Ten Deep 06.05.09: 50 Great Westerns: #32-#22!

Posted by Lucas Huddleston on 06.05.2009

In this week's edition of Ten Deep, 411's Lucas Huddleston continues ahead with his Westerns stuff, and lays out a whole bunch of man-love for Sam Elliott along the way.

Hello, and welcome to Ten Deep: Week 33! Once AGAIN, I've gone a little long here, as I was originally hoping to include eleven more selections this week, and so you'll notice at least two of my write-ups here a whole lot less descriptive than the rest; unfortunately, it has to be so, as I could only fit in ten due to length. So next week, expect less descriptive write-ups so I can go out on my Top 10 in my final week, and not my Top 11.

50 Great Westerns: #31-#22

31. Rio Bravo (1959)



I've touched it on before, but allow me to go just a tad bit deeper into detail when it concerns this particular subject: though it's now often considered by many to be one of the all-time greatest Westerns ever crafted, when High Noon was released in 1950 it wasn't exactly embraced as being the classic that we all know it as. In addition to not being a commercial success or even that big of a critical success, High Noon also suffered at the hands of long-time stalwarts that were associated with the genre in those days as those figures in Westerns turned their back on the film; John Wayne would claim that High Noon was the most un-American film that he had ever seen, which was only the first step into the dark and despicable acts that the Duke would perpetrate upon High Noon and those involved with it…though that story's still to come. Another respected member of the Western genre that threw disdain towards that 1950 classic was venerable director of Westerns, Howard Hawks; however, unlike Wayne and others (*ahem*), Hawks didn't take issue with High Noon by way of any political differences and/or disillusionment. Now, while the director did indeed oppose the film somewhat due to political reasons, Hawks mainly seemed to take issue with High Noon and Gary Cooper (who portrayed that film's iconic marshal Will Kane) for one simple reason – he didn't believe that the film High Noon accurately portrayed the peoples of the Old West, and, as such, was a slap in the face to not only the real-life persons of the Old West, but of the Westerns that paid homage to that historical period, as well.

One of the main aspects of the depiction of the West in High Noon that Hawks took offense to was the depiction of Will Kane, that particular movie's marshal. Hawks didn't believe that a lawman in that era would have acted as Kane did; he apparently found it hard to imagine that a single man would desperately seek out allies to aid him against a group of outlaws and murderers that are coming to kill him…or that that same single man would, upon not getting any help, appear to be frightened, scared, or merely just unnerved by the fact that he's facing his death alone, with no one there to help him in his time of need. I, of course, think that Hawks believing that Kane's depiction was ‘inauthentic' is completely preposterous. Hawks also took issue with how High Noon depicted the townsfolk of Marshal Kane's town. In Hawks' mind, the people of the town would be more than eager and willing to aid their town marshal in his time of need, even offer their help when the man WOULDN'T need any aid – the people wouldn't abandon him and essentially leave the marshal for dead as the townsfolk in High Noon did. In fact, Hawks (and Wayne, as well) took such great offense to High Noon that the two saw no other recourse but to combat the moral and humanistic issues that High Noon put forth in regards to the Old West with their own film…the ‘Anti-High Noon, if you will. And, obviously, that Wayne/Hawks venture that would be purposely crafted to specifically stand in opposition to High Noon would be Rio Bravo.

In Rio Bravo, Wayne stars as John T. Chance, sheriff of the town of Rio Bravo, and a man who has to deal with his alcoholic and now-completely inept deputy, Dude (Dean Martin). After the villainous Joe Burdette taunts the drunken Dude by tossing a silver dollar into a spittoon, Chance stops his deputy from degrading himself any further as Dude makes for the dollar; as such, Dude whacks Chance from behind and knocks him cold, at which point Burdette and a few goons set upon Dude. When another man comes to Dude's aid, Burdette pulls out his pistol and shoots the man dead and leaves for another saloon. Chance and Dude then venture to the other saloon and place Burdette under arrest to see trial, and possible hanging, for murder. However, Burdette is the brother to a wealthy rancher, and the rancher refuses to sit idly by and watch his brother be hanged…so he sets his ranch-hands on the town, quarantining it off in preparation of breaking Joe out of jail. As you can see, there are a few similarities between the two plots of High Noon and Rio Bravo, respectively. However, the real differences between the two (and the clear answer from Rio Bravo in regards to the depictions in High Noon) stands in the character of Chance himself, as played by Wayne. In the film, Chance is on a crash course to stand his ground against an unspecified amount of villains (though there's quite a few of them)…forced to stand his ground with two deputies – one being an out-of-control alcoholic, the other being an elderly man who rarely leaves the confines of the jail. So, basically, at that point in the movie, Chance is a man alone…but he NEVER brings himself to ask for help against the coming onslaught of thugs, despite the inadequacies of his partners. Likewise, people in the town of Rio Bravo consistently offer help to Chance in his plight, all but one of which he turns down (he accepts help from a young gunfighter named Colorado, played by then-teeny bopper icon Ricky Nelson). The men are unapologetically heroic in the plight, strong and steadfast even though facing a vast disadvantage, and, at the film's climax, the entire town comes to Chance's aid despite his telling them not to…and THAT'S how Wayne and Hawks thought the lawmen and townsfolk of Westerns should be depicted.

