A Peckinpah Idolator Writes… September 19, 2007
Posted by John Hodson in : Television, Film & DVD Reviews, Westerns , trackbackI was recently accused of being a Sam Peckinpah ‘idolator’. Stone me; accused. Like…this is a bad thing?
Being the internet, it’s not unknown for complete strangers to waft up to you and make what appear to be the most bizarre assertions, when in fact they’re only gently yanking your chain. Something I’m very well aware of myself; not being the most assiduous user of the ubiquitous ’smiley’ (the Luddite in me thinks the English language is a robust enough form of communication to illuminate without illustrations), my sometimes misplaced shafts of wit can be - have been - mistaken for declarations of war.
However, there was no doubt that this was an ‘accusation’, like being outed as a criminal - ‘YOU BOY! You’re a Peckinpah Fan!! SEIZE HIM!’ - or having a small, er, member - ‘Look at the size of your tiny Peckinpah! HAHAHAHA’ - and, to me, quite baffling. Akin to being denounced as a lover of battered cod ’n chips out of the paper, Edward Elgar, The Beatles, dandelion and burdock, the sound of waves crashing on rocks and the smell of my wife’s skin. All perfectly scrumptious things, every single one of them guaranteed to press my buttons - guilty on all counts.
But it’s a puzzle. I mean, how can one not admire one of the cinematic giants of the last century? I’ll stand up and be counted, yelling to anyone within hearing: ‘I AM a Peckinpah idolator!’ It would make a perfectly good t-shirt slogan, well, that or ‘Peckinpah fans do it in slo-mo…’
So, yes; let’s go - Sam was, and remains, ’The Man’. In my (and many, many, others) opinion. And there’s the nub, for, gentle reader, I coudn’t give a trio of flying plaster ducks what anyone else thinks. You can’t see it? What’s all the fuss? You have my deepest sympathy, but, please, step away from the blog. Quickly now. Shoo.
Sam Peckinpah’s star shone relatively briefly, but oh so very brightly. In little more than a bare handful of films he served up tales that worked on many levels. Rattling good narratives, wonderfully photographed and edited, within which, should you choose to look, can be found the paradoxical nature of human beings, their perverse desires and emotions, ‘good’ co-existing on the same plain as ‘bad’. In truth, what we’re seeing is Peckinpah’s view of the world and his own bruised relationships with friends, colleagues, family, the women he treated so badly; the director stripped bare. It’s a sometimes romantic, sometimes charming or brutal, odd times shockingly painful auteurism, but Peckinpah’s great films are never less than fascinating and tremendously rewarding, even if the mirror that is thrust into our face makes us squirm and sweat. Finding out precisely why is what makes ‘Bloody Sam’ so bloody marvellous.
He was a genius with dialogue, could transform a banal sow’s ear of a script into a silk purse. His endless hours in the cutting room, sculpting down 1000s and 1000s of feet of film, trimming by a single frame here and there, produced unforgettable adrenaline fuelled, dizzying scenes, beautiful images that excite, enthrall and stir our emotions. That is, when he wasn’t mean drunk or drug addled, busy inflicting a death by a thousand cuts on that wiry, increasingly frail, body, or pushing everyone that mattered away from him. Some mistake his work for nihilism; his end makes the error understandable, but the great films are so damned…human.
Yes, I do kneel in awe; Ride The High Country, The Wild Bunch, Cross of Iron, Pat Garrett & Billy The Kid (to name but a few of the few) are all works to astonish. I haven’t seen a film that bears him name that doesn’t have at least something to commend it, even such late autumnal frippery as Convoy. Well, that is, until now…
The Deadly Companions
This being a painful experience, I’ll try to keep this brief, so I’ll begin by summing up Sam Peckinpah’s first feature; what should have been a dazzling debut on the Hollywood stage, is a God-awful mess. Badly written, badly acted, clumsily directed and edited, the only fascination is waiting for some spark, some small sign, that this is a Peckinpah film. It never really comes. The Deadly Companions is so risible, it might have ended Sam’s career right there and then.
The saving grace is that this isn’t a Sam Peckinpah film…
Set in the late 1860s, ‘Yellowleg’ (Brian Keith), a former sergeant in the Union army, takes up with a couple of villains - Turk (Chill Wills) and Billy (Steve Cochran) - and together they plan a bank robbery. In a shoot-out, Yellowleg accidentally kills Mead (Billy Vaughan), the nine-year-old son of dance-hall hostess Kit Tilden (Maureen O’Hara). Riddled with guilt, Yellowleg seeks redemption by escorting the woman through Apache territory to the long abandoned gravesite of Kit’s husband, to bury her son next to him.
