Certainly one of the best lit westerns of all time. The only one probably better is My Darling Clementine. But then that western just may be the best lit black and white movie ever, period. Almost too beautiful for its own good.
My problem with this movie is the story. Rather hokey for somebody as great as Walsh. That said, and it is indeed a lot, there are some very fine touches here. Walsh being a one time cowboy and never out of touch with his rowdy past once again gets some nice dialog and feeling for the west that is now forever lost. There just is nobody around anymore with that kind of immediacy to render this kind of fun without collapsing into stereotype.
Judith Anderson is quite good for a while, but in the last third of the film is surprisingly lifeless. Her little soliloquy after Mitchems being found innocent is black as a rattlesnake, but then poof, she starts showing up for the midday location meals and not much else. Wright is very good and just gets better.
As for the whole thing winding up at the outdoor psychiatric clinic of that charred and gutted ranch house, well, its just silly. That he would be waiting for his so called destiny, laughable.
Sure, poetic license. But the card bought at the five and dime.
However all the night scenes, the shadow stuff, if uncanny. Very beautiful. And the last few minutes of the film is at the Fun With Dick and Jane level. Almost like Walsh wanted to get the hell out , wrap, and get drunk.
Mitchum, also, has been better, much better. Jagger is consistently good while bearing the burden of a mustache twisting villain.
All in all, somehow Walsh was just not up to something like this. But a very game, interesting try.
My problem with this movie is the story. Rather hokey for somebody as great as Walsh. That said, and it is indeed a lot, there are some very fine touches here. Walsh being a one time cowboy and never out of touch with his rowdy past once again gets some nice dialog and feeling for the west that is now forever lost. There just is nobody around anymore with that kind of immediacy to render this kind of fun without collapsing into stereotype.
Judith Anderson is quite good for a while, but in the last third of the film is surprisingly lifeless. Her little soliloquy after Mitchems being found innocent is black as a rattlesnake, but then poof, she starts showing up for the midday location meals and not much else. Wright is very good and just gets better.
As for the whole thing winding up at the outdoor psychiatric clinic of that charred and gutted ranch house, well, its just silly. That he would be waiting for his so called destiny, laughable.
Sure, poetic license. But the card bought at the five and dime.
However all the night scenes, the shadow stuff, if uncanny. Very beautiful. And the last few minutes of the film is at the Fun With Dick and Jane level. Almost like Walsh wanted to get the hell out , wrap, and get drunk.
Mitchum, also, has been better, much better. Jagger is consistently good while bearing the burden of a mustache twisting villain.
All in all, somehow Walsh was just not up to something like this. But a very game, interesting try.