A passable first effort by John Wayne for Lone Star Westerns is undone by odd comic relief and an attempt at strangling the career of Hollywood's greatest cowboy before it began by giving him a guitar.
That's right, it's time for the musical stylings in the key of Duke. Ellington, he's not.
"His eyes were blazing with flames of hate/ And his guns were loaded with poison bait/ As they hung and swung at his side."
That's Wayne as "Singin Saunders," known around the Old West as "the most notorious gunman since Billy the Kid," apparently for his ability to mow down hombres acapella. As an offstage singer tunelessly mutters lyrics while caressing a guitar with an oven mitt, Wayne lip-synchs his way into battle.
It's the first of three Lone Star singing-cowboy roles for Wayne, and the one that jumps out at you for the way it is doggedly incorporated into the plot, with five separate scenes where Wayne's character breaks into song.
When Wayne isn't singing, his quiet strength and easy charm make him a good fit for a low-key oater about a rough boss named Kincaid (Forrest Taylor) using his water rights to starve out a law-abiding town. Cecilia Parker makes for a lovely love interest, and Wayne is partnered for the first time ever by George (not yet Gabby) Hayes as Parker's pa. They make a fine trio.
Unfortunately, this film has other issues. Everyone in it operates as if no one has a memory lasting more than five minutes. For example, after Parker's character is saved by Saunders, she comes to believe he is working for Kincaid and confronts him. Saunders shoots Kincaid's chief muscle and then gets offered the vacated job because Kincaid doesn't hold grudges.
One sequence involves Saunders' plan to bypass Kincaid's water- rights chokehold by having a stooge ride a water wagon to the town, wait for Kincaid's goons to ride up and shoot said stooge in mid-drive, then ride up behind the goons and board the runaway wagon before it goes off a cliff. It's a good plan because {BRIEF SPOILER} Saunders works for the government and clinging onto the bottom of a runaway wagon restricts his ability to burst into song.
The film suffers from a strange decision to save on comic relief by having clowns Al St. John and Heinie Conklin double as Kincaid's main henchmen. They stumble around in pursuit of Sandy in a serious of contrived encounters, one of which winds up with them lassoed together. "You make a fine pair of lovebirds," Kincaid sneers.
But the real black mark on this lemon is the singing. Wayne didn't like having to do it, and it shows in a performance suggesting director Robert N. Bradbury had Wayne's family and dog tied up somewhere. It's an uncomfortable start to Wayne's Lone Star era, which did produce some decent results once Wayne left his guitar with Gene and Roy.
That's right, it's time for the musical stylings in the key of Duke. Ellington, he's not.
"His eyes were blazing with flames of hate/ And his guns were loaded with poison bait/ As they hung and swung at his side."
That's Wayne as "Singin Saunders," known around the Old West as "the most notorious gunman since Billy the Kid," apparently for his ability to mow down hombres acapella. As an offstage singer tunelessly mutters lyrics while caressing a guitar with an oven mitt, Wayne lip-synchs his way into battle.
It's the first of three Lone Star singing-cowboy roles for Wayne, and the one that jumps out at you for the way it is doggedly incorporated into the plot, with five separate scenes where Wayne's character breaks into song.
When Wayne isn't singing, his quiet strength and easy charm make him a good fit for a low-key oater about a rough boss named Kincaid (Forrest Taylor) using his water rights to starve out a law-abiding town. Cecilia Parker makes for a lovely love interest, and Wayne is partnered for the first time ever by George (not yet Gabby) Hayes as Parker's pa. They make a fine trio.
Unfortunately, this film has other issues. Everyone in it operates as if no one has a memory lasting more than five minutes. For example, after Parker's character is saved by Saunders, she comes to believe he is working for Kincaid and confronts him. Saunders shoots Kincaid's chief muscle and then gets offered the vacated job because Kincaid doesn't hold grudges.
One sequence involves Saunders' plan to bypass Kincaid's water- rights chokehold by having a stooge ride a water wagon to the town, wait for Kincaid's goons to ride up and shoot said stooge in mid-drive, then ride up behind the goons and board the runaway wagon before it goes off a cliff. It's a good plan because {BRIEF SPOILER} Saunders works for the government and clinging onto the bottom of a runaway wagon restricts his ability to burst into song.
The film suffers from a strange decision to save on comic relief by having clowns Al St. John and Heinie Conklin double as Kincaid's main henchmen. They stumble around in pursuit of Sandy in a serious of contrived encounters, one of which winds up with them lassoed together. "You make a fine pair of lovebirds," Kincaid sneers.
But the real black mark on this lemon is the singing. Wayne didn't like having to do it, and it shows in a performance suggesting director Robert N. Bradbury had Wayne's family and dog tied up somewhere. It's an uncomfortable start to Wayne's Lone Star era, which did produce some decent results once Wayne left his guitar with Gene and Roy.