Now, come on; this is deep into Peckinpah territory (Tommy Lee Jones’s The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada provides the obvious echo), and all the elements are in place - children playing in the street, the preacher in the saloon (Strother Martin), Wills bad, mad ’Turk’ (a version of the character fleshed out properly in Pat Garrett & Billy The Kid), betrayal, loss, remorse. None of it comes together; everyone seems to be acting in a different film. Only Keith, familiar with his director from their work together on television, appears to find anywhere near the right rhythm.
The characters, burdoned with clumsy dialogue, seem to be barely sketched in; Wills and Keith are occasionally interesting, but nothing is carried through to a proper conclusion. Poor Steve Cochran, resplendent in a slightly bizarre, pristine, gunfighter’s garb, is simply surplus to requirements and Lord knows what O’Hara is supposed to be. Kit is clearly meant to be a woman forced to do anything to make ends meet, and thus a town pariah; like Yellowleg, she’s an outsider. But dressed to the nines in immaculate make-up, even in the most harrowing circumstances, there’s not a hint of that in O’Hara’s performance, it’s all so…bland; a jigsaw puzzle where none of the pieces fit.
I didn’t care about Kit’s loss, about whether they’d make it or not, about who was going to live and who was going to die, there was no suspension of belief. What was fascinating was the fact I was watching A Very Poor Film bearing the name of A Very Great Director…and thus an absolute must see for Peckinpah completists.
The direction is barely adequate, the odd flash, nothing more, no-one paying any great attention to the continuity, the cutaways or editing. The frankly irritating score by Marlin Skiles would have disgraced a TV movie, the whole topped and tailed by la O’Hara warbling some pastiche of a melancholy ‘oirish’ ballad, penned by Skiles and the multi-talented ’Charles B. FitzSimons’.
Oh, yes. Not a Peckinpah film.
Rewind. Having given Sam an ultimatum to soften his approach on his hard-hitting, critically acclaimed television series The Westerner - and Sam being Sam, told them where to shove it - the next big step for Peckinpah was into film. His star in The Westerner, Brian Keith, had just had a huge hit with the sugary pap that was The Parent Trap with Maureen O’Hara and was offered the lead role in what was a pet project of O’Hara and her producer brother Charles FitzSimons.
Keith, who saw a ‘pretty bad’ script, was in; providing Sam Peckinpah was sat in the director’s chair. Sam would fix The Deadly Companions, no problem; it was the sort of challenge he relished.
Except. FitzSimons had laboured three years on that piece of crap, with the author of the novel ‘The Deadly Companions’ A.S. Fleischman, and believed that the film was destined for greatness. He had to take Peckinpah to get Keith, but that didn’t mean he had to use him. When Sam turned up with 20 pages of rewrites, according to David Weddle, author of Sam Peckinpah; If They Move Kill ‘Em, FitzSimons promptly stuffed them in the waste bin and told the stunned director that he’d been hired to direct, not write. If only.
The film has pretensions that it can’t hope to fulfill given the circumstances. Shot in Panavision - with a handful of glorious shots cobbled together by Sam and his veteran cinematographer Bill Clothier - the credits proclaim ‘Filmed in it’s entirity in THE STATE OF ARIZONA and at the town of OLD TUCSON’. Even the use of Clothier, who had worked with Ford, is a statement of sorts.
FitzSimons and O’Hara clearly wanted ‘greatness’ on the cheap. Their budget was a miserly $530,000, their schedule a bare 21 days. FitzSimons stood over Peckinpah every one of those days, ordering him, like a callow rookie, how to stage and shoot scenes. He also forbade - forbade - Peckinpah from giving his sister direction. Having been ordered about the set by Ford, O’Hara clearly felt herself too grand to submit to entreaties from this movie whelp.
