Any time Robert Preston shows up in a movie it's a good day. He looked good. He could act. He could sing and dance. The guy had it all. Here he plays a college-educated geologist on hand to continue the legacy of his oilman father. Except instead of being a rough-and-tumble wild- catter he's several decades ahead of the curve in wanting to extract oil sustainably. To the credit of the movie's writers Preston's character isn't some preachy enviro-tard, either. He's a nice balance to Susan Hambone's Oil Queen, whose greed is turned up to 11. The outdoor filming was refreshing. Even watching the lousy print on Silver Screen Classics you can feel that OK sun pounding down. The less said about the Indians the better. They include the stereotypical ''chief''-type with the long braids and fractured English - I mean, c'mon, the movie is set in the 1920s not the 1820s. And then there's the Indian ''sidekick'' who is actually a Mexican and talks like he's brain injured. Chill Wills is on the screen just enough not to grate on my nerves. Hayward is gorgeous but I'm sorry she can't act. Had she not died early she surely would have starred in some night-time TV soap like Falcon Crest. The finale is spectacular. Ruined only by the preachy enviro-whining epilogue. The only reason I'd watch this again is if I needed a Robert Preston fix on a slow afternoon.
Review of Tulsa
