I wonder if it's possible to count the number of stories filmed about Billy the Kid, a tragic nobody. There's Paul Newman in "The Left Handed Gun," Kris Kristofferson, Buster Crabbe in a serial, and an endless array of others. The story lends itself to dramatization. An obdurate law breaker and killer when barely in his teens, Billy is reformed by a good man who is killed, and later Billy is killed himself by an old friend. Better than some of Shakespeare's stuff.
There are a couple of admirable features to be found in this incarnation of the old tale. First, we are treated to extensive second-unit work in Monument Valley, John Ford country, and very nicely photographed (by unheard-ofs Skall and Smith), with breakers of mist rolling through the spectacular rifts.
Then, too, the story itself, while it only roughly follows the contours of history, sort of grows on you. When you first see Robert Taylor as Billy, he's dressed all in black and rides a black horse and a black gun belt holding a Colt with a corrugated handle. One winces at the sight and dreads the worst.
Strangely enough, though -- I hope you don't mind taking a small scenic detour which will give us a better view of the Totem Pole -- strangely enough, black is not just a symbol of power but seems to imbue those who wear the color with greater determination. At any rate, the more the color black is featured in sports uniforms, the greater the number of wins. Honest. That's from a sidebar in an introductory psychology textbook.
But, as I said, the plot is infectious. By the end, I was really curious to see how Billy's conflicting impulses would be worked out. There was no Pat Garret character so the climax was problematic.
The movie has its weaknesses. One is Robert Taylor. I suppose he's handsome because everyone thought so at the time but he's a little old for the part and he does not perform celluloid magic. He seems to sit a horse well. He grew up in rural Nebraska and may have had some experience with the animals.
And I don't know if anyone could overcome the lack of sparkle in the dialog and the pedestrian nature of the script itself. "I ain't sayin'," says Billy repeatedly. And, "Silver City's a long way off." And, "Law and order is comin' to the West and you better not get run over by it." And, as the end title informs us, "The last man of violence finds his peace." There isn't a tag line in a cartload. The dialog could have been written by a Magic 8 Ball.
And every single one of the generic conventions of the Western is present. Men face each other and draw. Grudges become engrams. If you want to out draw a man without killing him, you graze his wrist with your bullet.
And there is the Mexican sidekick, raggedy Pedro. He plays the guitar and follows Meester Beelee around and spends time in jail. In some scenes his skin is positively black. In others it's merely swarthy. Halfway through the movie, against a backdrop of Monument Valley, Pedro and Billy sit around a fire and Pedro points to an isolated rock formation known locally as El Capitan and says that's the greatest tombstone in the world. Heaven must be filled with people buried under tombstones like that. And we know Pedro's last scene isn't as far off as Silver City. We also know precisely where Pedro will be buried.
What's painful about watching this film is realizing how EASY it would have been to turn it into something more than routine. If only the manufacturers would have seen this as more than just another product. This is about the so-called Lincoln County war in New Mexico. Can I recommend watching a movie about another range war, in Wyoming, between cattle men and squatters? "Shane"? Just to see what might have been if some effort had been put into "Billy the Kid"?
There are a couple of admirable features to be found in this incarnation of the old tale. First, we are treated to extensive second-unit work in Monument Valley, John Ford country, and very nicely photographed (by unheard-ofs Skall and Smith), with breakers of mist rolling through the spectacular rifts.
Then, too, the story itself, while it only roughly follows the contours of history, sort of grows on you. When you first see Robert Taylor as Billy, he's dressed all in black and rides a black horse and a black gun belt holding a Colt with a corrugated handle. One winces at the sight and dreads the worst.
Strangely enough, though -- I hope you don't mind taking a small scenic detour which will give us a better view of the Totem Pole -- strangely enough, black is not just a symbol of power but seems to imbue those who wear the color with greater determination. At any rate, the more the color black is featured in sports uniforms, the greater the number of wins. Honest. That's from a sidebar in an introductory psychology textbook.
But, as I said, the plot is infectious. By the end, I was really curious to see how Billy's conflicting impulses would be worked out. There was no Pat Garret character so the climax was problematic.
The movie has its weaknesses. One is Robert Taylor. I suppose he's handsome because everyone thought so at the time but he's a little old for the part and he does not perform celluloid magic. He seems to sit a horse well. He grew up in rural Nebraska and may have had some experience with the animals.
And I don't know if anyone could overcome the lack of sparkle in the dialog and the pedestrian nature of the script itself. "I ain't sayin'," says Billy repeatedly. And, "Silver City's a long way off." And, "Law and order is comin' to the West and you better not get run over by it." And, as the end title informs us, "The last man of violence finds his peace." There isn't a tag line in a cartload. The dialog could have been written by a Magic 8 Ball.
And every single one of the generic conventions of the Western is present. Men face each other and draw. Grudges become engrams. If you want to out draw a man without killing him, you graze his wrist with your bullet.
And there is the Mexican sidekick, raggedy Pedro. He plays the guitar and follows Meester Beelee around and spends time in jail. In some scenes his skin is positively black. In others it's merely swarthy. Halfway through the movie, against a backdrop of Monument Valley, Pedro and Billy sit around a fire and Pedro points to an isolated rock formation known locally as El Capitan and says that's the greatest tombstone in the world. Heaven must be filled with people buried under tombstones like that. And we know Pedro's last scene isn't as far off as Silver City. We also know precisely where Pedro will be buried.
What's painful about watching this film is realizing how EASY it would have been to turn it into something more than routine. If only the manufacturers would have seen this as more than just another product. This is about the so-called Lincoln County war in New Mexico. Can I recommend watching a movie about another range war, in Wyoming, between cattle men and squatters? "Shane"? Just to see what might have been if some effort had been put into "Billy the Kid"?