Forgotten Mann: Part 1

No, I'm not referring to Michael Mann, Terrence Mann, or Thomas Mann. I'm talking about Anthony Mann, one of the great Hollywood filmmakers of the 1950's who never quite gets his due. As a fan of James Stewart and a lover of good Westerns, I am embarrassed to admit that I was not familiar with Mann's work until fairly recently. To be perfectly honest, I find it baffling. After all, I've seen the films of Bela Tarr, Theo Angelopoulos, Krzysztof Kieslowski, Satyajit Ray, Ousmane Sembene; one can name just about any notable filmmaker, and chances are I'm familiar with their work. Adding insult to injury, Mann is an American director, which can only mean I was so busy staring at all the mountains in the distance that I missed the one I was standing right on top of. So in the last few months I've been busy remedying that problem, and doctoring my bruised ego.

Though he worked in several genres throughout his career, including historical epics (El Cid and The Fall of the Roman Empire), war movies (Men of War and The Heroes of Telemark), musicals (Moonlight in Havana, My Best Gal, Nobody's Darling, etc.), and film noir (T-Men, Side Street, Raw Deal, etc.); his Westerns are the best remembered, and for good reason. I strongly believe Anthony Mann deserves to sit alongside John Ford, Howard Hawks, Sam Peckinpah, Sergio Leone, Budd Boetticher, and Clint Eastwood in the pantheon of great Western directors. In fact, most of his Westerns are of such high quality that it is difficult to choose the finest among them. This amazing period in Anthony Mann's career began with...

Devil's Doorway (1950)

Though it was not released until September of 1950, after both Winchester '73 and The Furies, Devil's Doorway was Mann's first Western. The controversial subject matter made the studio nervous, so it sat on the shelf until about two months after another Indian sympathizing film came out and made waves at the box office. That film was Delmer Daves' Broken Arrow, starring James Stewart, which told the story of a white man and an Apache chief who dared to create a peace treaty between their people. Broken Arrow got the accolades, while Devil's Doorway sat in its shadow, garnering neither the box office success or critical acclaim of Daves' film. These days, however, it seems abundantly clear that Devil's Doorway was, and is, the superior movie.

The plot follows Lance Poole (Robert Taylor), a Shoshone Indian who fought valiantly for the Union in the Civil War and expects to live in peace on his tribal lands after returning home. Unfortunately, he discovers that Indians have no right to their own land, they must settle instead for the reservations provided them. Poole decides to hire a lawyer, Orrie Masters (Paula Raymond), to defend his legal rights to the land, which homesteaders intend to come in and claim as their own. According to law, however, those rights simply do not exist for men like Poole. Masters risks her reputation in an attempt to change the law in Poole's favor, as he prepares for a last resort life or death showdown. He would rather die than give up his land, the “soul” of his people.

Some have expressed dismay at the casting of a very Caucasian Robert Taylor in the lead role, but he actually does an admirable job. Of course, it doesn't hurt that he was backed up by an able supporting cast, John Alton's exquisite cinematography, an intelligent script by Guy Trosper, and Anthony Mann's confident direction. The film possesses a look and feel that are both distinctly noir-like, and Devil's Doorway represents, along with The Furies, the last time Mann would employ such a style in his Westerns.

While Devil's Doorway may not be the most celebrated of Mann's films (it remains one of the hardest to find), it deserves to be counted among his better pictures. The preachiness of Broken Arrow is avoided here, and the plight of the Indians is dealt with in a more brutally honest and respectful manner. It is an effective story, well told, and deserves much better than the occasional airing on TCM with no DVD release in any region.

Winchester '73 (1950)



A beautifully photographed black-and-white Western, Winchester '73 marks the first collaboration between James Stewart and Anthony Mann, who would go on to work together on seven more films, four of them Westerns. Thanks to a wonderful screenplay courtesy of Borden Chase (Oscar-nominated a year prior for his work on Howard Hawks' Red River), they couldn't have asked for a better start. Like Rene Clair's 1931 musical, Le Million, or 1997's The Red Violin and a number of other pictures, Winchester '73 follows a prized item as it changes hands, moving from owner to owner. Here, instead of a winning lottery ticket or a flawless violin, the object of desire is a perfect “one-in-a-thousand” Winchester Model 1873.

