CANDADIAN PACIFIC (1949)

There are several Westerns that have dealt with the railroad's progress to the West Coast during the nineteenth century. Few center on Canada's railroad venture, however. This, then, is the film's only unique element. It opens with current footage of a Canadian Pacific train and voiceover narration about what is to unfold with the findings of a surveyor. Told in flashback, the ninety-five-minute film is directed by Edwin Marin and produced by the prolific Western genre producer, Nat Holt Productions, of film and television fame. Jack DeWitt and Kenneth Gamet wrote the screenplay. The unmistakable sound of small cannon shots when revolvers are fired could only come from 20th Century Fox. The great Dimitri Tiomkin was snagged for the music score, but it nearly vanishes during the film. Expect gunfire, explosions, a fist-fight or two, greedy villains, and a provoked Indian attack. And a lot of green color. In the end, justice prevails for a happy ending to an otherwise routine Western.

If there is a single disappointing element concerning this film, it is the two-color processing known as Cinecolor, a less expensive alternative to Technicolor for independent producers, like Holt. The slightly fuzzy appearance is perhaps the result of the color being "out of register."  The majestic Canadian Rockies never looked more pathetic. The waffling of green and brown outdoors, albeit with hints of orange and faded blue sky, assaults your eyes. Blacks and grays are nonexistent. The color of most interior scenes is reasonably accurate. It appears to be the worst black-and-white colorization attempt until the more recent, cheap digital app conversions. Cinecolor was used superbly for Albuquerque (1948), another Western with Randolph Scott, produced by the successful team of Pine-Thomas Productions. See the notes below.

The film's lead is a no-nonsense, dependable surveyor, Scott. He is again provided a script with a few witty and charming quips and comebacks. Totally removed from his stoic persona, particularly funny is his hilarious, scooped greeting surprise from a top bunk, “Hey… looo,” to a passing Jane Wyatt below, one of two railroad crew doctors. Though she is on the same page romantically, her unyielding pacifist beliefs—choosing negotiation over bullets—are not the “railroad ties” that bind. She refuses to understand that evil must be eliminated, and it usually does not provide opportunities for negotiation. Launching her film debut is Nancy Olson, Scott's first love. She accounts for herself vividly in her film debut at the start of a busy “under-the-radar” career.

A bit bizarre is the real-life thirty-year age difference between Scott and Olsen. A sizable age gap was typical during Hollywood's Golden Age, but this film may have set some sort of record. There is no attempt to suggest she is older than twenty-one. The lead's other love interest, Wyatt, is just under forty, making her the more logical match for growing old in sync.

Scott's nemesis is a myopic villain, Victor Jory, whose saboteurs cause numerous construction delays and the deaths of workers. In true Jory fashion, he delights in his destructive plans. Scott's long-time friend and the railroad's dynamite expert for clearing land is J. Carroll Naish. In a gravitating role, he is a bit over-the-top with his "old man" character and has his share of humorous lines. 

Notes: In 1948, Eastman and Ansco/Agfa introduced improved color film stocks in America, allowing Cinecolor to refine its limited two-component system and achieve more realistic color reproduction. The Albuquerque film benefited from careful studio and costume design that compensated for these limitations, resulting in a "technicolor-like" palette than that of this film. They worked in a lot of orange and turquoise in sets and costumes, colors Cinecolor was known to enhance anyway.

Several scenes were filmed in the studio with a blurred background scenery projection. The filming in the red rocks of Sedona, Arizona, also worked well with the color process. The dull, brownish tones of this film may be the result of the producer, Holt, finding it difficult to handle the overwhelming full color spectrum of Canada's natural scenery. 

Speaking of bizarre, to facilitate Naish's escape from a few attacking Indians, he offers each "dynamite cigars," knowing their cliched craving for tobacco. The preoccupied Indians, inhaling the unlit ends of the sticks, do not see him ride off, but the explosions verify a gruesome outcome. Not that this was ever a reality, the filming faux pas is certain to anger those without any common sense. The scene would have been written out of the script if the producer understood that absurdity has no place in any turn-of-the-century Western tale.

THE RESTLESS BREED (1957)

This is the final Western from director Allan Dwan, known for many "oaters." It is also my first Western added to this blog after a decade considering a pre-1960 Western that is not typical fare. My "first draw" to this particular Western was Scott Brady. With a long career as a famous leading and supporting player, he can usually elevate B-movies. Unlike most Westerns of the era, the film opens oddly (uniquely?) with a black background behind a glowing red modern font of credits accompanied by a contemporary music score by Edward L. Alperson Jr. The result creates an impression more attuned to a low-budget horror film by William Castle. The opening music somewhat foretells Brady's own television Western, Shotgun Slade, with its atypical jazz score. 

