Welcome Back, Western
Written September 2007
James Mangold’s 3:10 to Yuma is about redemption, self respect, and… pistol-packing, Stetson-wearing, leather-vested bad apples and their nefarious deeds. It’s also about bringing back the western as a more hardcore and less ridiculous genre. Mangold (of Walk the Line and Girl, Interrupted fame) is not the first to use the Elmore Leonard short story as a jumping off point. This year marks the fiftieth anniversary of the release of the original movie-version of3:10 to Yuma, directed by Delmer Daves and starring Glenn Ford (“Ben Wade”) and Van Heflin (“Dan Evans”) in the roles played in the latest version by Russell Crowe and Christian Bale.
Although Daves worked within the confines of a cowboy-flick tradition widely hailed as the essence of masculine cool, Mangold has produced a piece in an era when most filmgoers eye westerns as feeble, ludicrous, and unrealistic products that should be approached with the wary suspicion of the previously disappointed. My generation has grown up hearing the “truth” regarding the cowboy’s bravery as one that led to widespread Native American massacre and suffering. It’s also hard to find long-johns and high waists sexy. Unforgiven was perhaps the last western twentysomethings can remember relating to in their lifetimes.
With its drama, gritty dialogue, and Marco Beltrami-composed soundtrack— acoustically driven and tinged with Texican trumpet, reminiscent of the archetypal soundtracks of Ennio Morricone and Luis E. Bacalov—3:10 to Yuma brings back all the allure of 1960s spaghetti westerns like Django, A Fistful of Dollars and The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly.
Ben Wade (Crowe) is a sociopath. (“You’re not all bad.” “Yes I am. I wouldn’t last one minute out there if I weren’t rotten as hell.”) He shoots and stabs bystanders and robs stage-coaches as calmly and as often as he sketches the animals he spies and the people he interacts with in his journal or in the pages of a bible. He’s a smooth-talker who utters such dry absurd beauties as “I don’t mind skinny girls [to a waitress he’s wooing] as long as they’ve got green eyes to make up for it. [Vinessa Shaw, “Emmy,” turns around to face him with her brown eyes] That’s alright… they don’t have to be green.” Dan Evans (Bale) is beaten down by the system, Job-like. He lost a leg in the Civil War. He’s hard up on cash and about to get kicked off of his land by the railroad company. His wife (Gretchen Mol) is unsatisfied. His younger son has tuberculosis. And his older son despises him as a weakling.
When the police capture Wade, Dan volunteers to be one of the escorts paid to accompany the outlaw to Yuma prison. Sound simple? As plans go, it’s not too bad, but throw in hostile Apache, a crazed Luke Wilson and Wade’s cadre of faithful minions headed by Ben Foster as Wade-obsessed psychotic Charlie Prince, then the journey is tantamount to playing five-bullet Russian roulette. As obstacles mount, Dan’s mission becomes less about the money and more about sticking to a promise and his principles. His wife tells him that “no one will think less of [him]” if he says no to the venture. He replies that “No one can think less of [him].” But by the end he, like the new western, become badasses worth applauding and worth emulating. All I can say is, thank god the cows have come home.