Movie Review: The Gunfighter

The Gunfighter (1950) 
directed by Henry King, starring Gregory Peck, Helen Westcott

Jimmy Ringo (Gregory Peck) may be the fastest gun in the West but even he can't shoot fast enough to keep up with his own deadly reputation. Everywhere he goes, some itchy gunfighter is just dying to challenge him and earn a name for themselves. But Ringo is tired of the fighting and the killing. After disposing of one overeager young buck (Richard Jaeckel), Ringo is forced to skip town early, with the boy's three angry brothers on his tail.

He makes his way to the small, quiet town of Cayenne, hoping to reunite with his old sweetheart Peggy Walsh (Helen Westcott) and their young son. But the town soon finds out that the notorious gunman is in town and they all crowd around the local saloon, from the little boys to the local barflies, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. The local sheriff Mark Strett (Millard Mitchell), an old friend of Ringo's, has his hands full trying to keep the peace and begs Ringo to leave. But Ringo won't leave until he talks to Peggy, even as she swears up and down that she'll have nothing to do with him.

Meanwhile, the local tough, Hunt Bromley (Skip Homeier), is hanging around, hoping to take a shot at Ringo himself, and a grieving father (Cliff Clark) is out for Ringo's blood too. The clock keeps on ticking and Ringo's enemies are drawing closer but the gunfighter refuses to leave town. Peggy and his son are his last shot at freedom and he's got to try. Just five more minutes and then he'll go...

I realized that I hadn't reviewed a Western on this site yet and decided to start making up for it with The Gunfighter, a much-respected but relatively lesser-known classic. It's a story with elements that feels achingly familiar to even a casual Western fan. A tough and weary gunman wants to retire, his enemies are after him, there's the promise of revenge and love and death in a small, dusty town. But in 1950, when the film first came out, it made the critics sit up in surprise at its cold-sober approach to the mythical gunslingers of the West.

It begins at the end, after the glamor and violence have taken their toll. Our hero is a dusty, depressed man (with a period-appropriate mustache no less), hanging out in saloons and back rooms. He can't even order a drink without some cocky kid trying to pull a gun on him. There's no noble cause for him to fight, not even a worthy villain to take down. Just the grim and unpleasant business of survival. Other later Westerns would take similar tacks. We would get the unhappy, underpaid gunmen of The Magnificent Seven, the lonely Shane, the bloody bandits of The Wild Bunch, and the secretly sadistic Will Munny of Unforgiven. But The Gunfighter still stands apart, even today, for its cool simplicity. There are no heroes or anti-heroes or even villains. There are men with guns.

The Gunfighter came to life from a chance remark made by Jack Dempsey, at a dinner with screenwriter William Bowers. The former heavyweight told him that everybody always wanted to take a punch at him, because he was the champ. This sparked something and Bowers, with the help of writer-director Andre de Toth, spun the tale of a Western gunslinger cursed by his own fame. Originally, The Gunfighter was intended to be a John Wayne picture. There are conflicting stories as to what happened (Greenbriar Pictures has an excellent rundown of the film's history) but ultimately, Wayne was left nursing a grudge and the role went to Gregory Peck at Twentieth Century Fox.

Darryl F. Zanuck had already seen one "thinking man's Western" crash and burn at the box office with The Ox-Bow Incident and he saw similar danger signs in The Gunfighter. "It is unquestionably a minor classic, but...it violates so many true Western traditions that it goes over the heads of the type of people who patronize Westerns," he said in a memo. "But on the other hand," shrugged Zanuck, "there was no formula mold about The Snake Pit and look what it did."

Putting Gregory Peck in the John Wayne role is the kind of casting choice that could give you whiplash. "He don't look so tough to me," is a constant refrain throughout The Gunfighter and you can imagine a disgruntled Wayne saying the same thing. But Peck uses that to his advantage here because of course, Ringo's reputation has grown far larger than the man can possibly sustain. He may be "tough" in the way he shoots a gun and stares down a bullet, but he's been reduced to popping off the pipsqueak kids who get in his way. Peck conveys much of that through his body language; he walks stiffly, he sits with his back hunched over and his arms held tight to his body, as if trying futilely to make his long limbs look smaller.

As Jimmy Ringo, Peck is more than just credible. He's heartbreaking. It's a portrait of a man whose life has essentially been whittled down to saloons and pointless fights, without even a drinking problem to keep him company. The only thing he has to hold onto is the promise of a new life with his love Peggy. When Ringo and Peggy finally meet, all Peck's tough-guy talk evaporates and he babbles on excitedly about running away to South America together. "We can make it, honey, we can make it," he says to her, clutching her like she's a life preserver. But in his face, we can see the truth.

