Blood Alley: William A. Wellman

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6/10

The Sea Chase: John Farrow

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6/10

She Wore a Yellow Ribbon: John Ford

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6/10

North to Alaska: Henry Hathaway

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8/10

The Shepherd of the Hills: Henry Hathaway

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6/10

They Were Expendable: John Ford

[Revisit Review]

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8/10

Randy Rides Alone: Harry L. Fraser

It's gotten to the point where all of these John Wayne Poverty Row Westerns are blurring together in my mind. Even worse, the blurring begins as soon as I finish watching them, making them a real hassle to review. So what did I think of Harry L. Fraser's Randy Rides Alone? Well, unlike some of the other public domain Westerns I've seen starring John Wayne, the story is at the very least somewhat coherent and followable. Plus, I enjoyed the climax due to a couple of long shots that featured up to a dozen people crawling up a mountain like ants while shooting at each other. The opening scene where John Wayne unknowingly walks into a saloon where everyone has been murdered was surprisingly effective as well (particularly in its use of a mechanical piano that goes on and on and on despite its owners being dead). Everything else about Randy Rides Alone is already a foggy haze...

4/10

'Neath the Arizona Skies: Harry L. Fraser

I honestly can’t remember the last time I had so much trouble following such a bad movie. I can’t believe that a film with barely an hour-long run-time had such a complicated, confusing, and cluttered plot. Harry L. Fraser's 'Neath the Arizona Skies was somehow over-plotted for a Poverty Row Western. I don't know if I should be impressed by their ambition or ashamed that they failed so spectacularly. It doesn't help that the film features one of the most annoying child characters that I've ever encountered: a young Indian girl that has the unusual talent of doing or saying the worst possible thing at the worst possible time. The most egregious example? Walking out of a closet and asking John Wayne if she can stop hiding yet while he was still talking with half a dozen kidnappers who wanted her blood. I suppose it is interesting that this time around Wayne has to save an Indian girl from a bunch of murderous white kidnappers. It's like bizarro-The Searchers (1956).

3/10

The Lucky Texan: Robert N. Bradbury

The best thing that can be said about Robert N. Bradbury's The Lucky Texan is that it isn't terrible. It's not very good, but at least the cinematography is watchable and the plot doesn't screech to a halt every few minutes. Of course, it still isn't very good. There are a lot of parts that are downright laughable: a duo of assay officials begin to vocally plot ripping off John Wayne and stealing his gold claim seconds after he leaves the frame like they were on a theatrical stage; the townsfolk immediately suspect Wayne of killing his partner even though a) he had previously cleared his partner's name after some local thugs tried to frame him for crimes, and b) he was literally in the middle of a crowd when the murder took place; for some reason Bradbury earnestly thinks putting George "Gabby" Hayes in a dress is hilarious. But, again, at the very least I could see what was going on.

4/10

Riders of Destiny: Robert N. Bradbury

Robert N. Bradbury's Riders of Destiny is significant for a couple of different reasons. To start with, it was the first time Bradbury and John Wayne worked together to make a Lone Star Western for Monogram Pictures. Second, it's actually...kind of good. If it had had a bit more polish, a fuller soundtrack, a sharper eye for composition, and more immediate editing, it could have gone down as a thoroughly average Western (no mean feat for a Poverty Row production). Riders of Destiny lives up to Richard Brody's claim that "the Western is intrinsically the most political movie genre, because...it is concerned with the founding of cities, and because it depicts the various abstract functions of government as direct, physical actions." Here John Wayne plays a government agent who travels to a small town to help a group of beleaguered homesteaders fight back against a corrupt landowner who is cheating them of their water supply. One of the most curious aspects of the film is how it pulls a double-switcheroo with the opening sequence: Wayne sees a young woman attacked by two gunmen and he saves her; he learns that the gunmen were stagecoach employees and that the woman had actually robbed them of a satchel of money; then he learns that she was stealing it back from people who were going to cheat her family of it. This is complex plotting for the first third of a 50-minute film! And lastly, Riders of Destiny is significant because it features John Wayne as a singing cowboy. And his songs...well...they're pretty dark and bloody! 'Nuff said!

6/10

The Lawless Frontier: Robert N. Bradbury

I think this is some form of karmic retribution for having watched and almost enjoyed Robert N. Bradbury's The Dawn Rider (1935). After finally seeing an almost passable Poverty Row Western with John Ford, I've watched what might be the worst I've yet to see. There were parts of this film that I literally couldn't see because the cinematography was so bad. What little audio there was (large swathes of the film were submerged in total, awkward silence) was so poor that I couldn't make out most of the dialogue. And this wasn't just a matter of me watching a bad print. Different audio levels were used for different pieces of dialogue, making it seem like some lines were recorded while the actors were standing three studios over. The plot was so generic that even now, with a wikipedia summary right in front of me, I can still barely understand what the movie was about. This movie was pain.