The story begins in 1876, when such a rifle is being awarded to the winner of a shooting competition in Dodge City. Knowing it will bring the interest of outlaw Dutch Henry Brown (Stephen McNally), our heroes, Lin McAdam (James Stewart) and High Spade (Millard Mitchell), descend upon the town. Lin enters the contest, narrowly defeating Dutch Henry, with whom he obviously has a bad history. After taking possession of the Winchester, Lin is jumped in his hotel room, and Dutch Henry flees Dodge with the prize. A short time later, with Lin in hot pursuit, Dutch Henry is forced to sell the rifle to a trader, but he has every intention of getting it back. The Winchester's journey has only just begun...


Despite the rifle's ever shifting ownership, the story remains focused on its pursuit, and the major characters themselves, which go on to include Steve Miller (Charles Drake) and his girlfriend, Lola Manners (Shelley Winters). Despite some rather distracting cameos, including Rock Hudson as an Indian chief (who approved that casting?) and Tony Curtis as a random cowboy, Winchester '73 has solid performances all around. Unfortunately, the final “twist”, if one can call it that, is pretty obvious early on, and feels a bit anti-climactic when finally revealed. Still, the film is well crafted from beginning to end, and deserving of its reputation as a classic Western. The final showdown is wonderfully executed; no fast draw cliches, just two foes locked in a bitter, ugly, and desperate struggle to be the last man standing.

The Furies (1950)

Mann's third Western remains the most noir-like of his career, with Victor Milner's cinematography clearly resembling John Alton's work in the earlier Mann films, T-Men, Raw Deal, and Devil's Doorway. The low-key lighting and moody interiors will have most viewers looking around aimlessly for private detectives in fedoras. James Stewart is also missing here, but The Furies still has a rather formidable cast including Barbara Stanwyck, Walter Huston (in his final role), and Wendell Corey.

Based on the novel by Niven Busch, The Furies is the story of an old widower, T.C. Jeffords (Huston), and his daughter, Vance (Stanwyck), as they love each other, grow apart, and eventually seek to destroy each other in 1870's New Mexico. T.C. runs the Furies, a vast expanse of ranch land, as if it were an “empire” and he its “feudal lord”; a comparison noted in the opening titles. Alas, having accrued incredible amounts of debt over the years, T.C. has resorted to paying them off with his very own currency, worthless bills egotistically referred to as T.C.'s.

A west coast banker agrees to a sizeable loan, but only if T.C. can get rid of all the squatters living on the Furies, including the Herrera family that Vance grew up with and cares for dearly. In addition, Vance falls for Rip Darrow (Wendell Corey), a man who despises T.C. over a land dispute and the murder of his father. When T.C. offers Darrow his daughter's fifty thousand dollar dowry if he will forget about her, he accepts. Thus, the seeds are planted for a battle between father and daughter.

This is a well acted, handsomely made, and all around worthwhile film. Unfortunately, it also tends to feel a bit like a soap opera at times. The Furies is a rich and rewarding experience, on the one hand, but it may also be Mann's most flawed Western aside from The Last Frontier (1955) and Cimarron (1960).

Bend of the River (1952)


This superb, underrated Technicolor Western easily ranks among the finest ever made. For their second collaboration, working again from a Borden Chase script, Anthony Mann and James Stewart surrounded themselves with another splendid cast and crew. The story, like many Westerns at their core, is about starting anew; leaving the past behind in favor of a fresh start.

The year is 1847 and a wagon train of simple farming families, led by Jeremy Baile (Jay C. Flippen), cuts across the landscape toward Oregon Territory, seeking an escape from constant violence near the Missouri border. Their guide, Glyn McClintock (James Stewart), has even more at stake: he can not simply run from violence, for it is the violence within his very soul which must be put to rest. Unbeknownst to the families who place their trust in him, Glyn was formerly a raider no different from those they flee.

One evening, after the wagon train stops to make camp, Glyn rides into the nearby hills and comes across a small group of men preparing an execution. Glyn rescues the victim, who gratefully introduces himself as Emerson Cole (Arthur Kennedy), an ex-border raider. Given their similar pasts, Glyn and Cole quickly hit it off, even teaming up to hunt down some Shoshone Indians who attacked the wagon train and injured Baile's daughter, Laura (Julie Adams).

Arriving in Portland, where the farmers intend to charter a steamboat and head upriver, they are enthusiastically welcomed by the owner of the town saloon, Tom Hendricks (Howard Petrie). Laura's arrow wound is tended to while the farmers buy food for the upcoming winter, with Tom's assurance it will be shipped to the settlement by the end of the month. Only, the shipment never comes...