Even better is the moment when Peck confronts an outraged citizen of Cayenne, who tries in vain to shoot him. "You killed my son--Roy Marlowe, remember?" the man tells him. Ringo doesn't recognize the name and the man sneers at him. "You killed him all right, but you don't even remember it." Peck denies it, stone-faced, but his eyes flicker for a split second. He hustles the man into a spare jail cell, telling him, "you're not safe running around loose." Peck voice sounds reasonable and sincere enough, but he shades his reaction just enough to show Ringo's fear at the thought that he can no longer keep track of the men he's murdered.

The film's biggest asset though, even more than Peck, is its claustrophobic and near-flawless screenplay. The screenwriters are canny enough to insert a ticking clock almost as perfect as the one in High Noon: Ringo can only stay in Cayenne for so long before three vengeful brothers catch up with him. His friends beg him to leave in a hurry but Ringo delays, hoping to see Peggy. Forced to hide from the town, he is consigned to bare dusty rooms and empty hallways, while the townsfolk eye him from the windows. Westerns are usually synonymous with open space and expansion but The Gunfighter refuses to give its hero (or its audience) any breathing room.

Later Westerns like Shane and The Magnificent Seven would follow The Gunfighter's portrayal of gunslinging as a cruel, lonely life. But few Westerns are as willing to be so resolutely anti-glamorous as this film. Even Unforgiven was kind enough to give its antihero a thunderously evil villain to fight against. Here, Jimmy Ringo must content with a series of idiot kids who constantly want to challenge him, like the ridiculously weaselly Skip Homeier (looking like a former member of the Dead End Kids). We see these numskulls in Western films all the time but usually they get picked off in the first five minutes. Here, they just keep coming. It makes gunslinging look about as much fun as being a professional fly-swatter. 

Prior to this, I only knew Millard Mitchell as the blustering R.F. from Singin in the Rain, the world's most understanding studio head. But he's unexpectedly marvelous here as the wise and weary Marshal Mark Strett. Mark takes one look at Ringo and knows exactly what kind of trouble has walked into his town. Ringo assures him, smiling, that he isn't going to start anything. Mark studies his old friend coolly, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "You sure?" Mitchell doesn't look much like a former tough guy, but he makes up for it with the simple, understated intelligence he gives to Mark. This is a man who can square the local toughs and pacify the village matrons, all without raising his voice. Next to him, Peck looks like an anxious, eager kid.

In addition to Mitchell, we have the ever-welcome presence of Karl Malden, as the grinning, fawning barkeeper Mac. Mac remembers Jimmy Ringo from the old days and he's happy to reminisce, fussing over him and offering him favors. Compared to the rest of the would-be alpha males in the film, Mac seems practically emasculated. He always walks around in a white apron, the little boys in town jeer and throw things at him. Even a skinny tough like Skip Homeier is enough to intimidate him. Malden retreats, eager to smile and pacify. But there's a darker side to all Mac's niceness. As Ringo gets ready to leave, Mac tells him that from now on, "this place'll be famous, it'll be like a shrine." Ringo jokes that maybe he should get money for that. Mac stares back at him, dead serious. "Why not? You're the one that's done it." Mac might like Ringo well enough as a person, but he likes him even more as publicity.

Unfortunately, two of the film's most crucial characters, Peggy Walsh and her son Jimmy, are played to lackluster effect by Helen Westcott and B.G. Norman. Westcott is young and pretty and she certainly carries herself like a prim schoolmarm. She rejects Ringo, not with anger but with blank weariness, and you sense that the defects in her husband's nature are as familiar to her as the multiplication table. But she's a little too stiff and cool; she doesn't act like a woman who ever had much passion to smother. When she and Ringo finally meet, there's no sense of the history crackling between them. How did she ever wind up as a gunman's girl?

B.G. Norman, playing the small but vital role of Ringo's kid Jimmy, is worse. He's like a transplant from 1950s suburbia, all "gosh" and "huh" and "aw shucks." Norman can't help the dialogue he's being asked to play but it's clear that little was expected from him outside of generic cuteness. In the pivotal meeting between Ringo and his son, it's Gregory Peck who has to carry all the emotional weight. Which he does, tremendously. He looks at Norman with barely concealed wonder and longing even as he gruffly tries to give the boy a few life lessons. Don't bust into a room, don't draw on an unarmed man, don't tangle with the tough guys. For all Peck's stentorian wisdom, there's very little of Atticus Finch in this performance. This is a man fumbling to fill a decade's worth of fathering in the space of five minutes.

