Cinema Talk

I suppose I’ve been building up to this with a lot of my most recent Western viewings seeing as how they all featured Randolph Scott. Unsurprisingly, this is definitely the best one I’ve watched as of late, and quite possibly my favorite of the “ranown” westerns. There’s nothing that really separates this from Boetticher’s other westerns with Scott, but for whatever reason, it feels the most complete. It is almost the perfect introduction into Boetticher’s work, my only reservation would be in that every subsequent film would understandably pail in comparison.

I don’t mean to sound harsh when I say this, but it is somewhat of a (small) miracle that this film is as great as it is. If any director could be accused of recycling a story, it’s Boetticher. There’s nothing specific in the narrative that ties it to Seven Men from Now or Comanche Station, but the whole setup and “feel” is pretty uncanny. It doesn’t help that the story, (initially) involving a bounty hunter taking someone in is the sort of thing I’ve seen one too many times. Obviously, Mann’s masterpiece, The Naked Spur comes to mind, but Boetticher does manage to separate his film from the crowd of other extremely similar setups.

The most obvious element to help him “pull away” would be the breathtaking cinematography that is just as vast and open as it is rigorous and formal. It sounds like a reach, but I couldn’t help but think of Mikio Naruse’s efforts from the late 1950s and early 1960s while watching this. Boetticher has to overcome the conventions of the whole shot/reverse shot setup within the expanded space of cinemascope just as Naruse did. They both succeed, despite my own initial skepticism, and make their respective films feel as controlled as their less talkative efforts.

That’s not to say Ride Lonesome is a chatty relationship film. I would argue that it is a film about relationships, but with very sparse and deadpan comedic dialogue. A perfect example of the film’s simple and straight-forward dialogue would be Karen Steele’s attempt to question the profession of Scott’s character. “You don’t seem like the kind of man who would hunt people for money” she says, to which he quickly responds, “I am.” It was actually at this specific moment that I realized just how important dialogue (or lack thereof) is important in westerns as well as how great Burt Kennedy was at bringing that perfect tone to the dialogue in Boetticher’s films.

Ride Lonesome does have its own set of characters to make it at least superficially different from Mann’s The Naked Spur. Scott’s prisoner is played by James Best here, and he has very little flair to add to the film. Robert Ryan was far more charismatic in Mann’s film, but the way Boetticher downplays Best’s role is sort of brilliant. He’s a criminal, alright, but not remotely charming. One gets the sense that it is a constant struggle for Scott’s character to resist killing Best. It eliminates a slightly theatrical lining that’s found in even my favorite westerns. Sure, Robert Ryan’s character in The Naked Spur is more likely to initially impress people, but I like how Best is occassionally treated so poorly by everyone else. That’s not really an acting accomplishment, just a narrative related one. The film as a whole, though, is a great accomplishment in every possible category.

Another winner from Akira Kurosawa, though this is actually a lot different than the great No Regrets for Our Youth. The scope here is a lot less sprawling for starters, which almost inherently makes the film feel a lot less self-consciously serious. In addition, this film provides some of the much needed humor that was absent in No Regrets. Even though Setsuko Hara is great in that film, she isn’t necessarily dependent upon, where as this probably wouldn’t be all that great without Takeshi Shimura and Toshiro Mifune. Both really bring the right amount of comedy to a cultural indictment that (unfortunately) still rings true today.

If Kurosawa was channeling Ford’s How Green Was My Valley through No Regrets for Our Youth than he’s probably channeling Doctor Bull or Young Mr. Lincoln here. There is the small superficial connection between all three films and that is that all three take place in a courtroom, but the brilliant way in which Ford blends absurd and cynical comedy with something emotionally substantial seems to be something Kurosawa used as a reference point here. The humor here, like in Ford’s and even William A. Wellman’s work, bites extremely hard. The brutality of the criticisms is only matched by the humor that comes along with it.

While much of the film’s success can be placed upon Kurosawa’s biting satire, even more credit needs to be given to Takeshi Shimura and Toshiro Mifune, in one of their earliest and best collaborations. Shimura, in particular, is amazing as Mifune’s lawyer. At first his performance seems a bit over-the-top, but as character continues to empahsize his feeling of self-loathing and low self value, his performance takes a turn from the dramatic to downright heartbreaking. The fact that his daughter is portrayed as this sinless angel is a bit exaggerated, but the whole bit with Mifune falling in love with her is great and sort of unexpected since he’s surrounded by models and singers.

I must be missing something extremely important here, because I personally think this is one of the very best Japanese films of the 1940s. There wasn’t much competition in that category, what with the war and its aftermath, but still I can’t help but wonder why this isn’t more well-known. It stars the great Setsuko Hara in one of her few pre-Ozu performances that is widely available for western audiences. She’s absolutely amazing in this, as is the great Haruko Sugimura and they’re both placed in the rough, gritty, yet poetic landscapes of Akira Kurosawa, quite possibly the most famous Asian filmmaker of all-time. Yet, not many people seem to be ecstatic about this film as I am.

I’ve read a few reviews stating that this is essentially Kurosawa trying to do an Ozu film, but that is actually pretty far from the truth. It’s extremely hard to comprehend, but this was before Ozu even started his now famous collaboration with Setsuko Hara. This is still one of Kurosawa’s most gentle efforts, but at this point in his career, he had yet to become a full force “action” director. It’s not as though this is his self-conscious attempt at making a more human drama. His earliest efforts do point to his interest in being an action director, but I’m guessing this is most likely a result from Kurosawa channeling two of his greatest influences: John Ford and Sadao Yamanaka.

