The Shootist

There are so many movies about old gunslingers that it seems like a contradiction: you wouldn’t expect that many tales of old gunslingers, because you figure not too many of them make it to be old, given the nature of their pursuits. Yet, here’s another one, featuring that oldest of old pistol packers, John Wayne, who is perfectly believable as a veteran of the range who is dying of cancer. (He would succumb to the disease in real life not long afterwards.) Lauren Bacall is a bit frosty as the widow who provides the outlaw with room and board and a bit of sympathy. Able support comes from another veteran of the genre, James Stewart, in a small but meaningful role as a doctor. Meanwhile, the real star of the film may be Harry Morgan, who is an absolute hoot as the local lawman who gives Wayne’s character a regular earful. The weak link here may be Ron Howard as the impressionable youth who takes a shine to the old gunslinger; let’s say it’s a good thing that directing worked out for him. This movie was late-period Western storytelling, both in when it came out (1976) and in setting (1901 in Carson City, well after the frontier had been officially closed). That gives the production an interesting feel, one that conveys a sense of change—of, indeed, things passing away—more so than what you get in the traditional oater full of horses, wide open spaces, and black and white morality. Nevertheless, the film still delivers its share of shootouts, old-time Americana, and the presence of one of the genre’s legends—still delivering the goods even at the end of the ride. As ways to go go, this one hits the target. 

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.