A Wilder Ride

Most of us know the films we love through their characters and the actors who portrayed them.  I would bet that the vast majority of film aficionados, when asked to name a favorite movie, visualize a scene featuring the star or their favorite character.  But the truth is, while actors are essential (or have been up to this point; keep your eye on the evolution of digitized entertainment… someday soon you won’t be able to tell if you are watching Matthew McConaughey or a CGI representation… hell, you might not be able tell if you are you or a CGI representation, but I digress) cinema belongs to the screenwriters and directors.  If there is no story to tell or no plan for translating the screenplay into a movie, well you’d have a bunch of restaurant employees standing around wondering what to do with their lives.

But fortunately for us, the third leg that keeps the movie industry stool from toppling over, the audience, the history of American cinema is rife with talented directors and screenwriters.  And in this week’s missive I am going to introduce you to one of the best; Billy Wilder.

I don’t want to bore you with a biography.  If you are interested in minutia you can look him up yourself.  Wilder is one of the most important filmmakers of the Golden Age of Hollywood and beyond.  He was the first person to win Oscars for producing (best motion picture), directing and screenwriting for the same film (The Apartment: United Artists-1960). Although some critics downplay his career because it was heavily weighted with screw ball comedy and film noir, perusing his filmography is like reading a list of my favorite movies.  Wilder’s American career, which ran began in 1933 and ran for more than fifty years, boasts twenty-one Academy Award nominations (8-directing, 12-screenwriting, 1-producing) resulting in six wins.

If you have any self respect as a movie fan, you will have seen these films:

Double Indemnity (1944-Paramount Pictures):  Starring Fred MacMurray, Barbara Stanwyck and Edward G. Robinson, this gem is considered by many film commentators to be the first in which all the elements that came to be identified with film noir were present.  Double Indemnity’s pedigree is further enhanced by a co-writing partnership between Wilder and Raymond Chandler (creator of the Phillip Marlowe novels).  It is the story of an otherwise noble man being seduced into a murder conspiracy by the femme fatale, realizing too late that her plaints of abuse at the hands of her husband were false and motivated purely by greed.  While a familiar theme, this is a truly superior presentation.

Sunset Blvd (Paramount Pictures-1951): I remember seeing this movie on late-night TV when I was a kid; maybe ten-years old.  I didn’t get it.  Then I saw it again as an adult and not only did I get it, but understood why in my youth I didn’t (and was thankful). Children should be protected from the dark nature of this film.  And when I say children, I mean anyone under the age of thirty.  William Holden plays a down-on-his-luck Hollywood screenwriter (go figure) who, attempting to elude skip tracers trying to repossess his car ends up hiding in what he supposes is an abandoned mansion from the glory days of silent films.  He discovers to his surprise that he has stumbled into the cloister of famous star of yesteryear, Nora Desmond (played by silent-era star Gloria Swanson, coaxed out of retirement by Wilder) and her resident manservant, Max.  Let us just say that a relationship of convenience evolves; I leave you to enjoy the unfolding of this sordid tale on your own.  Wilder won an Oscar for screenwriting.

Some Like It Hot (United Artists-1959): This seems to be everybody’s favorite comedy.  In 2000, it ranked number one on AFI’s list: “100 years…100 laughs”.  For 1959 there were some rather progressive themes represented here.  The story is of two union musicians (Tony Curtis, Jack Lemmon) trying to eke out a living in winter-time Chicago when they are hapless witnesses to the St. Valentine’s Day massacre.  They affect their escape by disguising themselves as women to travel by train to Florida as members of an all-girl band.  Marilyn Monroe delivers the best performance of her career as the boozy, ukulele playing Sugar Kane Kowalczyk.  The film was shot at the Hotel Del Coronado (California).  This is screw ball at its best.  And of course, Tony Curtis sheds his female persona to romance Sugar Kane adopting the mannerisms of Cary Grant.  In proper tribute to the importance of this movie, the final line, “Nobody’s Perfect” is inscribed as the epitaph on Billy Wilder’s headstone.

