Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid

I remember disliking Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) in past viewings, as my previous dismissive comments on here can attest. It always struck me as a frivolous bit of fluff without much beyond a cool shootout and likable leads. Certainly nothing worthy of a deep, insightful Groggy review.

Well, apparently I was in a crabby mood for the past five or six years, because I watched it again tonight and had a blast. Sure, it's not one of the all-time great Westerns, but it has no pretensions of being such. Very much ahead of its time, it has the perfect combination of star power, action and humor to please almost everyone.

Outlaws Butch Cassidy (Paul Newman) and the Sundance Kid (Robert Redford) lead the Hole-in-the-Wall-Gang, gleefully holding up trains and banks all over the West. Things go awry when the Union Pacific Railroad hires a "super-posse" of expert lawmen to track Butch and Sundance down. Along with gal pal Etta (Katharine Ross), the outlaw duo heads to Bolivia, where they gain infamy as the "Banditos Yanquis," relentlessly pursued by lawmen. They briefly try to go straight, working as payroll guards for mining boss Percy Garris (Strother Martin), but circumstances force them back into crime. Soon our heroes find themselves facing down the barrels of half the Bolivian Army as they're forced to make their last stand.

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is a charming romp with oodles of commercial savvy: sexy stars, lots of action, funny dialogue and a boatload of simple, romantic fun. William Goldman's tongue-in-cheek script shamelessly romanticizes its outlaw heroes, anti-Establishment rebels who rob banks and trains because it's fun and easy; none of this grim Sam Peckinpah crap. There are some "death of the West" musings sprinkled throughout but the film refuses to take itself seriously, with Butch and Sundance trading wisecracks even at the point of dying. Its final scene seems a rebuke to the unflinching mayhem of Bonnie and Clyde and The Wild Bunch; our outlaw heroes go down in a blaze of glory but we're spared the bloody details.

George Roy Hill provides solid direction, mixing well-staged (if sanitized) action with beautiful photography courtesy of Conrad Hall. Hill experiments with silent movie stylization and editing in the opening credits and Sundance's sepia-toned intro, which he'd return to with The Sting four years later. The film is virtually plotless but flows seemlessly, providing one of the leanest, fast-moving two hours you'll find. Burt Bacharach's scatty score is not my cup of tea, and the insipid Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head scene brings the film to a screeching halt, but on the whole it doesn't seriously harm the film.

Paul Newman and Robert Redford are a perfect cinematic team. Each has charm, charisma and screen presence to burn on his own, but together they're dynamite. Goldman gives them an endless stream of quotable banter, trading barbs and personal secrets under the most unlikely circumstances ("Is that what you call giving cover?" "Is that what you call running?"): rarely have scripted wisecracks seemed so natural, and rarely have two actors had such great chemistry. If nothing else in the film worked, it would still have Newman and Redford.

Katharine Ross (The Graduate) is a weak spot; try as she may, and pretty as she is, Ross isn't remotely convincing as a turn-of-the-century schoolmarm. The supporting cast provides a series of colorful vignettes: Strother Martin (Cool Hand Luke), Cloris Leachman (Young Frankenstein), Ted Cassidy (Mackenna's Gold), Jeff Corey (In Cold Blood) and George Furth (The Boston Strangler) are all wonderful, making the most of marginal screen time. Sam Elliot (Tombstone) has a tiny, blink-and-you'll-miss-him bit early in the film.

I'll conclude with some advice: Take Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid on its own terms, and you'll have a great time. Don't be a Groggy, enjoy watching movies!