Shane

George Stevens's Shane (1953) is perhaps the purest cinematic distillation of the Western myth. Perfectly crafted, rich in story and character, full of fine performances and beautiful photography, it embodies everything expected of a Hollywood Western, resulting in a masterful film.

A mysterious stranger with a past (Alan Ladd) shows up on the homestead of small farmer Joe Starrett (Van Heflin) and his family (Jean Arthur, Brandon De Wilde). Agreeing to work for Starrett, Shane finds himself in the middle of a range war, with cattle baron Ryker (Emile Meyer) using his thugs to evict Starrett and other homesteaders from "his" property. Things come to a head when Ryker hires Wilson (Jack Palance), an infamous gunslinger, to clean house, and Shane must decide whether or not to strap on his gun belt.

This adaptation of Jack Schaefer's novel hits all the expected genre notes: the mysterious gunslinger trying to retire; a ruthless cattle baron and his thugs; the black-hatted villain; homesteaders trying to build a new society. All that's missing are Indians.

Shane is anything but pedestrian, however. Belying the simplicity of its story, it's a richly textured and powerful film. Roger Ebert tries to argue that the film is more complex than it seems at a glance, but this is misleading. Thematically, the film is very simple, an archetypal story of frontier progress, of clearly-delineated god guys and bad guys. Its depth lies elsewhere.

Indeed, this precisely why Shane works. It uses these mythological elements to craft a grand and powerful story. Shane is the noblest hero imaginable: despite his checkered past, he finds himself inexorably driven to his fate, like the protagonist of a Greek tragedy. Joe is courageous and well-meaning, but it's Shane who must smite Ryker and his minions. The homesteader's community is a model of hard-work, optimism and solidarity that John Ford would envy, working to build a better America. The repeated use of animals - Shane appearing through a deer's antlers, the dog terrified of Wilson, the hellish cacophony of livestock as Shane and Joe fight - stresses the story's elemental nature. The focus on Joey (De Wilde) is the capper: we're in the Old West of dime novels and B-Westerns, a place of Progress and Good and Evil.

Perhaps due to its literary roots, Shane is much more formal than most Westerns. There's a lot of dialogue, but it's well-written and performed, and the film never drags. A.B. Guthrie's script is perfectly structured, events building with ease and precision. The characters range from one-dimensional to well-rounded; the homesteaders are a diverse bunch, and even Ryker gets a chance to make his case. It's definitely a thinking man's Western, its intelligence channeled into plot and character rather than "themes."

Stevens' direction is excellent, making beautiful use of the Wyoming scenery and Loyal Grigg's striking Technicolor photography. The movie is packed with brilliant scenes, including an epic bar room brawl, Shane and Wilson first sizing each other up, Wilson's shooting of the hapless Torrey (Elisha Cook Jr.), an emotional funeral and an intense shootout. The movie's sets and costumes are wonderfully authentic, showing that a Western can be authentic without resorting to "revisionist" pessimism and gloom. Victor Young's loud score is merely okay.

Alan Ladd is nearly-perfect as Shane, making him convincingly righteous and believably conflicted. Van Heflin (3:10 to Yuma) is a dependably righteous and heroic Everyman. "Walter" Jack Palance is chilling as the near-silent, snake-like Wilson, one of the great Western villains. Fine supporting actors include Emile Meyer (Paths of Glory), Elisha Cook Jr. (Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid), Edgar Buchanan (Ride the High Country) and Ben Johnson (The Wild Bunch). The two weak links are Jean Arthur - fine for most of the length, but turning into a whining shrew towards the end - and Brandon De Wilde, who epitomizes the obnoxiously-"cute" Hollywood kid.


Shane is one of the all-time great Westerns. By embodying everything essential to the Western genre, it becomes a powerful, indispensable piece of mythology.