Invitation to a Gunfighter: (1964. dir: Richard Wilson) Man, I hate George Segal and his ham-fisted over-emoting. Yul Brynner, arrayed in his usual dignified stoicism, must be vaguely embarrassed every time they're onscreen together, watching Segal bend and grimace and furrow his massive brow.
I also hate what television drama did to Westerns in the early '60s, particularly to the writing and direction: all that talky, stagebound, psychobabbly melodrama. Thank the gods for the Italians, who saved the day before the decade was out. A guy rides into a town with no name and no heart, just a gun, a serape, a stubby cigar, a wide-brimmed hat and a steely-eyed gaze. By the time he rides out, everything has changed. Instead of psychobabble, there's tricksy mischief, and instead of melodrama, gunplay and explosions.
This, needless to say, was before the Italian influence took hold. Very much in spite of Yul Brynner's glorious presence, much of it is dull, most of it overwrought, and the ending is stupid. About five people in the cast were in Star Trek episodes, which never really bodes well for a Western, I've found.
The Stalking Moon: (1968. dir: Robert Mulligan) This, on the other hand, is ready for a remake. I guess, times being what they are, it'd have to be politically correcticized some, but it could easily be done. It's an old-school oater and it doesn't succumb to that confusion which took hold in the sixties, after which nobody knew how to portray violence or Indians or the cavalry or anything else. (Until, that is, the Italians saved the day.)
Gregory Peck is a retiring army scout who takes Eva Marie Saint and her son, longtime captives to an unnamed Indian tribe, under his wing when the boy's vicious warlord father comes after them. I found both leads a trifle disappointing, but to be fair, the whole thing is done mostly in medium long-shot, and that's a hard range in which to act effectively. That said, Robert Forster plays up a storm in the sexy-halfbreed-tracker-sidekick role, doing a sort of half-Charles Bronson, half-Paul Newman, all-James Dean impersonation. It's particularly great to see this now after just having watched the Descendants ("I'm going to hit you now." LOVE that guy.)
It's extraordinarily well written, with no more words than are needed. There are a few "huh?" moments in the story, but the momentum is such that it carries you through. At its best, it's grippingly suspenseful, with an unseen powerhouse of a killer on their trail and a small, stoical cast in claustrophobic circumstances surrounded by gorgeous scenery. I'd have preferred to see Charlton Heston in the lead, but Peck is no slouch, particularly in action scenes.
Seriously, I mean it. Someone should remake this.
No comments:
Post a Comment