Lincoln (2012) ✭✭✭✭1/2

Nominated for twelve Oscars, Lincoln has already won a slew of the preliminary awards, the bulk going to Daniel Day-Lewis for his iconic portrayal of the wily president. He deserves every one of them, for Day-Lewis’ manifestation is a performance for the ages. What George C. Scott did for Patton and Marlon Brando did for The Godfather, Day-Lewis does for Lincoln, and that may be understating his achievement. This Lincoln is not the heroic figure of historical sainthood, but a shy, introverted man who bore the crushing weight of his crumbling nation the same way he outmaneuvered his formidable political opposition, by forging wit, decency and intelligence into an irresistible force.

Day-Lewis presents Lincoln’s winning strategy with a clarity usually lost to the history books; he simply outlasted the bastards. In Lincoln’s cabinet meetings, no situation was too grave or too urgent to be interrupted by one of the President’s funny stories of rustic lawyering in the wilds of Illinois. While the war hinges on the assault at the port of Wilmington, Day-Lewis enthralls his brain trust with a knee slapper about Ethan Allen’s diplomatic trip to England. But these tales are not mere mood lighteners, for Lincoln understood that in a free country things must run their course; that lasting change is only possible once the status quo is exhausted and proven irrefutably wrong. Lincoln is often accused of delaying and as the film makes clear, wearing out his enemies was Lincoln’s favorite tactic. Day-Lewis‘ performance is an embodiment of this strategy. When he is on-screen, time magically seems to stop, as viewers eagerly await his next crafty gesture or creaky line of dialogue. Amazingly, he never disappoints.

The scenes without Day-Lewis have a tough road living up to that standard, and at times Lincoln seems like just another over produced depiction of history. Spanning approximately one month, the film centers on the political gymnastics involved in getting the slavery abolishing thirteenth amendment through the House of Representatives; a body as dysfunctional and unruly 150 years ago as it is today. These scenes feature a who’s who of middle aged character actors, led by Tommy Lee Jones as the liberal Thaddeus Stevens of Pennsylvania, who we eventually learn has a very personal stake in this fight. Lee Pace is quite good as Fernando Wood, a foppish loud mouth defender of white privilege and a forerunner of Tucker Carlson. David Strathairn, as Secretary of State William Seward and Lincoln’s philosophical foil, does wonders with the thankless role of a scolding straight man. Of course, none of these talents are lightweights, having at times carried their own movies, but such is Day-Lewis‘ brilliance that here they seem like a group of Triple A ballplayers to his Buster Posey.

Lincoln is a Steven Spielberg film, which means it manages to be impressive and hokey at the same time. A subplot involving James Spader and Jon Hawkes as dodgy political operatives charged with bribing enough votes to pass the amendment is overly broad and ultimately misfires, tarnishing the film as a whole. Sally Field’s turn as Mary Todd Lincoln, a woman of baffling complexity, additionally falls flat as the director clearly has no idea what to do with her. However, Spielberg’s depiction of 1860s DeeCee has some interesting flavors. Filmed largely in old town Petersburg, VA -- a landmark neighborhood of charmless red brick boxes -- this Washington is not abuzz with news media and secured to the teeth, but rather a sleepy, muddy burg where any hayseed could just walk into the White House and chew the fat with ol' Abe. The cavernous offices of the federal gummit are dark, smokey affairs with the embattled President’s loneliness creeping from the shadows.

And it may well be Day-Lewis’ capture of Lincoln’s loneliness that makes this portrayal truly definitive. Underneath the warm handshakes and folksy anecdotes was a divided soul tortured by a divided nation. Lincoln’s attempt to balance what was right with what was possible forced his administration to follow a circuitous and bloody path while Americans butchered each other in the name of ideology. It’s a fitting coincidence that as a film Lincoln flounders a bit in scenes without Daniel Day-Lewis. He’s the glue that holds the movie together. Just as Abraham Lincoln, with cunning steadiness, held the nation together.

Lincoln (2012) ✭✭✭✭1/2

Nominated for twelve Oscars, Lincoln has already won a slew of the preliminary awards, the bulk going to Daniel Day-Lewis for his iconic portrayal of the wily president. He deserves every one of them, for Day-Lewis’ manifestation is a performance for the ages. What George C. Scott did for Patton and Marlon Brando did for The Godfather, Day-Lewis does for Lincoln, and that may be understating his achievement. This Lincoln is not the heroic figure of historical sainthood, but a shy, introverted man who bore the crushing weight of his crumbling nation the same way he outmaneuvered his formidable political opposition, by forging wit, decency and intelligence into an irresistible force.

Day-Lewis presents Lincoln’s winning strategy with a clarity usually lost to the history books; he simply outlasted the bastards. In Lincoln’s cabinet meetings, no situation was too grave or too urgent to be interrupted by one of the President’s funny stories of rustic lawyering in the wilds of Illinois. While the war hinges on the assault at the port of Wilmington, Day-Lewis enthralls his brain trust with a knee slapper about Ethan Allen’s diplomatic trip to England. But these tales are not mere mood lighteners, for Lincoln understood that in a free country things must run their course; that lasting change is only possible once the status quo is exhausted and proven irrefutably wrong. Lincoln is often accused of delaying and as the film makes clear, wearing out his enemies was Lincoln’s favorite tactic. Day-Lewis‘ performance is an embodiment of this strategy. When he is on-screen, time magically seems to stop, as viewers eagerly await his next crafty gesture or creaky line of dialogue. Amazingly, he never disappoints.