The Restless Breed is distributed by 20th Century Fox. The Pathécolor tinting is of questionable quality in a film that utilizes bluish (night) studio sets along with location filming. Set in 1865, the story is written by Steve Fisher. Joining Brady as main cast members are Anne Bancroft and Rhys Williams. Many will note a few familiar B-movie character actors. Fine performances all around. Be prepared for some unnecessary and disruptive two-second edits that return the viewer to another location during a break in the conversation. There is an overabundance of character eavesdropping, too, but it is not intended to be humorous.

A lawyer with a temper, Brady opens the film as it confirms his father, a Secret Service Agent, has been murdered. The incident is told in a brief flashback that has true spoiler-alert credentials. He accepts his father's revolver but not the badge. Bent on revenge, he goes to the town where the murder took place, a Texas-Mexico border town overrun by the typical gang of outlaws. After a self-defensive shooting of two town bullies, everyone thinks he is their latest gunslinger.

There appears to be a significant role for Scott Marlowe, yet he is irrelevant until near the movie's end. The young Marlowe pops up throughout the film, lurking nervously against storefront posts, in alleys, or peeping through a broken section of a saloon window. His every appearance proves he does not have the nerve to shoot down Brady. This eavesdropper reports to Leo Gordon, one of the gun-runners, whose boss is Jim Davis.

Williams is quite the eavesdropper, himself. These "advanced notifications" make him wise beyond his understanding. He is perceived as the only sensible factor in town, benefiting from dressing in black like a minister. When pressed by Brady, however, he admits to the impersonation. Only his word should be taken as gospel. The tunnel-visioned Williams deems his good intentions are best for the whole town. His soft-spoken demeanor always wins out. It is hard to argue with a man who initiated a children's shelter for unwanted half-breeds. The oldest being Bancroft. Williams becomes much more "hard-spoken" when she becomes enamored with Brady. Always ready to make demands, she must stay away from that no-good gunslinging [though handsome] criminal.

All the town's previous sheriffs have been murdered soon after taking office. Brady himself survives numerous assassination attempts, but the gang's numbers only dwindle. Beware of a hot-headed lawyer with a gun. Williams finally gets the facts straight about Brady and nearly apologizes. The murderer arrives back in town with a few of his henchmen. We learn of Marlowe's small part in the murder, then he disappears from the film. We can only assume he still lurks in the next town. Everyone supposed to be dead is now dead, and Williams supports the Brady-Bancroft union.

Note: I could not pinpoint the restless breed. It could be Brady, out for revenge. The contraband gang is quite restless. Perhaps it is Bancroft, wanting to break out of a children's shelter. Perhaps it is all three or the town itself. It could be the four producers of the film.

A FILM BRAKE: TELEVISION'S INTEGRAL CHARACTER

CHEYENNE (1955-1963)

Out of the unknown came Clint Walker to play the soft-spoken, handsome television cowboy, Cheyenne Bodie, who—for a man of impressive stature—possessed sensitivity, compassion, and uncompromising ethics to uphold the truth. He was not to be lied to and could defend himself with a lightning-quick draw. Cheyenne may save a town from self-destruction by calmly reasoning and presenting facts that both sides can accept—those still alive—by the episode’s end. He will end up getting whacked on the back of the head almost weekly with the butt of a revolver. It is a wonder he could remember how to ride a horse, let alone shoot straight. Some scripts called for the well-built Walker to lose his shirt. I am not referring to money lost in a poker game, either. The hero always escapes the clutches of hateful people or defends someone in a similar predicament. Truth overrules lies. In today’s Hollywood, one cannot always recognize the good guy or that evil characters have become the central focus.

Though standard fare for the era, television budgets made it obvious when stock Warner Bros footage was inserted. The studio was not happy with the first few episodes in which Cheyenne traveled with a comical sidekick, L.Q. Jones. Roy Huggins was asked to better develop the title character, distancing him from a Saturday morning cardboard figure. There is a commonality between Cheyenne and his later Richard Kimble character. Each could make a positive change in people’s lives. Both characters moved from town to town being hired for a variety of jobs. Each had no ties but often had admiring females. The two shows were a timeless account of an individual correcting the wrongs within his circle of influence. One person making a difference.