But then, being a true lover of cinema, you know these movies well.  My purpose today is to introduce you to a few of my favorite Billy Wilder works that are not as famous but every bit as entertaining.

Ninotchka (MGM-1939) screenwriting credit:  This was the breakthrough effort for Wilder (Oscar nomination for writing-screenplay) who had been actively writing in America since 1933. Ernest Lubitsch directed.  It is a screw ball romantic comedy starring Greta Garbo in the title role as a Russian attaché sent to Paris to investigate the delay by three comrades charged with securing jewels smuggled out of Russia by a fleeing Grand Duchess.  While pursuing her duties, she is seduced by the proletariat lifestyle and the Duchess’ retainer, Count Leon (Melvyn Douglas).  If you wish to understand Hollywood’s pre-WWII image of Russians and Communism, this movie will let you laugh as you learn.

Stalag 17 (Paramount Pictures-1953):  If you can imagine such a salad, this movie is a gritty-noir-satire-war-mystery telling of day-to-day life experienced by American Airmen in a German prison camp during WWII.  Although it is more of an ensemble cast, William Holden (at his grittiest) becomes the focal point as Sgt. J.J. Sefton (for which he was awarded a best actor-leading role Oscar).  As there is a bit of a who-dun-it element to the film, I will not go into plot details.  Watch for the Oscar nominated performance (best actor-supporting role) by Robert Strauss (Animal) and the tongue-in-cheek portrayal of Commandant Oberst Von Scherbach by famed director Otto Preminger.  

Sabrina (Paramount Pictures-1954):  This is a lighthearted romantic comedy pairing Audrey Hepburn with Humphrey Bogart.  “What?”  Yeah, that’s right, Rick from Casablanca and Holly Golightly from Tiffany’s.  Sabrina (Hepburn) returns home from a failed attempt at cooking school in Paris to rejoin her father, chauffer to the wealthy industrialist Larrabee family.  Once home, Sabrina finds she has lost none of the little-girl crush on her father’s retainers’ young playboy sibling David Larrabee (William Holden).  Meanwhile, older brother and business maven Linus (Bogart) is busy arranging a strategic marriage for younger brother David.  But Sabrina has caught David’s eye which threatens the union.  To head off economic catastrophe, Linus launches a plan to romance Sabrina away from David.  Holden is Adonis like.  Hepburn is at her most vulnerable.  But Bogart handles this departure from type with surprising deftness.  By the way; pairing Hepburn with and older leading man was very common:  Roman Holiday (Gregory Peck-1953); Love in the Afternoon (Gary Cooper-1957); Charade (Cary Grant-1963).  Warning: Do not make the mistake of picking up the 1995 remake of the same name starring Harrison Ford… you’ll never get the taste out of your mouth.

The Apartment (United Artists-1960):  You will not like any of the characters of this movie.  But you won’t be able to avoid routing for C.C. Baxter and Fran Kubelik to get together in the end.  This is a dark satire on modern sexual mores.  Baxter (Jack Lemmon) is a bachelor, ambitious corporate accountant who, eager to advance his career, allows his office superiors to use his city apartment for clandestine rendezvous with their mistresses.  News of this opportunity comes to the attention of the company’s Personnel Director, Jeff Sheldrake (Fred MacMurray) who offers Baxter a junior executive position to secure the use his love nest.  Unbeknownst to Baxter, Sheldrake’s mistress is elevator operator Fran (Shirley MacClaine) who has just caught Baxter’s romantic eye.  There are not many laughs in this movie, but Fred MacMurray (look up “My Three Sons”, 1960s CBS sitcom… yeah, that Fred MacMurray) will leave you haunted by his portrayal of the seedy philandering executive.  This movie was the hat trick for Wilder as he was awarded Oscars for writing, directing and producing (best picture); the first time this occurred in the history of the Academy Awards.