The scenes without Day-Lewis have a tough road living up to that standard, and at times Lincoln seems like just another over produced depiction of history. Spanning approximately one month, the film centers on the political gymnastics involved in getting the slavery abolishing thirteenth amendment through the House of Representatives; a body as dysfunctional and unruly 150 years ago as it is today. These scenes feature a who’s who of middle aged character actors, led by Tommy Lee Jones as the liberal Thaddeus Stevens of Pennsylvania, who we eventually learn has a very personal stake in this fight. Lee Pace is quite good as Fernando Wood, a foppish loud mouth defender of white privilege and a forerunner of Tucker Carlson. David Strathairn, as Secretary of State William Seward and Lincoln’s philosophical foil, does wonders with the thankless role of a scolding straight man. Of course, none of these talents are lightweights, having at times carried their own movies, but such is Day-Lewis‘ brilliance that here they seem like a group of Triple A ballplayers to his Buster Posey.

Lincoln is a Steven Spielberg film, which means it manages to be impressive and hokey at the same time. A subplot involving James Spader and Jon Hawkes as dodgy political operatives charged with bribing enough votes to pass the amendment is overly broad and ultimately misfires, tarnishing the film as a whole. Sally Field’s turn as Mary Todd Lincoln, a woman of baffling complexity, additionally falls flat as the director clearly has no idea what to do with her. However, Spielberg’s depiction of 1860s DeeCee has some interesting flavors. Filmed largely in old town Petersburg, VA -- a landmark neighborhood of charmless red brick boxes -- this Washington is not abuzz with news media and secured to the teeth, but rather a sleepy, muddy burg where any hayseed could just walk into the White House and chew the fat with ol' Abe. The cavernous offices of the federal gummit are dark, smokey affairs with the embattled President’s loneliness creeping from the shadows.

And it may well be Day-Lewis’ capture of Lincoln’s loneliness that makes this portrayal truly definitive. Underneath the warm handshakes and folksy anecdotes was a divided soul tortured by a divided nation. Lincoln’s attempt to balance what was right with what was possible forced his administration to follow a circuitous and bloody path while Americans butchered each other in the name of ideology. It’s a fitting coincidence that as a film Lincoln flounders a bit in scenes without Daniel Day-Lewis. He’s the glue that holds the movie together. Just as Abraham Lincoln, with cunning steadiness, held the nation together.

Days of Future Passed: Adventures in Food

This is processed meat slurry. It’s the basis of hot dogs, Spam, bologna and countless other products. The big question: How can something so gross taste so good?

---

This picture accompanied a recipe for something called “Deviled Ham Spread.” What is that pink stuff? Lard icing? It may taste alright but this is a horrific looking creation.

---

I saw this in an imported grocery store the other day. What in the world is Lunch Tongue? On second thought, I don’t want to know.

---

Good ol‘ Beanie-Weenies. A true American classic. I had a roommate in college named Nelson who once found a tooth in a can of Beanie-Weenies. I kid you not; a tooth! With roots and all! Nelson was so incensed he wrote a nasty letter to the Van Camps company with the tooth wrapped in plastic. About a month later, he got a letter from them with a coupon for a free replacement can of Beanie-Weenies. No apology or anything, just a coupon. Eventually Nelson moved back to Baltimore and I never heard from him again. I learned recently that he died of AIDS twenty years ago at the age of 36. I doubt there was any connection but who knows?

---

My Dad raised hogs for awhile when I was a kid and we ate just about every part of the pig. This is pork liver, which my Mom served a couple times a month. Pork liver has the look and texture of an old catcher’s mitt cut up into bite size pieces. Except a catcher’s mitt would probably taste better. I read somewhere that pork liver is terrible for you. I can believe it.

---

Here we have a plate of chitterlings. They are a classic Southern dish and my Dad loved them. Chittlins’ are chopped up bits of a pig’s lower digestive track, breaded and pan fried. I tried them once and spit them out. Just horrible. The irony is fashionable restaurants have been accused of serving these as calamari. It’s become something of a scandal.

---

Yes, we once ate a big snapping turtle. More accurately, my Dad tried to eat a big snapping turtle. Our neighbor caught one at the pond one day, and brought it to our house as a present. Apparently, Dad had grown up eating these and he was delighted. The poor creature was about a yard in diameter, and really pissed off. My Dad bludgeoned it with a 2x6 and cut off its legs with an axe. My mother wasn’t sure how to cook it, so she blasted it in the pressure cooker for about three hours. The steam had the most nauseating smell, and it fogged up every window in our house. I remember after a couple of hours she opened the lid of the cooker and reached in with tongs to check on the thing. She pulled out a massive turtle leg, complete with those monstrous toenails. I thought I was going to puke right then and there. She served it minced like barbeque, but none of us would touch it. It stunk to high heaven. My Dad tried a bite, then applied a little more salt and tried another. He turned to my Mom and through a mouthful of chewy turtle muttered, “Probably better in soup.” My Mom showed great restraint and did not stick her fork in his neck. 