However, regardless of any contrasts and differences that can be noted between this film and High Noon, Rio Bravo stands as being great in its own right…and probably would do just that anyway even if High Noon had never existed in the first place. Rio Bravo is a fairly long movie, as it clocks in at being just a shade under two-and-a-half hours long; however, like a lot of Hawks' movies (most of which are long films), Rio Bravo never drags at any point during the proceedings. As well, the acting is all very well done, with, of course, a great performance by Wayne and company; however, perhaps most surprising of all, is the performance turned in by legendary crooner and Rat Pack member Dean Martin. In the first part of the film, Martin is near unrecognizable as he's all disheveled in his appearance, with a scraggly looking ‘white trash' beard, and is completely believable as the pathetic shell of a man that is Dude – pretty damn good for a pretty-boy. Of course, since the film holds the honor of having the services of both Martin and Ricky Nelson at its disposal, the plot takes a break so that the two can sing a song…which is one of the best parts of an already great movie, in my opinion. Rio Bravo has gone on to be recognized as being a truly great Western, though perhaps not quite as great as its sworn enemy; the film is also noted as being one of Quentin Tarantino's favorite films, as well. Hawks and Wayne must have felt quite a bit of love for this one, too, as the two men would go on to remake Rio Bravo TWO MORE TIMES, and how's that for a remake? A remake starring the same man that was the star in the original, and one that also is directed by the same director as the original? Yes, it is a bit odd…though I would give EXTRA special mention to the first remake, 1967's El Dorado. El Dorado is basically the same movie, with a few changes in characters: Robert Mitchum stands in as being the alcoholic lawman; Wayne, while not as the sheriff, stands in as the man that would stand alone if need be; James Caan as Mississippi, instead of, you know, Colorado; there's an elderly deputy that never leaves the jail…you get the picture, I'm sure. It's a remake…but it's one that is most often on par with Rio Bravo, and in some cases exceeds it. The third remake, 1970's Rio Lobo, which would be Hawks' final movie, is skippable, but it was still a success. As such, what term other than ‘great' can there be to describe a movie that was successfully remade two times?

30. Dead Man (1995)



As it is, Dead Man stands as being my good-friend Guyburns' all-time favorite Western…so imagine my timidity in telling him exactly where the film fell on my list of 50 Great Westerns when he asked me a couple of weeks ago about its placement. Imagine as well his response – "Wow, that's, uh…that's pretty low on down the list, isn't it?" Well…yes, yes it is. As I've stated from the very beginning, several factors were set in motion in my choosing of the films that would grace my list: I own them, and have watched them all numerous times over my life; I had no intention of creating a GREATEST Westerns list…just highlighting fifty great ones; and, of course, I was also taking into effect the accessibility of the films that I had in my mind in regards to people that either have never watched a Western before, or those that hated them. In short, these are fifty Westerns that I would recommend to just about anybody…and that's probably why Dead Man just kept on sliding down the list as I was assembling it. I can't imagine it being very accessible to very many people outside of the REALLY hardcore Western crowd, or fans of the artsy-fartsy, indie-type of film. In short, it's just kind of…strange and unusual – especially for a Western.

To relate to someone that hasn't seen the movie the plot of Dead Man, and relate merely the plot alone, is kind of pointless, as simply stating the actions of the movie's story does a great disservice to the broader dreamscape of what the picture is really all about. The plot is simple: William Blake (Johnny Depp) is traveling towards a new job in a town called Machine. Whilst there, Blake ends up sleeping with a woman…then her boyfriend shows up, and shoots both her and Blake, before Blake, in turn, slays him. The rest of the movie is, essentially, a showing of Blake's last few days, as the bullet within him slowly kills him. He is happened upon by an Indian named Nobody, who believes Blake to be THE William Blake, the legendary poet…who died long before Depp's Blake came to Machine. As such, Nobody believes Blake to already be dead. What continues on from there all depends on how and what you take it to mean. You see, Dead Man is one of those types of films that you watch, and then essentially draw your own conclusions on the themes and symbolism found within. Is Dead Man the story of a man that's dying while at the same time slowly losing his mind, and thus the film depicts his descent into insanity? Or, is William Blake, as Nobody claims him to be, already dead before he makes to Machine (which, at the beginning of the film, the train conductor, played by Crispin Glover, describes as being ‘the end of the line'), and the rest of the film a portrayal of Blake's journey to the spirit world, with Nobody and bounty hunter Cole Wilson essentially battling over Blake's soul on the behalves of Heaven and Hell, respectively? Or is it all just some whacked-out, crazy movie that makes little sense? Dead Man is what it is and gives it audience only what they choose to take from the movie; it IS great, in my opinion, a beautiful film, and one that clearly stands as being quite the unique Western in a genre that is often classified as being ‘derivative' by it's detractors. They've obviously never seen the likes of Dead Man.

29. Conagher (1991)



Sometimes, people are born before their time; likewise, there are some people who seem to have born just a decade or two too late. Of those few that I believe to have been born in the wrong era, one much later than what they should have been, I always think on the classic 1979 television mini-series, The Sacketts (a film which just barely got edged out of this list of 50 Great Westerns). Having grown up with a ragged looking VHS copy of the series (one that encompasses two videotapes), the three men featured in that film (and The Sacketts sequel, 1982's The Shadow Riders), I would almost immediately after having watched The Sacketts go on to be a rather substantial fan of three of the men involved: Ben Johnson, Tom Selleck, and Sam Elliott (the film's other main roles were filled by John Osterhage and Western-legend Glenn Ford). Now, Ben Johnson was already a well-known figure in the realms of Westerns, having been a long-time supporting player in a veritable plethora of classic Westerns; Selleck and Elliott, however, were for all intents and purposes largely unknown at the time that The Sacketts saw its initial airing on mainstream television…and it is of my own personal opinion that both Selleck and Elliott would have both been revered figures in the Western-film genre had they been born twenty years earlier. Two weeks ago, I did a write-up on a Western titled Quigley Down Under, a fantastic Western starring Tom Selleck (and by far his most well-known and viewed), and in the comments left on that page, one commenter seemed to be appalled at granting a spot to a Western featuring Selleck. That's fair enough, as that particular person is more than welcome to state his own opinion…but, at the same time, I'd argue that Selleck's best roles and performances have come by way of the Western, and it's a genre that Selleck himself has professed to have an unrequited love and devotion to the Western. As such, it seems doubtless that Selleck's willingness to be a part of the Western genre, coupled with his rugged and masculine good-looks, would have undoubtedly landed him many starring roles in big-budget, wide-release Westerns, had his career in the 1980's been transplanted in the late 1950's or the ‘60's. However, though Selleck could have potentially been a major star of Westerns in that period, I'd like to think that the star of Sam Elliott (my own personal favorite Western icon) would have undoubtedly outshone that of Selleck's, had Elliott's career been in it's peak during the ‘60's, and NOT during the Western-starved 1980's.

