The Big Country

William Wyler's 1958 Western certainly lives up to its title. The Big Country may not be the highest point of the Western genre, but it's certainly one hell of a show, mixing closely observed characters with a gobsmackingly epic scope.

James McKay (Gregory Peck), a former sea captain, goes West, planning to marry Pat Terrill (Carroll Baker), daughter of a big-shot rancher (Charles Bickford). McKay quickly runs afoul of the Hannassays, a gang of hickish farmers led by the bear-like Rufus (Burl Ives) and his carzy son Buck (Chuck Connors), who are feuding with the McKays over the "Big Muddy", a local watering hole. McKay clashes with McKay's foreman Leech (Charlton Heston) and finds his affection for Pat dimming as the rivalry between the two ranches escalates. McKay transfers his affections to Julie (Jean Simmons), a headstrong school teacher who lives astride the Big Muddy, thus finding herself at the center of the conflict. Things come to a head when Buck kidnaps Julie, hoping to marry her, and McKay tries to forestall an all-out war between the two factions.

The Big Country is slow and talky by Western standards, but Wyler is unquestionably the right director for this material. The film is a bit thin on plot but Wyler creates a well-observed cast of characters: outside of Anthony Mann and Sam Peckinpah's better works (The Man From Laramie, The Wild Bunch) few genre entries compare. Despite its near-three hour length and relative lack of action, Wyler never lets things become boring or draggy, stumbling only on occcasion.

The movie complicates a simple story by avoiding cliches. McKay is an atypical protagonist: an Eastern "dude," he's completely out of place in the Old West. Most Westerns would have McKay proving his manhood, but he pointedly refuses to do this: he's more concerned with satisfying himself than the gallery. This attitude is cleverly played out against his love interests: Pat sees McKay as an idealized Western man rather than a dignified but unassuming gentleman; Julie sees him more or less for who he is. The usual triangle is absent, with Pat fading from the story as McKay and Julie fall for each other. Leech's affection for Pat and Buck's for Julie make the situation believably messy; this private war is intensely personal.

The war itself is a nasty business with both sides on an equal moral playing field. The protagonist is nominally with the Terrils, but his would-be employer and family are violent bigots eager to fight the Hannassays. The hickish Hannassays are not undeserving of their reputation but really no worse than their opponents. Rufus is sympathetic, but the trigger-happy Buck pushes him to the brink, in a dynamic similar to the villainous triangle in The Man From Laramie. A mixture of motivations - greed, lust for power, personal hatreds, bigotry - creates a complex situation destined to end in tragedy.

The movie's faults are minor but hard to ignore. McKay and Julie fall for each other rather quickly; this is forgivable because Peck and Simmons have a lot of chemistry and make a nice couple. A lengthy scene between Pat and Julie, spelling out their expectations for McKay, seems overwritten and obvious: Wyler does a good enough job elsewhere, that this needn't be explained in such depth. The conclusion, with Terrill and Rufus settling accounts mano y mano, is doubly unsatisfying: after two-and-a-half hours of build-up, and directly following the impressive duel, it needed to be especially striking, but it falls flat. These flaws don't kill the film, but they do make a potentially great film into a just very good one.

Most impressive is Wyler's direction. The huge, epic sense of scope is amazing, with Franz Planer's widescreen photography bringing out the striking California scenery. Wyler creates innumerable memorable images, using his locations as an epic theater; even talky scenes achieve grandeur against these settings. The arguable highlight is a huge fistfight between McKay and Leech, filmed largely in long-shot, without sound or music, a striking bit of poetic barbarism. Another scene where a defiant Terril rides out to meet his fate, with his gang gradually joining him, is an equally transcendent moment; a fumbling duel, curiously reminiscent of Barry Lyndon, also stands out. Jerome Moross's rousing, epic score screams Western, and adds immeasuribly to the film.

The often-stiff Gregory Peck has never been better, making McKay sympathetic and compelling despite his passivity. Charlton Heston is in fine form as well, playing a far more complex character than his usual rock-jawed, righteous hero. Carroll Baker (Cheyenne Autumn) is mostly pretty window dressing, but Jean Simmons (Spartacus) shines: with her incredible beauty and tough personality, she's like a down-to-earth Audrey Hepburn. Burl Ives (Our Man in Havana) won an Oscar for his larger-than-life part, easily stealing every scene - and getting one of film history's great entrances. Chuck Connors (TV's The Rifleman) and Charles Bickford are secondary bad guys; Alfonso Bedoya (Border Incident) has a small part.

Wyler's next film, Ben-Hur, would be an even larger epic, but much of the deft plotting and characterization would be lost amidst the huge photography, set-pieces and religious deux es machina. Despite its faults, The Big Country is a much better example of the epic genre, and is a solid Western as well.