Carousel

After the massive success of Oklahoma! (1955), Fox re-teamed Gordon McRae and Shirley Jones for another Rodgers and Hammerstein musical. Carousel (1956) is an excellent stage show hampered by indifferent filmic staging; fortunately, the source material is good enough to shine through.

At a New England carnival, young Julie Jordan (Shirley Jones) meets fast-talking carousel barker Billy Bigelow (Gordon McRae). Even after being warned of Billy's lecherous ways Julie falls for him. The two marry but endure a rocky marriage, with Billy sponging off Julie's Cousin Nettie (Claramae Turner) instead of working. After Julie becomes pregnant, Billy joins with two-bit hood Jigger (Cameron Mitchell) in a botched robbery. Billy dies, returning to earth 15 years later to help his daughter (Susan Luckey) avoid a similar fate.

It's obvious why Carousel isn't listed among the great screen musicals. Henry King's static direction lacks the skill of his Westerns like The Gunfighter, rarely expanding beyond lazy master shots. Even the choreography rarely transcends competence, save the marvelous, wordless "Carousel Waltz" opening. The awkward mixture of seaside exteriors and hokey sets don't help either. Despite beautiful Cinemascope photography it doesn't even begin to approach the visual dynamism of Singin' in the Rain and My Fair Lady.

But Carousel transcends its mediocre staging. Rodgers and Hammerstein produced some of their most beautiful songs for this show, wonderful compositions that will appeal even to non-musical fans. Besides the aforementioned "Carousel Waltz," the best numbers are the simplest staged. Billy gets the lovely "Soliloquy," musing proudly over his unborn child, which redeems what's been a lousy character. The big showstopper is "You'll Never Walk Alone," sung as a heartrending solo by Claramae Turner. These wonderful songs alone make Carousel worthwhile.

Carousel is a loose adaptation of Liliom, Ferenc Molnar's fantasy of Heavenly redemption made into a memorable Fritz Lang film. We wince at some of the dated assumptions about gender (maybe getting smacked around does hurt, Julie) but the attempts at crafting flawed musical protagonists are admirable. Less admirable is the moral espoused by "Stonecutters Cut It On Stone"; falling between good and bad shouldn't mean well-intentioned wife beater. But the charming story of love and redemption compensates for these mixed messages. Billy manages to overcome a rotten, aimless life, performing a simple act of charity that saves his daughter from oblivion.

Gordon McRae is good mixing masculine bluster with reluctant romanticism, making Billy's pathetic tragedy palpable. Shirley Jones makes a perfect match, sweetly naive, then bewildered by her husband and daughter. Cameron Mitchell gets a rare standout role as a loathsome heel; Barbara Ruick's Carrie makes a good match for Julie. Claramae Turner belts out the big number with aplomb and Susan Luckey is endearing in her brief appearance. Groggy favorite Gene Lockhart (Hangmen Also Die!) contributes a minor role.

Carousel is an enjoyable show. There are plenty of great songs on offer, which help overcome its underwhelming presentation.

Jesse James

Jesse James (1939) is an old-fashioned Western, for better or worse. An expensive Twentieth Century Fox film, it's beautifully shot and packed with top talent. But its hackneyed plotting and conventionality fail to distinguish it from your average programmer.

Jesse James (Tyrone Power) and brother Frank (Henry Fonda) are Missouri farm boys who run afoul of railroad thug Barshee (Brian Donlevy). After Barshee accidentally kills Jesse's mother (Jane Darwell) Jesse seeks revenge, precipitating a legendary outlaw career. Jesse accepts the offer of an honest US Marshal (Randolph Scott) to turn himself in for a lenient sentence, but railroad boss McCoy (Donald Meek) rigs his trial. When Jesse escapes he goes on a national crime spree, leaving his long-suffering wife Zee (Nancy Kelly) behind. Meanwhile gang member Bob Ford (John Carradine) is busy eying reward posters...

Jesse James casts its outlaw hero as a wronged innocent pushed into crime by evil, bullying railroad men. He's not quite Robin Hood but his noble intentions are never in doubt, an ideal hero for moviegoers not five years removed from John Dillinger's exploits. Unfortunately, King and writer Nunnaly Johnson present their story in the broadest strokes, its heroes so squeaky clean you could eat off them. A dose of droopy melodrama between shootouts doesn't help either. No genre's more archetypical than the Western, but Jesse James takes it to extremes.

