We Be Texicans August 14, 2006
Posted by John Hodson in : Film & DVD Reviews, About John Ford, Westerns , trackback‘Now Lars! It just so happens we be Texicans. Texican is nothin’ but a human man way out on a limb, this year and next. Maybe for a 100 more. But I don’t think it’ll be forever. Some day, this country’s gonna be a fine, good place to be. Maybe it needs our bones in the ground before that time can come. Bedtime!’
Is it my favourite film? Well, a little like choosing the happiest day of ones life, it is, to put it mildly, a real tough call. But, yes, right now, I’d say The Searchers, John Ford’s immensely influential picture of frontier life in late 19th century Texas, is my favourite. It’s like an older, wiser friend (though it was born the same year as I) trustworthy and true, with something fresh to say, something new to see and hear every time I screen it. Which is, ah, quite often.
It’s wonderfully layered, with beautiful, but simple imagery, and it speaks just as loudly when there is no dialogue to hear. ‘Ya stupid bastard’ Ford would yell at Wayne, smacking him between the eyes (the edges of a chewed, spittle wet handkerchief no doubt adding to the Duke’s misery), ‘you act from here. Here!’ In this film, Wayne proves to Pappy that he’s learned the lessons, possibly better than either of them could have imagined.
There’s so much been written about the movie that I hesitate to add my impoverished thoughts, so I’ll keep it mercifully brief. That little speech quoted in the first paragraph, spoken by Olive Carey, is, I think, the central theme of The Searchers, and rings loud and true just as much today as it did 50 years ago. Our stupid, petty prejudices, our bile filled hates, mankind’s disdain for his fellows, is recorded in blood down the centuries and we’re a long, long way from any kind of civilisation (whatever that is). It’s an almost nihilistic outlook, Ford casting the ultimate American hero in a role where he’s anything but. Look, he’s saying, here’s the best of us; capable of the very worst.
Ethan Edwards could be a middle-aged version of Ringo, the bright-eyed tarnished knight of Stagecoach. In this case, our hero’s mantle has been knocked askew by nothing more than life itself. He’s not a born racist; ‘This country’, says a dewy-eyed Lars, shaking his head and sniffling, ‘Oh Ethan, this country…’
Edwards, a man who speaks ‘pretty good Comanche’ learned the language more than likely from the very people who became his avowed enemy, so we must assume that he’s been in very close contact with them, knowing their words, their customs. But his mother (and possibly more family members, lying in that makeshift cemetary out back of the Edwards’ home) was a victim of the war of attrition between the Native Americans and the invading white settlers. Ethan subsequently went to war to fight in one of the bloodiest, meanest, conflicts on Earth, and this man who doesn’t ‘believe in surrenders’ had to suck down the bitterest pill of defeat.
He’s even given up on God; ‘…by what you preach’ he roars disdainfully at the Reverend. Ethan Edwards’ humanity is being remorselessly chipped away, he’s becoming someone few recognise anymore, he ‘fits alot of descriptions.’
There’s one chance for him, even though he must know he’ll have to endure more pain, more suffering. And that’s to return to the little Texan shack and claim his brother’s wife as his own. Edwards knows that without her love, he’s probably damned, and this outsider is willing to become an outcast to save his own soul. Her horrific death at the hands of Scar, a Comanche war chief, pushes Ethan over the edge. It’s no accident that Ford is determined that Scar is Ethan’s doppelganger, a man who lives at the edges of his own people, a man with similar reasons to hate whites, as Ethan has to hate indians.
So Ford smudges the lines between good and evil, and in more ways than one. The old man, the author of those brilliant love letters to the military, the Cavalry trilogy, gives us two views of his beloved horse soldiers. Patrick Wayne, in possibly his most artless and believable role as a green cavalry officer, is desperate to impress Sam Clayton - and his pa (both fictional and real, one imagines) - while another deliberately faceless troop (and Ford tells us it’s the 7th Cavalry), casually and callously annihilates a Comanche village, to the tune of fife and drum; women, children and all. Good and evil exist side by side amongst us, and sometimes it’s hard to distinguish the two.
Both Ethan and Scar, then, are flint hearted racists, capable of the most callous, brutal acts (Ethan is shown taking a scalp, just as we’re beginning to believe he’s not such a bad fella; it’s a breathtaking moment) their morals, their lives, shaped by society and the country they inhabit. There’s no redemption for either of them; Ford lets Ethan return home, but he’s not permitted through the door, he’s just not fit for ‘civilised’ society. Edwards wearily turns from the camera, from the doorway, to ‘walk forever between the winds.’
It’s a version of hell. But then, in civilised society, we are, mostly, allowed the luxury of making our own.
By God, I love that film.
Comments»
Hi John
Good to have you back.
I recently wrote about The Searchers on my blog while talking about ‘The Official DVD Forums Top 100 Films’ Poll, I only wish I’d written as well as you.
Unlike you, I’ve never had a hard time picking my favourite film. The rest of the films on my list may change constantly but The Searchers is always number one, ‘just as sure as the turnin’ of the earth.’
Thank you Ian; appreciate the comments, especially from a gent with such good taste.
Fantastic, incisive views there John. Nothing to say except you’re right on the money as far as I’m concerned.
From someone of your stature, Mike, I take that as a huge compliment.