She then got up and made everyone bologna sandwiches. They were delicious.

Days of Future Passed: Adventures in Food

This is processed meat slurry. It’s the basis of hot dogs, Spam, bologna and countless other products. The big question: How can something so gross taste so good?

---

This picture accompanied a recipe for something called “Deviled Ham Spread.” What is that pink stuff? Lard icing? It may taste alright but this is a horrific looking creation.

---

I saw this in an imported grocery store the other day. What in the world is Lunch Tongue? On second thought, I don’t want to know.

---

Good ol‘ Beanie-Weenies. A true American classic. I had a roommate in college named Nelson who once found a tooth in a can of Beanie-Weenies. I kid you not; a tooth! With roots and all! Nelson was so incensed he wrote a nasty letter to the Van Camps company with the tooth wrapped in plastic. About a month later, he got a letter from them with a coupon for a free replacement can of Beanie-Weenies. No apology or anything, just a coupon. Eventually Nelson moved back to Baltimore and I never heard from him again. I learned recently that he died of AIDS twenty years ago at the age of 36. I doubt there was any connection but who knows?

---

My Dad raised hogs for awhile when I was a kid and we ate just about every part of the pig. This is pork liver, which my Mom served a couple times a month. Pork liver has the look and texture of an old catcher’s mitt cut up into bite size pieces. Except a catcher’s mitt would probably taste better. I read somewhere that pork liver is terrible for you. I can believe it.

---

Here we have a plate of chitterlings. They are a classic Southern dish and my Dad loved them. Chittlins’ are chopped up bits of a pig’s lower digestive track, breaded and pan fried. I tried them once and spit them out. Just horrible. The irony is fashionable restaurants have been accused of serving these as calamari. It’s become something of a scandal.

---

Yes, we once ate a big snapping turtle. More accurately, my Dad tried to eat a big snapping turtle. Our neighbor caught one at the pond one day, and brought it to our house as a present. Apparently, Dad had grown up eating these and he was delighted. The poor creature was about a yard in diameter, and really pissed off. My Dad bludgeoned it with a 2x6 and cut off its legs with an axe. My mother wasn’t sure how to cook it, so she blasted it in the pressure cooker for about three hours. The steam had the most nauseating smell, and it fogged up every window in our house. I remember after a couple of hours she opened the lid of the cooker and reached in with tongs to check on the thing. She pulled out a massive turtle leg, complete with those monstrous toenails. I thought I was going to puke right then and there. She served it minced like barbeque, but none of us would touch it. It stunk to high heaven. My Dad tried a bite, then applied a little more salt and tried another. He turned to my Mom and through a mouthful of chewy turtle muttered, “Probably better in soup.” My Mom showed great restraint and did not stick her fork in his neck. 

She then got up and made everyone bologna sandwiches. They were delicious.

Isabelle Unchained: White Material (2009) ✭✭✭✭

In White Material, director Claire Denis weaves a complex cinematic tapestry out of narrative threads as coarse and dry as Isabelle Huppert’s fiery, windblown hair. Set in an African nation in the throes of civil war, the film reduces the waning days of European colonialism to a small scale story of a coffee farmer and her attempts to remain tethered to a familiar economic model in the midst of violent collapse. The film is rife with intentional geo-political vagueness; not only is the country unnamed, the precise aims of the warring factions are never defined or discussed. Both sides wear the same tattered uniforms and employ the same brutal means, creating a maelstrom of terror and confusion. The only certainty is this tortured land no longer has a status quo to defend, and the Europeans who exploited its riches will soon be caught in a crossfire that grows ever closer.

Isabelle Huppert stars – in the truest sense of the word – as Maria Vial, de facto manager of her ailing ex father-in-law’s coffee plantation, a once thriving operation complete with tenet houses, scores of eager laborers and the large, clanging machinery of agricultural industry. For years, the Vial Plantation was a shining beacon of commerce in the dark, arid vastness, but those days are long gone, as the most recent generation has decided that growing coffee is far beneath them. In this film, European men are portrayed as slightly less than useless, and that aspersion extends to the Vial clan as well. Maria’s former husband Andre (Christopher Lambert) has been virtually disowned due to his new marriage to a local woman (Adele Ado) and Maria’s 20-ish son Manuel (Nicolas Duvauchelle) is a pampered lay-about who seems firmly convinced that any attempt at physical labor would immediately kill him. Thus, command of the failing enterprise has fallen on Maria’s slender but determined shoulders, albeit at the worst possible time.

