Seven Men from Now

Budd Boetticher and Randolph Scott collaborated on their first Western in 1956. Film historians consider it part of the Ranown Cycle, even though John Wayne’s Batjac Studios produced the film. Classification aside, Seven Men from Now remains Boetticher’s finest work, and a highpoint for the Western genre generally.

Ex-lawman Ben Stride (Randolph Scott) tracks seven outlaws who killed his wife in a hold-up. During his question Stride joins up with Julie (Gail Russell) and John Greer (Walter Reed), two pioneers headed for California. Stride warms up to Julie, who nonetheless remains loyal to her milquetoast husband. Things grow more complicated when part-time crook Masters (Lee Marvin) joins with the gang. Masters may have been involved in Mrs. Stride’s death; Julie learns John might not be innocent, either.

Groggy risks sounding like a broken record but it’s true: these films’ greatest virtue is simplicity. Using California’s Alabama Hills, a small but perfect cast and Burt Kennedy’s terse screenwriting, Boetticher marshals impressive shows with modest budgets. What could be a simple revenge programmer becomes transcendent. This initial entry provides the template for future Ranown Westerns, all stellar variants on a theme.

As in The Tall T, Boetticher sets the laconic Stride against the loudmouthed, weak-willed John. Here the impotent “half-man,” introduced straining at a wagon track in mud, isn’t only a coward but unwittingly complicit with the villains – though he’s at least allowed redemption. Tough, independent-minded Julie pines for the real man Stride even as she can’t betray John. Masters drives them apart through psychological gamesmanship, taunting Johnny with Julie’s affection for Stride. Yet even the snaky Masters proves noble; in the end reels, he even kills his erstwhile colleagues to ensure a fair fight.

But it’s Boetticher’s brilliant set pieces that really set Seven Men apart. His direction is consistently top-notch but he’d never quite replicate this film’s standout scenes. The movie opens with a confrontation between Stride and two drifters in a cave. It’s an incredibly tense sequence, building to an unexpected conclusion. He achieves similar effects in a face-off with hostile Indians, resolved in a satisfyingly unconventional manner. Sergio Leone once told Boetticher “I stole everything from you!”;  Seven Men’s influence on that Italian master is evident throughout, especially in the end showdown.  Masters avoids a chance at easy money, preferring instead to “earn” the loot through a formal duel.

Randolph Scott establishes the rough-hewn, leathery frontiersman he’d assay in all Boetticher’s movies. He’s even tougher than in later Ranown flicks, shrugging off gunshot wounds and blows to the head in his quest for justice. Lee Marvin shines in his first major role, making Masters a wheedling dastard with a chivalrous streak. Marvin fits this role like a glove; he’d play similar characters in The Comancheros and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance before breaking through to stardom. Gail Russell (Angel and the Badman) turns in a warm, endearing performance, while Walter Reed makes a suitably pathetic figure.

Seven Men from Now is a real gem. Like all the Ranown flicks, it’s a flawless blend of compact storytelling and impeccable direction. One could pay the film no higher complement than to say it stands head and shoulders above Boetticher’s other flicks.

Ride Lonesome

Another entry in Budd Boetticher's Ranown Cycle, Ride Lonesome (1959) is an extraordinary film. It crams a lot of plot, action and character drama into its 72 minute run time, forging a classic Western.

Bounty hunter Ben Brigade (Randolph Scott) captures outlaw Billy John (Tom Laughlin... er, James Best). Returning him to Santa Cruz, Ben encounters Sam Boone (Pernell Roberts) and Whit (James Coburn), two outlaws who hope themselves to turn in Billy John for amnesty. They also encounter Carrie Lane (Karen Steele), who lost her husband to Mescalero Apaches. The quintet escapes the Indians but Billy's brother Frank (Lee Van Cleef) on their tale. Sam and Whit suspect Ben has a score to settle with Frank, uncertain of their role.

Like its predecessors, Ride Lonesome presents a compact Western drama. Boetticher provides two big action scenes (an Indian chase reminiscent of The Searchers, the gruesome final showdown) and some striking Cinemascope photography (you'll remember the burning tree, if nothing else). Boetticher and writer Burt Kennedy again mix sharp characterization with brutal violence, making cliches like Indian attacks and revenge-seeking fresh. Again, archetypes aren't bad when they're so skillfully handled.

