Review – The Wild Bunch

April 6, 2010

The Wild Bunch – U.S., 1969

Just before the credits to Sam Peckinpah’s film The Wild Bunch begin rolling, images of five of the film’s lead characters appear on the screen one after another. In these images, the characters are smiling broadly; some are even laughing. Seeing just these images, one could logically conclude that the men on the screen in front of them were each decent, jovial, fun-loving characters, and perhaps that is indeed how Peckinpah wants viewers to see them by the end of the film. To do so, though, would be to ignore the carnage that lies in their wake – the mounds of dead bodies, the children who will never see their fathers again, the women hurt by the men’s insatiable appetite for sex or feigned romance. Is all of this meant to be forgotten so that the legend of Pike Bishop (William Holden) can take shape? Perhaps, but it’s a hard sell.

The Wild Bunch begins and ends with probably two of the most violent scenes in film history. In the first, Pike and his group of mercenaries attempt to rob a bank. Unknown to them, on the roof of the building just opposite the bank crouches a group of mostly young and inexperienced hired guns, whose sole job it is to capture Pike and his men dead or alive. Neither of these groups has reason to care for the town or its inhabitants, and when the bloodbath that follows eventually subsides, it is mostly their bodies that line the town’s blood-soaked streets. Pike and four of his men escape with their lives. Of the other group, about half live to fight another day. In this battle, none of the men in these two groups display any of the noble characteristics that we have come to expect heroes to have. Towards the end of the film, Pike and three of his men decide to take on an entire army. It’s essentially four against at least one hundred Mexican soldiers. There is a certain righteousness to their decision – one of their own is in danger, and they are indeed bound by a moral code to rescue him. What’s missing from their action is a sense of greater purpose. What they do, they do for their group alone. Is this heroic then? Possibly, but it is never completely altruistic.

How one views Pike and his crew, comprised of Dutch Engstrom (Ernest Borgnine), Freddy Sykes (Edmond O’Brien), Lyle Gorch (Warren Oates), Tector Gorch (Ben Johnson), and Angel (Jaime Sanchez), depends on how you view them as they journey from south Texas to Mexico. Along the way, each of them mentions that all they need is one more big score to be done with this life forever. We see examples of the increasing strain that exist between them, and one of them yearns to help his people defend themselves against General Mapache, whose campaign of terror has left Mexico divided and chaotic. As the film progresses, Pike and his men will find themselves working for the general out of necessity. Viewers looking for them to grow a conscience as a result of this will be disappointed.

Leading those in pursuit of Pike is Deke Thornton (Robert Ryan), a former member of Pike’s crew and one of the film’s most interesting – and underutilized - characters. Despite ample reason to do the opposite, it is apparent that Deke still holds Pike in high regard, and he freely admits to wishing to be riding alongside him once again. However, he’s also a man who values his life, and if he doesn’t deliver Pike, it’s back to Yuma for him. As for why he doesn’t just run away, the answer is simple: He gave his word. Pike understands this. Dutch insists that what’s important is who you give your word to.

There is much to like about The Wild Bunch. The characters are all somewhat interesting, the weapons heist is well filmed and completely believable, and Deke’s pursuit of Pike is rather gripping. There is also much to dislike about The Wild Bunch, from its silly use of “the last job” to make characters sympathetic to supposedly humorous scenes that simply fall flat. In one scene, Pike and his men pass around a bottle in an act of camaraderie. By the time, the bottle reaches Lyle, it is empty. As Lyle stews, the other four roar with laughter. I guess you had to be there. There will also no doubt be some people who take issue with the way women are portrayed in the film. Most of them are prostitutes or of such low moral standing that they make decisions based on what will benefit their purse. Perhaps they do so out of economic necessity. However, the film does not entertain this notion, and we’re simply left to view most of the women we see as opportunistic and immoral. Even when they appear to be kind and sympathetic, they may still stab “our heroes” in the back.

By the end of the film, I neither cared for Pike and his crew nor wanted them to be successful. I simply watched with an increasing numbness, similar to the way I watch the lead characters in most gangster films. I suppose there’s nothing wrong with a film that doesn’t have someone who resembles a conventional hero, but nothing that followed the film’s shocking opening scene made me think of Pike and his gang as anything other than criminals who should be locked up for life. I have a feeling that that sentiment is not what Peckinpah intended for audiences to have, and the fact that I felt that way says something. This is not to say that I didn’t enjoy The Wild Bunch, for I did. I just didn’t feel toward it the way I do for westerns such as Unforgiven, Lonely are the Brave, and The Searchers. Those films deserve to be considered some of the best of their genre. The Wild Bunch is somewhat entertaining and has some compelling characters, but to me, the film never reaches the level of excellence or importance that it strives for. (on DVD)

3 stars

Review – Marty

January 16, 2010

Marty – U.S., 1955

If we are not like Marty Piletti (Ernest Borgnine) in some way, we most likely know someone who is – someone who is shy, insecure about his looks, unsuccessful in love and relationships, unsure whether to stay in the game or simply accept a life of bachelorhood. At 34, Marty is the subject of conversations he’d rather not be having. In the first scene, he is pestered at his job at a meat market by two consecutive customers because he remains unmarried while his younger brothers and sisters have all tied the knot. And it’s not as if these customers politely inquire about his marital status, get an answer, and drop the conversation. Instead, these two older ladies keep the conversation going, adding their own personal observations concerning the horror and tragedy of such an occurrence as a man in his thirties not being married. It’s just not normal, they seem to be saying.