1/10

Hatari!: Howard Hawks

In the auteur circles of film criticism, Howard Hawks' Hatari! is one of the most frequently referenced films of that great Hollywood master whenever his career is discussed. In the tradition of Only Angels Have Wings (1939), Red River (1948), and Rio Bravo (1959), Hatari! is a textbook example of Hawks' macho pictures that focus on groups of professional men working in dangerous professions. This time around the profession is catching wild animals in Africa to sell to zoos. John Wayne heads up a group of expatriates from all over the world who literally risk life and limb daily to capture these magnificent beasts. Incredibly, the scenes where Wayne and his men capture wild animals were real. These were shot first on location in Africa. It was only after all of this footage was captured that Hawks had frequent collaborator Leigh Brackett write up a script which connected these scenes together. Perhaps more than any of Hawks' other macho pictures, Hatari! concerns itself with its characters' lifestyles and the daily minutiae of their lives. This is both the film's biggest weakness and greatest strength. The decentralized plot leads to a punishing run time that clocks in at over 2 1/2 hours. But whereas a normal film would have been crippled by such length, Hatari! manages to sustain it. This is a film about Life on the Hunt; the empty moments in-between captures where the hunters wait for their next assignment and bide their time the best they can. The film also features Wayne at his most charismatic. Watch the scene where he kisses Elsa Martinelli's character despite her face being covered in cream. As he wipes the cream off his nose and smiles, it becomes immediately apparent why Wayne is one of the true immortals of the cinema.

7/10

The Horse Soldiers: John Ford

I can’t stand people who claim that John Wayne couldn’t act. There is a scene in John Ford's The Horse Soldiers that I wish I could carry around in my pocket just so I can pull it out and show it to people who bad-mouth his acting abilities. The film is about a Union cavalry brigade led by Colonel John Marlowe (Wayne) who are tasked with heading behind Confederate lines in order to destroy a crucial railroad. At one point, they are forced to bring along a short-tempered Confederate belle named Miss Hannah Hunter who accidentally heard their secret plans. The special scene involves Hannah and John as they recover from a battle against Confederate soldiers in Vicksburg. It’s a simple scene: it starts with Wayne nursing his pain at a bar. Hannah chastises him for being rude to the local doctors. Wayne then delivers a heart-breaking monologue about the death of his wife and how it led to his hatred and mistrust of doctors. It’s about two-and-a-half minutes long. No edits. No fancy frame compositions. The camera barely moves. It’s just Wayne acting his heart out in one long single take. The rest of the film, while competent in its own right, pales in comparison to this one scene. It saves the movie and makes it something truly special.

7/10

Big Jake: George Sherman

George Sherman's Big Jake is about as pure a John Wayne vehicle as has ever existed. When a vicious gang of outlaws kidnap a young boy known as Little Jake, his estranged grandfather, Big Jake McCandles, sets out to rescue him and bring the villains to justice...frontier justice. Big Jake is competent enough as a Western, mixing a great performance by Wayne, gritty action, and a satisfactory story concerning family and redemption. But the film didn't leave a very big impression on me otherwise. I am writing this review sixteen days after watching the film (don't judge me, I've had graduate school finals) and I am having a difficult time recalling anything other than the general plot outline. I have seen other Wayne vehicles that have left incredible impressions on me after only one viewing. It's been months since I first watched John Farrow's Hondo (1953), but I remember that film quite vividly, particularly the scene where Wayne broke an untamed horse. I remember the sheer brutality of the violence in Howard Hawk's El Dorado (1966), the high-spirited humor and massive fist-fight in Andrew V. McLaglen's McLintock! (1963), and even Wayne's brief yet extraordinarily powerful cameo as the war-weary Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman in How the West Was Won (1962). Yet, for the life of me, I cannot remember much of Big Jake. But that's probably my fault. I'll give this film another look one day. But for now, I'll just give it a passing grade and call it a day.

