as a hero her town desperately needs.  After engaging in a fiery night of passion El Mariachi uses information provided by Carolina to hunt down Bucho, only to discover that he has implemented every single member of the community into his drug ring, including children and even Carolina, using a back room of her bookstore to hide drugs.  Initially furious at the discovery, El Mariachi attempts to take on Bucho's men alone, a task that proves troublesome at first, especially when he is simultaneously attacked by the elusive and seemingly non-partisan Navajas (Danny Trejo).  Eventually, El Mariachi gets Bucho in his scope with a chance to kill him, which leads to the realization that Bucho is his brother, causing him to hesitate in his attack, much to the anger of Carolina.  After stepping over his fraternal boundary issues, El Mariachi recruits the help of his band, whose instrument cases also double as weapons, to take on Bucho's men and eventually Bucho, which is yet another bloody affair, although both El Mariachi and Carolina survive, and even if it is tumultuous the closing scenes suggest that their relationship will do the same.

Desperado, as noted in the opening paragraph, is a film that not only rejects white patriarchy and its power within the western genre, but turns it inside out, in fact, reversing the entire notion of who controls the space of the western, especially in a post-colonial world.  While Rodriguez's films would certainly evolve to consider the issues of navigating a border in a post-9/11 world, Desperado does not have the same concern, because its presence right in the middle of the 90's proved to be a culturally diverse and open to exploration.  Rodriguez however is not idyllic or optimistic about this sort of movement between borders, because as he sees it through the narrative of Desperado, the movement is only that of white tourists coming in and invading the cultural spaces of Mexico.  Think of the particularly frustrating scene involving a few American tourists critiquing Cheech Marin's character and his methods of bartending.  Granted, he is a terrible bartender, but their dismissal is based entirely on their constructions of American service industries.  Similarly, Rodriguez dismisses the carefree evasive attitudes of spring break college kids who move into Mexico expecting it to instantly become a party palace for their every whim and completely void of the violence and despair present in many border cities.  I know that it might seem as though such a set up would absolutely undermine the possibility for any tropes being discussed, but that is far from the case.  The idea of the "stranger" is quite prevalent in the western genre, however, it usually involves a dark, mysterious individual coming into a town and while El Mariachi certainly serves as the first example of this within Desperado, he is also not the stranger, especially since he is the person with whom viewers are to share with experientially.  Instead, Rodriguez has the moments of white invasion serve as a sort of example of how the stranger really exists within contemporary Mexico, especially when they double as a former colonizer.  The white bodies, including Buscemi to a degree, move through the space as though it is their own, while also fearing every alley.  In fact, I would say that the entire opening scene to this film sets up Rodriguez's idea of what non-Mexican bodies represent to the Mexican cultural community and, trust me, it is far from endearing.

Key Scene:  The big bar shootout is action scene magic

This is a cheap film to obtain and probably less recognized than it should be.  I would suggest picking up the bluray double pack paired with Rodriguez's earlier film El Mariachi.

The Brothel There'll Be My Courthouse: The Life And Times Of Judge Roy Bean (1972)

First off, I could sell this movie by describing a singular moment: Paul Newman and a bear get drunk together in a saloon.  If that is not enough to convince somebody that this film is anything but extraordinary I would go on to suggest that it is in all likelihood also the most accurate consideration of how modern Texas came into existence...even if it is a comedic oriented version of the western it just goes to such lengths to exist in the inconceivable that it could only have existed in the narrative space of Texas, not to mention that it involves a lot of hangings, making a clear connection to death penalties in the grand and problematic Lone Star State.  Now to be fair, John Huston, a well established director at this point made The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean well before either Bush took office and although Texas was certainly far from the Rick Perry, gun toting madness it has become signified as today.  The film being made in the early seventies probably considers more a general state of America leading up to its imminent bicentennial than a historicized devil-may-care vision of Texas, especially since the film does narratively extend itself and pull in characters from other parts of the country, and to some degree, the world.  Considering all this, The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean is nothing short of wonderful, the acting delivered by Paul Newman is perfectly bombastic, yet mellow and incredibly emotive when necessary and the directorial choices made by Huston not only reconsider the western as a genre, but also his entire oeuvre as a filmmaker.  Going into this blindly, I fully expected this to be a rather droll and uninspired mid-grade western, especially considering its just under "good" ratings on popular movie sites.  However, if my string of excellent viewing experiences continues into the remainder of this western film month, I am a bit worried that my top hundred films will turn western heavy.  Either way, what initially started as an uncertain endeavor is quickly proving to be a rewarding navigation through one of my personally overlooked genres as well as one of the genres in desperate need of a return to a consistent Hollywood output.