Like Jimmy Stewart in Shenandoah, Huppert stands stubbornly convinced that the political upheaval encircling her estate is a limited, insular affair that neither concerns nor affects the daily routine that defines her life. But by measures both strong and subtle, Denis shows us the increasingly desperate crumbling of Maria’s comfortable world. The structure of the film itself creates a disoriented vertigo, as the early reels present seemingly random events that drift unbound from chronology. Denis, who was nominated for a Golden Lion for this film, and Editor Guy Lecorne create a fluid mosaic of Maria’s past and present culled from the character’s bubbling pool of fearful memories. Amazingly, this laddered method of storytelling creates curiosity and sympathy but not a hint of narrative confusion. Indeed, Denis’ risky approach ultimately seems the perfect choice; not only is it empathic, it’s also efficient. On the macro level, Denis is able to tell a sprawling tale of political disintegration in a tidy 106 minutes, and at an intra-scene pace that rarely strays from real time.

Much of the credit must go to Huppert, who conveys more emotional turmoil with her chin than most actors can evoke with their entire bodies. Not since Heaven’s Gate 30 years ago, has Huppert taken a role so wholly dependent on her unique physicality. In an early scene, Huppert desperately clings to the side of a rusty, overcrowded bus in a life-or-death attempt to escape the advancing rebels. Her tiny arms bulge from the strain as her body is engulfed in a hot, dry wind, manifesting not only her character’s fierce determination but also her stubborn resistance. She had been offered more comfortable seating on top of the bus, but that would mean fraternizing with her former workers as equals. For the proud Maria that is a bridge too far, even in a world gone mad.

But White Material’s most haunting images are also its simplest, as Huppert, left alone on the plantation, frantically searches for her family amid an eerie and menacing silence. She is not yet aware of the full toll this conflict has taken, particularly on the unbalanced Manuel. As she paces the farm’s thick jungles and dusty roads, Denis’ lenses grow ever wider, reducing Huppert’s dominance of the frame and her environment. We are left only with a slight, fair-haired figure in a frilly pink dress, imperiled not only by the intense African sun, but also by sweaty, heavily armed demons – both real and imagined – hiding in the murky shadows.

DISC REVIEW

The transfer, in 2.35:1 and personally supervised by Denis and cameraman Yves Cape, is of astonishing depth and clarity, and represents another first rate effort by Criterion. Somehow, Denis and Cape make the dominant tones of beige and umber seem like exciting, vibrant new colors. It’s as if the design of the African wilderness had been color-cued from Huppert’s auburn tresses, creating an ironic visual harmony for this story of societal chaos. To those who denigrate Blu-ray and proclaim that watching movies on cell phones is the wave of the future, we proudly submit this gorgeous disc in rebuttal.

The mix is crisp, clear and exceedingly well balanced. And it provides a perfect platform for Stuart Staples’ thoroughly modern but haunting score, as mournful cellos evoke the tortured weeping of the sun-baked African plains.


FINAL THOUGHTS

Despite it’s time-shifting storyline and exotic locale, White Material retains many comforting attributes of familiarity. Indeed, in this age of rapidly accelerated political change, the film’s occasional, and more than passing, resemblances to Coppola’s Apocalypse Now do not seem like mere coincidence. Claire Denis’ film bears witness to the death rattles of colonization, and the viewer is thrust into the center of the conflict, but from a uniquely non-judgmental perspective. If the West’s misadventures in the developing world have taught us anything, it’s that often there’s no distinction between the good guys and the bad guys. And, as Denis and Huppert brilliantly make clear, sometimes it’s best to drop your coffee beans and run like hell.

Isabelle Unchained: White Material (2009) ✭✭✭✭

In White Material, director Claire Denis weaves a complex cinematic tapestry out of narrative threads as coarse and dry as Isabelle Huppert’s fiery, windblown hair. Set in an African nation in the throes of civil war, the film reduces the waning days of European colonialism to a small scale story of a coffee farmer and her attempts to remain tethered to a familiar economic model in the midst of violent collapse. The film is rife with intentional geo-political vagueness; not only is the country unnamed, the precise aims of the warring factions are never defined or discussed. Both sides wear the same tattered uniforms and employ the same brutal means, creating a maelstrom of terror and confusion. The only certainty is this tortured land no longer has a status quo to defend, and the Europeans who exploited its riches will soon be caught in a crossfire that grows ever closer.

Isabelle Huppert stars – in the truest sense of the word – as Maria Vial, de facto manager of her ailing ex father-in-law’s coffee plantation, a once thriving operation complete with tenet houses, scores of eager laborers and the large, clanging machinery of agricultural industry. For years, the Vial Plantation was a shining beacon of commerce in the dark, arid vastness, but those days are long gone, as the most recent generation has decided that growing coffee is far beneath them. In this film, European men are portrayed as slightly less than useless, and that aspersion extends to the Vial clan as well. Maria’s former husband Andre (Christopher Lambert) has been virtually disowned due to his new marriage to a local woman (Adele Ado) and Maria’s 20-ish son Manuel (Nicolas Duvauchelle) is a pampered lay-about who seems firmly convinced that any attempt at physical labor would immediately kill him. Thus, command of the failing enterprise has fallen on Maria’s slender but determined shoulders, albeit at the worst possible time.