The Fortune Cookie (United Artists-1966): If for no other reason, this movie deserves notice as the first pairing of Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau.  If that doesn’t mean anything to you, well you are just too young!  This is another great example of Wilder’s uncanny ability to blend noir and screw ball.  Harry Hinkle (Lemmon) is injured in the pursuit of his job as a TV sports cameraman while working a football game, rendering him unconscious.  When he awakens he is in the hospital, attended by his sleazy, ambulance chasing, attorney brother-in-law Willie Gingrich (Matthau).  Willie pursues a campaign to get Harry to feign serious disability which the latter’s honest nature resists… until Willie mentions that Harry’s ex-wife had called check on his condition.  Harry is hopelessly in love with his ex and sees this as an opportunity to rekindle their romance.  You guessed it; her interest in Harry runs no deeper than the chance for quick riches.  Wilder deftly blends punch lines and pathos in a movie that will make you laugh while recoiling from the darker realities of human nature.  As you would expect, Wilder was nominated for the Oscar for his screenplay.

These are some of my favorite movies.  In all, Wilder generated seventy-eight writing credits, twenty-seven directing credits and fourteen producing credits.  His prodigious creative output whose consistent high quality, validated by his award nominations and wins, place him among the greatest of American movie makers.  If you want to see how it should be done, watch a Billy Wilder movie.

A Question of Caliber

To date, I have published three posts devoted to the selection of a personal defense handgun and how to gain proficiency therewith:

 What’s In Your Holster?                              March 20, 2014

 How Many Guns Do You Have?                    May 15, 2014

 Ask Somebody!                                         June 12, 2014

In this post, we are going to touch on ammunition choice, sort of.  You will understand my equivocation as you read.  The title of this week’s missive is a bit of a misnomer as ammunition preference is more closely tied to cartridge choice than caliber.  To understand why, I will need to get very basic for the non-shooter or novice.  You old hats can go get a beer now as nothing new will be offered here.  Come back next week when I promise, we’ll address that most interesting of subjects, my personal life.

What is caliber?  This is a very basic question easily answered.  Caliber is quite simply the diameter of the bullet and/or bore of the firearm.  It is measured either in millimeters (e.g. 9mm) or inches (e.g. .45 – note the decimal point).  Forty-five caliber handgun bore (that’s the hole running the length of the barrel) measures .45 inches, or a tad bit less than one-half inch.  Correspondingly, a nine millimeter bore and bullet measure just that; 9mm.  Get it? Caliber is no more or less than the diameter of the bullet.  But here is the twist, not all guns of the same caliber are compatible with all species of ammunition of the same caliber.

This is where the cartridge comes into play. So what is a cartridge?  A cartridge is the assembly of components that represent one round of ammunition.  They are: the projectile (bullet); the propellant (gun powder); the primer (impact ignition device, imbedded in the casing); and the casing (“brass” in the vernacular) which holds the entire assembly together and provides the explosion chamber when the gun is fired.  Pretty simple, huh?  A cartridge is generally identified by its caliber and the type of gun it was developed for, e.g. .45 ACP (Automatic Colt Pistol).

Any gun is earmarked (as well as physically labeled) to operate a specific cartridge.  The cartridge is very gun specific.  Let me give you an example. There are several cartridges available that contain a bullet measuring nine millimeters in diameter, among them; 9mm Luger, .380 ACP, .357 Magnum, .38 Special.  All of these use a bullet measuring 9mm in diameter (or .357 inches).  But they will not operate in the same firearms because each is fitted into a cartridge that is distinctly different in design.  That difference is reflected in the performance parameters (e.g. bullet velocity, muzzle energy) of each cartridge.

What are the differences in cartridges?  Well, the first is related to gun design.  The aforementioned .357 Magnum and .38 Special cartridges are designed for use in revolvers.  The 9mm Luger and .380 ACP are intended for semi-automatics (if you don’t know the difference, ask somebody).

