One-Eyed Jacks

Once upon a time, Twilight Zone creator Rod Serling was commissioned to adapt Charles Nieder's novel The Authentic Death of Hendry Jones, a heavily-fictionalized reworking of the Billy the Kid story. From there the script passed on to Sam Peckinpah, then a TV writer with a flair for dialogue (Gunsmoke, The Rifleman), with Stanley Kubrick signed to direct and Marlon Brando to star. Kubrick fired Peckinpah and hired Calder Willingham. Completing this confusing round-robbin, Kubrick himself was sacked, leaving Brando - with no directoral experience - to helm the film himself, with Guy Trosper finalizing the screenplay.

The result of this mess is One-Eyed Jacks (1961), an off-beat, frustratingly uneven "adult Western" that alternates between brilliant and dull. For all the story's overbaked psychology, one suspects director Brando is at fault: a more seasoned director could have made something brilliant out of the material. As it is, we're left with an intriguing curio that doesn't live up to its potential.

Outlaws Rio (Marlon Brando) and "Dad" Longworth (Karl Malden) go their separate ways after a bank heist in Mexico, with Rio being nabbed by Mexican police and serving a long, hard prison sentence. Several years later, Rio joins up with a gang of crooks led by Bob Arnory (Ben Johnson), intending to rob the Monterry, California bank. Much to Rio's chagrin, he finds that Monterry's Sheriff is Dad, a completely-reformed man. Rio broods and equivocates, trying to decide how to confront his old pall, while romancing his daughter (Pilar Pellicer) and as his gang grows more impatient.

Many of One-Eyed Jacks's flaws can be traced back to its shavetail director. Brando is a competent director in some regards: the movie certainly looks nice, with lots of beautiful coastal scenery, and the shootouts are creatively handled. But Brando clearly doesn't have a handle on the craft's finer points, much to the film's detriment. The story drags like nobody's business, with a brilliant opening half-hour and tense finale buttressed by lots of flabby bloat, with endless scenes of characters sitting around talking, thinking and scheming. At 141 minutes, the movie is way too long and could have used some judicious trimming.

Of course, Brando isn't solely to blame for the mess. The bizarre written-by-committee script doesn't even begin to get a handle on its potentially-interesting characters. Rio and Dad are polar opposite characters who are more similar than different, and their rivalry brings to mind Anthony Mann or Sam Peckinpah's directoral efforts. But their relationship is bogged down in overwrought psychobabble that obfuscates more than it reveals, and the characters remain half-baked. A lame romance with Dad's daughter just wastes time, and the Freudian subtext isn't as fascinating as the film thinks it is. Mealy-mouthed, pseudo-pretentious dialogue doesn't help either. The combination of first-time director and messy script probably made the film's weakness inevitable.

That's not to say the film is without its charms. The cast is mostly good, the scenery is nice and Brando stages a number of creative shootouts, including the finale where Rio employs a move not often seen in Westerns. Sam Peckinpah's contributions are hard to miss, with several key scenes lifted wholesale from Arthur Penn's The Left-Handed Gun, including a tense square dance and a lengthy jailhouse faceoff between Rio and a surly guard (Slim Pickens) - bits that would find their way into Peckinpah's own Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid. In large part, however, the good elements serve to highlight the weaknesses.

Marlon Brando the actor is good, even if he's a bit too old for his role: his brooding Method style transfers better to the Old West than Paul Newman's similar turn in The Left-Handed Gun. Karl Malden (On the Waterfront) gives a typically fiery performance, but Katy Jurado (High Noon) is wasted in a peripheral role. Pina Pellicer's placcid love interest brings the narrative to a crawl. Slim Pickens (Major Dundee) does surprisingly well against-type as a surly prick, and dependable hands Ben Johnson (The Wild Bunch), Elisha Cook Jr. (Shane) and Hank Worden (The Searchers) turn up in supporting roles.

Basically One-Eyed Jacks is an intriguing misfire. It's probably as good as its troubled production would have allowed, but it's hard to think a more experienced director could have made something great. A Stanley Kubrick Western - now that might have been something to see!