In fact, I'd go so far as to say that, moreso than any other man that has ever appeared in a Western movie, Elliott seems to have been molded by the hands of God Himself to be the perfect and quintessential Western star. Tall and lanky, though still muscular, with a thick-handlebar mustache and craggy face, Elliott was undoubtedly graced with a certain picturesque appearance that seemed a perfect visual fit with what most people would visualize a cowboy/lawman/outlaw/ANYTHING in a Western to look like. As such, when one combines the man's look with his slow, drawling deep-speaking voice, it seems clear enough to me that had the peak of his career took place in the 1950's-1960's, Elliott MAY have had the chance to have been one of the biggest icons that the Western genre has ever seen, right on up there with the likes of Wayne, Scott, and Eastwood…though, I should note that, to me personally, he already IS up there on a certain pedestal with the great leading men of Westerns. In fact, it seems as though certain Hollywood-types also took notice of Elliott's seemingly being tailor-made to be a Western star, as Elliott's film debut was in nothing short a true classic of the Western genre, that being 1969's Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be, as during much of Elliott's thirties and forties, when he could have unquestionably been the perfect leading man for theatrical Westerns, Westerns had fallen out of grace with studios, and very few Westerns were able to find their way to nation-wide cinemas. However, Elliott was still able to find work in major motion-pictures, though he typically plays a ‘Western' hero anyway, as those certain roles have always been as rough and rugged as one would expect a character in a Western to be, whether it be by way of a bouncer in a bar (1989's Roadhouse), or an army sergeant/general (2002's We Were Soldiers, 1993's Gettysburg…or even 2003's Hulk). Due to the at-the-time low-point in popularity for Westerns, all but ONE of the Westerns in which Elliott starred or had a somewhat major role were all made-for-television movies…Westerns such as 1991's Conagher.

Much as how The Sacketts had been, or even The Shadow Riders or 1987's The Quick and the Dead, Conagher was another Elliott-starring Western that was based on a book by one of Western fiction's most popular writer, that being Louis L'Amour, of course. Part of what made L'Amour a true great in the world of Western fiction is the fact that he knew that one of the key ingredients to a great Western tale was ‘simplicity', and, in keeping with that, the plot of Conagher is as simple as they come. Elliott stars as Conn Conagher, and honest and hard-working cowboy who finds a new job with an aging cattleman Tay, played by Ken Curtis (Festus of Gunsmoke fame); however, shortly after being hired on by Tay as one of his three cowhands, Conagher discovers that the other men working under Tay plan on deserting him and steal his cattle with a group of outlaws. Conagher won't stand for it, and, with the old man and the youngest cowboy of Tay's that ultimately decided against rustling with the Ladder Five, stands his ground against the best efforts of the bandits to steal Tay's cattle. At the same time, a woman and her two children have only recently moved into the nearby wilderness, where the woman's husband plans on raising some cattle of his own; however, after traveling to town to buy a few head, he doesn't return, leaving his wife and children to fend for themselves…with their ‘story' criss-crossing that of Conagher's. As you can see, one of Conagher's strengths is that of the classic plot, where the good-guys are clearly defined as being upright and good and always ends up with the girl, and the bad-guys wear black hats – almost true Golden Age stuff. As such, Conagher is probably the best traditional/conventional Western that has been released in the past twenty or thirty years, as films such as Unforgiven and Dances with Wolves, while great, aren't exactly traditional Westerns in the vein of Rio Bravo or Hondo. Yet, there are two things that this film does exceedingly well. The first is the acting that is to be found in the film, as the movie is well-stocked with Western-regulars, such as Curtis, Barry Corbin, Buck Taylor, and James Gammon; also of note is Katherine Ross who plays the single mother, whose chemistry with Elliott is fantastic…which is as it should be, since the two are husband and wife in real-life. The second aspect of Conagher that is very well-done is the fact that, in my opinion, the movie stands as perhaps being one of the most authentic-looking Westerns to have ever been made. For example, when scenes take place indoors, the environs are typically dark, lit only by the rays of the sun as it tumbles through a window, or a lit candle…which is how it would have been back in those days. Everything looks rough, such as buildings, sheds, or stables, and not as perfectly crafted as other Westerns have a tendency to make things look. Ultimately, it's a shame that Conagher wasn't released to theaters, as it is, in my opinion, Sam Elliott's finest hour in a Western, and one that stands as being one of the finest produced not only the 1990's, but in the entire history of Western-films.

28. Pale Rider (1985)



Last week, I said that during the great theatrical drought for Westerns in the 1980's, there were two big-budget shots fired in an attempt to return the Western to prominence in terms of cinematic releases. The first was Silverado; the other film was Pale Rider, and while it was a success with movie-goers (no doubt due to the name of ‘Eastwood' being attached), it failed to reignite the spark of interest back into the Western en masse. I'll be completely honest with you here – at first, I heavily contemplated not including Pale Rider on my list at all, despite the fact that I originally planned on having it here…though not because of it's ‘failure' in resetting the mold for big-budget Westerns. It may sound absurd now, but the reasoning was more than valid in my mind at the time. I didn't wish to include original films as well as the remakes of those films; if there happened to be two Westerns that were the same, with one being the original and the other being the remake, I would choose which of the two was the best and only include THAT one. But, I'm sure you're asking yourself, "Hey, waitaminute, is Pale Rider a remake? I've never heard of the first one…?" Well…no. Pale Rider is not a remake, and that's why I ultimately chose to go ahead and ultimately include it. However, while not a remake, Pale Rider stands as being an homage to another all-time classic and great Western that American cinema has ever produced, which isn't a bad thing, and doesn't institute labeling Pale Rider as being a remake. And yet, Pale Rider bends its knee so often and so rigidly to the particular classic that it pays homage to that a lot of themes and scenes tend to mirror each other, almost to the point where one might be inclined to think that Pale Rider is a remake of that 1953 classic, Shane. The similarities between Pale Rider and Shane are fairly plentiful in regards to certain situations and such that are depicted, with the biggest ‘mirroring' the PR puts forth being the closing shots of the film, which are near identical to the closing scene of Shane.