The second difference is related to ammunition power.  The .357 Magnum is designed to be significantly more powerful than the .38 Special, therefore the cartridge of the Magnum is specifically designed to not fit in the chamber (firing hole, if you will) of the Special.  The same is true of the 9mm and .380 ACP.  This is a matter of safety.

The third difference is gun size.  The more powerful the cartridge in question, the heavier and larger the corresponding firearm must be.  Closely related to this is capacity of the firearm:  The bigger the cartridge, the fewer the number of rounds that can be practically carried.

If you are as smart as I think you are, you realize that up to this point I have made no recommendations about what caliber, or type of cartridge is best.  That debate has been going on since God was in diapers (by the way, who changed God’s diapers? … yeah, I know, I’m going to hell… but not for the reasons you think) and will continue long after I have shuffled off this mortal coil.  And if you have read my previous posts about firearms you have probably guessed that the answer is, “The best cartridge depends on the needs the individual shooter.”  You are so right!

A discussion about which cartridge in best will most assuredly generate passion among the participants.  But from what I have seen, read and learned on my own, everybody will bow to the maxim, shot placement outweighs power.  As there is no such thing as a (practical) one-shot-stop round, it is imperative that the shooter place the bullet, regardless of size or power, properly on target.  Accuracy equals efficiency.  Efficiency improves survivability.

And how do we ensure accuracy?  Practice!  So, the answer to the question, “Which cartridge should I use?” is; the cartridge you are most comfortable with as a shooter.  Because the only thing that will make you a confident shooter is your ability with the gun.  If you select a gun that is so powerful you won’t practice, that extra power is just wasted energy.

It is common in the defensive shooting universe to espouse a cartridge that achieves a minimum number of inches of penetration into a human body (saving your own life against a determined aggressor is a gruesome thing… get over your polite sensitivities).  There is some merit to this but still, the debate about which cartridge will do this most efficiently is fraught with variables and very much alive.  So what should you do?

I would recommend that a new shooter select the largest, most powerful cartridge they can confidently and comfortably manage (not tolerate… manage).  Your choice may be driven by recoil, gun weight, muzzle flash… there are dozens of things to consider, but the most important is that you own a gun you will shoot.  And shoot some more.   And even a little bit more.

Full CIrcle

I saw a news story recently that inspired this post.  I will get to the content of that news story shortly.  But first, I must lay a bit of historical background.

Do you know that the mascot of the United States Military Academy (West Point) is a mule?  If not, you do now.  It’s a funny thing about knowledge; once you learn it, you cannot unlearn it, the genie cannot be put back in the bottle.  Oh, you can deny knowledge.  But inside you still know it, and you know you know it.  But I digress.

Not to be outdone, the United States Naval Academy (Annapolis) has chosen a goat for its mascot.  Now there’s a non-sequitor.  I dare you to draw me a logical line from maintaining the security of the country through control of the world’s oceans to a goat.  The Air Force Academy; Falcons: which makes some sense, their prevue being the wild blue yonder and such.  The Coast Guard Academy; Bears: which only makes sense when you learn that their mascot name is taken from the U.S.S Bear, a Coast Guard vessel involved in a dramatic rescue operation the year the academy opened (1897).  The Merchant Marine Academy; Mariner: apt I suppose, however hardly suited to caricature.  But I digress, again.

Of the service academies’ mascots, the Army Mule seems the most representative of the history and tradition of the service.  The Army actually employed mules in defense of the United States across much of its history (I would hardly like to think to what purpose the Navy might have used goats).  Mostly used as pack and harness animals, they were first pressed into service in with the birth of the American Military.  In fact, George Washington was the most prolific breeder of mules in the days of the revolution.

Mules, if you didn’t know, are a human developed, not naturally occurring species.  They are the hybrid product of crossing a male donkey (jack ass) and a female horse (mare).  Historical artifacts indicate that mules have been bred and used by man since ancient times.  They are mentioned in the records of the Egyptians (believed to be a more useful caravan animal than the camel), Greeks and Romans.  We have all heard the expression, “Stubborn as a mule!” which derives from the animal’s superior self-preservation instincts; somewhat ironic for an animal with no biological imperative (mules, as a rule, are born sterile).

