'The Halliday Brand' is the penultimate film by cult B-movie meister Joseph H Lewis. He began his career with some anonymous oaters, before first arousing attention with the taut thriller 'My Name is Julia Ross'. He then progressed to the heights of 'Gun Crazy', and 'The Big Combo', and aptly concluded his career with some more Westerns including the bizarre, final 'Terror in a Texas Town'. Since it was 'rediscovered' in the 80's, his work has been admired by luminaries such as Godard and Bogdanovich.
'The Halliday Brand', is among the best of his Westerns, displaying many of the hallmarks of Lewis' most successful work. Even so, it remains less well known than his more celebrated noirs. Perhaps this is because while they test the boundaries of genre with formal experiments - the robbery shot from the back of the car in 'Gun Crazy', or the deaf-aid death scene in 'The Big Combo' for instance, 'Halliday' remains intense but more conventional, less dynamic. (Having said that, the use of a flashback in a Western still seems a novelty.) In addition, its social concerns seem less urgent than they once might have done.
At the centre of the present film is Big Dan Halliday, played by Ford veteran Ward Bond. At its heart, the touchy issue of miscegenation, and familial/racial pride. In the decade or so after the film's appearance, the issue of racial segregation was to become a key note of the burgeoning civil rights movement. The marriage of blacks to whites was still illegal in several states. The fact that Lewis' film tackles such bigotry head on is a testament to its bravery and, in some respects, to Lewis' integrity as a film maker. The impact of the film is made the greater by the fatherly presence of Bond/Big Dan. A close friend of John Wayne, Bond's well known real life political conservatism gives his role significantly more impact. In fact this may be Bond's best film in a major part, although his blustering sensibilities had been familiar and effective down the years as supporting actor or heavy.
As the estranged son Daniel, Joseph Cotton gives an effective account of himself, although the urbane persona of the actor seems slightly jarring on the open range. He is perceptibly more at ease as a failed Western writer (Holly Martins in 'The Third Man' (1949)), than Western hero per se. (Cotton was used to much better effect in the genre by Corbucci a few years later, in the spaghetti 'The Hellbenders/Il Crudeli (1966)). Daniel's search for justice is a little too civilised, less wrathful than vexed. A comparison with the wronged, vengeful Glenn Ford in a film like 'The Violent Men', Maté's 1955 Western, illustrates the point. Ford's character is bitter, sacrificing, calculating and cold; Cotton's is almost apologetic as he sets to work robbing and burning to bring his proud father to his knees. But Cotton has undoubted elan and class as an actor, partly due to his association with Orson Welles (in fact his next role was as the doctor in 'Touch of Evil'). Bond and he make for a fascinating pairing, never uninteresting as they play off each other.
Daniel's romance with the indian Aleta is an ironic one; her brother and father have been killed directly or indirectly by Halliday senior. She is naturally drawn to the kindly son who takes issue with the crimes vested upon her family, until she "can't take her eyes off him". The earlier, doomed, dalliance between Jivaro and Martha thus proves the soil in which a new love can sprout. Although there is no doubt that the earlier match would have been a secure one, one feels that Daniel and Aleta's union, born in adversity, will prove the strongest.
The Halliday 'brand' of course has more than one meaning. Literally, it refers to the mark on the hide of cattle, or the distinctive (and phallic) axe-in-the-log symbol, prominent twice within shots: at the start of the film, then at the end. (Daniel uses his own form of this brand to indicate his rebelliousness.) But, especially for Big Dan, the 'brand' has a more profound significance: that of personal honour, reputation, and specifically the undiluted nature of the family blood. "The Halliday Brand stands for a lot of things" he declares at one point; ironically his own bigotry and aversion to inter-racial marriage in the family means the brand is something unpleasant and continuously narrowing. For Daniel, of course, the 'brand' is that of shame. That of his father's dubious law enforcement methods in general, and his racist injustice in particular.
Lewis' film is distinguished by several long, one-take scenes. The opening camp side interview between Daniel and his bother Bill; the extended love scene between Jivaro and Martha (which recalls the 'wedding fantasy' scene of Ray's 'Johnny Guitar' (1953)), or the relaxed bedroom scene between Daniel and his father. Through this lack of cutting the intensity of events, as in the climactic confrontation at the feet of the newly hanged and cut down Jivaro, is heightened. Long, or continuous, takes can be very liberating for viewer and actor. Characters are free to move around the view plane, the audience's eye choosing to follow them or not, without the 'artificial' emphases of close up or reaction shots. It's a uncluttered style, involving some planning, open to more risks in shooting. The economy and expressiveness which results is very characteristic of the director - as is the awareness of fore- and background space, and expressive camera movements.