However, while Pale Rider is indeed an (and at times a very obvious) homage to Shane, it also stands as giving appreciation to other classic Westerns, as well. For example, to be found in Pale Rider is what is essentially a bastard version of the Magnificent Seven; the villainous entrepenuer LaHood, in an attempt to be rid off a group of gold-diggers in order to attain the precious metal himself, enlists the aid of Marshal Stockburn and his six deputies. However, unlike the REAL Magnificent Seven, these gunfighters aren't of the benevolent kind, as whereas the Magnificent Seven was enlisted with the purpose of protecting essentially the lower-class, the ‘Magnificent Seven' of Pale Rider is brought in to more-or-less destroy them and their livelihoods. Pale Rider, in it's climactic showdown on the streets between Clint Eastwood's character the Preacher and Stockburn and his six henchmen harkens back to the classic High Noon, as the motif of the one just man standing up against numerous villains, beating seemingly-insurmountable odds. In fact, while it seems fairly obvious that Pale Rider pays homage to Shane most identifiably, it would be safe to assume that the film stands as being an tribute to not just Shane, but to several Westerns…some of the true timeless classics of the genre.

However, whilst all that's very well and good, it also stands as being worth noting that Pale Rider can also be looked upon as being a pseudo-sequel/spiritual successor to the previous Eastwood directed Western – High Plains Drifter, though I should also explain that Pale Rider ISN'T a direct sequel to that previous film. If you recall, High Plains Drifter dealt with a man the may or may not have returned from the dead in order to mete out the vengeance that was stolen from him during his life…and that particular man wasn't exactly the nicest or the most idyllic hero figure to have ever been presented in a Western. In fact, you could say that High Plains Drifter's ‘protagonist', the Stranger (played by Eastwood), was capable of far more atrocious evils than even the villains of the film; what's more, as one commenter stated last week, it could even be presented believably that the Stranger was the devil incarnate, an idea that might as well be stamped as being valid due to the climax in which the Stranger finally enforces his revenge on the three men that directly slew him years before, with the backdrop being the burning town behind the Stranger. In Pale Rider, early on in the film a young girl who's mother's boyfriend is the leader of the small mining contingent prays to God after a particularly brutal attack by LaHood's thugs; in her prayer, the girl asks God to send the group a protector…and her words are overlaid with images of Eastwood's character, the Preacher (or the Pale Rider, a Biblical reference to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse), on his way, seemingly materializing out of the landscape itself, again implying that Eastwood is playing a supernatural character in a Western. Both the Stranger and the Preacher wear similar types of clothing, and both ride a similar looking horse; the main differences between the two are the Preacher doesn't chomp on cigars (merely a cosmetic difference), and the Preacher isn't just in it all for himself. The Preacher is truly somewhat angelic in his endeavors (as opposed to the Stranger being monstrous), as he holds nothing to gain from his aiding of the miners, and despite having the opportunities to kill at several points in the film, he never takes until the final battle with Stockburn and company. At any rate, as I said, while Pale Rider may very well be an extravagant homage to classic Westerns and/or a kind-of sequel, it's ultimately its own movie, and as such, I had no problem in going ahead and giving it a spot on my list. After all, it IS one of the very first Westerns that I fell in love with as a young child growing up in mid-Missouri who was surrounded by people that watched the hell out of Westerns.

27. Blazing Saddles (1974)



When I first began to compile this list of great Westerns, I admit that, at first, I was a bit loathe to include Blazing Saddles on the list. It wasn't because I didn't think it belonged; quite the contrary, the film is arguably one of the most popular Westerns of all-time – at one time, it was even the highest grossing Western in the history of cinema (it has since been uprooted from that lofty perch with the release of 1991's Dances with Wolves). No, the reasoning behind my trepidation in granting Mel Brooks' spoof-masterpiece was two-fold: 1.), I knew that the people that love the movie would blast me for NOT placing the movie in the Top Ten (if you remember, I stated a few weeks back that my Top Ten was already well in place before I assembled my choices for this list); and 2.), I knew that there would be those people that would absolutely HATE Blazing Saddles even being on the list, preferring that a ‘serious' Western be given the spot rather than a ‘stupid slap-stick flick'. Honestly, I can fully understand the points of contention from both parties, and placing Blazing Saddles in the Fifty was something that I pondered on moreso than any other film that has appeared (and even those that have yet to, as well). In the end, I obviously decided to pay my respects to this classic comedy masterwork, because, at the end of the day, the movie WAS indeed (and still remains to be) a rather important piece in the world of Western cinema. After all, as I said earlier, it was, for a very long time, the highest grossing Western to have ever graced a theater. And, I must admit, one of the biggest reasons that I did write-ups on both The Villain and The Shakiest Gun in the West during my Honorable Mentions week was so that I could immediately put out there to the readers that, yes, Western-Comedies was indeed being considered for my list. And, really, Blazing Saddles deserves it.

As I'm sure you already know, Mel Brooks is the true one-and-only ‘spoof-meister extraordinaire' in the history of film; perhaps a proper analogy would be this – Brooks is to parodies as Einstein is to science. Brooks got his start in show business as a stand-up comic, and would then segue into doing comedic writing for television shows, such as The Dick Van Dyke Show; Brooks would then go on to create the successful spoof television series, Get Smart, starring Don Adams. As such, it was only natural that Brooks would move on to feature films, with his very first being 1968's The Producers. While Brooks found it hard at first to find a major studio to support the picture (due to its dark, satirical stylings), The Producers would indeed eventually find a distributor; once released, the film would be a substantial critical hit, even being rewarded with an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay (written by Brooks). Obviously, Brooks was awarded such praise with more opportunities in the realms of film, which was a decision that would pay off for studios just a few short years later, specifically in 1974. For you see, in 1974, Brooks created and released two films that would go on to stand as being the biggest commercial successes of his career: Young Frankenstein, and Blazing Saddles.