The USMA selected the Army Mule as their mascot in 1899 in deference to its long history of service.  Of course, with the advent of mechanized vehicles in the twentieth century, the role of pack and draft animals has all but vanished.  Let’s face it; trucks are much more efficient at hauling supplies and ammo… as long as there is a road.  During the Cold War, all combat scenarios were developed around Europe and its modern transportation infrastructure.  You didn’t think the autobahn was built just for the pleasure of prosperous Germans burning up the pavement in their Porsches, did you?

As cool as they look, HumVees cannot traverse goat trails.  So, mules and horses were deployed as recently as the Afghan war.  Yet another ironic twist: Today, the responsibility for training man and beast for pack animal service is delegated to the United States Marine Corps. at their Mountain Warfare Training Center near Bridgeport, California.

“But what has this to do with the aforementioned news item, Dale?”  Well, per a report on FOX News, it seems that the Marine Corps. has once again turned to modern technology aimed at solving a traditional problem; how to transport needed war fighting materials in a primitive environment.  Thus was conceived the Legged Squad Support System (kinda sounds like a garter belt doesn’t it?) or “LS3”.  The vehicle (?) is designed to carry 400 (although in practice, loads are targeted at 250) pounds twenty miles without refueling.  It is essentially a robot mule.  A 2010 article announcing the development contract stipulated $32 million in costs and thirty months to build the prototype.

Now I don’t know what your idea of a bargain is, but consider this.  I checked a “Mules for Sale” website and found the asking price (not settled price) to be anywhere from $2,500 to $4,000 per critter.  Let’s see; at the high end, you could buy 8,000 mules for $32 million (which yields only a prototype; I could find no information on projected manufacturing and maintenance costs).  In my research, I found the U.S. Army’s recommendation for utilization of a live pack mule was 250 pounds and travel distance of twenty miles per day.  They involve no exotic materials, electronics or hydraulics… and they run on hay!

I have an idea.  Rather than reinventing the wheel (or hoof as it were), why don’t we just use mules for the job they were originally created to do?  I know the mule’s sire is supposed to be the jack ass in this story, but don’t you feel like maybe we taxpayers a getting the “hee-haw” on this one?    

Would you like to swing on a star,

Carry moonbeams home in a jar,

And be better off than you are?

Or would you rather be a mule?

Tattoo

No, this is not a post about my short, plane spotting sidekick.  Rather it is a personal attempt to understand a modern day phenomenon of an ancient practice.  As a Baby Boomer (the generation born to the veterans of World War II circa 1946 to 1964) I have been somewhat baffled by the explosion in skin art among American persons.  Now don’t get defensive if you are a tattoo bearer; it is not my intention to judge, classify, psycho analyze or lampoon.  I am just curious about what I see happening in society.  And this seems to be a growing trend among the members of generations succeeding mine.

My father had a tattoo.  But then he was a sailor.  Not the kind spiriting about the bay in a sloop on Sunday afternoon but a real career Navy veteran of twenty years.  He sported a single fouled anchor on the inside of his arm.  Forgive me, but I cannot remember which arm.  Per his explanation, which was grudgingly surrendered, it was part of the tradition of overseas service.  He got the tattoo in Japan or China (yes, his service predated the communist takeover of Tsingtao); never offering any other explanation.  But I suspect the event was quite probably lubricated by copious amounts of alcohol. There may be something to the aphorism, “A tattoo is a permanent memento to a temporary feeling.”

It is not uncommon to see tattoos on members of my generation.  Although the bearer will most likely be a Viet Nam veteran or the owner of a Harley-Davidson motorcycle which delineates some type of cultural affinity.  But younger generations seem to be drawn to the practice at an accelerating rate without deference or attachment to some societal sub-strata.  I have many acquaintances and a few friends who do sport tattoos.  I have been somewhat disappointed that they seem reluctant to delve deeply into the mindset which triggered their action.  However, their choice to hold these thoughts close to the vest is as sacred to me as is my own reluctance to expound on my various scars (some physical, others emotional); but for the most part my body markings were not voluntary.