Like Jimmy Stewart in Shenandoah, Huppert stands stubbornly convinced that the political upheaval encircling her estate is a limited, insular affair that neither concerns nor affects the daily routine that defines her life. But by measures both strong and subtle, Denis shows us the increasingly desperate crumbling of Maria’s comfortable world. The structure of the film itself creates a disoriented vertigo, as the early reels present seemingly random events that drift unbound from chronology. Denis, who was nominated for a Golden Lion for this film, and Editor Guy Lecorne create a fluid mosaic of Maria’s past and present culled from the character’s bubbling pool of fearful memories. Amazingly, this laddered method of storytelling creates curiosity and sympathy but not a hint of narrative confusion. Indeed, Denis’ risky approach ultimately seems the perfect choice; not only is it empathic, it’s also efficient. On the macro level, Denis is able to tell a sprawling tale of political disintegration in a tidy 106 minutes, and at an intra-scene pace that rarely strays from real time.

Much of the credit must go to Huppert, who conveys more emotional turmoil with her chin than most actors can evoke with their entire bodies. Not since Heaven’s Gate 30 years ago, has Huppert taken a role so wholly dependent on her unique physicality. In an early scene, Huppert desperately clings to the side of a rusty, overcrowded bus in a life-or-death attempt to escape the advancing rebels. Her tiny arms bulge from the strain as her body is engulfed in a hot, dry wind, manifesting not only her character’s fierce determination but also her stubborn resistance. She had been offered more comfortable seating on top of the bus, but that would mean fraternizing with her former workers as equals. For the proud Maria that is a bridge too far, even in a world gone mad.

But White Material’s most haunting images are also its simplest, as Huppert, left alone on the plantation, frantically searches for her family amid an eerie and menacing silence. She is not yet aware of the full toll this conflict has taken, particularly on the unbalanced Manuel. As she paces the farm’s thick jungles and dusty roads, Denis’ lenses grow ever wider, reducing Huppert’s dominance of the frame and her environment. We are left only with a slight, fair-haired figure in a frilly pink dress, imperiled not only by the intense African sun, but also by sweaty, heavily armed demons – both real and imagined – hiding in the murky shadows.

DISC REVIEW

The transfer, in 2.35:1 and personally supervised by Denis and cameraman Yves Cape, is of astonishing depth and clarity, and represents another first rate effort by Criterion. Somehow, Denis and Cape make the dominant tones of beige and umber seem like exciting, vibrant new colors. It’s as if the design of the African wilderness had been color-cued from Huppert’s auburn tresses, creating an ironic visual harmony for this story of societal chaos. To those who denigrate Blu-ray and proclaim that watching movies on cell phones is the wave of the future, we proudly submit this gorgeous disc in rebuttal.

The mix is crisp, clear and exceedingly well balanced. And it provides a perfect platform for Stuart Staples’ thoroughly modern but haunting score, as mournful cellos evoke the tortured weeping of the sun-baked African plains.


FINAL THOUGHTS

Despite it’s time-shifting storyline and exotic locale, White Material retains many comforting attributes of familiarity. Indeed, in this age of rapidly accelerated political change, the film’s occasional, and more than passing, resemblances to Coppola’s Apocalypse Now do not seem like mere coincidence. Claire Denis’ film bears witness to the death rattles of colonization, and the viewer is thrust into the center of the conflict, but from a uniquely non-judgmental perspective. If the West’s misadventures in the developing world have taught us anything, it’s that often there’s no distinction between the good guys and the bad guys. And, as Denis and Huppert brilliantly make clear, sometimes it’s best to drop your coffee beans and run like hell.

The Comancheros on Blu-ray (1961) ✭✭✭

Viewed within the perspective of his legendary career, 1961’s The Comancheros is a squarely second tier John Wayne vehicle. The fact that the movie was the last film ever made by the influential – and unbelievably prolific – director Michael Curtiz serves as its chief historical distinction. And even that milestone is murky, as Curtiz, reeling from the cancer that would kill him a year later, became ill during shooting. Wayne, who had established his directing credentials in 1960 with The Alamo, was left to finish the picture, largely flying by the seat of his pants. When Curtiz suggested that he and Wayne be credited as co-directors, the Duke magnanimously declined.

From our lofty, enlightened perches fifty years hence, The Comancheros can be difficult to watch. Indians are generally portrayed as brutal, subhuman savages; a fact this reviewer, an amateur scholar of Navajo culture, finds particularly offensive. Hispanic characters don’t fare much better, coming off as either shiftless wastrels or diabolic criminal masterminds. The fact that these parts are played largely by actors of Middle Eastern decent only adds insult to more insult. And of course Wayne himself is controversial, spending most of his life championing extreme right wing causes, remaining an enthusiastic supporter of both The Black List and The Vietnam War until the bitter end. If it’s any consolation, Wayne appeared to moderate at least some of his positions in later years; he attended the inauguration of Jimmy Carter and applauded Jane Fonda at an AFI event in 1978.

If one can tune out the film’s ugly socio-politics, The Comancheros can be appreciated as a robustly entertaining adventure. All the Wayne matinee formulaics are in play: spectacular scenery, laconic humor, hot but virtuous damsels, runaway buckboards and a motley assortment of scoundrels; some of whom even see the error of their ways and demonstrate their remorse through exciting heroics. Ammunition was likely a sizable budget line item, as rifles are fired with an efficient abandon; one shot often killing as many as three Indians simultaneously. Stunt actors had a field day, and earned every penny of their wages, as the art of falling off a galloping horse is demonstrated in seemingly endless variation. Whenever the film’s jaunty pace takes a bit of a breather, there’s a rough-hewn witticism or two from Wayne – his sharp comedic timing only improving with age - to propel us into the next pickle.