Naturally, in her tedious autobiography, ‘Tis Herself, Ms O’Hara has a rather different version of events, recalling that it was a ‘fiasco’ because Peckinpah hadn’t got a clue how to direct a movie. “He was oblivious to the fact that he was missing shots that were necessary to cut together a cohesive story in the editing room” says Maureen of one of cinema’s great editors, adding that ‘Charlie’ had to come in each day to tell him which reaction and cutaway shots were needed. The final film was ‘too artsy’ because Sam wouldn’t shoot the big action scene in which our merry band fight off those pesky injuns. Oh, if only he’d have listened to his leading lady and her producer brother, but obviously our debutant director just would not be told…
When shooting was over, FitzSimons kicked Sam out of the cutting room and edited this patchwork melodrama together himself. The Deadly Companions was quickly seen for what it was, dumped into a few flea-pits and promptly disappeared. It was subsequently reissued in the States on the back of Sam’s later hits as Trigger Happy. So much for ‘greatness’. I would have paid good money to see the look on the faces of O’Hara and FitzSimons when Ride The High Country came romping home.
Optimum’s UK R2 disc of The Deadly Companions has no extras, not even a trailer. But the transfer is really very good, colourful and true and there’s barely a mark to be seen in this anamorphic ’scope presentation. The mono English soundtrack (the only option) occasionally goes in and out of synchronisation; this could be a disc / player related problem, but I’m not completely positive, the problems (not huge) reoccuring in the same places on multiple viewings. There are no subtitles. The menus are backed by O’Hara belting out that incongruous theme song, which is truly annoying; she has a decent voice, but what were you thinking Charlie?
Despite my very large reservations over the film, I’m really glad to have The Deadly Companions and to have seen it, at last, in it’s original aspect ratio.
All the more in view of what arrived in the post - thank you Dave - only a few days later…
The Westerner: Jeff
If The Deadly Companions gives the impression that Sam Peckinpah went on a directorial crash course between that and his next project, the sublime Ride The High Country, then watching the 30 minute gem that is Jeff, the first jaw-dropping episode of 13 he made for Dick Powell’s Four Star Productions of The Westerner, will quickly reassure that this visionary’s talent was already very firmly in place.
Let’s rewind again, a year or so before FitzSimons needed a patsy. Peckinpah had come off a successful run of TV’s The Rifleman, nevertheless slightly disillusioned; he wanted to fashion something grittier, something over which he had absolute control - writing, editing, dubbing, the works. Powell gave him that freedom and Sam came up with the goods - The Westerner. Thirteen half hour episodes, starring Brian Keith as the eponymous drifter ‘Dave Blassingame’, produced by the finest talent Peckinpah could assemble, and at the top of the pecking order with final say, honing scripts, cajoling, yelling at his team, encouraging them to aim higher - Sam himself.
Opening the series was Jeff, an astonishingly tight (like the rest, shot in a mere three days), intelligent and gripping half-hour playlet that comes on like a short movie rather than production line television. Directed, like five other The Westerner episodes, by Sam and co-written by him with Robert Heverley, Jeff was photographed by Lucien Ballard, in stark, high contrast monochrome, beginning a partnership that would continue through five feature films together.
Jeff opens with a shot of Warren Oates, one of a gaggle of boozy cowhands, getting liquored up in a dingy little fly-blown border bar. It’s Oates first time with Peckinpah, certainly not his last, and he doesn’t utter a coherent word. On The Westerner, Peckinpah would begin to assemble his stock company.
The drunks have their lascivious eyes on Jeff (Diana Millay), the bar’s ‘hostess’, there to serve more than just drinks at the behest of owner Denny Lipp (wonderfully played by Geoffrey Toone). Denny is an English bare-knuckle fighter, still in good shape, and not averse to using his meaty fists on the girl. His girl.
Into this God-forsaken town, on a dead beat horse, rides a weary Dave Blassingame (Brian Keith). Dave is accosted by an older woman, the light of God in her mad eyes, a copy of the scriptures for sale in her outstretched hands. Blassingame sees a charity case, pays the woman, and stomps off purposefully into the bar with his dog ‘Brown’.
Blassingame has come into town to rescue Jeff, a girl he knows from way back, from her nightmare existence. However, Denny returns to the bar with his cronies. Of course they fight, but the kicker is that Denny has a desperate need for the girl who has become his slave. Bested and humiliated, he yells at Blassingame to take her and get out…but she simply can’t leave her pimp and this abusive relationship; ‘You want something that isn’t here’ Jeff tells Dave sadly ‘You want something that maybe never was.’
The director / writer, whose own marriage was fast falling apart, gives voice to his own disillusionment, his own bitterness. As Dave goes to leave and Jeff tries to console him, Blassingame tells her softly: ‘Why should I worry about you?’ while at the same time, oh, so gently unknotting a ribbon from her hair and palming it into his heart’s pocket. Pure Peckinpah.