So in my personal research, which never seems to go nearly as deep as it should, I have stumbled across the learned opinions of the esteemed J. Cheever Loophole, Esq. presented here in a video recording of his commencement address presented to the 2014 graduating class of Whatsamatta U.

Best Western

No, this is not a story about some sordid rendezvous at a sleazy motel.  I know you’re disappointed but you’ll have to get your vicarious gratification elsewhere.  This missive is about your favorite topic, movies.

One of my readers suggested I write a post in which I identify the best movie of the Western genre.  Well, truth is I don’t do requests.  But the idea did get me thinking about the subject of the American Western and its cultural significance.  From the earliest days of film making to the end of the 1960s, Westerns ruled the box office.  Even television programming was dominated by Westerns, which in the peak year of 1959 aired 26 examples of the genre in prime time; and there were only three channels offering original programming in those days.

Without doubt, the Western story (real or fictional) gives us some unique insight into the American psyche.  But, as you’re probably bored with all of my psycho-social folderol, we’ll skip that discussion and dive right into that ever-stimulating subject, American History.  How did the West evolve into the most prolific inspiration for the American film industry?  Because, watching a bunch of buckskin clad sharpshooters wrecking havoc from horseback backset by a beautiful desert vista is way more interesting than trying to keep up with the political machinations of a bunch of gentlemen farmers struggling to hammer out the founding documents:  My apologies to Messrs Adams, Jefferson, Franklin, et al.

Speaking of Thomas Jefferson, it was truly his vision that set off American Western expansion with the purchase of the Louisiana Territory from France, culminating in the Manifest Destiny doctrine of James K. Polk (1795-1849). Polk was elected as the 11^th President of the United States (1844) in large part because of his stated ambitions to expand the United States to the Pacific Ocean.  He skillfully maneuvered the United States into a war with Mexico resulting in the acquisition of much of which is now the American Southwest.  He reasoned, perhaps rightly so, that his actions would so alienate the populous that he vowed to serve only one term.  Draw your own moral conclusions, this was the Nineteenth Century and empire building was all the rage.  But if you live west of Omaha, any other outcome would have you speaking Spanish as your native language.

I know what you’re thinking, “When is he gonna stop with the history lesson and talk about movies?  That’s why I’m here!”  Just one more comment about history and then we’ll move on.  The expansion of available land in an era where the government couldn’t possibly control migration led to an explosion of movement westward by persons who were essentially on their own.  It was a make-it-or-break-it proposition and enough hardy individuals succeeded to establish permanency.  It was the hardiness of these individuals that crossed the plains, then the mountains, and then the unforgiving deserts that was the crucible in which was fired the legends that became the grist for the Great American Western.  

And so, on to the movies:  I cannot pick a “best” Western.  Best is quantitative evaluation for which you need some type of data whereby one example of the genre can be objectively compared against others.  And while I’m sure such data exists, e.g. box office receipts, award nominations received, AFI “Greatest” ranking; I’m just too damned lazy to go ferret it out.  Besides, who cares about someone else’s opinions: You’re here to read mine!

So here they are, Dale’s favorite Western Films, in no particular order.

The Searchers (1956-Warner Bros.)  Directed by John Ford and starring John Wayne, this is a tale of the abduction of two young white girls by a Comanche raiding party and the subsequent, epic search over many years to bring them home.  This fictional work is somewhat influenced by the story of Comanche Chief, Quanah Parker.  If you ever get the chance to see this film on the big screen, take it.  The cinematography and filming locations in Monument Valley (Navajo Nation on the Arizona-Utah border) are as important as the story and action.

