THUNDER OVER THE PLAINS. Warner Bros., 1953. Randolph Scott, Lex Barker, Phyllis Kirk, Charles McGraw, Henry Hull, Elisha Cook Jr. Director: André De Toth.

   Randolph Scott stars in this early 1950s western directed by André De Toth (House of Wax). The plot is as follows: it’s Texas and the year is 1869. The Civil War has ended, but Reconstruction continues apace. Carpetbaggers are taking advantage of the situation, leaving native Texans resentful. It’s up to men like Federal Captain David Porter (Randolph Scott) to keep the peace.

   Not an easy task, given the animosity that Texans have for exploitative Northerners. Some even support an outlaw by the name of Ben Westman (Charles McGraw) who has been active in fighting back against the Reconstructionist military occupation.

   When Westman is wrongfully framed for a murder, Porter takes matters into his own hands, teams up with the rebels, and seeks to bring justice to the state. Filling out the cast are Lex Barker and Elisha Cook Jr., among others. Cook is always enjoyable to see on screen. Here, he portrays a corrupt tax official who has been deliberately raising taxes on the locals.

   There’s nothing technically wrong with Thunder Over the Plains. In fact, it’s a well choreographed and directed western with some great outdoor cinematography. The movie begins and ends with a lot of action. Indeed, there’s no shortage of chases, fistfights, and killings.

   Despite that, however, there is something rather tiring about the whole affair. I know that may sound like a contradiction, but it really isn’t. After a while, the chase scenes all blend together and it feels as if you’re watching a movie on repeat, with the story not going anywhere interesting for a long time.

   Final assessment: an interesting film, but not a particularly compelling one. Scott, though, is a formidable presence here and is leaning into a grittier version of himself. There’s no silly sidekick in this one.

THE RIVER’S EDGE. 20th Century Fox, 1957. Ray Milland, Anthony Quinn, Debra Paget, Harry Carey Jr., Chubby Johnson. Director: Allan Dwan.

   Ray Milland and Anthony Quinn face off in The River’s Edge, a contemporary western/thriller directed by Allan Dwan. Filmed in Cinemascope with some terrific on location shooting in Mexico, the movie tells the story of Nardo Denning (Milland), a scoundrel and criminal who shows up out of the clear blue sky at Ben Cameron’s (Quinn) small, modest farm.

   His plan? To win back the affections of Cameron’s wife, Meg (Debra Paget) and to abscond across the border to Mexico with stolen loot. It doesn’t take long for Meg to agree to her proposal, bored as she is by the quiet, but challenging, life on her husband’s farm.

   What Meg doesn’t quite realize is how her affections for Nardo are misplaced and that the guy is a cold blooded, heartless killer. After Nardo kills a state policeman, he convinces Cameron at gunpoint to take both him and Meg across the border, first by truck and then by foot. This gets to the heart of the movie, a story about a woman torn between two men, one of whom is very dangerous.

   Overall, I somewhat enjoyed watching this one, even though I don’t think there was enough material in it to sustain some ninety minutes or so of screen time. It’s also not quite clear what genre the movie fits into. In many ways, it’s both a contemporary western and a thriller. But it’s also a drama and a romance. One wonders who the exactly intended audience was.

   Final assessment: a relatively minor film in the scheme of things, but with Milland and Quinn as the leads, you can do far worse.

SILVER CITY. Paramount Pictures, 1951. Edmond O’Brien, Yvonne De Carlo, Richard Arlen, Barry Fitzgerald, Gladys George, Laura Elliott, Edgar Buchanan. Michael Moore. Screenplay by Frank Gruber, based on the 1947 novel High Vermilion by Luke Short. Director: Byron Haskin.

   Edmond O’Brien takes the lead in Silver City, an overall mediocre Western from director Byron Haskin, whose much better Denver & Rio Grande (1952), also starring O’Brien, I reviewed here on this blog a while ago. In Silver City, O’Brien portrays Larkin Moffatt, a mining assayer who becomes an unlikely hero when he comes to the rescue of the Surrencys – a father and daughter mining outfit.

   Both father Dutch (Edgar Buchanan) and daughter Candace (Yvonne de Carlo) are facing immense pressure from claim jumper R.R. Jarboe (Barry Fitzgerald) and his henchman Bill Taff (Michael Moore). Complicating matters is the fact that Larkin has his own criminal past and an ongoing rivalry with his former employer, Charles Storrs (Richard Arlen) and his wife Josephine, who he was once romantically involved with. When all the characters gather in Silver City, Nevada, things come to a boiling point. That’s the plot in a nutshell.