Essentially a buddy picture, The Comancheros details the reluctant friendship of a Texas Ranger named Jake Cutter (Wayne) and his slippery on-again, off-again prisoner, a fancy pants gambler from New Orleans called Paul Regret (Stuart Whitman). Regret, supposedly of French extraction, although we are thankfully spared any attempt at a French accent, is amusingly called “Monsewer” by Wayne – any non English culture is subject to ridicule in this picture – and the pair slowly makes their way to Austin where Regret’s extradition awaits.

The journey takes them through a region dominated by the Comanche tribe, whose aggressive, warlike practices have become more deadly due to their recent acquisition of high powered rifles from an unknown source. Wayne’s determination to stop the smuggling leads to a meandering series of mini-adventures that resemble the structure of a 1930s serial, with each exciting scrum growing in intensity and leading to a big final battle with the real evildoers, the Comancheros, a well heeled group of Hispanic capitalists all too eager to supply guns to the hostiles.

Along the way, we are treated to a carousel of well-known character actors in exactly the types of roles audiences expected of them. Lee Marvin is great fun as dodgy gunslinger Tully Crow, a man who survived a Comanche scalping and has a grotesque, scabbed over head to prove it. Marvin was able to summon deep darkness from his characters’ souls – even when he wasn’t trying to - and, on occasion, was too starkly evil for the mainstream American entertainment of his day. The antidote was to get his character inebriated, thus replacing his razor sharp edges with sloppy, comedic ones. This plot device was often used in films where Marvin was not the main heavy, and The Comancheros is no exception.

In addition, Edgar Buchannan shines as a slightly sleazy judge (imagine that!) and there’s young, skinny Jack Elam in a brief appearance as an enthusiastic redneck who’s too weird for words; a character right out of the John Ford playbook. Michael Ansara, who parlayed a commanding voice --with only one read -- into a fruitful career, plays the right hand of top baddie Nehemiah Persoff, whose cultured but slyly evil persona graced over 200 films and TV shows. Whitman’s love interest is played by Ina Balin. While not exactly a household name, her exotic beauty became a fixture on the Quinn Martin TV dramas of the 1960s and 70s.


Disc Review

Presented in CinemaScope and exciting DeLuxe color (well it wasn’t that exciting, DeLuxe simply meant the prints were made at Fox’s inhouse lab) The Comancheros looks amazingly good for a color negative of its era. The opening sequence, featuring titles in deep crimson over scenic shots of Sedona’s famous red rocks, is sharp and feels almost three dimensional with comic book style forced perspective. A sequence on a river boat features brightly colored silk gowns in saturated tones, and the transfer enhances this scene to a reasonable Technicolor facsimile. The scrumptious palette of the opening reels is toned down as the film progresses and our heroes forge deeper into the desert wilderness. DP William Clothier, a veteran with many westerns under his belt, had a magic touch with the bright desert sun, and demonstrated excellent judgment with fill light, unlike many of his contemporaries who tended to overcompensate. There are no complaints, either with the original photography or the transfer, which is very clean and rich and maintains a bright look appropriate for this rousing adventure.

The audio tracks present an interesting option. In addition to the de rigueur 5.1 remix, there’s the original 4 track featured on the release prints. While not exactly the same as quadraphonic sound – and readers of a certain age will remember Hi-Fi manufacturers attempting to foist that fad on consumers in the early 70s – 4 track was a process unique to CinemaScope; accomplished by sticking optical stripes on basically every unused speck, and I do mean speck, of the 35 mm printing stock. One such stripe was actually placed between the sprocket holes and the very edge of the substrate, and wasn’t much thicker than a human hair. However achieved, the spacious sonic effect was popular with audiences and producers, and the process remained in use for big budget films until about 1980.

Now exactly how a 5.1 system translates 4 track is beyond even this reviewer’s level of geekiness, but I did toggle back and forth a few times during the screening and I must say the 4 track sounded much more alive and punchy. Background sounds rendered as faint murmurs in 5.1 became integral parts of the proceedings in 4 track, and Elmer Bernstein’s stylishly corny heroic score seemed bigger and more lushly orchestrated. Perhaps our new technology isn’t always the advancement it’s cracked up to be.

Final Thoughts

Admiration of the fine, if at times rote, performances of a number of classic talents is the chief reason to recommend The Comancheros. Even the Duke’s aficionados concede that the film is nowhere near his best, and does little to augment their hero’s larger than life stature. But those of us who spend untold hours attempting to demystify the latest by Weerasathakul or Reygadas will likely find The Comancheros’ flashy momentum and simple minded contours a refreshing tonic. The film also delivers a chilling reminder of the prevalent thinking before the notion of “Political Correctness” grew to dominate our popular culture. And thank goodness it did.

