There's nothing jaw-droppingly brilliant about this film. In fact, it has moments that look like a very low-budget Western. Joe wears one of those Tom Mix hats so big it looks like a joke. Why does he put his hat on before roaring off down the road in his convertible? The punches Joe throws miss their mark by two feet (swish!) while the punchees dutifully drop to the ground. Joe's black assistant sometimes seems smart and individualized, and other times plays the dumb blackie. People in the court scene get on a soapbox and speechify shamelessly. In the closing shot, Joe and his gal embrace, turn, look into the distance, freeze, and you can almost hear the director saying, "Hold it just like while I count to thirty." But for all its clumsiness, it holds your attention because of the importance of the theme, the victimization of native Americans under the reservation system and one man's effort to get justice. It's amazing to realize that this was produced in 1934, with several decades to come of standard Hollywood westerns, many based on the idea that the only good Indian is a dead Indian. I enjoyed this movie very much and wish it were more widely known.
Many shots seem to have been taken on location with real natives on real reservations, and the burial ceremony seems authentic.
On a much lighter note, I adored Joe's car, some swanky roadster of the thirties. I'd be happy to drive a car like that today.
Many shots seem to have been taken on location with real natives on real reservations, and the burial ceremony seems authentic.
On a much lighter note, I adored Joe's car, some swanky roadster of the thirties. I'd be happy to drive a car like that today.