6/10

Hondo: John Farrow

John Farrow's Hondo is one of the purest distillations of the John Wayne persona that I have ever encountered. From the first scene where a dusty, trail-weary Wayne stumbles out of the desert to the film's final cavalry battle, he is perfectly portrayed as a larger-than-life icon. It follows Wayne as Hondo Lane, a gunfighter-turned-US Army Cavalry dispatch rider, as he stumbles into the lives of Mrs. Angie Lowe and her young son Johnny. They live in a ranch in the middle of Apache territory. For the longest time they lived in peace with the Apache. But after being betrayed by the Army, the Apache are on the war-path. Soon Hondo finds himself trapped between loyalty to the Army, loyalty to Lowe and her son, loyalty to the Apache way of life (they raised him as a child), and loyalty to his own moral code. But the heart of the film is Wayne's relationship with Lowe and her son. Wayne quickly becomes a surrogate father figure to Johnny, teaching him how to fish, swim, and even be a man. He falls in love with Angie, but their love is challenged when Hondo unknowingly kills her husband. The film also demonstrates a keen awareness of the plight of Native Americans against the forces of White Civilization. The Apache are certainly depicted as "noble savages" that must be overcome in order for America to expand. But the film takes pains to point out that the Apache are the true victims. Hondo is a film that manages to combine high adventure with emotional subtleties the likes of which are rarely seen outside of John Ford Westerns. (Side note: That last sentence seems apropos considering that Ford actually directed the film's final shoot-out.)

9/10

Westward Ho: Robert N. Bradbury

I'll be totally honest...I have a hard time differentiating between all of the films that John Wayne did for Republic Pictures back in the 1930s before he hit it big with John Ford in Stagecoach (1939). They tend to blend together into one big mush of bad Western films. But I will never forget Westward Ho. Why? Because this was the first time that I have ever heard John Wayne sing. Well, he didn't sing so much as he moved his mouth and had somebody else dub over it. But I'm counting it! I had heard that Wayne did a stint as a "singing cowboy" early in his career...but I had never heard evidence of it with my own ears until Westward Ho. Oh, sure, there's a plot, I guess. Wayne's family was attacked and killed when he was a child by bandits. These bandits also kidnapped his younger brother. Now, over ten years later, Wayne has organized a group of vigilantes to seek out the bandits who destroyed his family. And, to be fair, Westward Ho has a rare surplus of narrative cohesion for a 1930s Poverty Row Western. But I don't care. For me, this is the film where I finally got to hear John Wayne sing! I guess that makes up for all of the horrific shot editing, sound editing, cinematography, and acting. But just barely.

3/10

Flying Leathernecks: Nicholas Ray

Nicholas Ray's Flying Leathernecks fits into an informal sub-genre of military films that attempt to glorify a particular branch or unit of the military via a paper-thin plot accompanied by copious stock and/or combat footage. Other films in this sub-genre include Will Zens' abysmal The Starfighters (1964) and Anthony Mann's dull-as-dry-dirt Strategic Air Command (1955) with James Stewart. These are a particular kind of film that I can only imagine was created to pander to the veteran demographic after the fires of World War Two and Korea died down. They tend to portray their respective units with honor and dignity. The men make great, noble sacrifices on the battlefield. The women make their own on the home-front. And, of course, there is lots of footage of military maneuvers. In Flying Leathernecks, the heroes are the aviators of the United States Marine Corps during the Guadalcanal campaign. Ray makes a valiant attempt to spice up the proceedings with personal drama in the form of Major Kirby (John Wayne), a hard-as-nails commander who isn't hesitant to make the big decisions. Of course, we eventually learn that he hates himself for the choices that he is forced to make every day. But that's par for the course when it comes to 50s military films, I guess. The thing is that Flying Leathernecks doesn't really offer anything that other films had already done with greater skill. It's just a placeholder in Ray's filmography.

5/10

Rio Lobo: Howard Hawks

Few directors have had such a massive and long-lasting impact on the Western genre as Howard Hawks. He directed some of the genre's most enduring masterpieces like Red River (1948) and Rio Bravo (1959). So maybe it was appropriate that his last film would also be a Western. Working one last time with the legendary John Wayne, Hawks directed Rio Lobo, a film that was despised upon release. Many of my film buffs friends share in that sentiment. I suppose it is due to the fact that it is always compared with Rio Bravo. After all, Rio Lobo is considered to be the third part of a trilogy of Westerns that follow sheriffs defending their towns against outlaws. Rio Bravo happened to be the first film in that trilogy. So Rio Lobo will forever be in that film's shadow. But I can't understand why people don't like this film based on its own merits. It may not be a masterpiece, but Rio Lobo is still a fantastic Western. The film follows Col. Cord McNally (Wayne) as he hunts down a pair of Union traitors. During the Civil War, the two had illegally traded military secrets with the Confederacy. One of these instances involved the schedule of a train delivering gold for Union salaries. When the Confederacy robbed the train (in a spectacular sequence), they accidentally killed one of McNally's best friends. With the war over, McNally sets out to find the traitors who inadvertently killed his friend. He discovers that the two traitors have taken over a town and are extorting its citizens for their land deeds. Joining McNally in his quest for vengeance, he teams up with many of the same Confederate soldiers who robbed the train in the first place. This leads to one of the film's most memorable and fascinating moments where McNally explains that he holds no ill will to the Confederate troops. After all, he reasons, robbing the train was an act of war. But those two Union traitors committed treason. And that is a very different matter. In the end, Rio Lobo is a fine Western. I don't care what anybody else says.

