Westerns are my jam

Fig. 1 The Duke is my bae

I recently made a confession to my dad.

"I am totally in love with westerns."

*Dad snorts and laughs* "Sorry, that's just not what I expected from you at all."

Yes, this may come as a shock to those who think they know me well. Probably since I am an East-Coast college-educated liberal arts type whose admiration/tolerance level for country music is "general loathing" and whose experience with farm animals was relegated to four years of agriculture class in high school. I hate guns and hyper-masculine attitudes and camo-print anything. I want to die every time anyone quotes Duck Dynasty.

But I love bluegrass (which was country music before there was even a country) and I grew up in the South, so I'm not completely adverse to down-home wholesome hard-working culture. I'm not outdoorsy per se, but I definitely have a healthy love for plants, animals, and beautiful landscapes.

These things are not even a semi-decent reason or explanation for why the Western still managed to sneak into my soul and seat itself there as a mild obsession. This genre of film--and similar literature--is almost completely divorced from the modern sense of "country-western" culture anyway. When Dean Martin crooned for his companions in "Rio Bravo" 1959 he was singing about sunsets, canyons, prairie birds, and his favorite pony, not trailer trash, jukeboxes and "shaking it off." Fuck that shit.

I'm all about John Wayne. Can't get enough of him these days. I know, I know he's exactly the hyper-masculine poster boy I'm supposed to resent as a modern feminist. He's all guns and grit and goddamned whisky. But you know what? He's not a redneck. He's not a hipster. He's not a fake. His characters are genuine and honest about their nature, and they don't bullshit. He gets off his horse and drinks his milk, damnit. He gets shit done and he does it with dignity and a touch of humanizing humor.

Gregory Peck doesn't look half bad in chaps either.

Fig. 2 The coolest Greg there ever was

I suppose this all started with a viewing of "Red River"1948 in my narrative film class in college. It's a perfect specimen of the genre. Howard Hawks directs John Wayne and Monty Clift in an epic tale of a cattle drive out of Texas. Wayne is his usual determined and efficient self, and Monty's tight trousers-covered bum is easy on the eyes. It chronicled a world very well-removd from my own, which made it inherently interesting at the time.

Fig. 3 The boys get rough on the range

I must've seen a small handful of Westerns over the next ten years. It was only recently that I came to realize that each rare occasion was a very fun and enjoyable one. The Coen Bros' "No Country For Old Men" 2007 , while not a pure example of the genre, certainly had enough of a Western flavor. It definitely turned me on to those wide-open untouched landscapes and hard-assed characters. Ultimately, it was that masterpiece of a remake "True Grit" 2010 that catalyzed my newfound infatuation. Re-visiting the original (starring John Wayne!) did me in forever.

Fig. 4-5 Rooster Cogburn brings new meaning to multitasking

Now I'm reading Lonesome Dove on my kindle and lamenting the fact that there aren't enough Westerns on Netflix. I'm never going to redecorate my house with thousands of square feet of stained wood paneling and mounted cattle horns (UGH my sense of aesthetics is aching), but I'm content with it gracing my big screen.

The secret to all of these films' appeal? That quintessential requirement of Westerns: the driving theme of man v. nature v. the nature of man. When my husband commented on my sudden addiction to Westerns, he summed it up as well I could have. He said that what typifies the Western is that man is pitted against the vast, untamed wilderness, which always serves to reveal man's true nature in the absence of society--the open range as anvil on which the metal of a man is forged and tested. It's just as easy to return to a one-horse town with more honor as it is to ramble in with far less. It's the gut-wrenching drama leading up to the revelation that keeps me watching. That and John Wayne's colorful kerchiefs.

P.S. I named my latest Catesetum John Wayne. He is just starting to bloom these oxblood-red flowers of awesomeness. I'll keep you posted.

Fig. 6 Just one more nice photo of Monty for you. You're welcome.