The Comancheros on Blu-ray (1961) ✭✭✭

Viewed within the perspective of his legendary career, 1961’s The Comancheros is a squarely second tier John Wayne vehicle. The fact that the movie was the last film ever made by the influential – and unbelievably prolific – director Michael Curtiz serves as its chief historical distinction. And even that milestone is murky, as Curtiz, reeling from the cancer that would kill him a year later, became ill during shooting. Wayne, who had established his directing credentials in 1960 with The Alamo, was left to finish the picture, largely flying by the seat of his pants. When Curtiz suggested that he and Wayne be credited as co-directors, the Duke magnanimously declined.

From our lofty, enlightened perches fifty years hence, The Comancheros can be difficult to watch. Indians are generally portrayed as brutal, subhuman savages; a fact this reviewer, an amateur scholar of Navajo culture, finds particularly offensive. Hispanic characters don’t fare much better, coming off as either shiftless wastrels or diabolic criminal masterminds. The fact that these parts are played largely by actors of Middle Eastern decent only adds insult to more insult. And of course Wayne himself is controversial, spending most of his life championing extreme right wing causes, remaining an enthusiastic supporter of both The Black List and The Vietnam War until the bitter end. If it’s any consolation, Wayne appeared to moderate at least some of his positions in later years; he attended the inauguration of Jimmy Carter and applauded Jane Fonda at an AFI event in 1978.

If one can tune out the film’s ugly socio-politics, The Comancheros can be appreciated as a robustly entertaining adventure. All the Wayne matinee formulaics are in play: spectacular scenery, laconic humor, hot but virtuous damsels, runaway buckboards and a motley assortment of scoundrels; some of whom even see the error of their ways and demonstrate their remorse through exciting heroics. Ammunition was likely a sizable budget line item, as rifles are fired with an efficient abandon; one shot often killing as many as three Indians simultaneously. Stunt actors had a field day, and earned every penny of their wages, as the art of falling off a galloping horse is demonstrated in seemingly endless variation. Whenever the film’s jaunty pace takes a bit of a breather, there’s a rough-hewn witticism or two from Wayne – his sharp comedic timing only improving with age - to propel us into the next pickle.

Essentially a buddy picture, The Comancheros details the reluctant friendship of a Texas Ranger named Jake Cutter (Wayne) and his slippery on-again, off-again prisoner, a fancy pants gambler from New Orleans called Paul Regret (Stuart Whitman). Regret, supposedly of French extraction, although we are thankfully spared any attempt at a French accent, is amusingly called “Monsewer” by Wayne – any non English culture is subject to ridicule in this picture – and the pair slowly makes their way to Austin where Regret’s extradition awaits.

The journey takes them through a region dominated by the Comanche tribe, whose aggressive, warlike practices have become more deadly due to their recent acquisition of high powered rifles from an unknown source. Wayne’s determination to stop the smuggling leads to a meandering series of mini-adventures that resemble the structure of a 1930s serial, with each exciting scrum growing in intensity and leading to a big final battle with the real evildoers, the Comancheros, a well heeled group of Hispanic capitalists all too eager to supply guns to the hostiles.

Along the way, we are treated to a carousel of well-known character actors in exactly the types of roles audiences expected of them. Lee Marvin is great fun as dodgy gunslinger Tully Crow, a man who survived a Comanche scalping and has a grotesque, scabbed over head to prove it. Marvin was able to summon deep darkness from his characters’ souls – even when he wasn’t trying to - and, on occasion, was too starkly evil for the mainstream American entertainment of his day. The antidote was to get his character inebriated, thus replacing his razor sharp edges with sloppy, comedic ones. This plot device was often used in films where Marvin was not the main heavy, and The Comancheros is no exception.

In addition, Edgar Buchannan shines as a slightly sleazy judge (imagine that!) and there’s young, skinny Jack Elam in a brief appearance as an enthusiastic redneck who’s too weird for words; a character right out of the John Ford playbook. Michael Ansara, who parlayed a commanding voice --with only one read -- into a fruitful career, plays the right hand of top baddie Nehemiah Persoff, whose cultured but slyly evil persona graced over 200 films and TV shows. Whitman’s love interest is played by Ina Balin. While not exactly a household name, her exotic beauty became a fixture on the Quinn Martin TV dramas of the 1960s and 70s.


Disc Review

Presented in CinemaScope and exciting DeLuxe color (well it wasn’t that exciting, DeLuxe simply meant the prints were made at Fox’s inhouse lab) The Comancheros looks amazingly good for a color negative of its era. The opening sequence, featuring titles in deep crimson over scenic shots of Sedona’s famous red rocks, is sharp and feels almost three dimensional with comic book style forced perspective. A sequence on a river boat features brightly colored silk gowns in saturated tones, and the transfer enhances this scene to a reasonable Technicolor facsimile. The scrumptious palette of the opening reels is toned down as the film progresses and our heroes forge deeper into the desert wilderness. DP William Clothier, a veteran with many westerns under his belt, had a magic touch with the bright desert sun, and demonstrated excellent judgment with fill light, unlike many of his contemporaries who tended to overcompensate. There are no complaints, either with the original photography or the transfer, which is very clean and rich and maintains a bright look appropriate for this rousing adventure.