High Noon (1952-United Artists)  Directed by Fred Zinnemann: Starring Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly.  Marshal Will Kane (Cooper) has just married young Quaker Amy Fowler (Kelly) and is giving up his violent career in deference to his new wife’s pacifist beliefs.  Just before they can leave town a telegram arrives with news that outlaw Frank Miller has been released from prison and is on his way to town on the noon train with intentions of revenge.  In the ensuing time, Kane, feels an obligation to stay until the new marshal arrives.  The twist is, one by one, the pusillanimous townspeople withdraw their support for Kane leaving him to face Miller and his minions on his own. As you watch this movie (and you must, if you wish to get into heaven), see if you can identify the device used to build suspense.

Destry Rides Again (1939-Universal Pictures)  No, don’t go looking for the original, this is not a sequel.  George Marshall (director) uses a magnificent blend of action, suspense and comedy to tell the familiar story of the Western land grab.  What makes this a standout movie are performances of James Stewart (Tom Destry, Jr.), Marlene Dietrich (Frenchy) and bad guy Brian Donlevy (Kent) as this twice told tale unfolds.  Just as valuable to the quality of this production are the supporting performances of Charles Winninger as the banjo strumming Washington Dimsdale and Mischa Auer as the henpecked Boris.  There are no surprises here, just a fun ride down a familiar lane.

Support Your Local Gunfighter (1971-United Arists)  This madcap comedy fused into a western setting is directed by Burt Kennedy.  Lothario/conman Latigo Smith (James Garner) ditches his latest victim disembarking the train at a midnight stop in Purgatory.  What he doesn’t know is that he has stepped into a war between two mining interests.  He is mistaken for the expected notorious gunslinger, Swifty Morgan (Chuck Connors-uncredited) and uses the opportunity to work a con by playing the embattled factions against each other.  The supporting cast is full of familiar characters including Jack Elam, Henry Morgan, Dub Taylor, John Dahner and Joan Blondell.  This is not high drama and the gags outweigh the story ten-to-one.  But you will laugh your ass off.

Tombstone (1993-Buena Vista Pictures)  Is this the way it really happened?  Probably not, but of the myriad films that claim to portray the legend of Wyatt Earp and the events that precipitated the gunfight at the O.K. Corral, this is far and away my favorite.  It is the familiar story of how the Earp Brothers came to be in Tombstone, Arizona on October 26, 1881 and participated in the most famous shootout of the American West.  Wyatt is played by Kurt Russell and his nefarious friend “Doc” Holliday by Val Kilmer.  In my opinion, Kilmer and Michael Biehn (Doc’s nemesis, Johnny Ringo) elevate this movie significantly with their performances.  An unexpected nugget is a chubby Billy Bob Thornton as an obnoxious Faro dealer at the Oriental Saloon.

Along Came Jones (1945-RKO Radio Pictures)  Directed by Stuart Heilser, this movie could be mistaken for a “B” if not for the cast.  Saddle tramps Melody Jones (Gary Cooper) and George Fury (William Demarest) made a wrong choice at a fork in the trail about five hundred miles back and end up in the town of Paineville (pronounced throughout as painfull).  Because his initials “MJ” are stamped into his saddle, locals mistake him for outlaw Monte Jared (Dan Duryea).  When sidekick George stumbles onto the reason why townspeople are treating Melody with such deference, he suggests that they “vamoose outta here real quick” Unfortunately; Melody has been captivated by Cherry de Longpre (Loretta Young) who happens to be the paramour of Monte Jarred.  Cherry sees an opportunity to use Melody as a decoy to convince town folk Monte has left Paineville.  Melody, despite George’s pleading, decides this is an opportunity to make something of himself and win the heart of Cherry by killing Monte.  The problem?  Melody is totally inept in the use of firearms.