The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean, begins with the title character Roy Bean (Paul Newman) entering an off-the-map whorehouse after yet another successful robbery.  High on his pride, Roy mocks the people of the whorehouse who are varying degrees of reprobates an act that quickly leads to his being attacked and tied in a noose, only to be drug out of town by a horse and left for dead in the desert.  Fearing for his life a young Mexican woman named Maria (Victoria Principal) offers Roy water that proves to be his second wind, so much so that the takes it upon himself to personally exact revenge upon the whorehouse and reclaim the area for his own.  This act, leads to his self-appointment as judge of the town and makes himself a courthouse/saloon called the Jersey Lillie in honor of famous actress Lillie Langtry.  Having absolutely know regard for textual law, Roy takes it upon himself to enact justice as he sees fit, even hiring a set of gunslingers on as his appointed marshals, although they clearly concern themselves with making sure a steady flow of money comes to the town, by any means necessary.  Eventually, Roy's shrewd methodology results in his town prospering considerably and becoming the envy of both tycoons and outlaws alike, whether it be the attempts to buy the land by wealth lawyer Frank Gass (Roddy McDowall) or an unannounced shootout involving the albino gunslinger Bad Bob (Stacy Keach).  At one point after a run-in with a distraught Grizzly Adams (John Huston) Roy also comes into custody of a bear who he, as noted earlier, drinks beer with.  Eventually, Roy and Maria becoming seriously involved and after much turmoil in the town and the loss of the bear, she informs Roy that she is pregnant.  Yet, it is during this time that Roy is afforded a chance to meet Lillie Langtry in San Antonio, an endeavor that ends with dire results, leading to Roy's realization that his own idealized community, while nice is far from the truth.  This smack with reality is worsened when he returns to discover that Maria is on her death bed after birth complications.  When she dies, Roy flees town, only to return years later once his daughter Rose (Jacqueline Bisset) has grown to help defend the town from the now wealthy Gass and Texas police.   During this explosive shootout Roy dies in a fire.  The film, however, closes in the future with a visit by the aged Langtry (Ava Gardner) who is told by surviving marshals of the glory of the late Roy Bean.

This film does the exact opposite of pretty much every film I have reviewed up until this point.  Where as main characters often are concerned within the western as being righteous and enactors of justice, Roy Bean is a man who finds the very thought of justice to be absurd and assumes that a profit oriented worldview will suit him.  Yet as a man with notions about the world, Roy is far from above creating laws, his just happen to orient themselves around embracing decadence and vice, and absolutely do not allow for any ill-will to be directed at the image or name of Lillie Langtry.  Roy is a man who is quick to enact a hanging upon a person, but it is often as a result of the individual and their belligerent behavior.  For example, he hangs one man not because of his shooting of a poster of Langtry per se, but more so because he was foolish enough to get stumbling drunk and fire off his gun in a bar repeatedly.  Furthermore, Roy clearly has no stomach for truly terrible people, particularly a man who is willing to kill an elderly woman for a jar of money, regardless of whether or not her racial identity was deemed less than human, a notion Roy openly rejects.  Roy has a distinct worldview and it is one that he certainly forces others to adhere to, although when they do commit to his idea it is often to their benefit, yet his tight control even if in a friendly and non-threatening manner, has its downsides.  For example, he rejects any heavy degree of monogamy with Maria and actively avoids embracing the child she is to have, aside from hoping it is a boy, even leaving her bedside to attempt a meeting with Lillie Langtry.  His assumptions that helping criminals will result in their being forever indebted to him also blows up in his face when he refers to a group of married women in the town by their former job descriptions.  Roy even shoots a man in the back to assure his safety and survival, an act that leads to multiple questions from his marshals about fairness.  These actions do take their consequences on Roy particularly considering that he is abandoned and alone by the film's closing and dies as such, even if it is in a literal blaze of glory.  Fortunately, what Roy does share with some of the previous films' characters is a degree of mythology and his is easily the most grand yet.

Key Scene:  Hearing Paul Newman throwing down an absolutely insane Texas accent while saying "drink your beer bear" is easily one of the greatest cinematic gifts I have ever encountered.

The DVD is a bit pricey and understandably so, I imagine this film only has a devoted cult following, so considering I would suggest renting the film before buying it, although I promise you will want to immediately after the credits roll.