Travis, Crockett, Bowie and the rest are back behind the barricades at the Alamo in 1836. Budd Boetticher directed this tale of Glen Ford, the only escapee and survivor. Of course, Glen Ford would not have left except that he and a dozen other heroic defenders had families and ranches up there around Oxbow and they drew lots (actually beans) to select the single one of them to leave the Alamo and see that those families thrive.
So when Travis draws his famous line in the sand and says, "All of you who are with me, step across this line," only Glen Ford hangs silently back. Travis arranges Ford's escape and the others, who don't know beans about the lottery, sneer at him and call him a coward.
Well, it didn't do the families of Ford or any of the others any good. It seems there are a gang of traitorous Texans who have been promised land grants by Santa Ana after the war. The gang is led by the ever-villainous Victor Jory as "Jess Wade" -- a name to conjure with -- and the ineffably viperous Neville Brand. They have murdered all the families and burned all the ranchitos. This fills Ford with rage.
Ford rides into town to warn the residents of the approach of Santa Ana's troops but Hugh O'Brien's soldiers are already there, and O'Brien knows about Ford's leaving the Alamo.
Complications follow, involving multiple shoot outs, a Mexican kid devoted to Ford, the pursuit of the town's wagon train by the gang, the slow melting of O'Brien's hatred towards Ford, the gathering warmth of Julia Adams' schoolmarm, the destruction of Jory's gang, and the redemption of Ford.
This is a thought-provoking movie. So, okay. Everyone considers Ford a coward and deserter because he fled under fire. The only men who knew the reason for it are dead. When townsmen, soldiers, women, and children spit on him and get ready to lynch him -- why doesn't he EXPLAIN why he left? That's the principal thought the film provokes.
But of course Glen is not the kind of man who talks excessively or "feels sorry for himself" or tries to excuse any of his actions. Here's another example of what I mean. He's in the midst of a shoot out with Victor Jory atop a mountain. The footpath gives way under his boot and he seems to roll down the slope for several thousand yards before sprawling, apparently dead, in the scree. Jory smiles down at the body way below and doesn't even bother to shoot him.
The unconscious Ford is about to die but is rescued by the little Mexican kid and Julia Adams. They manage to pull him through after a day or so. Ford regains consciousness and begins to climb to his feet. No, no, say his two saviors, wait until you regain your strength. "A man's gotta get up sometime. Why not now?" You don't seriously expect this guy to EXPLAIN himself, do you?
Now, I am not an historian or a gun freak, but my impression is that this movie does to historical accuracy what a bulldozer does to asphalt. The Old West (roughly 1865 to 1895) depicted in movies can be divided into three tiers. (1) Absolute disregard for accuracy, as when John Wayne gallops his horse along a road lined with telegraph poles. (2) The Movie West, in which wardrobe and plot conventions are as taken for granted as our most primitive beliefs. (3) The "Realistic" West, in which somebody has done some research and spent some money on period props. This one purports to belong to the third tier but yearns with all its soul to leap down to the second tier and finally, unlike the defenders of the Alamo, surrenders willingly.
The Battle of the Alamo took place in 1836, not during the conventional period. And there are some nods to period accuracy -- soldiers wear the hats of sea captains, one carries a saber, there are a sprinkling of buckskin shirts, the ersatz Mexicans wear embroidered jackets, and the hat brims are sometimes wider than usual though not always.
But that's it. The rifles and muskets are muzzle loading, as they should be, but they're shorter than usual so they don't get in the way of the action. And for only one brief moment do we see one being loaded the gals in the bonnets. Too much exposure to the inexpert use of balls, ramrods, powder horns and the like would slow the tempo from agitato to moderato. The pistols aren't flintlocks but the Colt and Remington six shooters common to all Westerns. At one point, Glen Ford fans his pistol and gets off a quick series of blasts. They're carried in conventional gun belts and holsters, not clipped to belts or stuck through them. The men wear ordinary shirts with string ties and vests. The tight bodices and wide skirts of the women are generic and ex post filmo. They all seem checkered and loud. They might have been seen at a Nebraska picnic in 1920. I don't mean to suggest that this detracts in any way from Julia Adam's recherché appeal, any more than does the concave profile of her nose, which seems to begin in the middle of her forehead.
If there's a lot of stereotypy in the plot, is it at least well executed, helped by the dialog? No. Boetticher needed the poetic Burt Kennedy as a writer, and the marmoreal Randolph Scott as the lead.