To save their new community, Glyn and Baile head back to Portland, only to find that greed is at the root of their troubles. With the discovery of gold nearby, people have flooded into Portland, raising the price of food and supplies. Hendricks refuses to give them their goods at the price they paid, offering a refund instead. Glyn won't back down, and with the help of Cole and Trey Wilson (Rock Hudson), he flees to the steamboat where Baile has overseen the loading of their goods. Tom Hendricks and his posse pursue them in their race to get food back to the settlers.

Aside from being a grand adventure, with generous production values and fine performances, Bend of the River is more intimately concerned with the moral makeup of Glyn and Cole, two characters who see their reflection in the other. Baile believes that no bad man can change; he knows of Cole's past and hates him for it. Cole warns Glyn that if the farmers ever discover the truth about him, he would be equally despised. With that terrible prospect already hanging over Glyn's head, the journey back to the settlement is fraught with peril, temptation, and betrayal; constantly threatening to bring out the worst in his nature.

In short, this is an exciting, well written, and sumptuously photographed Western that doesn't get the credit it deserves.

The Naked Spur (1953)

Despite only five speaking roles and no built sets, Anthony Mann made a masterpiece in The Naked Spur, and it remains the film most would argue to be his greatest achievement (though Man of the West has a loyal following for that honor as well). This intense, psychological character study takes place in the vast wilderness of the Rocky Mountains, where nature itself seems to mirror what goes on in the character's minds. Cascading boulders, heavy downpours, caves teetering on collapse, and raging rivers all have their say, revealing an environment as tumultuous as the human conflict playing out within it. It is no coincidence that one scene has Howard Kemp (James Stewart) commenting on the “music” made by the rain. Perhaps it resembles the primal, elemental music of his soul as he struggles to suppress his humanity; the only hope he has of completing his mission.

In 1868, Kemp has relentlessly tracked the murderer of a marshal in Abilene, Kansas, all the way to Colorado. The accused killer, Ben Vandergroat (Robert Ryan), was an acquaintance of his, now wanted dead or alive for a bounty of five thousand dollars. Betrayed by his love, and desperate to buy back the ranch she sold while he was off fighting in the Civil War, Kemp seeks the bounty without fully grasping the means to that end. Though he attempts to justify his actions by telling himself and others what a terrible man Vandergroat is, he can not escape the fact that the fertile lands in his future would forever be tainted by another man's blood. As Jesse Tate (Millard Mitchell) says in the film, “He's not a man, he's a sack of money!” The problem is, he is a man first...

After losing Vandergroat's trail, Kemp comes across Tate, a down on his luck prospector who has recently discovered the remains of a campfire in the hills. Kemp, content to be mistaken for a lawman and making no mention of the reward money, offers Tate just twenty dollars to lead him there. Back on the scent, they eventually discover that Vandergroat is hiding on a mountain nearby. Lured by the sound of gunfire, a dishonorably discharged soldier named Roy Anderson (Ralph Meeker) shows up, and the three men eventually capture the target together.

Knowing he is bested physically, Vandergroat immediately begins a clever assault of another kind. He informs Tate and Roy that Kemp is no lawman, and he was just using them to get a five thousand dollar reward for himself. With no other options, Kemp agrees to split the reward three ways if they work together to get their quarry back to Kansas.

As it happens, Vandergroat is accompanied by a young woman named Lina Patch (Janet Leigh); he is all she has left since her father, a close friend of his, was killed in a bank robbery. The loyalty she feels toward Vandergroat, a surrogate father of sorts, is strong. She believes him innocent of the crime he is accused of, and Vandergroat exploits this knowledge to his advantage. Lina becomes a piece on the chessboard he uses to manage his escape. He uses Lina's sexuality the same way he uses Tate's desire for gold; having Lina create jealous rivals in Kemp and Roy, while he tries to convince Tate of the existence of a nearby gold mine. Though he is a prisoner, Vandergroat wields considerable powers of persuasion, indeed. As greed and mistrust begin to tear the group apart from within, one can not help but be reminded of John Huston's Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948).

This is a brilliant Western that stands tall among the very best in the genre. With fine performances all around, a terrific Oscar nominated screenplay (by Sam Rolfe and Harold Jack Bloom), wonderful on-location cinematography, and a rich psychological subtext, one simply can not go wrong with this one. The ending has been heavily criticized and may very well be the film's weakest element, but I would argue it isn't terribly unbelievable, given Kemp's characterization up to that point. Opinions on the ending notwithstanding, The Naked Spur is a must.