'All old men,' was my Mum's comment on viewing this western in the 1960's. Out of curiosity, I recently decided to investigate for myself and discovered that she was absolutely correct. Ironically, the title is not far off the mark. It's hard to imagine a Wild West town, tamer than one populated by an ageing Dana Andrews, Bruce Cabot, Lyle Bettger, Lon Chaney Jr., Barton McLane and Pat O'Brien.
By the time this mild bunch had spent the morning queuing for their pensions and the afternoon grumbling and grouching about rheumatism they would be too bushed for a shoot-em-up. More likely, off to bed with a mug of cocoa, dentures in the glass, followed by a gentle drift into the land of nod for several blissful hours of Snore-along-a-Max, dreaming of gun fights and two fisted tussles from decades gone by. On that basis one is left to speculate whether Town Tamer was a certificate A, AA, U, X or ZZZZ!
The plot revolves around Andrews' mission to avenge the fatal shooting of his wife, killed by a bullet meant for him. There is an old score to be settled with Bruce Cabot, who runs the saloon as well as everything else in town. He's a man so crooked that he couldn't be trusted to run a bath! A decent premise, but the build up is so ponderous and leaden-footed one can almost picture Andrews strapping on an incontinence pad ahead of his gun belt before wading into the inevitable final showdown.
Redeeming features are thin on the ground. The opening song is cliched and banal. Get this for a bunch of insipid lyrics.
'He needed eyes in the back of his head As he walked into Condor's place. The town was still. You could feel the chill As he met him, face to face.'
A reworking of The Rolling Stones iconic track of the period as 'I can't get no Sanatogen' would have been more fitting!
By the time this mild bunch had spent the morning queuing for their pensions and the afternoon grumbling and grouching about rheumatism they would be too bushed for a shoot-em-up. More likely, off to bed with a mug of cocoa, dentures in the glass, followed by a gentle drift into the land of nod for several blissful hours of Snore-along-a-Max, dreaming of gun fights and two fisted tussles from decades gone by. On that basis one is left to speculate whether Town Tamer was a certificate A, AA, U, X or ZZZZ!
The plot revolves around Andrews' mission to avenge the fatal shooting of his wife, killed by a bullet meant for him. There is an old score to be settled with Bruce Cabot, who runs the saloon as well as everything else in town. He's a man so crooked that he couldn't be trusted to run a bath! A decent premise, but the build up is so ponderous and leaden-footed one can almost picture Andrews strapping on an incontinence pad ahead of his gun belt before wading into the inevitable final showdown.
Redeeming features are thin on the ground. The opening song is cliched and banal. Get this for a bunch of insipid lyrics.
'He needed eyes in the back of his head As he walked into Condor's place. The town was still. You could feel the chill As he met him, face to face.'
A reworking of The Rolling Stones iconic track of the period as 'I can't get no Sanatogen' would have been more fitting!