Sterling Hayden is a peaceable ex Confederate and family man in 1867 Kansas, during a kind of Jesse James milieu when some former soldiers had formed bandit gangs and become a nuisance. He's a veterinarian and, in his good-natured way, he treats James Anderson, who shows up at his doorstep with a damaged rib. Anderson who, along with Bill McKinney, practically had a lock on the stereotypical chain gang boss and people of that ilk, is actually the leader of one of the roving bandit gangs.
Hayden, of course, being a peaceable and polite horse doctor, knows nothing of this. He makes sure that mares foal properly, if that's the word. He's just trying to get along. But the U. S. Army believes otherwise. Due to a set of unfortunate circumstances, Hayden is convicted of being a bandit and an ex guerrilla, the kind of no-goodnik who would burn down the house of a Yankee with the women and children still inside.
That, in any case, is what Ward Bond thinks. Bond is the head of the prison to which Hayden is sent. The prison camp is in a broiling hot canyon surrounded by convincingly arid desert. The Army guards at the camp are aided by Pima Indians who are paid to bring in the bodies of prisoners who try to escape. These particular Pima may be as rough as they say, but generally the Pima, like their Papago neighbors, were among the first to be acculturated and settle down to a horticultural life around the Colorado River.
I rather like the production design -- the dozen or so tents of the soldiers, the wooden shack that is Bond's headquarters, and the interior of the caves and the mines where the prisoners work. Corridors are carved out of obviously fake rock, reminding a view of a Boris Karloff movie, but they're atmospheric.
The movie has all the requisite moments of penal unpleasantness -- the surly guards, the cruel whipping of the prisoner who misbehaves, the chipping of the escape tunnel, the hot box in the sunshine, the shackles and humiliation. We've seen it all before, in prison movies more carefully structured than this one. I will mention "Cool Hand Luke" and "I Am A Fugitive From A Chain Gang" in passing, but they had bigger budgets and A-list stars. And "the oven" in "The Bridge On The River Kwai" is in a class by itself.
The problem -- the thing that makes this less gripping than it has a right to be -- lies in three elements. First, Charles Marquis Warren was a hack director. He makes errors that you and I wouldn't make. Too many pointless close ups of men looking at one another while nothing is happening, just for example. He's dull. Another is that the film seems hastily written. We never see the men at work. The typhus epidemic is handled perfunctorily. The disease is spread by a microorganism found in the feces of human lice (yuk) and has nothing to do with water. And neither Sterling Hayden nor Ward Bond put much effort into their performances. Hayden -- okay, he never cared for acting anyway. But I can't remember a single movie in which Ward Bond was so slow and inexpressive, not from his earliest work nor from his last period, including "Rio Bravo." The result of all this is a Western that's mediocre at best, an inexpensive rerun of "The Prisoner of Shark Island," and a movie that is entirely without poetry.
Hayden, of course, being a peaceable and polite horse doctor, knows nothing of this. He makes sure that mares foal properly, if that's the word. He's just trying to get along. But the U. S. Army believes otherwise. Due to a set of unfortunate circumstances, Hayden is convicted of being a bandit and an ex guerrilla, the kind of no-goodnik who would burn down the house of a Yankee with the women and children still inside.
That, in any case, is what Ward Bond thinks. Bond is the head of the prison to which Hayden is sent. The prison camp is in a broiling hot canyon surrounded by convincingly arid desert. The Army guards at the camp are aided by Pima Indians who are paid to bring in the bodies of prisoners who try to escape. These particular Pima may be as rough as they say, but generally the Pima, like their Papago neighbors, were among the first to be acculturated and settle down to a horticultural life around the Colorado River.
I rather like the production design -- the dozen or so tents of the soldiers, the wooden shack that is Bond's headquarters, and the interior of the caves and the mines where the prisoners work. Corridors are carved out of obviously fake rock, reminding a view of a Boris Karloff movie, but they're atmospheric.
The movie has all the requisite moments of penal unpleasantness -- the surly guards, the cruel whipping of the prisoner who misbehaves, the chipping of the escape tunnel, the hot box in the sunshine, the shackles and humiliation. We've seen it all before, in prison movies more carefully structured than this one. I will mention "Cool Hand Luke" and "I Am A Fugitive From A Chain Gang" in passing, but they had bigger budgets and A-list stars. And "the oven" in "The Bridge On The River Kwai" is in a class by itself.
The problem -- the thing that makes this less gripping than it has a right to be -- lies in three elements. First, Charles Marquis Warren was a hack director. He makes errors that you and I wouldn't make. Too many pointless close ups of men looking at one another while nothing is happening, just for example. He's dull. Another is that the film seems hastily written. We never see the men at work. The typhus epidemic is handled perfunctorily. The disease is spread by a microorganism found in the feces of human lice (yuk) and has nothing to do with water. And neither Sterling Hayden nor Ward Bond put much effort into their performances. Hayden -- okay, he never cared for acting anyway. But I can't remember a single movie in which Ward Bond was so slow and inexpressive, not from his earliest work nor from his last period, including "Rio Bravo." The result of all this is a Western that's mediocre at best, an inexpensive rerun of "The Prisoner of Shark Island," and a movie that is entirely without poetry.