   The movie starts off slow, but it eventually finds a solid footing. Still, despite some fightfights and a well-choreographed final showdown at a sawmill, Silver City is a rather uninspired film. It simply doesn’t live up to its potential. If you haven’t seen this one, you’re not missing all that much.

THE CIMARRON KID. Universal International Pictures, 1952. Audie Murphy, Beverly Tyler, James Best, Yvette Dugay, Hugh O’Brian, Roy Roberts, Noah Beery, Leif Erickson. Director: Budd Boetticher.

   There’s more than a hint of grit in Budd Boetticher’s The Cimarron Kid. Not as gritty as the westerns he did with Randolph Scott, mind you, but it’s there nevertheless. Indeed, there’s something a little sweaty, a little dirty and violent about this oater, one starring Audie Murphy in a comparatively early role for him.

   Here, Murphy portrays Bill Doolin, an Oklahoman falsely imprisoned due to his friendship with the Dalton Gang. After being released from jail, Doolin sets out to create a new life for himself. But it’s not to be. Due to an unfortunate incident during a train holdup, when one of the Daltons recognizes him, Doolin (Murphy) once again finds himself on the wrong side of the law. This time, however, he accepts his fate and goes all in with the Daltons, helping them commit a bank robbery in which many of the Daltons are killed.

   Along for the whole ride – figuratively and literally – is Bitter Creek Dalton (James Best) and his Mexican girlfriend Rose (Yvette Dugay), both with whom Doolin forms a tight bond. On Doolin’s trail is the fair-minded Marshal John Sutton (Leif Erickson). There’s a love interest component to the story, too with Beverly Tyler portraying Carrie Roberts, a farm girl who falls for Doolin.

   Much of the movie deals thematically with the question of fate. Was Doolin doomed from the start? Did his relationship with his childhood friends – the Daltons – preclude him from ever having a “normal life”? When the movie ends, it’s not with a bang, but a whisper.

   Overall, a quite enjoyable, thoughtful western with Murphy showing that he had a long future ahead of him in that genre.

JOHNNY RENO. Lyles/Paramount, 1966) with Dana Andrews, Jane Russell, Lon Chaney Jr., John Agar, Lyle Bettger, Tom Drake, Richard Arlen, Robert Lowery, and Dale Van Sickel. Produced by A.C. Lyles. Screenplay by Steve Fisher. Directed by R.G. Springsteen.

   In the mid-1960s the Western was on its way out. Oh, there were still a number of them churned out each year, many with big budgets and impressive casts, and the cycle of “Spaghetti Westerns” had just cantered into view, giving the genre a final fillip of stylish excitement, but the genre was basically a dying candle at that point, albeit one that still flickers brightly on occasion. And it didn’t help any that a producer named A. C. Lyles was killing it with kindness.

   From 1962 to ’68, Lyles produced more than a dozen Westerns — unmistakably “B” Westerns — for Paramount, filled to overflowing and beyond with faces familiar from decades past: John Agar, Lon Chaney Jr. William Bendix, Rory Calhoun, Richard Arlen, Joan Caulfield, and the like. Here the leads are played by Dana Andrews and Jane Russell and….

   And I pause here to reflect on what a super-colossal movie this would have been, had it been made twenty years earlier. Certainly in 1946, any movie featuring the star of Laura and “The girl all America has been waiting to see!” would have been launched with splash and prestige. Even in the mid-50s, the star power of two such leads would have sufficed to lift any film firmly into the first-run houses.

   But this, alas, was the mid-60s, and the antique charm of the 1940s was banished to the Late-Late Show by a culture charging toward Youth and Relevance. And besides, Johnny Reno isn’t very good.

   A damn shame, but there you are. Lyles’ string of geriatric productions didn’t keep the B-Western alive; they buried it in mediocrity, with worn-out story lines, weak scripts and weary stuntmen. Action is sparse in these things, and the dialogue provided by Steve Fisher is a long way from his classic I Wake Up Screaming. R.G. Springsteen’s direction may be as quietly efficient as his work at Republic, but without the resources of Republic, it’s noticeably more quiet than effective. And I’d be remiss not to mention that the extras made up to look like native Americans are remarkably unconvincing.