She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949-RKO Radio Pictures)  Another John Ford (director), John Wayne collaboration; they did twenty-one films together.  John Ford directed three movies starring Wayne referred to as the Cavalry Trilogy.  This is a bit of a misnomer as there is no continuing story thread among the films.  They are only connected by the general subject matter (the Indian Wars of the West) and the shooting location (Monument Valley).  The first (Fort Apache-1948) and third (Rio Grande-1950) were shot in black and white.  They are good if somewhat hackneyed stories; in fact Fort Apache may be the best dramatic effort of the three, with Henry Fonda playing the lead role.  But my favorite of the bunch is She Wore a Yellow Ribbon.  First, it was filmed in Technicolor taking full advantage of the visual beauty of Monument Valley (you must travel there).  Second, and most important, the role of Capt. Nathan Brittles was a change of pace for John Wayne.  Instead of the young, strapping hero we were used to seeing, he played an older, more reflective army officer who was coming to the end of his career. If you are familiar with John Wayne’s work only through the Batjac (John Wayne’s production company) movies of the late 1950s through the 1970s, you will be surprised by the depth of character he delivers in She Wore a Yellow Ribbon. Of course, it has all of the John Ford regulars, including a fun portrayal by Victor McGlaglen as what else, an alcoholic sergeant-major of cavalry.

Cheyenne Social Club (1970-National General Pictures)  This Western farce was directed by (surprise) Gene Kelly.  If you don’t know who Gene Kelly is, well then you might as well be singing in the rain.  It is the story of an aging cowboy who leaves his job in Texas after being informed by letter that his recently deceased brother has left him a business in Cheyenne, Wyoming.  Character John O’Hanlon (James Stewart) is accompanied by his life-long friend Harley Sullivan (Henry Fonda).  Upon arrival, O’Hanlon is embarrassed to learn that his inheritance is a brothel.  He is immediately besieged by opposing factions who either want the house of ill repute closed, or left to operate as is.  Meanwhile, Harley takes up residence and enjoys to full advantage of the perks of being the boss’ best friend. The true treasure of this film is the dialogue between Stewart and Fonda and is a superior example of the confluence of great writing and spectacular delivery.

The Wild Bunch (1969-Warner Brothers) This is the pinnacle of Sam Peckinpah’s (director) work.  It is the story of a band of ageing outlaws struggling to keep up with the changes ushered in by the 20^th century.  The leader, Pike Bishop (William Holden, as gritty as can be) is losing his grip on the gang as the day of the horse bound desperado is coming to a close.  After being out maneuvered by bank detectives and barely surviving a shootout to come away with sacks full of washers, Pike changes directions and enters into a deal with rebel Mexican forces (ala Pancho Via) to steal American military arms.  As the treachery of the Mexican General becomes apparent, the gang must deal with the conflict between profit and loyalty.  If you are unfamiliar with Peckinpah’s work, I would advise you to bring some plastic sheeting to the viewing; there will be blood everywhere.  The cast list reads like a Who’s who of Western movies, pay special attention to Edmond O’Brien as the crusty horse holder, Freddie Sykes.

The Hallelujah Trail (1965-United Artists)  Directed by John Sturges.  Mix in one martinet cavalry colonel (Burt Lancaster), one oversexed temperance marcher (Lee Remick), one whiskey seller (Brian Keith), one lovelorn captain (Jim Hutton), one oracle (Donald Pleasance), striking Irish teamsters and a very thirsty band of Indians; shake vigorously then spill into the America Desert.  This is the recipe for absurdity.  In November 1867, the residents of Denver realize their whiskey supply has reached dangerously low levels and must be replenished before the onset of winter.  They contract with purveyor Frank Willingham (Keith) for a delivery, which is to be escorted through Indian Territory by young Capt. Paul Slater (Hutton).  At the same time, temperance leader Cora Templeton Massingale (Remick) has organized a march to intercept and destroy said whiskey and cajoled Col. Thaddeus Gearhart (Lancaster) to provide protection for her and her league.  Meanwhile, the local Indian band has plans of its own to take possession of the shipment.  Pay particular attention to the performance of Donald Pleasance as Oracle.

There you have it; my ten favorite Westerns.  You may argue that there are better, more relevant examples of the genre.  But if I am going to settle in for an evening of period escapism, this list will do me nicely.  Adios, pahdnah!