How the West Was Won (1963)

Full disclosure: I love westerns. I have only realized this love in the last few years, so I'm not as versed in them as I'd like to be, but darn it, an evening spent with John Wayne is an evening well spent. More disclosure: I love John Wayne. I mean, come on. He's John Wayne. Whenever he's onscreen, I feel safe. He's going to get me through any trouble that may ensue.

So let me just gush about this film. I completely, accidentally stumbled upon "How The West Was Won" 1963 the other day and oh boy, was I thrilled! Here is one of only TWO narrative films in history made with the "Cinerama" process (the other being "The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grim" 1962) which had one camera with three strips of film, resulting in an epic surround-scene panoramic view. And if you saw it in a theatre, it would have to be outfitted with a special projection screen that's actually dozens of vertical strips of screen all angled toward the audience to reduce glare and reflection from the curved viewing space. What the very F.

Anyway, this proved an incredibly difficult process, both during filming and during screenings for audiences. There was some kind of widescreen format war going on in the 50s and 60s when the production companies were trying out new ways to draw audiences out of their comfortable easy chairs in front of their shiny new TV sets to see EPIC EVENT MOTION PICTURES. The ultra-wide formats that won out were cameras that used only one film strip with a larger aspect ratio. The 1959 version of "Ben Hur" for example, used 70mm film, as opposed to the standard 35mm film, like in any Marvel superhero movie you see these days. My absolute favorite, "Lawrence of Arabia" 1962 was also in 70mm, as was "The Sound of Music" 1965.

It is more costly to film and project with 70mm, but it is of very high resolution and quality. Home VHS and DVD formats could never dream of offering the true original resolution of these films, but if you picked up a Blu-Ray of "Lawrence of Arabia" and watched it on a nice big TV, you could pretty much expect to see the quality 70mm carries. It's very rarely used now, especially since the advent of digital projection systems. When Sir Ken Branagh's "Hamlet" 1996 was filmed in 70mm, that was only the third time 70mm was used since 1970, and it's only been used four times since "Hamlet." For reals.

Back to THE WEST. This film is essentially five stories told between the 1830s to the 1880s about a single extended family and how they managed to survive one of the most exciting and tumultuous eras of American history. It really has to be seen to be believed, as it is far too complex and beautiful a film to miss. Even on the flatscreen of your TV, you ain't never seen anything like it before, I swear. Just look at it. There's so much real estate on that frame. It's ridiculous.

So, to suck you in, I'll just give you some tidbits. Like, why does Jimmy Stewart have a terrible mullet haircut?

But look! Gregory Peck (GREGORY PECK!) is made of sex!

And fricken Russ "Riff" Tamblyn is a fricken Confederate deserter!

Princess Leia's mom is in fluffy knickers!

Henry Fonda in fringe! Woohoo!

You haven't seen such gripping Civil War footage since that Ken Burns documentary that you watched in middle school that was longer than the war itself! (Ok, sarcasm, but really, as much as I learned to love Ken Burns in my adult life, this is way more fun to see)

Finally, John Wayne is General William Tecumseh Sherman! 

OMG look at all that! Why aren't you finding this on Netflix or something right now?! 

You are wrong NOT to see this.

The Women (1939)

One of the most interesting things about "The Women" 1939 is that, despite its prominent tagline "It's all about men!" it actually passes the Bechdel Test. Not with flying colors, but in fact, there are a few moments here and there where these sexy, rich, bored housewives of Manhattan actually sneak in some convo about something other than the men in their lives--you know, like nail polish color and horse riding. Even stranger, this film contains not a single male actor, not even a bare chest or non-speaking punim in the joint. WHAT?!

I recorded this one last week because it got four stars according to my cable schedule guide. The description included terms that would usually turn me off, e.g. "gossiping," "catty," "divorce," etc. So I just had to see what the hell made such petty subject matter so great, especially since there's not even a Gregory Peck to keep me interested (yum). Well, let me tell you, it was the all-lady cast, which is basically a shortlist of MGM's greatest actresses of the era. Shearer, Russell, Crawford--they're absolutely sparkling and engrossing and eminently watchable despite the very domestic and banal squabbles they portray.

