I’m not a big fan of westerns, but occasionally one will
come along that will knock me for a loop, and send me out into the night
howling at the moon. Forty Guns directed by Sam Fuller is one of those westerns
(it’s actually more than just a “western”, it transcends the genre) that makes
me holler and scream. Fuller starts this film quietly with an open rig holding
three dusty men moving slowing across the cinemascope black and white western
panorama, the horses suddenly react to hearing something in the distance, and
then a woman all in black on a beautiful white horse comes stampeding down the
road followed by 40 men on horses. They ride loud and visually around the open
rig, and then they are gone, it gets quiet again, the title forty guns flashes
across the screen like a newspaper headline, and this great film begins. The
woman on the white horse is Barbara Stanwyck (who by the way did her own
dangerous stunts) and plays Jessica
Drummond “a high riding woman with a whip” who
pretty much runs and owns everything in and around the small dusty town
including the men in power, and she is one tough lady. The men in the open rig
covered with dust are the three Bonnell brothers played well by Barry Sullivan,
Gene Barry and Robert Dix as the youngest brother. Sullivan and Barry are
lawmen and occasional hired gunfighters who are on their way to the town to
arrest one of Barbara’s 40 guns for a crime which doesn’t sit too well with her.
This film is memorable and startling, full of erotic innuendos, double
entendres and phallic metaphors and imagery some of which are
very much in our faces, and is full of rich visual sentences helped by the
wonderful cinematography by Joseph Biroc whose palette is made up of noirish
blacks and greys. The film is basically a battle of wills between Stanwyck and
Sullivan who are constantly at each other’s throats until one afternoon
when riding in the noonday sun an unexpected
tornado literally brings them together as they crawl to a small cabin and well
the next thing you know they’ve made love the 1957 way, with all their clothes
on. Besides the imaginative and beautifully done tornado the film has many
memorable scenes including a dinner scene with Stanwyck
at a huge table surrounded by all her 40 men,
a wedding that becomes a funeral in a matter of minutes (Truffaut pays homage
to this scene in The Bride Wore Black), a sudden suicide by hanging and one of
the most poetic death scenes in the history of cinema, “I’m Killed” the villain
of the movie cries as he is taken out by one of the brothers in a heated state
of revenge. This is of course not a film for everyone, feminists will no doubt take
take offense at the melt down of Stanwyck’s strong willed persona which she
happily gives up for the love of a man, and lovers of the severe, romantic and
traditional westerns of John Ford and company will probably throw up their
hands in disgust and walk away from this very personal and twisted take on how
the west was won. Also in the cast is the handsome John Ericson and
Dean Jagger. One of the ten best films of
1957.
I’m not a big fan of westerns, but occasionally one will
come along that will knock me for a loop, and send me out into the night
howling at the moon. Forty Guns directed by Sam Fuller is one of those westerns
(it’s actually more than just a “western”, it transcends the genre) that makes
me holler and scream. Fuller starts this film quietly with an open rig holding
three dusty men moving slowing across the cinemascope black and white western
panorama, the horses suddenly react to hearing something in the distance, and
then a woman all in black on a beautiful white horse comes stampeding down the
road followed by 40 men on horses. They ride loud and visually around the open
rig, and then they are gone, it gets quiet again, the title forty guns flashes
across the screen like a newspaper headline, and this great film begins. The
woman on the white horse is Barbara Stanwyck (who by the way did her own
dangerous stunts) and plays Jessica Drummond “a high riding woman with a whip” who
pretty much runs and owns everything in and around the small dusty town
including the men in power, and she is one tough lady. The men in the open rig
covered with dust are the three Bonnell brothers played well by Barry Sullivan,
Gene Barry and Robert Dix as the youngest brother. Sullivan and Barry are
lawmen and occasional hired gunfighters who are on their way to the town to
arrest one of Barbara’s 40 guns for a crime which doesn’t sit too well with her.
This film is memorable and startling, full of erotic innuendos, double entendres and phallic metaphors and imagery some of which are
very much in our faces, and is full of rich visual sentences helped by the
wonderful cinematography by Joseph Biroc whose palette is made up of noirish
blacks and greys. The film is basically a battle of wills between Stanwyck and
Sullivan who are constantly at each other’s throats until one afternoon when riding in the noonday sun an unexpected
tornado literally brings them together as they crawl to a small cabin and well
the next thing you know they’ve made love the 1957 way, with all their clothes
on. Besides the imaginative and beautifully done tornado the film has many
memorable scenes including a dinner scene with Stanwyck at a huge table surrounded by all her 40 men,
a wedding that becomes a funeral in a matter of minutes (Truffaut pays homage
to this scene in The Bride Wore Black), a sudden suicide by hanging and one of
the most poetic death scenes in the history of cinema, “I’m Killed” the villain
of the movie cries as he is taken out by one of the brothers in a heated state
of revenge. This is of course not a film for everyone, feminists will no doubt take
take offense at the melt down of Stanwyck’s strong willed persona which she
happily gives up for the love of a man, and lovers of the severe, romantic and
traditional westerns of John Ford and company will probably throw up their
hands in disgust and walk away from this very personal and twisted take on how
the west was won. Also in the cast is the handsome John Ericson and Dean Jagger. One of the ten best films of
1957. 
The film opens on a
steamy 1944 July New York City night (its seems all film noirs are set on
steamy summer New York City nights) the film covers all the usual Noir
territory, innocent man accused of a crime he didn’t commit, loyal attractive
young woman out to prove his innocence, tough but likeable detectives,
psychotic behavior unexplained and deep sexual undertones. Based on a William
Irish (Cornell Woolrich) novel and directed with strong German expressionist
style by Robert Siodmak with a big helping hand from the great cinematographer
Woody Bredell, master of B movies, and made by Universal on the cheap but
looking hard, sharp and beautiful with great economic touches including murders
and deaths unseen. The film has some flaws mainly plot holes and sad unresolved
performances but even with the flaws this is still one of the masterworks of
the genre. Especially good (when was he ever not good?) is Elisha Cook Jr. as
the horny “pussy hound” drummer who plays in the orchestra of a tacky musical
revue that plays a pivotal part in the film along with a silly hat, and a
temperamental South American Bargain basement Carmen Miranda type bombshell of
a performer. Some of the great set pieces of the film includes a scene set on a
deserted 3rd ave el platform, where we only know that a train is
arriving by the wind blowing a woman’s dress and a late night jam session with
Cook on drums working himself into an orgasmic frenzy
as his pickup for the night does a great sexual come on that leaves little to
the imagination, (how this bit got by the censors is beyond me). Also memorable
is a man being hit by a car again unseen by us, as his hat flies in the air and
winds in a puddle by the curb, and a trial that is seen through the eyes of the
spectators with all of the testimony heard off screen. This is good stuff.
There are wet patent leather streets, the ubiquitous Yiddishe Mama candy store owner, shadows
that have shadows and wonderful sleazy bars and high toned apartments full of
late deco furnishings and sculptures along with small details such as Van
Gogh’s self portrait after he cut off his ear that is clearly hanging in the
murderer’s abode. With the gorgeous but limited Ella Raines, the gorgeous but
very limited Alan Curtis, Franchot Tone & Thomas Gomez. The film is available in a pristine print for viewing on YouTube. One of the ten best films of 1944. 
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