She made many films in between, but there is still a chance that Setsuko Hara caught Kurosawa’s eye in Yamanaka’s Kochiyama soshun, one of his three surviving films and the only one currently unavailable with English subtitles. Hara’s performance here is a bit more dramatic than her collaborations with Ozu, but that’s almost a given. She is still an absolute joy to watch. There’s something extremely appealing about her, that (I think) goes beyond physical appearance. She perfectly evokes a sense of nostalgic longing that immediately echoes Hiroshi Shimizu’s work, particularly Kanzashi, which this film gives a few visual nods towards. Kurosawa’s film does not have that superficial upbeatness, but is instead, more emotionally straight-forward. Both films prove that the two approaches can be equally effective.

When Hara’s character goes to visit her dead husband’s parents in the film’s final act, the visual beauty is taken to another level. These gritty, sweaty, and dirty sequences seem to owe much to John Ford, particularly films like How Green Was My Valley and The Grapes of Wrath. Kurosawa emulates the lovely visuals of Ford’s films and transports them to his own type of rough and battered landscapes. At the same time, he enfuses these beautiful montages displaying poetic sides of the film’s opening. At any time in the movie, it seems like Kurosawa is willing to quickly cut to the shot of college kids running through the woods while having a soft-spoken voiceover reinforce the heartbreaking nostalgia felt by Hara’s character. At the very least, this is definitely the best ending I’ve seen in any Kurosawa film. This is probably his best film overall as well.

Of all the Satyajit Ray films I’ve watched lately, this is by far the most emotionally and formally mature effort. I suppose this shouldn’t be a huge surprise since it is also the youngest film I’ve seen of his. Whatever the case, this definitely takes what I liked about Charulata and Nayak and put into a stylistic context that is a bit more calm but confident. Calling this an Antonioni film with a lot of dialogue would be a pretty good idea of the overall tone. Even though I would have preferred for the film to be a bit less talkative, it is still pretty impressive that Ray was able to juggle all the talking and still make a very “contemplative” experience.

The characters here are a lot more accessible than the ones in the other Ray films I’ve seen, including Pather Panchali. Here, the story centers around a group of four males, seemingly longtime friends, who take a break from their draining work lives to vacation in an isolated forest. It’s by far the most free form narrative structure I’ve seen in a Ray film and it compliments the slightly conscious “character study” element of the film. It’s the same sort of character-driven tone that is found in the last three Ray films I’ve watched, but it feels a bit more calm and unhurried here.

It’s a bit ironic then that this film is substantially shorter than Mahanager as that film tries to cram a lot into its 135 minute running time. Here, the characters are quickly laid out. One can quickly immerse themselves into their interactions. It helps a great deal that the visual style here is much more consistent than it is in most of Ray’s other films. It wouldn’t be all that surprising to see an extremely shaky handheld sequence followed by a long static take in some of his films from the 1960s, but here, everything feels much more unified and cohesive.

So while this feels like one of Ray’s longest (or perhaps just slowest) films, it also feels like one of his most satisfying. It’s one of his most “complete” and “fufilling” films simply because it takes the time to push the audience into the world of its characters and there is very little dramatic pacing to follow. There is some hints at conventional dramatic turns towards the film’s conclusion, but it is certainly not enough to taint the previous hour and forty minutes.

Now this, on the other hand, was just flatout amazing. Even the color + academy ratio combo couldn’t keep it from being one of most visually lovely westerns I’ve seen. Maybe not as great as the visuals in Day of the Outlaw, but I would argue that this is going for something completely different. Of course, even if the visuals were poor, this film would still have the presence of Randolph Scott to save it. This may very well be my favorite performance of his, though I still have three more “ranown” westerns to see. Anyway, he’s absolutely amazing in this.

Like in Boetticher’s Decision at Sundown, Scott spends most of his time  unjustly cornered by the residents of the town. Here, he’s trapped into the lowest bar in town after attempting to warn the residents of the approaching danger, a gang led by his nemesis, Dan Marrady. The townsfolk assume he’s trying to pull a trick and they quickly turn against him. He resists arrest, which leads to the inevitable discussion of a mob to do the work. He holds out, with the hope he’ll get the opportunity to kill Marrady and prove his innocence.

Such a simple straight-forward story told within the limited scope of 74 minutes – an ideal structure for a western. It sounds kind of silly, but there’s simply no bullshit here. A lot of people make think there is since the story’s foundation is laid out within the first fifteen minutes, but had all that stuff been stretched out for the whole film than that would have been padding. Once De Toth establishes his character, it’s all them, no intrusions on their interactions. Technically, Scott’s voiceover could be labeled as an interruption, but his bits come might close to being genuinely poetic, despite the fact that they are used as exposition.

That is a good way to explain why the film is so great to begin with. Sure, it is a “genre” film and its intention was probably to make a quick buck, but it is also legit art. Could I explain why exactly? No, because that would either be too dull and what it makes this film, and De Toth’s cinema in general, art is something in one’s subconcious. This probably sounds a bit preposterous, especially for a 74 minute “B” western. It is, but Riding Shotgun is one of the greatest cinematic achievements for American cinema in the 1950s.