Western heroes, like their distant cousins in film noir, always seem to know that they live on borrowed time. When death finally catches up to them, it carries the ring of inevitable. For Jimmy Ringo, the only question is who will finally be the one to do for him. But, as The Gunfighter makes clear, sometimes the answer to that question doesn't mean a damn thing. Gunfighters die but the game goes on.

Favorite Quote:

"Here I am, thirty-five years old and I ain't even got a good watch."

Favorite Scene:

The Gunfighter is a film wound as tightly as the watch Gregory Peck doesn't have. Trying to pick it apart to find a favorite scene is difficult but I'll try. Jimmy Ringo is in Mac's saloon, waiting impatiently for news of Peggy. Peck rocks back and forth in his chair, barely able to keep his composure. From outside, we can hear the chatter and giggles of children. Mac comes over to him, chatting jovially over a fresh bottle. Then one little boy peeks his head from under the door of the saloon, grinning openly at Ringo. The camera pans to two more boys glued to the window. "Somebody chase those kids out of there! Haven't you got a school for 'em?" Peck barks, jumping to his feet. Mac assures him that he can make the kids leave and rushes out, shooing them away. We see that it's not just little boys, but grown men too, laughing and jeering, unable to keep away. 

A few of the boys retreat, only to throw snow at the anxious mother hen Mac. One of the ladies of the town grabs the instigator (Ringo's son, it turns out). "Just you wait 'til your mother hears about this!" she snaps. The boy responds with one of the standard answers, "We're not hurting anybody." He's not defensive, he's completely sincere. And you realize that none of these people, from the boys to the men, understand what they want from Ringo. They don't think they're there to hurt him, but they can't keep away from him. The crowd continues to fishbowl Ringo and even after the scene ends, there is never a moment in the film where you don't feel their presence. Their attraction and aggression to Ringo just draws them in. The language of The Gunfighter is serious and civilized, but the image of those people crowding mindlessly around the saloon, staring longingly in at Ringo, is a slap in the face to anyone who thinks we're that far removed from the animals.

Final Six Words:

No heroes here, only dead dreamers

Movie Review: In Old Chicago

 

In Old Chicago (1937)

directed by Henry King, starring Tyrone Power, Don Ameche, Alice Faye 

The widowed Mrs. O'Leary (Alice Brady) and her three sons come to the city of Chicago in 1854, determined to fulfill the hopes and dreams of the late Mr. O'Leary (J. Anthony Hughes). With a little effort and ingenuity, they become modestly successful and Chicago thrives along with them. The youngest one, Bob (Tom Brown), is content to just help his mother milk the cow and while away his spare time flirting with the pretty Swedish servant Gretchen (June Storey). But the older boys have much grander ambitions. 

The eldest, Jack (Don Ameche), is an idealistic, fervently reformist lawyer, who dreams of someday wiping out the corruption in the town. Starting with "The Patch," where Chicago's morally unencumbered citizens go to get some cheap fun and booze. The middle brother, Dion (Tyrone Power), has no problem whatsoever with dens of sin and sets himself up as a saloon owner in the Patch, with the assistance of singer Belle Fawcett (Alice Faye), who becomes his business partner and lover. Dion also has no moral qualms in dirtying his fingers with a little political corruption and pulls a few strings to get Jack elected Mayor of Chicago. But Jack will not be deterred in his quest to destroy the Patch. And the former big man of Chicago, Gil Warren (Brian Donlevy), is out to ruin the brothers. Everything comes to a head on the night that Mrs. O'Leary's cow kicks over a lantern...

In Old Chicago is definitely a product of Hollywood's "Me-Too" Syndrome. It's so obviously copycatting the previous year's San Francisco (beautiful female singer, a saloon keeper, a moral crusader, and a natural disaster that will redeem them all) that if you squint, you can almost see the actors hitting the same chalk marks. Not that Darryl F. Zanuck was even trying to be subtle about this. He originally planned to swipe Clark Gable, in a reprise of his San Francisco role, and Gable's frequent costar Jean Harlow as the leads. Harlow's untimely death would derail those plans. Instead, the film went ahead with a trio of stars that would become Twentieth-Century Fox's front line: Don Ameche, Tyrone Power, and Alice Faye. This was only Power's second leading role (after Lloyds of London) and it would be a big leap forward for Alice Faye as her persona shifted from knock-off Jean Harlow to warm, mellow-voiced lady of song. 