There were few experiences Cheyenne was not equipped to handle, whether defending or fighting the American Indian, acting as trail boss for a cattle drive or a scout for the U.S. Cavalry. By far, he was most often confronted by crooked, single-minded sheriffs or townspeople, judges, or cattle-rustling outlaws who hate him because he throws a wrench in their devious plans. It is a coordinated effort by a deceptive leader in which he or she rules by coercive behavior. The show can be frustrating week after week because these blind individuals lack any sense, common or otherwise. In their self-serving behavior, they accuse without allowing facts to be presented. Truth is irrelevant. Jail him, run him out of town or their favorite option, hang him before the mob changes their mind. It is a timeless illustration of narrow-minded individuals intimidating the innocent. These people will not agree to disagree, respect each opinion, and remain friends. The person is simply an enemy.

The ABC series was the first sixty-minute western and the grand-pappy of the “adult” western, premiering a week before the thirty-minute Gunsmoke. When watched today, most Cheyenne episodes are engaging enough—thanks to Clint Walker's straight-arrow charm—to help the hour go by quickly. At least, via DVR. Eventually, the sun set on the prime time show, but it continued to be a role model for many youngsters in reruns. Walker has humbly stated that his autograph line was the longest of other television western peers during classic western hero conventions. Cheyenne remains an integral character to admire when truth, justice and common sense prevailed.

FORGOTTEN FILMS: TV TRANSITION

Though typically overshadowed by Hollywood's A-list, there were respectable performances by numerous actors and actresses who never became major film stars. A common occurrence was their transition to the new medium of television, often becoming familiar faces in homes across America. These periodic posts offer insight into their transition.

Peggie Castle: Peggy Blair (1927-73)

Peggie Castle had a brief career in B-grade films typically playing a conniving second love interest or a woman on the wrong side of the law. She signed a seven-year contract with Universal-International and made her film debut—as Peggy Call—in the 1947 film, When a Girl's Beautiful. In 1949, the 5’ 7” model was voted "Miss Classy Chassis" by members of the United Automobile Workers Union from seven Western states. Just one of the modeling titles bestowed upon her during the period. She continued with uncredited or supporting roles in a number of forgotten films until landing a lead role as a socialite in Invasion U.S.A. (1952), a low-budget film concerning the power of hypnosis and its mind-altering perceptions about a third world war. Then came a solid role in the gripping crime noir, 99 River Street (1953) opposite John Payne, in which her character meets an untimely demise at the hands of Brad Dexter. Westerns became a staple as she was assigned the female lead in Jesse James’ Women (1954) and the starring role of, Two-Gun Lady (1955). Both far-fetched and forgettable.

Her car logically turned to television and the western was her stock and trade. She appeared on Cheyenne (1955-60). In one episode, Fury at Rio Hondo (1956), she was delightfully playful as a singer and pickpocket nicknamed “Mississippi.” Castle tapped into her roots for a pretty convincing Virginia accent. She rejoined John Payne twice on his western series, The Restless Gun (1958-59) before a regular role in the more popular series, Lawman (1959-62) in the second season. With little surprise, she was the owner of The Birdcage Saloon, giving stars John Russell and Peter Brown someplace to hang out. She left show business after the show’s cancellation therein struggling for the next decade with alcoholism.

Note: Born in the small town of Appalachia, Virginia, her characters came across as a woman to reckon with more than a dainty flower as her alto vocal range with scripted caustic remarks fitting her film noir roles. From an acting standpoint, she never embarrassed herself on screen. Indeed, her performance could be considered the most memorable in some of her low-budget productions.

THE VIOLENT ONES (1967)

The first thing of note about this Madison Productions, Inc. production, aside from the production company name itself and a misplaced detail of a steam locomotive whistle in 1967, is a driving score by Marlin Skiles befitting a major military operation with tanks rumbling through the North African desert. Yet what we see is a sheriff’s 2-door Impala Sport Coupe---first-class all the way---being driven within the speed limit through town and country. A lengthy segment that eats up enough film to include all the credits and then some. The film was not expected to be a Golden Globe nominee, but the star and director, Fernando Lamas, managed this drama fairly well despite some unlikely sequences and a clichéd script. Perhaps to ease some directing complications, there is plenty of driving in this film. Used once during a road sequence---perhaps to break the monotony---is a strangely-used, and totally ineffective, vignette. This ninety-five-minute film is about twenty minutes too long.

The low-budget melodrama, set in a New Mexico border town, concerns three apprehended white men: Aldo Ray, Tommy Sands, and David Carradine. One is guilty of rape and the death of a local girl. Lamas, no fan of gringos, is the deputy sheriff who interrogates each individually, starting with a big smile and cordial questions as if he intends to release them once he hears their story. In reality, he is waiting for each one to say something to set him off so he can verbally assault or slap each one around. Also on his conscience is the possible lynching of the three prisoners by the townspeople. The “mob” seems particularly uncommitted to string up anything as they sheepishly gather in small groups around the jail, quietly discussing what to do next.