‘My dad used to tell me women must be God’s favourites ‘cos He made ‘em finer than anything else in creation’ Blassingame informs a triumphant Denny, ‘Well He must hate your guts for what you’ve done to ‘em.’ The fighter retorts that Dave is a sore loser. ‘I sure am’ says Blassingame quietly before laying out Denny with a haymaker, an empty victory.
As he leaves town, Dave once again meets the grubby religious woman (modelled certainly on Peckinpah’s mother, Fern) who asks him if he did in fact find salvation? Blassingame shakes his head; ‘And you?’ he replies. ‘I surely have’ she says smiling a lunatic smile, and behind her, scrawled on an adobe wall, we can see the words: ‘Tonight a soul is lost / He wonders the wide earth / But he finds only emptiness.’
The piece is a joy and must have hit 1960s America like a slap across the kisser; the dour, downbeat set, sawdust scattered on the floorboards, the vicious fistfights, the noir-like lighting, the glowering, deadly indian bartender, the whole seedy setting for this tale of romance, a love triangle. The script is finely tuned, the dialogue is clearly Peckinpah; the whole cast, but Denny’s preening pimp, dressed shabbily, their faces dirty, clothes torn and dusty, even - especially - the girl. And all, I’ll remind you, in just 30 blissful minutes, several years before Leone’s own western triumphs.
Weddle describes Jeff as a ‘minor masterpiece’, and it’s so far from Peckinpah’s work on The Deadly Companions that it’s impossible to reconcile Sam as author of both…but then, as described, he wasn’t.
Comments»
I’ve only had a chance to scan Deadly Companions briefly myself but I couldn’t agree more on your assessment of the PQ - clean and colourful.
I also have to agree on the soundtrack. This is surely the most nauseating title track I’ve ever heard on any western. It’s not much of a movie when you think of it in comparison to the rest of Sam’s work but I wouldn’t want to not own it.
Very nice read there. I am not a Peckinpah idolator, but I do enjoy his films. (Is there something wrong with me if The Getaway is my favorite?) I’d love to see The Westerner. It aired here on the Encore Westerns channel, which I didn’t have at the time, but is no longer shown. A DVD isn’t out of the question, surely.
Forgive my curiosity here, but have you ever visited the areas where Peckinpah and Ford filmed (Monument Valley, etc.)? I find it fascinating that you have such a love for their films while living in so (relatively) foreign an environment. Their themes are certainly universal, but also ostensibly situated in a certain time and place. There are a lot of non-Hollywood filmmakers I really like, but there ultimately exists some sort of divide preventing me from complete submission. On the other hand, I can absolutely relate when it comes to music. I love The Beatles and, when I was in England, I went to Liverpool just to see Strawberry Field and the other fingerprints they’d left behind the city.
It seems like westerns really made their mark on the earlier generation so maybe it doesn’t seem unnatural at all. I feel a bit stupid bringing this up, but it’s something I’ve wondered about before. Really, I guess it’s no different than someone growing up in New York City (like Martin Scorsese, for example) and forming an affection for westerns. I know the genre’s influence is far-reaching, but I find it interesting nonetheless. It’s without a doubt the most distinctly American of genres, only traditionally mastered in Hollywood, but there seem to be a great deal of non-American western enthusiasts.
(Truly sorry if I’ve hi-jacked your lovingly written Peckinpah post.)
Why westerns? Good question. Well, I could say that it’s not everything to do with time and place, it’s the basic masculine challenge, sticking a character in a given situation and having him win by a combination of brawn, brains, guts (and a six gun). Man against the odds.
But then again, it’s quite alot to do with time; even the most brutal stuff is oddly romantic given an era where your hero can’t make a quick ‘phone to whistle up help, where the very environment is hostile and where, for every good guy, there are whole posses of fellas wanting to part you from your horse / money / gal / scalp.
In reality, my love of westerns comes from childhood when there were scads of westerns TV series and films on the box, and ‘cowboys and indians’ was a scenario played out by a hoard of six - seven year old pals, with their cap guns, befringed western hats, sheriffs badges, and thighs slapped vigorously in lieu of a horse (or in lieu of a pair of cocoanut shells). Do small boys play Star Wars these days? Same mythos, only the setting has changed.
No, you don’t have to be an American to appreciate westerns, I don’t even think it helps much.
I haven’t been to Monument Valley, but I aim to before I shuffle off this mortal coil…
BTW, clydefro, no love for the wonderful Junior Bonner? I would have thought that you’d appreciate that.