7/10

El Dorado: Howard Hawks

This may be one of the most blasphemous things I've ever written as a film critic: I enjoyed El Dorado more than Rio Bravo (1959). I know, I know...El Dorado is a transparent remake of Rio Bravo. Rio Bravo is a more groundbreaking and historically significant Western. I know. But I don't care. If Rio Bravo did it first, El Dorado did it better.  The film follows a group of gunmen who fight back against Bart Jason, a corrupt rancher engaged in a range war with the McDonald family. J.P. Harrah (Robert Mitchum) is a heart-broken sheriff who assumes Dean Martin's role as the repentant drunk. Ricky Nelson's role is taken over by James Caan who plays Mississippi, a fledgling gunfighter. And John Wayne is still John Wayne. Only in this movie Wayne plays a character named Cole Thornton. There are several reasons why I enjoyed El Dorado more than Rio Bravo. First, I think the acting is better. Dean Martin had an undeniable charm, but Mitchum blows him out of the water. One particularly devastating scene follows Mitchum as he goes to a saloon to buy a bottle of whiskey. When he arrives, he is viciously mocked and insulted by everyone there. When he returns to the jailhouse, he chokes "They laughed at me...They LAUGHED at me!" I love how this is one of the only Westerns I've ever seen where the characters actually suffer battle damage. In most Westerns if one of the good guys gets hurt he either a) stays out of the final confrontation, or b) miraculously shrugs it off when the bullets start to fly. By the final confrontation in El Dorado, the good guys are bleeding, covered in bandages, and even supporting themselves on crutches. The gunfights are magnificent, particularly one where a couple of bandits hole up in a church steeple. Hawks demonstrates a much more skilled and nuanced comprehension of spatial awareness than in Rio Bravo.  Now, don't get me wrong. I enjoyed Rio Bravo. But if I had to watch either it or El Dorado a second time, I'd go with the latter.

8/10

Tall in the Saddle: Edwin L. Marin

It is said that Peter Bogdanovich once mentioned to Orson Welles that he had seen Touch of Evil (1958) four or five times before he even noticed the story.  The reason, he explained, was that he was so enamored with the direction that he couldn't focus on the actual plot. I feel much the same way after viewing Edwin L. Marin's Tall in the Saddle.  Only, instead of being captivated by the direction, I was mesmerized by the performances. If there is a plot to Tall in the Saddle, as I'm sure there is, then I entirely missed it. I was much too focused on the actors' various mannerisms and the tight, terse screenplay by Paul Fix and Michael Hogan.  Central to this film is the indomitable presence of John Ford as Rocklin, a cynical, no-nonsense ranch hand. Rocklin is openly misogynistic, delivering lines like, "I never feel sorry for anything that happens to a woman." It's obvious that some woman has gone and done him wrong in the past, but Rocklin isn't talking. He arrives in a small town to take over as foreman for a local ranch only to discover that its owner had been murdered weeks before his arrival. Furthermore, it seems that the new owner of the ranch, Clara Cardell, is being swindled from her inheritance. So, begrudgingly, Rocklin helps solve the murder and stop to plot to rob Clara. But as I said, I was too busy admiring the acting and dialogue to really pay attention to the story.  I most clearly remember tiny vignettes scattered throughout the film. One of my favorites is when Rocklin is cheated during a poker game in a hotel and calmly walks upstairs to his room. One of the other players tells the cheater that he had better give Rocklin his money back because he's "the kind of man who would come back downstairs." And almost on cue Rocklin slowly, deliberately walks down the stairs, stares the cheater in the face, and tells him to give him his money back. It's an astoundingly powerful scene. Another one of my favorites is when Arly Harolday, the sister of the poker cheat, is tricked into trying to get his money back. She confronts Rocklin in the street and shoots at him. But Rocklin just flat out ignores her and walks straight to the saloon under a hail of angry gunfire. This won't be the only time that I watch Tall in the Saddle. The screenplay is too rich and the acting too superb to warrant only one viewing.

8/10