However, much as it's been with several films that have graced this list, the road to unmitigated success that Blazing Saddles has been blessed to travel down wasn't paved with gold or chocolate; it was, of course, quite the bumpy path, as Brooks had several conflicts with the studio (Warner Brothers) over such things as casting and, not surprisingly, the content of the film. Blazing Saddles was co-written by the great Richard Pryor, and originally Pryor was set to star as Black Bart, the main character of the movie, an African-American man that is positioned as being the sheriff of a town called Rock Ridge by evil Hedley Lamar (Harvey Korman) in an effort to run the townsfolk out of Rock Ridge via their racism in order to make room for the railroads. Undoubtedly, Pryor would have been great in the role; however, it was not meant to be, as the studio heads obviously were a bit hesitant in placing the controversial Pryor in the lead role, due to his heavy drug-use at the time. As such, the role went to Cleavon Little…and, honestly, it's now almost impossible to imagine anybody else in the role of Bart, even if that ‘anybody else' consists of Richard Pryor. The studios also took issue with the film's liberal use of the word ‘nigger', as well as the campfire scene where a group of cowboys continuously fart whilst eating supper; however, their complaints in those two certain regards where fruitless, as Brooks' contract allowed him creative control over the script, and he ultimately (and obviously) chose to keep using ‘nigger' and the fart scene…which is quite the historical moment in film history, as it's the first time that flatulence was depicted on film. Now, I've noted in the past few weeks (specifically three weeks ago) the affect that Blazing Saddles had on the Western genre – the movie relentlessly took all the clichés and norms for the genre and exposed them harshly. In other words, it was brutal in its poking fun at Westerns, and, in the end, really showed to the world just how simple the films can be…ultimately, making the genre look stupid, in my opinion. As I stated before as well, it's my own personal opinion that Blazing Saddles played a rather pivotal part in the famine that would strike Westerns in film by the close of the 1970's, and why wouldn't it? It doesn't necessarily lovingly embrace Westerns, and the youth of that era, youth that probably grew up with parents who were fans of Westerns, seen Blazing Saddles and saw their disdain for the genre and/or their rebellion against their parents' likes intensified after watching the spoof tirelessly poke holes in it. Yet, by that same token, Blazing Saddles also stands as a being a film that should be heralded, as it had the balls to showcase racism in the light of being profoundly stupid when no other film would do so, using the Old West and its strict lines of separation between races as a backdrop. Nonetheless, despite some traditionalist hatred being leveled at Blazing Saddles (I'm quite sure that some would hate the movie even being on my list), it's a rather important movie in historical terms, even if it isn't very high-brow. Also, being the highest-grossing Western for nearly twenty years should count for SOMETHING, right?

26. Little Big Man (1970)



Whether you realize it or not, most people that star in Westerns, particularly those that appeared in films of the genre any time between the silent era and the 1970's, are life-long, well-traveled cogs in the broader scope of the genre in general. Names like John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Sam Elliott, and Randolph Scott are obvious; but then there are also men such as Slim Pickens, Walter Brennan, and Jack Elam (and many others) that were ever-present figures in a vast array of various Westerns, albeit mostly in supporting roles. So far on this list, we've already seen a handful of Westerns starring certain people that one wouldn't immediately relate to actually BEING in a Western, with legendary actor of all films Epic, Charlton Heston in 1968's Will Penny, perhaps being the primary ‘strange choice' to fill in a Western that I've covered thus far. Beyond him, there are many other stars that have been in Westerns that one wouldn't normally associate with being a part of the genre: Marlon Brando, Jack Nicholson, Christian Bale, the cast of Young Guns, Anthony Edwards, Mario Van Peebles and the rest of the cast of Posse (including Tone Loc, of all people), Jackie Chan, Jeff Bridges…the list is quite a bit more extensive than even I'm sure I myself realize. However, in my own opinion, there are fewer actors that stand as being a puzzling fit into the realms of the Western than the star of 1970's Little Big Man – and I'm speaking, of course, about Dustin Hoffman.

Call me a ‘pigeon-holer', but when I see Hoffman, I tend to think of New York City, or Los Angeles…urban areas from modern day. I'm sure I'm not the only one that does so. As such, since Hoffman seems so atypical for taking part in a Western, it's only fitting that when he does, he turns in one of the finest performances of his career in said Western/atypical casting…in fact, if it wasn't for Rain Man, I'd say that Little Big Man stands as showcasing Hoffman's finest acting performance EVER. In large part and to be completely honest, if it wasn't for Hoffman's great portrayal of the character of Jack Crabb, the movie would fail miserably and fall flat on its face, being an eternal chore to watch. The plot of the film follows along what is pretty much Crabb's entire life, from a young man to a dying 121-year old. As such, with such a long span of the character, Jack's character spends nearly every second of the movie growing and deepening as a character, a feat which would undoubtedly be more than a bit intimidating to most actors. Yet Hoffman, being the great actor that he is, pulls it all off remarkably well – in fact, he pulls it off perfectly. Needless to say, when the film is over, the character of Jack Crabb stands as being one of the greatest characters in the history of Westerns…which covers a LOT of great characters that have come and gone, before and since 1970. Much like the performance of Hoffman, the film itself begins to grow from the beginning of the film, going through various ‘phases'; at one moment, the film seems like a comedy, then at another point it seems as though it's a drama, and so on and so forth, all the while demystifying the Old West and, by proxy, many of the norms of the Western genre as a whole. Little Big Man stands as being one of Dustin Hoffman's finest moments, and if you love great character work, you'll love Little Big Man, I'm sure.

25. Ride the High Country (1962)



In 1960, following the cancellation of a short-lived Western-themed television titled The Westerner, series leading-man Brian Keith found himself cast in a film titled The Deadly Companions, which would also star other Western-film regulars such as Maureen O'Hara and Chill Wills (who was also a long-time friend of John Wayne). After landing the male lead role for The Deadly Companions, Keith suggested to the film's producer, one Charles Fitzsimons, that the helmless-film should be directed by a man that Keith had worked with somewhat extensively during the short, thirteen-episode run of the The Westerner (including one episode titled ‘Line Camp', which would go on to serve as the inspiration to the film Will Penny) – Sam Peckinpah, who had served as that particular series' producer and director. Fitzsimons agreed to the idea, which ultimately (and obviously) led to the very first theatrical film that would be directed Peckinpah, who in just a short fours time would go on to direct one of the most classic Westerns of all-time, and cement himself as a true icon for the genre. Unfortunately by most accounts, the production of the now-legendary Peckinpah's very first film did anything and everything BUT get the future-icon's motion picture directorial career off on the proverbial ‘right foot'. Said production of The Deadly Companions was plagued with what essentially could be called and summed up thusly: ‘Peckinpah getting his rear-end kicked by most of the people involved in the picture'…though by ‘most people', I'm mostly referring to the film's producer, Fitzsimons. Fitzsimons made the filming of Peckinpah's first feature film a living hell, as the producer refused to allow his director to give orders (or, in other words, actually DIRECT) starlet Maureen O'Hara, who also just happened to be Fitzsimons' sister. Fitzsimons and Peckinpah also feuded constantly over the film's script and the shooting of several of the film's scenes, which one would HAVE to believe led to Peckinpah ultimately directing and finishing a film that he himself had very little control over. When The Deadly Companions was released in theaters in 1961, it passed through cinemas with nary even a whimper and largely unnoticed, but the film IS important for one reason: The Deadly Companions, and producer Fitzsimons, had essentially set the tone for what would be the rest of Sam Peckinpah's film career. After his experiences on The Deadly Companions, Peckinpah vowed that he would never again direct a film where he wouldn't have control over his script and his picture…and, one would think, those clashes that he had with Fitzsimons would be the great instigator in Sam's future clashes and overall disdain towards other producers that he would go on to work with in the future.