King makes fine use of vivid Technicolor and Pineville, Missouri locations; if nothing else Jesse James is quite handsome. The movie's best with physical action, King crafting inventive set pieces: Frank and Jesse distracting a posse with hastily-thrown bank notes, and later riding horses through a shop window (an image appropriated by Walter Hill's The Long Riders). A horse died in a horrifying cliff-diving stunt. But the movie drags between action scenes, full of stilted dialogue and cornball comic relief. King's later Westerns (especially The Gunfighter) hold up much better.

Tyrone Power makes a charismatic Jesse, transitioning from naive farm boy to killer fairly well. It's strange seeing Henry Fonda and Randolph Scott as second bananas; to think Fonda starred in Drums Along the Mohawk and Young Mr. Lincoln the same year! Much better are Brian Donlevy (Hangmen Also Die!) and John Carradine as second-tier dastards. Nancy Kelly is a thoroughly uninspiring love interest and Henry Hull's clowning grows old fast.

Jesse James is watchable but not a genre highpoint. Fritz Lang's sequel The Return of Frank James (1940) surpasses it in most every way. It certainly can't hold a candle to Stagecoach or Destry Rides Again, 1939's Western champs.

The Gunfighter

The Gunfighter (1950) is one of the most mature, well-made Westerns Hollywood ever released. Gregory Peck and Henry King had already proven a winning team on 1949's Twelve O'Clock High, and they create a memorably unique oater here.

Jimmy Ringo (Gregory Peck) is a legendary gunfighter who only wants to escape his past. After killing Eddie (Richard Jaeckal), a young man who challenges him to a duel, Ringo flees the man's brothers and visits the town of Cayenne. He soon learns he's not welcome: his old buddy Mark (Millard Mitchell) is now the town Marshal, old flame Peggy (Helen Westcott) doesn't want to see him and various townspeople want him either run out of town or dead. Among the troublemakers are Jerry Marlowe (Cliff Clark), who has a score to settle with Ringo, and Hunt Broemley (Skip Hoemier), a cocky loudmouth who yearns to be "the man who killed Jimmy Ringo."

The Gunfighter is a key title in the "psychological Western" subgenre which flourished in the '50s. High Noon, The Man from Laramie and The Searchers get more acclaim and attention but King's film is even better than those classics. Hitting on a "death of the West" theme much expanded on by Mann, Peckinpah and Eastwood (among others), King shoots the gunfighter myth full of holes without getting wrapped up in "revisionist" posturing.

The Gunfighter scores points for its sober realism and well-observed drama. Ringo is a radical departure from the standard gunslinger, a not especially likeable character worn down from endless challenges by cocky "squirts." When The Magnificent Seven complain about how tough it is being a gunfighter, it seems like callow whining, but Ringo, not even welcome among friends and lovers, definitely earns the right to complain. He doesn't even get a showdown with Eddie's vengeful brothers, Fate and the screenplay dealing him a most ignoble death.

This complexity extends to other characters, too. Peggy is a most unusual love interest, holding onto some affection for Ringo but initially refusing to see him, let alone their son. The conflicted Marshal, a "singer" friend of Ringo's (Jean Parker) and the friendly barman (Karl Malden) also make strong impressions. Thrill-seeking kids swarm Ringo wherever he goes, similar to The Wild Bunch, making him a walking spectacle. There's some light comic relief, especially when Ringo confers with an unknowing gaggle of old biddies intent on running him out of town, but the film remains consistently down to earth. Nothing strikes a false note, and even the sentimental ending seems appropriate.

King's direction is fairly restrained. Most of the movie is town-bound, relying on Arthur C. Miller's moody photography for affect. There's not much gunplay, and the film is talky by Western standards, but King keeps things interesting by consistently avoiding cliches. Obvious confrontations are aborted and the characters develop in unexpected ways. Alfred Newman contributes a nice score reminiscent of later work on The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance.

