The first movie, messed up

Rating: 4/10 (21 April 2008)

The script of this movie is a revision of the script of an earlier movie, which was adapted from an Elmore Leonard story. The first movie devoted two-thirds of its time to the original story, with embellishments, and kept perhaps two-thirds of the major incidents. In the remake both proportions are closer to one-third, and the embellishments are considerably more extensive. For one thing, the reason for the deputy's working alone has changed. In the story and the first movie, the main body of the posse traveled by a different route, to fool the outlaw's gang. In this movie, he and the rest of the posse travel together, and the second act consists of the others' being killed off one by one, as in a revenge-stalker movie, until he's the only one left: this is not an improvement.
In the story, the deputy was an underpaid professional who hoped some day to make marshal. Both movies turn him into a rancher recruited out of need, but possessed of an ability rivaling that of a seasoned lawman. This makes the situation less plausible to begin with, but here he has a bad leg besides, and is still spry enough to engage in a chase-cum-gunfight rivaling the Hollywood version of the OK Corral. And further implausibilities are piled on top of these. He has a kid as a sidekick, who from a combination of motives--desire to prove himself, want of confidence in his father, and mixed disgust and admiration for the outlaw--has left home to tag along after them. Never mind that this character has "movie" stamped all over it; more remarkable is the screenwriter's failure to see that the big conflict in the boy, his mixture of feelings toward the outlaw, should have belonged to the father; the story should have centered on the relationship between the two men. This was inadequately developed in the first movie, which in this respect was basically a morality play, with the outlaw as tempter. The midsection of the remake, detailing the posse's ill-starred journey, would have been an opportunity to deepen the interplay of the two characters, but to all intents this remains unchanged, until a series of incredible sentimental twists at the end.
In addition, I didn't understand the rancher, as presented in Christian Bale's performance. This was executed in the actor's usual manner: that of a sepulchrally voiced catatonic who's fairly sinister himself. Russell Crowe also plays in a mannered style, but one suitable to the period, and is audaciously convincing until the script confounds him. Between the actors' mannerisms and those of the director, who's prone to shoot a scene any way but head on, the movie never attains the fill-your-hand-you-sonofabitch straightforwardness which a good Western requires.
Once the original story kicks in, and the characters are holed up at the hotel, the movie is on more solid ground. Then it goes off on a tangent. There is a marshal with deputies, and then the robber gang, and then an announcement by the gang's lieutenant offering bounties on the lawmen, and then the townsfolk getting all het-up and running off to grab their guns. Instead of shooting the lieutenant to shut him up, the marshal listens respectfully, then shakes his head and says, it's no use, boys, we've got to surrender our weapons. This they do, whereupon they're immediately shot dead. One would suppose that the gang might think twice about this, since it robs the townsfolk of three-quarters of their promised bounties; one would also suppose that the gang would have thought twice about urging the townsfolk to arm themselves, since a few civic-minded ones, acting in concert, could take out the gang.
The movie's reason for giving all those people all those guns becomes clear when the rancher begins his walk to the depot. It's so the movie can turn into a video game, with cowboys instead of zombies. Again, if several of the shooters worked in unison, the rancher would be dead immediately. But--here's the first big twist--the outlaw has come to like him so much he _helps_ him kill the townsfolk (i.e. helps himself toward prison). And then--here's another twist--the gang who initially egged on the citizens now start killing them, for shooting at the prisoner and the deputy indiscriminately. One would suppose that once they were being fired on, the townsfolk might start firing back. But no, so they all die, and so the rancher gets his man to the depot.
And now guess what? The train is late! This sets up the joke that trains never run on time, but kills off the suspense generated theretofore, and the title of the movie. Suppose that in High Noon the killers decided to come later?--noon, one, two, what's it matter?
There follows a gunfight. The rancher's kid unpens a cattle herd; the outlaw lieutenant falls under their hooves--that's what it looks like--but later pops up, unhurt, for the final showdown. He shoots the rancher dead, almost, but with enough life left in him for a tearful farewell to his son. On hearing this his prisoner is so moved that--last and best twist of all--he turns on his gang and shoots them all dead! And then sees himself onto the train so the rancher can share a last Little House moment with his boy: "Did I do it, boy?" "You did it, Paw." etc. So the rancher dies happy--not knowing, as we do, that the prisoner's horse, just like Tom Mix's Tony, is galloping alongside the train, in position for his owner to make a flying mount and escape. (And what will he do then? Form another gang and kill them, too?)
The old movie started with a title song, sung by Frankie Laine; this one would have been improved by having Russell Crowe sing it in duet with his horse as they trotted off into the sunset together. I think it would have been in keeping.