Within the year, Sam Peckinpah would set to work on his second major motion picture, and the like the first it would be a Western. However, unlike the happenings surrounding his previous effort (The Deadly Companions), Sam would carry out most of HIS wants and HIS visions for that second film, left mostly unhindered by the likes of the studios and the film's producers. Naturally, and quite obviously, I'm speaking of 1962's Ride the High Country, being Peckinpah's second full-length feature film. In perhaps what would be considered justification for the hardships that Peckinpah endured during the filming of his previous movie, Ride the High Country was instantly hailed as being a masterpiece upon its release by critics, particularly overseas, where the film was awarded with various ‘Best Picture' labels. The critics in America praised the film as well…though it took some time for the movie to truly catch on with audiences. Since then, Ride the High Country has been praised by many as being Sam Peckinpah's first great movie (though not his last great movie, obviously); yet, while the film does indeed share quite a few of the traits of the later Peckinpah movies (such as the theme of the dying of the Old West), Ride the High Country is also separate from those other films due to the fact that this film was created before Peckinpah became a bit more…RADICAL, I guess would be the correct term. So while there's violence to be found here to be sure, it's not on the rather pitched level that would be employed in films such as The Wild Bunch or Straw Dogs (not a Western, but still…). However, at the same time, I've always felt that Ride the High Country is probably one of Peckinpah's more lovingly crafted Westerns, before the man's own demons and (perhaps) arrogance overtook him…and that loving for the Western that Peckinpah showcases begins (and ends) in Ride the High Country with the film's two lead stars (which at one point was considered to be John Wayne and Gary Cooper…which didn't happen, presumably due to Wayne's hatred of High Noon and Cooper's association with that film).

As I said, one of Sam's favorite themes for his films was, essentially, the death of the Old West; as we've already seen on this list thus far, he would go on to cover this theme in 1973's Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid, using the idea of the inevitable clash between Garrett and Bonney as a symbol of the times changing, and the oncoming end of the ‘old ways'. In The Wild Bunch, Peckinpah would again cover this ground. But what makes Ride the High Country an arguably better carrier for this particular theme lies in the casting of Randolph Scott and Joel McCrea as the primary characters in the movie. In the film, Scott and McCrea play two aging lawmen that are charged with guarding a gold shipment, as they're nearly ‘too old' for much else. However, one of the two, Gil Westrum (Scott) plans on stealing the gold for himself in order to live out the remainder of his hard life in relative ease, and over the course of the ride, Scott attempts to subtly sway his good friend Steve Judd (McCrea) to his side and be his partner in the scam. After saving the life of a young woman who's husband-to-be intends on ‘pimping' her out, Judd learns of his good friend's true intentions, and threatens to take Westrum to jail…which, of course, should mark the end of their friendship. Now, what's so great about Ride the High Country's use of the classic theme of the fading West is the fact that the film chooses to relay this theme to the audience…via two aging Western stars. Once Ride the High Country was released, it would prove to be Randolph Scott's final film, and McCrea's third to last (McCrea was probably most famous for his role in 1946's The Virginian, a film that would set the course for the rest of the man's career, as after it was released McCrea exclusively starred in Westerns for the remainder of his career). As such, Ride the High Country ends up being a fantastic and almost utterly perfect ‘A-list' send-off to a pair of what could very well be considered ‘B-list' actors. As such, perhaps knowing that this film would truly be their last big hurrah, both Scott and McCrea turn in what I believe to be their finest performances, both truly heart-felt and authentic. With great acting from two of the true greats of the genre coupled with the great direction of one of the genre's most iconic directors right before his peak, it's little wonder the Ride the High Country turned out as great as it did.

24. Open Range (2003)



Oh, that damn Kevin Costner. At several different points during my tenure here at 411, I've taken shots at the man whenever I was able…or, at the very least, whenever I could sneak one in. I've stated it before, and I'll say it again, right here, right now – since the early-to-mid 1990's, I've found myself more and more put off by the man's work, as it all seems so wooden and, quite frankly, BORING to me. And now look…the man and no less than THREE of his films have thus far been mentioned by me as being great. I actually didn't recognize this until earlier this week as I was perusing what films I had left to cover, and then I got to thinking…perhaps that that same stoicism that I see in Costner's acting that I have an admittedly horrible tendency to label as being boring or lazy is perfectly fitted to what I also view as being acceptable portrayals of men in the Old West to be. As such, I suppose I could also say that Kevin Costner may very well be one of the greatest actors that the Western genre has ever seen. Surely, Open Range can attest to that fact.