One woman who shares these two customers’ concerns over Marty’s perpetual single status is his mother, Theresa (Esther Minciotti). She’s so concerned about it in fact that she takes the unusual step of asking her nephew Thomas (Jerry Paris) where Marty can meet a nice girl. Thomas suggests a local dance hall called the Stardust Ballroom because, as Thomas puts it, “It’s loaded with tomatoes.” It’s a line his mother will later repeat verbatim to a somewhat surprised Marty. Mothers simply aren’t supposed to talk like that. Marty eventually goes to this magical place supposedly replete with beautiful single women just itching to meet the man of their dreams and settle down. His good friend Angie (Joe Mantell) finds a dance partner rather easily after using the somewhat crude sounding line, “What do you say? Wanna dance?” as an introduction. Marty is not so lucky, for the woman he asks dismisses his efforts with a rather cold, “I don’t feel like dancing yet.”

The Stardust Ballroom itself is extremely interesting to dissect. There, surrounding a large dance floor, men stand on one side staring critically at the women standing across the room from them. Apart from sizing up the women, assessing their appearance and body shape, they appear to be calculating the odds of the women they see being fun and adventurous. Apparently, the majority of men who frequent the Stardust Ballroom are not looking for Mrs. Right; they’re looking for Mrs. Right Now. And many of the women there know this and are perfectly fine with it. It’s 1955 after all, and many of the social taboos that existed for previous generations of women have fallen. Women work, smoke, and get drunk. In addition, many of them go out with men they have just met and wouldn’t mind never meeting again. Watching the film, I got the sense that some of them think they are entitled to all of the things that men are willing to do for them. If they want to take them to a movie or buy them gifts, that’s fine. If they want to go back to someone’s apartment and get drunk, that’s fine as well. What matters most is having a good time, even if that instance of transitory happiness ultimately leads nowhere. As least it was fun while it lasted.

At the Stardust Ballroom, Marty eventually meets a young school teacher named Clara Snyder (Betsy Blair). Their meeting is the result of some rather unchivalrous behavior by Clara’s date and some rather extraordinarily gallant behavior on Marty’s part. Soon they find themselves talking the night away about things they have likely not even told their closest friends. They discover, as all kindred spirits do in films such as these, that they have much in common and that they understand each other in a very deep way. As their feelings begin to grow, they naturally have some awkward moments. Nervousness sets in, things go a little too fast at times, and they find themselves somewhere that perhaps it isn’t proper that they be – after all, they only just met a few hours ago. Each of these moments is dealt with in a realistic way, and none of their conversations feels forced. Rather, they seem like natural topics for two people just getting to know each other.

Writer Paddy Chavefsky could have limited Marty to simply being about two sympathetic characters that meet and begin to like each other, like the later film Before Sunrise. I have no doubt that such a film would also have worked very well. To his credit, Chavefsky elected to make Marty about much more. Chavefsky’s scripts hints as such things as post-traumatic stress disorder, post-war disillusionment, and the way friendships can occasionally become repressive and inhibiting. It also broaches the subject of loneliness in later life, many older people’s sense that society no longer has a use for them, and the bitter desolation that they feel as a result of this. One of the most heartbreaking scenes in the film involves a conversation between Theresa and her sister Catherine (Augusta Ciolli). In it, Catherine bemoans the growing uselessness she feels. Her son has grown up, her husband has died, and she and her daughter-in-law Virginia (Karen Steele) have reached a critical point in their relationship, the later having recently grown so angry at Catherine that she threw a bottle of milk against a kitchen wall in a fit of frustration. Now Thomas and Virginia have asked Theresa if Catherine can live with her and Marty. “These are terrible years,” Catherine tells Theresa. She has a point, and Catherine’s morose assessment of her own life begins to have an effect of Theresa. Perhaps, she begins to think, it would be better if Marty didn’t marry. It’s not an opinion that she has abandoned by the end of the film.

Marty, directed by Delbert Mann, remains a great film. However, it is not a film with a conclusive ending. By the end of the film, Marty and Theresa still have a lot of things that they need to talk about, Thomas and Virginia’s marriage has entered a tough stage, and Marty’s long-time friendship with Angie has changed, perhaps permanently. Nevertheless, these loose ends seem entirely appropriate. What is most important is that change, both positive and negative, has taken place. Marty is a stronger person because of the events that have transpired, and there is hope for both he and Clara. The rest of their story, at that of the characters that surround them, can be left to our overly optimistic imaginations. (on DVD)

4 stars

*Marty won the Oscar for Best Picture of the Year in 1955. Ernest Borgnine took home the statue for Best Actor, and Delbert Mann won Best Director.