With a lynching imminent, Lamas and his chained-together prisoners escape out the back as no one covered that exit. I mentioned the mob was not very committed. However, a very committed carload of locals tries to bump Lamas’ two-ton truck off the road. Traveling around twenty-five miles per hour, the sequence is not very believable or plausible. They constantly lay on their horn as if taunting them like high school rivals. The truck moves off-road, and their slow, synchronized chase in the desert is pretty silly. Not being a fair fight, the truck maneuvers to ram the car, flipping it over. The truck soon runs dry, with their subsequent escape through the desert on foot being tedious and time-consuming for them and viewers alike. Seizing an opportunity to overwhelm Lamas, the four-man choreographed fight scene is supported by solo piano and percussion, looking a bit like a halfhearted Keystone Cops routine in slow motion.

All three prisoners eventually feel their lives slipping away from dehydration, and each one's story begins to reveal the murderer through a process of elimination. An injured Lamas gets flanking leg support as he proudly hobbles toward a nearby town. The three now appear to be buddies as if they were successful in their defeat of Rommel. 

MOHAWK (1956)

There are enough embarrassing movies to do a very long film festival, but this film ranks—in the literal sense—fairly high. The film is often categorized as a Western, but it is really an "Eastern." This eighty-minute film was distributed by 20th Century Fox. Beyond the obvious Hollywood sets foreshadowing television's Bonanza are outdoor sequences from 1939’s Drums Along the Mohawk, which add the only gravitas to the film. The actors mostly justify their salaries, so it is not entirely their fault. Most of my arrows are aimed at the screenwriter, Maurice Geraghty, and director Kurt Neumann. The film is produced by Edward L. Alperson, who also wrote the music, after a fashion. The B-movie casting net was not very wide, relying on the popular Scott Brady, Neville Brand, Ted de Corsia, Allison Hayes, John Hoyt, Rita Gam, and Lori Nelson. All destined for television notoriety. Unintentionally funny can bring the house or teepee down. It is easy to imagine Mel Brooks remaking this film.

Brady plays an 18th-century Casanova painter from Boston looking for subjects and action in early America. Quoting King Richard from The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938), after Robin stops a group of horsemen (the gallivanting King's entourage) but does not recognize him, he asks if he is loyal to the King. With tongue-in-cheek, he states, "I love no man better." So it goes for Brady. The local tavern waitress at the military fort is a red-headed Hayes, his favorite model to add "flavor" to his landscapes. Never mind that visiting Nelson is his fiancée. Captain Kirk should be so lucky. Gam had a European facial structure (being born in Pittsburgh), so naturally, she plays a beautiful Native American. Aside from his premixed paints in pig’s bladders, she becomes Brady's main squeeze. The Iroquois appear to be Wall Street businessmen or taxi drivers, and the actor playing de Corsia's teenage son came directly from the set of Rebel Without A Cause. "Hateful Hoyt" deceptively seeks to generate war between the Continental Army and the Indians, ridding the Mohawk Valley of all bad haircuts, leaving the land all to himself. Brand is cast as the only member of the little-known sub-tribe, the "Irritated Iroquois," and is suspicious of the “white paint man.” His tirade against de Corsia's tribe, nearly an hour into the film, is pretty embarrassing. Scenes will have you laughing or groaning.

An excellent print of this film will be sharp and clear with vibrant colors. To an unrealistic level.

The set designers were apparently going through their blue-violet-lavender period. It is overwhelming at times. Case in point: for those familiar with his myriad of gangster and Western villain roles, de Corsia—the "Chief Mohawkster" above—is visually hilarious with his spectacular mohawk and two-week-dead, violet-brown makeup. He looks quite healthy inside his teepee, but once he steps out onto the studio set, aka outdoors, "he goes" very dark.

His monotone Iroquois dialect is not believable, either. One studio set (above, bottom) may remind one of the color palette in a Maxfield Parrish painting. The Indians sitting around the fire, the "Mohawk Singers," are singing a melodic chant in professional mixed four-part harmony. They should tour more often.

Perhaps in an effort to save the film from a total disaster, there is a climactic, rifle-blasting finale battle at the army fort with the Indians. Hoyt finally gets his wish and his due. In the end, we learn little of early American history, or authentic painting, except that oil paints travel well in saddlebags. The flammable turpentine to clean the brushes is totally ignored.

Note: The credits are dealt with uniquely, suggesting a documentary. The red, modern font text on a black background introduces the film as "A Legend of the Iroquois..." and the film ends with the actors' credits, "...and these were the players of the legend," showing a clip of each actor with their character name.