It's okay if there's nothing better to do or if you want to be wafted away into a world as remote from the real as Oz.
So when Travis draws his famous line in the sand and says, "All of you who are with me, step across this line," only Glen Ford hangs silently back. Travis arranges Ford's escape and the others, who don't know beans about the lottery, sneer at him and call him a coward.
Well, it didn't do the families of Ford or any of the others any good. It seems there are a gang of traitorous Texans who have been promised land grants by Santa Ana after the war. The gang is led by the ever-villainous Victor Jory as "Jess Wade" -- a name to conjure with -- and the ineffably viperous Neville Brand. They have murdered all the families and burned all the ranchitos. This fills Ford with rage.
Ford rides into town to warn the residents of the approach of Santa Ana's troops but Hugh O'Brien's soldiers are already there, and O'Brien knows about Ford's leaving the Alamo.
Complications follow, involving multiple shoot outs, a Mexican kid devoted to Ford, the pursuit of the town's wagon train by the gang, the slow melting of O'Brien's hatred towards Ford, the gathering warmth of Julia Adams' schoolmarm, the destruction of Jory's gang, and the redemption of Ford.
This is a thought-provoking movie. So, okay. Everyone considers Ford a coward and deserter because he fled under fire. The only men who knew the reason for it are dead. When townsmen, soldiers, women, and children spit on him and get ready to lynch him -- why doesn't he EXPLAIN why he left? That's the principal thought the film provokes.
But of course Glen is not the kind of man who talks excessively or "feels sorry for himself" or tries to excuse any of his actions. Here's another example of what I mean. He's in the midst of a shoot out with Victor Jory atop a mountain. The footpath gives way under his boot and he seems to roll down the slope for several thousand yards before sprawling, apparently dead, in the scree. Jory smiles down at the body way below and doesn't even bother to shoot him.
The unconscious Ford is about to die but is rescued by the little Mexican kid and Julia Adams. They manage to pull him through after a day or so. Ford regains consciousness and begins to climb to his feet. No, no, say his two saviors, wait until you regain your strength. "A man's gotta get up sometime. Why not now?" You don't seriously expect this guy to EXPLAIN himself, do you?
Now, I am not an historian or a gun freak, but my impression is that this movie does to historical accuracy what a bulldozer does to asphalt. The Old West (roughly 1865 to 1895) depicted in movies can be divided into three tiers. (1) Absolute disregard for accuracy, as when John Wayne gallops his horse along a road lined with telegraph poles. (2) The Movie West, in which wardrobe and plot conventions are as taken for granted as our most primitive beliefs. (3) The "Realistic" West, in which somebody has done some research and spent some money on period props. This one purports to belong to the third tier but yearns with all its soul to leap down to the second tier and finally, unlike the defenders of the Alamo, surrenders willingly.
The Battle of the Alamo took place in 1836, not during the conventional period. And there are some nods to period accuracy -- soldiers wear the hats of sea captains, one carries a saber, there are a sprinkling of buckskin shirts, the ersatz Mexicans wear embroidered jackets, and the hat brims are sometimes wider than usual though not always.
But that's it. The rifles and muskets are muzzle loading, as they should be, but they're shorter than usual so they don't get in the way of the action. And for only one brief moment do we see one being loaded the gals in the bonnets. Too much exposure to the inexpert use of balls, ramrods, powder horns and the like would slow the tempo from agitato to moderato. The pistols aren't flintlocks but the Colt and Remington six shooters common to all Westerns. At one point, Glen Ford fans his pistol and gets off a quick series of blasts. They're carried in conventional gun belts and holsters, not clipped to belts or stuck through them. The men wear ordinary shirts with string ties and vests. The tight bodices and wide skirts of the women are generic and ex post filmo. They all seem checkered and loud. They might have been seen at a Nebraska picnic in 1920. I don't mean to suggest that this detracts in any way from Julia Adam's recherché appeal, any more than does the concave profile of her nose, which seems to begin in the middle of her forehead.
If there's a lot of stereotypy in the plot, is it at least well executed, helped by the dialog? No. Boetticher needed the poetic Burt Kennedy as a writer, and the marmoreal Randolph Scott as the lead.
It's okay if there's nothing better to do or if you want to be wafted away into a world as remote from the real as Oz.