Cimarron (1960)

It tends to be a hard sell when your central characters are, pretty much, assholes. That seems to be a recurring theme in Ferber’s novels (witness the adaptation of Giant). This, like that other flick, is another epic of the west, with striking similarities (right down to the oil strikes), though with no one in the cast is as magnetic as James Dean. Glenn Ford tries to fill the gap, but doesn’t quite pull it off. Mostly, the lasting impressions here—part that hard sell—are representations of the generally flawed nature of the American character: people who are bigoted, inconstant, venal, and grasping. I guess that makes this film honest, if nothing else. Ultimately, it's just not as engaging as one would hope--and, as a remake, probably not as engaging as the original (which won Best Picture). Ultimately, it’s a movie that veers from overblown to downright silly, though it is somewhat redeemed by Maria Schell's performance as Sabra; she is, in somewhat stealth mode, the true focus of the tale. The up-and-down nature of the thing means it's hardly necessary to see, but you could do worse with your time, too.