By today's standards, In Old Chicago barely qualifies as a disaster film. It's roughly seventy-five minutes of romance, family drama, and Alice Faye's singing; the grand spectacle of the 1871 Chicago Fire is all crammed into the last twenty minutes. The heart of the story is not the fire, but Chicago itself, split between high ideals and a down and dirty good time. The film isn't at all subtle in trying to portray this conflict, as personified by its Cain and Abel protagonists. The O'Leary brothers constantly flip-flop between being allies and rivals, sometimes within the same scene. Jack vows to destroy the Patch and its saloons and proudly tells Dion so to his face. Dion, in his turn, shovels some political dirt in order to get his brother elected mayor with apparently no awareness that his brother might have a problem with that. "Well," says pretty near every character in the movie, "we O'Learys are a strange tribe" (after about thirty repetitions of this catchphrase I wanted to take it outside and beat it with a stick). 

And yet, I found myself enjoying In Old Chicago quite a bit, and much more than I thought I would. What it lacks in subtlety, it makes up for with the charm and sweetness of its principal cast and the smooth direction of Henry King. King, Ameche, Power, and Faye would go on to make Alexander's Ragtime Band the following year and you can see why the studio liked to team them up. Together they keep the film running along quite pleasantly, so that you can enjoy the character's drama without waiting impatiently for the fire to start. Although the film does provide us with a villain in the form of Brian Donlevy and he does get a spectacular death scene in the film's final minutes, there is really no cynicism to In Old Chicago. Even the back-door politics end not in recrimination or ruin, but in balletic fistfights.

In its opening stretches, In Old Chicago fooled me into thinking this was going to be a self-important slog. It begins with the death of Jack and Dion's father, the very Irish Mr. O'Leary, who falls prey to the worst sickness of Hollywood historical epics: prophesying. Just take a look at his dying speech after being dragged by a horse: "'Tis a grand new place this Chicago...It'll be rich and strong like I was always minding to be. 'Tis a boom and you'll boom with it. Someday you'll be fine, big men. A credit to me name. And everybody speaking with respect of the O'Learys. And how they grew up with the city. And put their mark on it...Just bury me here and let Chicago come to me. I couldn't come to it." Thankfully, he expires before he can go on to predict the World Fair, the White Sox, and Bob Fosse.

Once he's out of the way, the story really gets going, as Jack and Dion grow up to be friends and rivals. Tyrone Power and Don Ameche had great chemistry together; they feel believable as brothers which smooths over some of the inconsistencies in their characters. There's a scene where Dion is watching Jack prosecute one of Dion's cronies, and even when he's supposed to be on the other side, Dion's eyes follow his speechifying brother with amazement and glee. That's his big brother up there after all. Watching the two of them play pool together or dress side by side or break out into spontaneous Irish dancing, you feel like there's history there. In real life, Ameche and Power were great friends and Ameche would be best man at Power's wedding to the actress Annabella. On the Fox lot, Ameche often played second fiddle to Power as his friend soared to matinee idol status, but the two easygoing actors didn't let it bother them.

  

Tyrone Power was all of twenty-three when he made this picture. There isn't a great deal of depth to Dion, but Power has the right amount of boyish charm and exuberance to keep the character likable. Otherwise, he's kind of a jerk. Making dirty political deals, double-crossing people, proudly telling his brother that the only reason he became mayor was through Dion's chicanery, proudly telling his new wife that now she can't testify against him...the list goes on. And yet, Tyrone Power brings an innocence to the character that Clark Gable couldn't have. There's a kind of "Ha-ha-ain't I clever" quality to Dion's dealings. He's just a kid seeing how much he can get away with. And he has a kid's expectations of how things turn out right; there's a scene where he literally hurls his mother and his lover Belle into the same carriage so they can start getting along. Dion spends most of the movie getting away with nearly everything he attempts, thus setting up for the climax of the film, in which his callowness must be burned away by the Great Chicago Fire.

Don Ameche is stuck playing the role of the good brother Jack, the one whose moral crusade slams right into his brother's high life. While the movie ostensibly sides with Jack on the questions of morality, the heart of In Old Chicago is really with Dion and Belle and the raucous saloons of the Patch. Fortunately for the character and the movie, Ameche doesn't play Jack as the pompous killjoy. He's just a little stiff-necked. And when the time comes for him to punch his brother, Dion has definitely deserved it. I have to admit I have a soft spot for Don Ameche (and secretly enjoy him more than I do Power), even though he has a reputation as a lightweight. Although is it just me or does the famous Ameche grin get a little frightening when he bares it full force? Power, too.