As a B-film, 'The Halliday Brand' betrays its origins. Apart from the old stagers Bond and Cotton (and the ever reliable C Jay Flippen in a small part) the acting never really rises above adequate, and an over-emphatic musical score (a wordless soprano whenever Dan and Aleta meet, for instance) is sometimes intrusive. But it is a taut, intelligent film, and one which can be recommended to admirers of this director.
'The Halliday Brand', is among the best of his Westerns, displaying many of the hallmarks of Lewis' most successful work. Even so, it remains less well known than his more celebrated noirs. Perhaps this is because while they test the boundaries of genre with formal experiments - the robbery shot from the back of the car in 'Gun Crazy', or the deaf-aid death scene in 'The Big Combo' for instance, 'Halliday' remains intense but more conventional, less dynamic. (Having said that, the use of a flashback in a Western still seems a novelty.) In addition, its social concerns seem less urgent than they once might have done.
At the centre of the present film is Big Dan Halliday, played by Ford veteran Ward Bond. At its heart, the touchy issue of miscegenation, and familial/racial pride. In the decade or so after the film's appearance, the issue of racial segregation was to become a key note of the burgeoning civil rights movement. The marriage of blacks to whites was still illegal in several states. The fact that Lewis' film tackles such bigotry head on is a testament to its bravery and, in some respects, to Lewis' integrity as a film maker. The impact of the film is made the greater by the fatherly presence of Bond/Big Dan. A close friend of John Wayne, Bond's well known real life political conservatism gives his role significantly more impact. In fact this may be Bond's best film in a major part, although his blustering sensibilities had been familiar and effective down the years as supporting actor or heavy.
As the estranged son Daniel, Joseph Cotton gives an effective account of himself, although the urbane persona of the actor seems slightly jarring on the open range. He is perceptibly more at ease as a failed Western writer (Holly Martins in 'The Third Man' (1949)), than Western hero per se. (Cotton was used to much better effect in the genre by Corbucci a few years later, in the spaghetti 'The Hellbenders/Il Crudeli (1966)). Daniel's search for justice is a little too civilised, less wrathful than vexed. A comparison with the wronged, vengeful Glenn Ford in a film like 'The Violent Men', Maté's 1955 Western, illustrates the point. Ford's character is bitter, sacrificing, calculating and cold; Cotton's is almost apologetic as he sets to work robbing and burning to bring his proud father to his knees. But Cotton has undoubted elan and class as an actor, partly due to his association with Orson Welles (in fact his next role was as the doctor in 'Touch of Evil'). Bond and he make for a fascinating pairing, never uninteresting as they play off each other.
Daniel's romance with the indian Aleta is an ironic one; her brother and father have been killed directly or indirectly by Halliday senior. She is naturally drawn to the kindly son who takes issue with the crimes vested upon her family, until she "can't take her eyes off him". The earlier, doomed, dalliance between Jivaro and Martha thus proves the soil in which a new love can sprout. Although there is no doubt that the earlier match would have been a secure one, one feels that Daniel and Aleta's union, born in adversity, will prove the strongest.
The Halliday 'brand' of course has more than one meaning. Literally, it refers to the mark on the hide of cattle, or the distinctive (and phallic) axe-in-the-log symbol, prominent twice within shots: at the start of the film, then at the end. (Daniel uses his own form of this brand to indicate his rebelliousness.) But, especially for Big Dan, the 'brand' has a more profound significance: that of personal honour, reputation, and specifically the undiluted nature of the family blood. "The Halliday Brand stands for a lot of things" he declares at one point; ironically his own bigotry and aversion to inter-racial marriage in the family means the brand is something unpleasant and continuously narrowing. For Daniel, of course, the 'brand' is that of shame. That of his father's dubious law enforcement methods in general, and his racist injustice in particular.
Lewis' film is distinguished by several long, one-take scenes. The opening camp side interview between Daniel and his bother Bill; the extended love scene between Jivaro and Martha (which recalls the 'wedding fantasy' scene of Ray's 'Johnny Guitar' (1953)), or the relaxed bedroom scene between Daniel and his father. Through this lack of cutting the intensity of events, as in the climactic confrontation at the feet of the newly hanged and cut down Jivaro, is heightened. Long, or continuous, takes can be very liberating for viewer and actor. Characters are free to move around the view plane, the audience's eye choosing to follow them or not, without the 'artificial' emphases of close up or reaction shots. It's a uncluttered style, involving some planning, open to more risks in shooting. The economy and expressiveness which results is very characteristic of the director - as is the awareness of fore- and background space, and expressive camera movements.
As a B-film, 'The Halliday Brand' betrays its origins. Apart from the old stagers Bond and Cotton (and the ever reliable C Jay Flippen in a small part) the acting never really rises above adequate, and an over-emphatic musical score (a wordless soprano whenever Dan and Aleta meet, for instance) is sometimes intrusive. But it is a taut, intelligent film, and one which can be recommended to admirers of this director.