   Yet here they are, Jane Russell and Dana Andrews, trudging bravely through the insignificance of it all, trooping like true troupers. They don’t make Johnny Reno worth watching, but they never quit trying.

THE SPIKES GANG. United Artists, 1974. Lee Marvin (Harry Spikes), Gary Grimes, Ron Howard, Charles Martin Smith, Arthur Hunnicutt, Noah Beery Jr. Loosely based on the novel The Bank Robber, by Giles Tippette. (See comment #1.) Director: Richard Fleischer.

   The Spikes Gang begins with what can only be described as unrealistic, perhaps a little too innocent, dialogue. A wounded bank robber by the name of Harry Spikes (Lee Marvin) is saved by three teenage boys: Wil (Gary Grimes), Tod (Charles Martin Smith), and Les (Ron Howard). Recovering in Wil’s family’s barn, he develops a budding friendship with them.

   Problem is: Spikes doesn’t talk, nor act, like a bank robber or a killer. He’s too genial and the boys, in a state of semi-awe, also sound too saccharine in their dialogue. Only in the second half of the film does one realize that this was all put on screen for a purpose. As it turns out, The Spikes Gang is as much a tragic coming of age story as it is a western.

   After a recuperated Spikes leaves on Wil’s horse, Wil  decides to leave his family’s homestead and seek new adventures elsewhere. His friends Tod and Les come along for the ride, both literal and proverbial. What begins as a grand adventure, however, quickly turns sour. The boys realize they have no money, no food, and no source of steady employment.

   So what do they do? You guessed it. They rob a bank. In the process, Tod kills a state senator. The boys are now outlaws. And where do Texas outlaws go? Mexico, of course. That’s where they reunite with Harry Spikes and form the eponymous Spikes Gang.

   The theme of the movie is the loss of innocence. The boys who stood in awe in front of Harry Spikes at the beginning of the movie soon realize that he’s no angel and no role model. He is a self-centered egotist who only looks after himself, even if it means selling the boys down the river for a pardon from the governor.

   Overall, I rather enjoyed this one. It’s somewhat unconventional, to be sure. It reminded me in some ways of Will Penny (1968) which I reviewed here years ago. That’s high praise.

THE CARABOO TRAIL. 20th Century Fox, 1950. Randolph Scott. George ‘Gabby’ Haye, Bill Williams, Karin Booth. Victor Jory. Douglas Kennedy, Jim Davis, Dale Robertson. Screenplay: Frank Gruber. Director: Edwin L. Marin.

   A relatively mediocre oater, The Cariboo Trail is a “northwestern” that is nominally about the founding and settling of British Columbia. Directed by Edwin L. Marin, the movie stars Randolph Scott as Jim Redfern, a Montana rancher who decides to relocate north in order to find a better place for raising cattle. Joining him in this bold endeavor are Mike Evans (Bill Williams), who is far more interested in prospecting for gold than in cattle, and Ling (Lee Tung Foo), a Chinese-American from San Francisco.

   Among the challenges Redfern  faces are hostile Indians and the machinations of Frank Walsh (Victor Jory) and his men, local ruffians hell bent on running the area purely for their own benefit. When Redfern’s former patner Mike  decides to switch sides and work for Walsh, things get even more heated.

   After watching The Cariboo Trail, I realized that I kind of enjoyed it. But while I was watching, I found Frank Gruber’s script somewhat dry and without a core. The last fifteen minutes or so, however, make up for some of the movie’s weaknesses. Altogether, not one of Scott’s best films – not by a long shot. But decent enough for a casual watch. Just don’t expect too much. This is not a Budd Boetticher/Randolph Scott collaboration by any means. Final note: this was apparently Gabby Hayes’s last movie.

MAN FROM GOD’S COUNTRY. Allied Artists, 1958. George Montgomery, Randy Stuart, Gregg Barton, Kim Charney, Susan Cummings, James Griffith, House Peters Jr., Frank Wilcox. Director: Paul Landres.

   George Montgomery takes the helm in Man From God’s Country, a 1950s western that doesn’t break any new ground, but is enjoyable enough for a casual watch. Montgomery portrays lawman-turned-cowboy Dan Beattie who, after being exonerated for a crime he didn’t commit, heads out for the town of Sundown. There, he hopes to have his own spread with former Civil War buddy Curt Warren (House Peters Jr.)