In Open Range, Costner plays the part of Charley Waite, a man who's a former gunfighter, and perhaps even a bit of a sociopath, which leads him to being a bit of an emotionally detached and withdrawn character…which is PERFECTLY suited to the stiff, unenergetic acting that I usually view Costner as being. Charley's occupation is that of a ‘free-ranger', a cattle-man who drives livestock across the open plains, with his company, including Boss (the great Robert Duvall), the foreman of the group. When one of his company ventures into the nearby town, which is ran by corrupt land baron Denton Baxter, the man returns badly beaten to within an inch of his life. Baxter, a man that wishes for ‘free-rangers' to keep off his land, then sends a posse out after Charley and his group after they don't shove off quick enough; the resulting attack leaves one of the group dead, and another near death. At that point, both Charley and Boss know what must be done – some more blood must be shed to have the wrongs done to them made right (basically). Not only is Costner perfectly suited to play Charley, but Costner does what can only be called a masterful job in depicting the man…perhaps turning in an even better performance than is found in Costner's BIG Western. Of course, with the likes of Duvall, Michael Gambon, and Annette Benning padding out the remainder of the primary cast, it should go without saying that the acting here is fabulous all across the board. The film also stands as being a truly ‘modern' Western, touching on the now-usual theme of the villains being businessmen. In today's world, it's sometimes all too clear that some of the most powerful men in the world are indeed the proprietors of national/global businesses whose resources and profits seemingly know no bounds, and it is in relation to this theme that Open Range delves into – into how such businessmen that are driven by greed and the lust for more wealth or power (the two often go hand-in-hand) affect the less-fortunate around him, and even how such a person affects the land itself. However, themes aside, Open Range just tells a great, classic story that is eternally intriguing, in large part due to the marvelous job that the cast commits themselves to…yes, even Costner. Even if Costner had never been involved with Dances with Wolves, Open Range would be there to secure Kevin a spot as having starred in AND directed a modern classic for a ‘dying' genre; yet, since he WAS involved with Dances with Wolves and has starred in and directed two truly great Westerns…well, perhaps more respect towards Kevin Costner is in order from me. He has assuredly played a large part in helping the Western regain at least some of its respect in the past decade or two by producing classics such as Open Range.

23. Tombstone (1993)



As I'm sure you already know, both 1994's Wyatt Earp and 1993's Tombstone were released within months of each other (Tombstone beat Wyatt Earp to theaters, obviously), and both deal with the same characters/events/historical happenings, that being, of course, the Old West's most famous lawman Wyatt Earp, his dealings in the boom-town of Tombstone, and the gunfight at the O.K. Corral. However, while both films cover similar ground, the two movies couldn't be any different from one another in their means of doing so: Wyatt Earp stands as being much more of an Epic, as it attempts to take a look not only at Wyatt the stereotype, but at Wyatt the man, shedding light on his entire life and the occurrences in said life that helped to shape the legendary gunfighter before his most famous moment occurred; Tombstone, however, stood as being more of an action-styled "shoot-‘em-up", one that most definitely played up to the legend of Wyatt Earp moreso than it did the man, as the film wasn't all that interested in delving into Wyatt's time in Dodge City or before, instead choosing to explore the tensions of Wyatt's tumultuous time in Tombstone and the hardships that he found there. In 1994, however, I couldn't help but to contrast the two films, and ultimately pit the two against one another in accordance to my own tastes at the time; at that particular time, the winner was clear – Tombstone. At the time, I much preferred fast-paced action over the slow unfolding of drama, and, what's more (and perhaps the real decider in the ‘battle' between the Earp films), at that particular time I, for one, was downright sick and tired of the patented ‘Kevin Costner' epic-film that was movie-goers was in the midst of in the mid-90's. Since that time, I've gotten over my disdain in relation towards Costner and his Epics, and I've since watched both films several times, albeit in light of a bit more fairness in regards to Wyatt Earp. I no longer view the two films as being in opposition of each other, but rather as brethren. However, if I WAS to compare the two in a competitive light today, I can guarantee that the result would be much the same. Tombstone would still be the better of the two films.

Of course, had things continued down the way that they were originally headed down, Kevin Costner and Tombstone would have been far more intertwined than the mere presence of Wyatt Earp in a film would entail. You see, originally, Costner was set to star in Tombstone, with Kevin Jarre set to direct the picture. Ultimately, however, Costner and Jarre clashed over the two men's separate visions for what the film should be: Costner felt that the movie should focus primarily on Earp's character (which, naturally, Costner was set to play), and, of course, be a whole lot more epic than what the script called for; Jarre, however, was steadfast in sticking to the script, which focused primarily on the happenings within the town of Tombstone itself, and featuring a vast array of characters and personalities that were set to get ample screen-time. As such, Costner fell out with Jarre over these squabbles…and, ultimately, fell out of the picture entirely. Now, Costner had played a rather sizable role in the birthing stages of Tombstone, and, as such, he wasn't about to allow his vision be compromised by another for the simple reason of Costner no longer being attached to the project. And so, Costner approached friend Lawrence Kasdan, writer/director of Silverado, who agreed to direct Costner's new Earp film (Wyatt Earp), as well as help pen the script. Jarre, however, kept Tombstone rolling, bringing in Kurt Russell to replace Costner in the role of Earp; however, Costner wasn't done with Tombstone just yet. Using his considerable clout at the time, Costner was able to raise more than a bit of hell for the production of Tombstone, as he was able to dissuade fellow actors from taking on a role in the film (most notably Brad Pitt), and veer major studios from distributing or lending money to the Tombstone project (Buena Vista was the ONLY studio that was willing to distribute the film)…all the while Wyatt Earp was just truckin' along (though moving ahead slowly, due to the nature of Epics). Once actual production on the film began, more problems arose to plague Tombstone, including more squabbles over the script (the length, in particular), and numerous firings/resignations…of which the most notable was director Kevin Jarre himself, as he was fired over his steadfast refusal in altering the script. After Russell himself took over helming duties for a bit, a new director, George P. Cosmatos, was then brought in, and, finally, Tombstone would see it's way to the finish line.

Typically, when a film has THAT many problems during its production, the film generally doesn't turn out to be very good, if I'm being honest here. Think of something like the original Casino Royale, and then think that Tombstone very well in all likelihood could have turned out to be just as unfocused and disjointed as that infamous film…and then think on just how wonderful it all turned out, anyway. In those regards, Tombstone beat the odds, and came out far, FAR better than its past history would have seemingly allowed it to be. As with a lot of films, the movie ends up working mostly for the simple reasons of the cast for the film being perfect. Kurt Russell is fantastic as Wyatt, and outshines Kevin Costner's turn by a good mile; as well, I may be mistaken here, but I believe that this film stands as being the one and only theatrically released Western in which the great Sam Elliott has a substantial starring role (as Virgil Earp), so that's a major plus for the movie. The film's villains are all exquisitely realized, with Powers Boothe and Michael Biehn carrying the majority of the load, though an extra-special mention should go out to Stephen Lang as Ike Clanton, one of the biggest, most infuriatingly cowardly slimeballs to ever grace a Western. However, as we all should know by now, the real treat here is Val Kilmer in the role of Doc Holliday; his performance is so memorable and remarkable that he was able to outshine Denis Quaid's performance as the same character in Costner's Wyatt Earp…and Quaid's performance was Oscar-worthy, as well. Kilmer's role is endlessly emulatable and quotable, a true performance for all-time (in my opinion). Usually, when I'm dealing with people that have never watched a Western before, one of the first Westerns that I typically recommend to them is Tombstone, for this reason: it's one of the most fun and endlessly entertaining Westerns that has ever been produced, and that goes a long way towards being great.