Ride Lonesome reconfigures Ranown dynamics slightly. Ben's still stoic ("She ain't ugly!" he drawls while ogling the voluptuous Carrie) but shows coarser edges as a bounty hunter with a grudge. Notably he forces Frank into an uneven showdown by threatening to hang Billy, a nasty scene reminiscent of Anthony Mann. Carrie makes an agreeably complex character: she's tough and self-reliant but still feminine, a good compromise between extreme polarities. Unlike Maureen O'Sullivan in The Tall T she's happy in her marriage and doesn't run into Ben's arms.

More typically, Boetticher shows greatest sympathy to the side characters. Sam genuinely wants to go straight, seeing the amnesty as the key to redemption. A tough but noble soul, Sam proves his worthiness by backing Ben when Billy John gets the drop on him. Boetticher even grants the conventionally villainous Frank humanity, begging for his brother's life. Boetticher's gunfighter ethics ("Some things a man just can't ride around," here uttered by Sam) feel as immutable as the samurai's bushido code.

Randolph Scott again provides a laconic anchor, but here he's outshone by his co-stars. Boetticher favorite Karen Steele agreeably mixes toughness and vulnerability, one of the better Western heroines. Pernell Roberts gives a layered turn while James Coburn makes a memorable debut performance. Lee Van Cleef provides his best pre-Leone performance, making the most of brief screen time.

Ride Lonesome marks another home run from Budd Boetticher. The Ranown films are marvelous in their simple beauty, and this is one of the best.

The Tall T

Thanks to the approbation of Clint Eastwood and Quentin Tarantino, along with critics like Jim Kitses, Budd Boetticher's Westerns have lately been rescued from B Movie obscurity. Particularly revered is the so-called "Ranown Cycle," Boetticher's six collaborations with Randolph Scott and producer Joe Brown. Their lean narratives, striking direction and simple, crisp storytelling make them marvels of dramatic economy.

The second in the series, after the remarkable Seven Men from Now (1956), is The Tall T (1957). Based on an Elmore Leonard story, it's a straightforward but powerful Western. Boetticher's preoccupations with masculine honor make for interesting viewing.

Pat Brennan (Randolph Scott) hitches a ride on a stagecoach carrying newlyweds Doretta (Maureen O'Sullivan) and Willard Mims (John Hubbard). At the next station they're waylaid by a trio of crooks: reasonable Frank (Richard Boone), crack-brained Billy Jack (Tom Laughlin... er, Skip Homeier) and psychotic Chink (Henry Silva). Willard tells the outlaws Doretta's father is a copper magnate, convincing Frank to ransom hers. Pat and Doretta fall for each other as they think of a way to outsmart their tormentors.

Like all Boetticher's Westerns, The Tall T is a model of efficiency, clocking in at under 80 minutes. Writer Burt Kennedy crafts a small cast and simple, focused story and clipped dialogue. The action plays out against stark backdrops, namely the craggy Alabama Hills, giving the violence a stylish kick. These movies are easy to decode but no one watching will complain: sometimes the simplest stories are the best.

Boetticher's Westerns presage Sergio Leone in their frontier chivalry and ritualized violence. Brennan is a simple, laconic man, not especially heroic but driven by personal honor ("There are some things a man just can't ride around"). Boetticher contrasts this model of masculinity with the weak-willed Willard, who'd gladly sell Doretta out to save himself, and the feral violence of Chink and Billy Jack. Frank seems the protagonist's mirror image, disgusted with his partners and respecting Brennan, until he pulls a rotten trick in the end showdown. Doretta is a peripheral character, pining over her rotten marriage and swooning over the manly Brennan.

Randolph Scott makes an ideal Western hero. Tall and leathery in appearance, tougher than James Stewart, more soft-spoken than John Wayne or Clint Eastwood, he's always convincing. He's well-matched by Richard Boone (Hombre), who marvelously underplays his likeable villain. Henry Silva (The Bravados) and Skip Homeier (The Gunfighter) provide menacing support and Arthur Hunnicut (El Dorado) has a brief appearance. Maureen O'Sullivan is a weak link, less effective than Gail Russell in Seven Men or Karen Steele in Ride Lonesome.

The Tall T is a solid Western. Few directors do a better job with Western archetypes than Boetticher and Kennedy, crafting old-fashioned elements into something special.