Gregory Peck gives what might be his best performance. He makes Ringo believably coarse and bitter with just enough hope to keep him going. Helen Westcott (God's Little Acre) gets a memorable part, tough-minded but soft enough to (almost) forgive Ringo. Millard Mitchell (The Naked Spur) does fine work as the Marshal, and Karl Malden (On the Waterfront) shines playing a chummy bartender. Jean Parker (Rasputin and the Empress) has a nice bit as an old acquaintance of Ringo. Skip Homeier (The Tall T) and Richard Jaeckal (3:10 to Yuma) are appropriately snotty as the "squirts" seeking a name for themsleves.

The Gunfighter is one of the all-time great Westerns. With its closely-observed drama, well-rounded characters and avoidance of cliche (if not convention), it's definitely an interesting and unique film.

The Bravados

In 1950, director Henry King teamed up with Gregory Peck on The Gunfighter (1950), a seminal Western that helped launch the psychologically-complex, hard-edged "adult Western" trend of the '50s. In 1958, the two reteamed on The Bravados. Despite a share of faults, it's a remarkably grim and nihilistic oater with a twist that's a real kick in the gut.

Embittered rancher Jim Douglass (Gregory Peck) turns up in the border town of Arriba. He's been relentlessly tracking the four men who murdered his wife, and is eager to see them hanged. But before their execution, the four prisoners (Stephen Boyd, Henry Silva, Albert Salmi and Lee Van Cleef) bust out of jail, taking the daughter (Kathleen Gallant) of a shopkeeper hostage. Douglass leads a manhunt across the Southwest and over the Mexican border, but begins to doubt whether he's pursuing the right perpetrators.

The Bravados starts out like almost any other Western, with a revenge motive borrowed from a million oaters from Stagecoach through The Man From Laramie. The seemingly rote story lulls the audience into a false sense of security (as does the overlong and draggy introduction); once the main story, the movie proves remarkably bleak and violent, with grisly, pointless killings, an off-screen rape and a general atmosphere of despair. Douglass's killing of gang member Parral (Van Cleef) provides the film's highpoint, with King presenting it as a brutal summary execution rather than justice being done. Aside from The Ox-Bow Incident and Fritz Lang's Fury, this may be Hollywood's most straightforward condemnation of vigilante justice, a concept generally endorsed by an endless glut of action films, Westerns and crime sagas.

The Bravados builds up to its twist with remarkable economy and force. Doubts begin to fester as Douglass fails to achieve satisfaction: his query all express bafflement at his moment of triumph, revealing a pocket watch with a portrait of his wife, and tracking the baddies down becomes a matter of grim principle more than righteousness. King doesn't justify or excuse Douglass's act, and neither does he, though some viewers may argue that the thugs are bad enough on their own. The film soft-pedals the bleakness with its constant religious themes and church scenes, as if to assure audiences (and the old fogies at the Hayes Office/Legion of Decency) that everything will be alright. This marks The Bravados as very much of its time, but the twist still leaves a bitter taste in the mouth.

King's direction is quite striking, with beautiful Cinemascope photography and excellent use of Mexican locations. The film is slow out of the starting gate, with a needlessly protracted intro in Arriba, but moves well-enough once the main story kicks into gear. The film has a clear influence on a generation of revisionist Westerns, most notably on several Spaghettis: Sergio Leone's For a Few Dollars More in particular borrowed several key motifs, including the revenge theme and musical pocket watch (and Lee Van Cleef), and Sergio Sollima's The Big Gundown made use of the "wrong man" storyline.

Gregory Peck is in top form, convincingly tormented and angst-driven. James Stewart or Randolph Scott might have been a better fit for the neurotic Douglass, but Peck acquits himself surprisingly well. Joan Collins is pretty but ill-used; Kathleen Gallant fares far better as the damsel in distress turned avenging angel. The quartet of bad guys are an interesting bunch, with Stephen Boyd (Ben-Hur) unusually charismatic and Lee Van Cleef (Death Rides a Horse) in his best pre-Spaghetti role. Replacement Stooge Joe DiRita ("Curly Joe") has a small but crucial bit.

The Bravados is a fine Western, and certainly one of the bleakest you're likely to see. It's often said revenge is a dish best served cold, but King convincingly argues it's best not served at all.