I have to slip in a side note that a lot of reviews of In Old Chicago claim that there's a love triangle between Jack, Dion, and Belle. Even the usually reliable TCM website says so. Well, there isn't. Not even so much as a hint. The romance is all between Dion and Belle. Jack doesn't meet her until halfway through the film and is nothing less than pleased as punch that his brother's marrying such a nice girl. That's it. No longing looks, no attempts to flirt with her, no last-minute confessions. Maybe people are mixing it up with Alexander's Ragtime Band? In any case, I'm glad that In Old Chicago didn't go for the obvious tack of making the brothers rivals in love as well as everything else.

This was my first encounter with Alice Faye, once one of Fox's crown jewels and now known only to movie buffs. David Shipman's description of her in The Great Movie Stars was my introduction to her: "She was blonde, cuddly, shapely and kind--almost bovine. When men crossed her, she didn't start throwing things...but quietly left the room, her eyes welling with tears....she was no great shakes as an actress but hers is the supreme example of an amiable temperament caught by the camera." Can you see why I didn't exactly rush to the video store for Alice Faye movies? 

But Shipman was only half right. Faye is blonde and cute and likable on screen. But she also gets to be smart and snappy and, in a running gag, does throw quite a lot of things at Tyrone Power. Her character Belle is a showgirl, but she's also a savvy woman who takes Dion as a business partner and lover in that order. There's a nice moment where Dion and Belle are planning some election day shenanigans during a dance and Belle slips him the A-OK signal without missing a beat. Faye was known for her singing and she gets to show off her warm contralto several times. Though I do have to wonder if the movie finds any irony in having Faye sing a loving rendition of "Carry Me Back to Old Virginny" while its main villain reminisces fondly about his slave-catching days a few scenes later. Faye's performance is one of the things that weights the movie towards the "sinners" more than the "saints" since Belle is an independent, fun-loving and sympathetic woman. Far more interesting in fact than the O'Leary's very Irish Mother though for some reason, Alice Brady won an Oscar for her work here. Possibly it was a compensation Oscar for last year's My Man Godfrey?

The Great Chicago Fire, as reproduced by Fox, is one hell of a way to end a movie and the special effects here still hold up after nearly seventy-five years. With no help from computer graphics, the Fox Team created a stunning set piece of fire and smoke and controlled chaos. At the time, this was one of the most expensive films ever made and watching these last scenes, you can't help but be awed by the effort that went into them. There's a beautiful tracking shot of Tyrone Power walking through the dazed, dirty crowd huddled in the water as the flames and smoke rise above them. It's like he's literally walking through Hell.

In Old Chicago isn't about historical accuracy. It's about our idea of what this history was and how it was made. The movie makes the point that a city needs someone like Jack, someone with ideals, who can clean things up and make them safe and lawful. But then, would someone like Jack ever get elected without the help of someone like Dion? The film doesn't go far enough or deep enough with its ideas, but where it does go, it's entertaining and goodhearted. And unlike many disaster movies, you don't walk out of it feeling dumber. All in all, this was a great movie to watch on my birthday.

Favorite Quote: 

"You may be mayor, but I'm Chicago."

Favorite Scene: 

My vote would have to go for Dion and Belle's first kiss. He has been following her around, determined to win away a piece of land she owns. And possibly her heart into the bargain since he likes what he sees of her. To that end, he's been pursuing her, declaring mad passionate love and getting nowhere. Finally, he barges into her lacy, overstuffed bedroom. Belle, fed up with this nineteenth-century stalking, starts throwing vases, pillows, and knickknacks in his direction, yelling for him to get out. He tries to calm her and they end up tussling, with him holding her arms and pleading. Thanks to one clumsy kick, both of their legs go out from under them and they end up sprawled on the floor. The maid finds them and runs away screaming for the police. Dion leans over to Belle and they sink into a kiss. Opening her eyes, Belle asks calmly, "Now, won't you tell me what this is all about?" Dion insists that he loves her. "I mean, really," Belle says. "Well, you have a piece of property on Randolph Street and I thought that if you and I were to put up a place like Warren's, only better, more class, we could make a lot of money. But I really meant that about being crazy about you." Belle laughs and looks over at him. "Why didn't you say so in the first place? I'm a businesswoman. I'd have listened to any proposition without all this foolishness." Her wonderful, matter-of-fact smile clinches the scene.

Final Six Words: 

A fun, fictional, fiery good time