22. The Man From Laramie (1955)



While it is to my own grave misfortune by not having been more exposed to Mann/Stewart Western collaborations, I do, however, recognize and am knowledgeable enough (due to excessive reading on the subject in the past) of the fairly distinct importance that the Mann/Stewart Westerns had on the genre as a whole. Before director Anthony Mann transitioned himself from filming primarily film noir pictures to embarking into the Western genre for his collaborations with Jimmy Stewart, what would be considered as the ‘norms' for the relative bulk of Westerns that were being produced during the Golden Age of the genre were fairly…simple, I suppose would be the word to use. Not that Mann's Westerns were overly complicated, or anything such as that; quite the contrary, they were fairly simple themselves, as well. However, much of what Mann brought to his Western films were aspects that were undoubtedly borrowed from his days working in the noir genre – dark, ruthless, and generally amoral. In the Golden Age of Westerns, there happened to be a strict (and fairly obvious) line between what/who was good, and what/who was bad. Things were, in other words, predominately painted in black-and-white, whether it was the people themselves that populated the many Westerns of the Golden Age, their actions, or merely events in general (for example, when utilizing the Civil War as a backdrop, the Union soldiers would generally be ‘good-guys', while the Confederates were almost universally the ‘bad-guys'). However, what Mann thrust into the Western was a bit more violence and brutality, with characters that were tinged with a bit of darkness to their innermost characters…even the protagonists. Mann's depiction of the Old West as a place of pervasive hostilities, brutalities, and constant and true dangers was a good deal different from the majority of Westerns that came before the coming of the Mann/Stewart films. As such, it's an almost definitely correct assumption that the Mann Westerns certainly paved the way for the coming of the Revisionist period, and/or the films of Sergio Leone and (probably most especially) Sam Peckinpah, as well as Mann's more mature glimpse into an adult-oriented Western having an effect on masters that came BEFORE Mann's films, such as John Ford and his classic, The Searchers.

Though it should be quite obvious, needless to say that words such as ‘brutal', ‘hostile', and ‘morally ambiguous' heroes easily apply to the 1955 Mann/Stewart Western The Man from Laramie. In the film, Stewart plays Will Lockhart, a man that, on the surface, travels to the town of Coronado to deliver supplies to the local trading post there; however, Lockhart has an ulterior motive that's only known to him – he's on the hunt of somebody that stole a batch of repeating rifles and sold them to the Apaches local of the area…Apaches that ultimately used those same weapons to attack and wipe out an Army regiment that Lockhart's brother was a part of. During his stay in Coronado, he becomes entangled with the wealthy and powerful Waggoman family: the patriarch Alec Waggoman (Donald Crisp), a strict authoritarian figure who appears cold and cruel on the outside, and who, through a dream/vision of his, believes that the stranger that is Lockhart has come to slay his son and topple his ranching empire; his son Dave (Alex Nicol), a spoiled boy of a man who yearns for his father's attentions and respect (and land and power, as well), who also just so happens to be more than a bit of a psychopath; Alec's daughter, Barbara (Cathy O'Donnell), she who runs the trading post and the recipient of the supplies that Lockhart brings, and the only member of the Waggoman's that treats Lockhart warmly; and Vic Hansbro, Alec's ranch foreman and pseudo-adoptive son, engaged to Barbara, and appears to be the clear successor to Alec as head of the Waggoman empire, as he is clearly more stable than Dave…or is he? At any rate, the plot for The Man from Laramie is simply fantastic, and perhaps one of the more engaging plots of all the Westerns that I've ever seen, as the first half of the film is related almost as being a bit of mystery. At one point, Jack Elam attempts to kill Lockhart; Lockhart beats him down with his fists and leaves Elam alive and embarrassed…though Lockhart is later arrested when Elam's body is found, shot and murdered. Clearly, Lockhart is close to uncovering just who it is that is selling the repeating rifles to the Apache, and around the half-way mark of the film, we, the audience, is made aware of who it is that Lockhart is searching for (even though he himself isn't aware of who it is at that point). From that point on, the film almost plays out as being a countdown in a way, as the audience just sits and waits for Lockhart to uncover the mystery himself; while Lockhart is indeed the hero of the film, there's no bones made about the fact that when Lockhart finds out who it is that was indirectly responsible for the murder of his brother, he's going to kill him.

Stewart, as I've been told he has in the other Mann Westerns, turns in a performance that's very atypical of the usual ‘Jimmy-act'; here, he's ruthless, rough, and carries a swagger with him that clearly separates Will Lockhart from the likes of George Bailey. In fact, the film is superbly acted across all fronts, with a particular standout being Alex Nicol as the psychotic Dave. In one of the most memorable scenes in the movie, Dave happens upon Lockhart and his crew whilst they're on Waggoman land; Dave throws a lasso around Lockhart and drags him through a fire, then takes his gun and shoots all of Lockharts mules, in a ‘lovely' scene that perfectly captures what Dave is all about. Yet, Dave may not be the REAL vicious member of the Lockhart family…but you'd have to watch the movie, where you'd appreciate it all MUCH more than if I just told it here. The Man from Laramie has been called by some as being the Western equivalent to King Lear; obviously, through the brief synopsis of the plot of the film that I gave above, one can clearly see where the similarities between the two stories. But does The Man from Laramie deserve to be spoken of as fondly by some, as fondly as they would speak of the work of William Shakespeare and one of his greatest tragedies? In my honest opinion…yes. Yes it does.

Thanks, and sorry for the two-day delay in getting this out there. See you next week!