If you had to pick out a single film to represent the less-than-A features Hollywood was grinding out in the 1950s, this might do the job. It practically defines "routine." It is inexpensively made on one or two Western ranches established only for use in cheap movies, it has no recognizable stars except the fading Fred MacMurray. The script, while not uninteresting, is strictly functional and lacks grace.
The photography and direction do no more than get the job done, nor does the score by Jerry Goldsmith, still operating within strictures imposed by commercial considerations. Imagine if Goldsmith had written a musical score built around a trumpet and some plucked piano strings, as he did later for "Chinatown". He'd have had all the time in the world after that to sit down and write the Great American Symphony.
The film isn't an insult to the intelligence though. MacMurray tries to help his reckless younger brother to escape and the brother kills a sheriff and is killed himself in return. MacMurray, heretofore a nice guy, is now involved in a murder. He manages to escape from the town and find a new place, where he makes acquaintances, assumes a new identity, and nervously awaits the arrival of the "Wanted" posters that will reveal him for who he is. He helps the clean-cut local sheriff out of a jam, gets the girl, and redeems himself.
The characters have some complexity built into them. The bad guy, for instance, is Alan Baxter. He has possession of some grazing land that belongs to the public and he keeps fencing it off, despite the dire warnings of good-guy sheriff Francis De Sales. That's "bad", true, but Baxter himself has no desire to kill the sheriff unless it's absolutely necessary. And he's related to MacMurray's new girl friend, so allegiances aren't simply lined up, one side against the other, as on a checker board.
But, aside from the main question of how MacMurray is ever going to recapture his virtue -- there's never much question about whether he WILL or not -- the script looks like an outline for a story. Absolutely nothing happens that doesn't advance the plot.
I'll give one example of how simple it would have been to raise this story beyond the plodding. It involves Alan Baxter, the chief heavy. Baxter had a decent career in smaller roles but he was never a bravura actor and didn't show much in the way of range. Yet, in Alfred Hitchcock's "Saboteur" he played a well-mannered Nazi spy who has an extraordinary conversation with hero Robert Cummings in the back seat of a car. It's all very casual. Baxter tells Cummings about his son. He would like to raise him with long hair. When he, Baxter, was a child, he had long golden curls and he wonders about grooming his own child the same way. ("You'd be doing the kid a favor to get him a haircut", replies the all-American hero.) The exchange lasts about one minute but humanizes the villain. It tells us of his weaknesses, his misguided fantasies, his childhood, and his love for his son.
There is nothing here that even resembles that moment. MacMurray, for whatever reason, slogs through his role in monotones, has the requisite fist fight in a bar, severs a strand of barbed wire with a shot from fifty feet away, crawls blooded through the dusty saloon of an abandoned town, and so on. None of the actors outperform MacMurray though. The performances are all routine. The whole production is routine.
The photography and direction do no more than get the job done, nor does the score by Jerry Goldsmith, still operating within strictures imposed by commercial considerations. Imagine if Goldsmith had written a musical score built around a trumpet and some plucked piano strings, as he did later for "Chinatown". He'd have had all the time in the world after that to sit down and write the Great American Symphony.
The film isn't an insult to the intelligence though. MacMurray tries to help his reckless younger brother to escape and the brother kills a sheriff and is killed himself in return. MacMurray, heretofore a nice guy, is now involved in a murder. He manages to escape from the town and find a new place, where he makes acquaintances, assumes a new identity, and nervously awaits the arrival of the "Wanted" posters that will reveal him for who he is. He helps the clean-cut local sheriff out of a jam, gets the girl, and redeems himself.
The characters have some complexity built into them. The bad guy, for instance, is Alan Baxter. He has possession of some grazing land that belongs to the public and he keeps fencing it off, despite the dire warnings of good-guy sheriff Francis De Sales. That's "bad", true, but Baxter himself has no desire to kill the sheriff unless it's absolutely necessary. And he's related to MacMurray's new girl friend, so allegiances aren't simply lined up, one side against the other, as on a checker board.
But, aside from the main question of how MacMurray is ever going to recapture his virtue -- there's never much question about whether he WILL or not -- the script looks like an outline for a story. Absolutely nothing happens that doesn't advance the plot.
I'll give one example of how simple it would have been to raise this story beyond the plodding. It involves Alan Baxter, the chief heavy. Baxter had a decent career in smaller roles but he was never a bravura actor and didn't show much in the way of range. Yet, in Alfred Hitchcock's "Saboteur" he played a well-mannered Nazi spy who has an extraordinary conversation with hero Robert Cummings in the back seat of a car. It's all very casual. Baxter tells Cummings about his son. He would like to raise him with long hair. When he, Baxter, was a child, he had long golden curls and he wonders about grooming his own child the same way. ("You'd be doing the kid a favor to get him a haircut", replies the all-American hero.) The exchange lasts about one minute but humanizes the villain. It tells us of his weaknesses, his misguided fantasies, his childhood, and his love for his son.
There is nothing here that even resembles that moment. MacMurray, for whatever reason, slogs through his role in monotones, has the requisite fist fight in a bar, severs a strand of barbed wire with a shot from fifty feet away, crawls blooded through the dusty saloon of an abandoned town, and so on. None of the actors outperform MacMurray though. The performances are all routine. The whole production is routine.