And thank you Colin for trashing the theme; I thought my judgement might have been unfairly skewed against la O’Hara…
I may be a little prejudiced against O’Hara myself. I blame that on her risible autobiography; before reading it I had always held her in much higher esteem.
Clydefro, I also have a passion for westerns but grew up in Northern Ireland -far removed from Utah and Arizona. Again the western on TV was such an integral part of my childhood that any consideration of geography never came into it. This is probably the one genre that has the most universal appeal, regardless of its origins.
I definitely see what you’re saying. Maybe having such a far removed vantage point romanticizes it even more. It’s not that I fail to understand how persons from outside the US can appreciate westerns, only that I’m amazed at the degree of the appreciation and how prevalent is, particularly when it comes to Ford and Peckinpah. Those are the two that pop up again and again, though I suppose they’re the two most well-known.
What I like about Peckinpah in particular is how his films often focus on the decay of the genre while still retaining a reverence for it. I do enjoy Junior Bonner quite a bit because of what I perceive to be the erosion via anachronism of the male western hero and McQueen’s perfect embodiment of that. Nicholas Ray’s The Lusty Men works in much the same way I think.
‘… when it comes to Ford and Peckinpah. Those are the two that pop up again and again, though I suppose they’re the two most well-known.’
Could be that they’re also simply two of the finest; both directors used a western mythos to tell us more about themselves and the human condition, but they weren’t obviously confined by the genre. Hell, I’m not averse to something that’s simply balls out entertainment, but while I’ll watch it again and again, there’s are no layers of meaning to be unpeeled from They Died With Their Boots On. Doesn’t make it any less enjoyable.
The out of time protagonist, the end of the trail, is indeed a recurring theme for Peckinpah, not just in his westerns (or modern western); Gil & Steve, the ‘Bunch’, Doc, Hogue, Steiner et al.
havent seen the new jesse james yet it has had mixed reviews but it looks good to me ,3.10 to yuma was good even seraphim falls was good entertainment were being spoiled this year for westerns ,what about DEAD MAN the johnny depp/jim jarmusch film of a few years back pretty good that, bit esoteric probably not true western but seemed to be cast with peckinpah characters .i would like to see more indians involved somewhere ,read the CORMAC MCCARTHY novel BLOOD MERIDIAN it reads like a peckinpah screenplay very short novel ,said to be filmed in the future by ridley scott,an astonishing book in its brutality and sense of place (southwest usa)if this book ever does get filmed it could be the best western ever made it does cry out for a peckinpah to film it.i have been to utah arizona nevada n/mexico monument valley etc after reading this book i went back again.i found this sight because i was going to buy deadly companions thanks i might just rent.
[…] Generally, when I’ve knocked out my thoughts on a film, I’ve tried to avoid those productions which have already been analysed to death. Such is the case with the work of Sam Peckinpah, which has had more than its fair share of examination and re-examination. However, I have decided that I’m not going to ignore the movie that both provides the title of my own blog and also happens to be my favorite among Sam’s films. Made in 1962, Ride the High Country was the director’s second feature - although this piece by John Hodson helps to explain why the previous year’s The Deadly Companions isn’t a real Peckinpah picture. This film contains the elements that have come to be typically associated with Sam, namely the passing of the Old West, the nature of friendship and loyalty, and a reflection on one’s past deeds. […]
As a director Sam Peckinpah had/has no equals. He made a handful of gems, several so-so’s and one or two bloody awful movies. But even his worst films are hard to beat. His style was fantastic. Now because of so much emulation by his successors the impact lessens when you see his films again, unfortunately. I think his most original work was as a writer for TV Westerns. At the time he only had to dig into his own heritage and pull out a story which would fill the 30 minutes of TV time.
Ride The High Country did not bring him to his ‘highest ground’ and Major Dundee put him on the unemployable list. The Wild Bunch was such a cracking movie that it elevated him to cult status. The problem that ensued was that there were no really great scripts to come his way and give him the opportunity to demonstrate his other talents. Labelled a ‘Picasso of Violence’ he turned some of the public on to new age mahem and that left him with only films that filled the gore quota. Studios and producers were lobbying him for commercial competence and fiscal responsibilty yet these demands were at odds with the artist and his visions.
You can see his work recycled by John Woo and Tarantino and others but unless you are familiar with Peckinpah’s style you might think “Wow. How cool was that?” Not that Peckinpah was aversed to ‘borrowing’ from other directors - John Huston, Sergie Eisenstein, Luis Bunuel all were inspirational to him. But he took it further. The others could not.