   Alas, things don’t turn out exactly as he had planned. Turns out his buddy Curt is knee deep into a criminal enterprise run by local boss Beau Santee (Frank Wilcox) and his henchman, Mark Faber (veteran character actor James Griffith).

   More than anything else, Santee wants to make sure that the railroad doesn’t come to Sundown, lest it destroy his own business interests. When a rumor spreads that Beattie (Montgomery) is a railroad agent, Santee shows he is more than willing to kill to stop the railroad industry’s plans for the west. Rounding out the cast is Randy Stewart who portrays a showgirl caught between Santee’s affections and power and Beattie’s rugged nobility.

   Filmed in Cinemascope with a script by The Wolf Man (1941) director, george waGGNER (that’s how he spelled it folks!), Man From God’s Country has all the elements needed to make a solid western. Gunfights, fistfights, cattle drives, and a morality play. What stood out to me the most, though, was the color design and the lighting scheme. Seems like a lot of effort was made into making the interiors in this B-western look exceptional.

   Overall assessment, thoroughly enjoyable with a solid coterie of actors including the aforementioned James Griffith who you probably have seen many times before, but nothing you absolutely must rush to see. Final note: for a movie nominally about railroads, there were no trains. Now that was disappointing.
   

WYOMING OUTLAW. Republic Pictures, 1939. John Wayne, Ray Corrigan, Raymond Hatton, Donald Barry, Pamela Blake. Directed by George Sherman.

   The Three Mesquiteers ride again in George Sherman’s Wyoming Outlaw, a surprisingly effective entry in the Republic Pictures series about the three Old West adventurers. John Wayne, just on the cusp of stardom, portrays Stony Brook, the titular leader of the outfit. Ray Corrigan reprises the role of Tucson Smith, while Raymond Hatton plays the third Mesquiteer, Rusty Joslin.

   When the three adventure heroes drive their cattle through dustbowl country, they stumble upon a small town where Joe Balsinger (LeRoy Mason), the local corrupt government boss, is doling out jobs for campaign contributions. Worse still, he’s extremely vindictive and has driven the Parker family into poverty.

   This explains why tempestuous, politically radical Will Parker (Don Barry) has been illegally poaching animals on government land and even went so far as to steal one of the Mesquiteers’s cattle! Circumstances get even rougher and Parker   eventually goes on the lam, hiding out from the sheriff and the Cavalry alike. He becomes the titular Wyoming outlaw with a rifle and a willingness to kill.

   Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. An comparatively early John Wayne movie from Republic? Must be clunky and dated. Let me assure you: it isn’t. Although the story is simple, it’s delivered in a sophisticated manner that isn’t dumbed down for mass consumption or a young audience. There are no silly songs or goofy humor here. With fistfights aplenty and Wayne’s rugged charm, this somewhat downbeat programmer is hard not to like.

SIX BLACK HORSES. Universal, 1962. Audie Murphy, Dan Duryea, Joan O’Brien, George Wallace, Roy Barcroft, and Bob Steele. Produced by Gordon Kay. Written by Burt Kennedy, Directed by Harry Keller.

   Sometime in the late 1950s, a producer at Universal figured out how to make a good Audie Murphy Western: Hire a capable character actor to steal the show.

   This resulted in some enjoyable outings, as Audie tangled with Walter Matthau, Barry Sullivan, Stephen McNally, and here Dan Duryea, as a somewhat weathered rogue who saves him from being wrongly hanged, then partners with him escorting an enigmatic woman on a journey across Indian Country (popular terrain in this genre) to join her husband.

   Director Harry Keller was trained up in his craft at Republic, the cradle of the B Western. So was producer Kay for that matter, so the locations are scenic, the action fast, and Duryea’s character is a bit more complex than usual—he sees this job as a welcome respite from his usual vocation as a killer-for-hire, and maybe even a path to redemption—until his past comes crashing down around his ears.

   With so much fine work from producer, director and stars, it’s just a shame that writer Burt Kennedy let us down. Kennedy was doing some promising work about that time, with scripts for Seven Men from Now and Ride Lonesome to his credit, but in this case he simply loots and pillages his best stuff, “borrowing” big chunks of dialogue, characters from his own work, and even a bit of Borden Chase’s script from Bend of the River.

   The result is not so stale as it is unsettling. They say those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it, but we remember films like The Tall T and Gun the Man Down with genuine affection for their depth of feeling and taut drama. To see their best parts here sliced-and-diced for a quick buck, somehow cheapens our regard for them.