The audio tracks present an interesting option. In addition to the de rigueur 5.1 remix, there’s the original 4 track featured on the release prints. While not exactly the same as quadraphonic sound – and readers of a certain age will remember Hi-Fi manufacturers attempting to foist that fad on consumers in the early 70s – 4 track was a process unique to CinemaScope; accomplished by sticking optical stripes on basically every unused speck, and I do mean speck, of the 35 mm printing stock. One such stripe was actually placed between the sprocket holes and the very edge of the substrate, and wasn’t much thicker than a human hair. However achieved, the spacious sonic effect was popular with audiences and producers, and the process remained in use for big budget films until about 1980.

Now exactly how a 5.1 system translates 4 track is beyond even this reviewer’s level of geekiness, but I did toggle back and forth a few times during the screening and I must say the 4 track sounded much more alive and punchy. Background sounds rendered as faint murmurs in 5.1 became integral parts of the proceedings in 4 track, and Elmer Bernstein’s stylishly corny heroic score seemed bigger and more lushly orchestrated. Perhaps our new technology isn’t always the advancement it’s cracked up to be.

Final Thoughts

Admiration of the fine, if at times rote, performances of a number of classic talents is the chief reason to recommend The Comancheros. Even the Duke’s aficionados concede that the film is nowhere near his best, and does little to augment their hero’s larger than life stature. But those of us who spend untold hours attempting to demystify the latest by Weerasathakul or Reygadas will likely find The Comancheros’ flashy momentum and simple minded contours a refreshing tonic. The film also delivers a chilling reminder of the prevalent thinking before the notion of “Political Correctness” grew to dominate our popular culture. And thank goodness it did.

Quickies for February 2013 Part 1

A Burning Hot Summer (2011) ✭✭✭

This is a Philippe Garrel film. It’s French, French, Lord Have Mercy French. All about jealously, betrayal, adultery and existential malaise. Unpasteurized camembert oozes from its sprocket holes. Pampered, privileged folks who have life by the testicules go around creating their own unnecessary personal misery. Monica Bellucci gets naked, but it’s in service to artistry. Or perhaps it’s its own sort of artistry. At any rate I’m not complaining. More coq au vin anyone?

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Goodbye First Love (2011) ✭✭✭✭

All about the abiding influence of first love, and how we never quite get over it. Lola Créton --who would have made a superb protagonist for Eric Rohmer-- is quite good as a young woman who ventures on despite being unceremoniously dumped by the love of her life. When he suddenly reappears several years later, the film, like Créton, throws cool-headedness to the wind. Director Mia Hansen-Love is quietly building an impressive portfolio of well-made films that deal with strong emotions, but she wisely focuses on the practical rather than pathos.

---

Ruby Sparks (2012) ✭✭1/2

The follow-up from the team that brought you Little Miss Sunshine and somehow it took them six years to come up with this drivel. Uninspired, unoriginal and too cute for its own good. If Paul Dano gets any more precious I really don’t know what we’re going to do.

---

The Well Digger’s Daughter (2011) ✭✭✭✭

Four stars is probably pushing it a touch, but fans of Daniel Auteuil and sunny provencal vistas will enjoy this simple morality play set in the early days of WWI. Nothing new or inventive here, but a well executed rural drama, laced with sentiment and elements of class struggle. If you liked Jean de Florette or My Mother’s Castle, you’ll find this a pleasant and enjoyable diversion.

Quickies for February 2013 Part 1

A Burning Hot Summer (2011) ✭✭✭

This is a Philippe Garrel film. It’s French, French, Lord Have Mercy French. All about jealously, betrayal, adultery and existential malaise. Unpasteurized camembert oozes from its sprocket holes. Pampered, privileged folks who have life by the testicules go around creating their own unnecessary personal misery. Monica Bellucci gets naked, but it’s in service to artistry. Or perhaps it’s its own sort of artistry. At any rate I’m not complaining. More coq au vin anyone?

---

Goodbye First Love (2011) ✭✭✭✭

All about the abiding influence of first love, and how we never quite get over it. Lola Créton --who would have made a superb protagonist for Eric Rohmer-- is quite good as a young woman who ventures on despite being unceremoniously dumped by the love of her life. When he suddenly reappears several years later, the film, like Créton, throws cool-headedness to the wind. Director Mia Hansen-Love is quietly building an impressive portfolio of well-made films that deal with strong emotions, but she wisely focuses on the practical rather than pathos.

---

Ruby Sparks (2012) ✭✭1/2

The follow-up from the team that brought you Little Miss Sunshine and somehow it took them six years to come up with this drivel. Uninspired, unoriginal and too cute for its own good. If Paul Dano gets any more precious I really don’t know what we’re going to do.

---

The Well Digger’s Daughter (2011) ✭✭✭✭

Four stars is probably pushing it a touch, but fans of Daniel Auteuil and sunny provencal vistas will enjoy this simple morality play set in the early days of WWI. Nothing new or inventive here, but a well executed rural drama, laced with sentiment and elements of class struggle. If you liked Jean de Florette or My Mother’s Castle, you’ll find this a pleasant and enjoyable diversion.