Shearer plays Mrs. Haines, a lovely wife with a young daughter (Virginia Weidler--the cutie who will go on to play in that other divorce-happy classic, The Philadelphia Story 1940) with whom she has a picture-perfect relationship. Russell is Sylvia, Shearer's "bestie" and a relentless gossip girl with an endless supply of hats equally posh and crass. Crawford appears as Crystal, the perfume counter salesgirl who catches Mr. Haines' wandering eye and gleefully positions herself as Mrs. Haines' mortal enemy. Much of this drama plays out in their fancy parlors or at the beauty salon, where the clucking hens are shown to be subjecting themselves to laughable physical tortures to "stay fit." Some things never change.

What constantly surprised me as I watched this dramedy of manners was the frankness with which they presented the effects of marital betrayal and divorce on the women involved. I've seen plenty of movies that merely hint at the horrors of divorce in the olden days, usually by just featuring a penny-pinching affluent old lady who just left her third husband, or by downplaying the seriousness with a song and dance and misplaced identities. But "The Women" puts these stereotyped female roles on full display, so you can count Mrs. Haines' tears as she weeps in her mother's lap when she discovers her husband's suspected infidelity. You can feel the sick satisfaction Crystal gets when she's on the phone with her married beau. The true emptiness of Sylvia's obsession with little whisperings along the grapevine strikes you in the chest. It's insane.

Now, of course, Mrs. Haines' struggles with whether she should let her husband's indiscretion go, or divorce, and SPOILER ALERT she decides to take the "six-week cure" and goes to Reno for what was then, the most trouble-free divorce money could buy. Funny thing about Reno--I had always heard this mentioned in older films and newer films about older days, but never really understood what that meant. Turns out that Nevada was the only state up until the 60's that granted divorces on a whim. You could file for many reasons, including something as simple as "Mental cruelty" (aka, "He talks too much" or "She interrupts me all the time") with no evidence. Everywhere else, the only grounds for divorce was adultery, for which one must present physical evidence, like photographs, or an eyewitness. Good luck with that!

So what well-to-do but disillusioned women did was head to Reno, where they had to establish residence for six weeks, all the while living a resort lifestyle horseback riding and schmoozing with "dudes." Then they filed for divorce and got their lives back from whatever two-timing bastard they had left back home. It was so popular that a whole tourist trade revolved around it and special Reno "divorce ranches" cropped up.

"The Women" shows Mrs. Haines living at one of these ranches with a number of others who are in limbo. Super ironically, one of them was played by the fiesty Paulette Goddard, who at the time, was married to Charlie Chaplin, but would soon be divorced from him two years later.

After much emotional distress from the whole "Reno-vation," Mrs. Haines goes home to her daughter, little Mary, who at one point joyfully jumps into bed with her mom and says "The best thing about divorce is that I get to sleep with you!" Oh boy. Of course, Little Mary sees and hears things at her daddy's house, like the new Mrs. Haines talking on the phone in the bathtub with her secret lover. When she tells her mom this, mom hatches a plan to out Crystal and therefore screw her husband's entire life! No, actually, that's how the ardent feminist in me would've liked to to end, but what really happens is that she uses this moment to embarrass Crystal and give her husband a reason to leave her and come back to his actual loving wife again. THE END.

Um WHAT.

Whatever. It's the 30's. What else can I expect? At least she got what she wanted in the end. Right?

One more thing before I go... in the middle of the film, the women all get together to watch a fashion show (as rich bored Manhattan housewives are wont to do) which suddenly bursts into TECHNICOLOR for several minutes. DOUBLE WTF. I mean, it was cool, but I have ever seen such a thing, except in arty european films at the time. I wish Fred and Ginger movies did this!

So anyway, watch this one because Joan Crawford is at her drag-queen best (see below if you don't believe me) and it's way better than reading a Cosmo. Keep is spangly, gals.