Hell's Heroes

Although the manner of film narration dates this picture badly, it can be appreciated for its considerable merits, not merely as an historical curiosity. The juxtaposition of figures and landscape (particularly desert) is powerful, accenting the isolation and desperation of the outlaws. Its final scene, like that of "The Informer" (which it pre-dates), may be highly melodramatic, but works effectively within its context. Charles Bickford, in the early portion of the picture, is terrifying as a human rattlesnake: mean, ruthless, just plain down and dirty nasty to whoever crosses his path.

There is a production still photo (reprinted recently in Scott Eyeman's 'The Speed Of Sound') that has haunted me ever since I first came across it in 1968. It was in a humanities class text. We had studied von Stroheim's "Greed" and upturned the story of how. while shooting on location in the Mojave Desert, the cameras had to be iced against the heat while the crew's cook died from the solar furnace. And here, four years later in the Panamint Hills, is a black and white of a sound film crew out in the desert. A long black cable in the sand leading up to an airtight meat locker housing the camera and its operator. The sun blazing down, I wondered, what kind of a film could get done under these conditions? Further research heightened my frustration as William Wyler was listed as the director (must be a good film), but it was for Universal, already notorious for keeping their early talkies tightly vaulted.

Flash forward 34 years (and a big Thank You Ted Turner and TCM). It is 2:30 AM and I can't sleep. In the next room, a VCR awaits its task of making sure I don't miss this. But I'm pacing the floor for an hour and a half, heart pounding with anticipation. "I can't be very good", I tell myself, "Bickford isn't Gable". Fade up, dozens of bat-wing parchments of nitrate flap before some lamp and credits roll, I'M FINALLY SEEING IT! The camera's lens prowls back and forth across barren landscape, as though it was looking for something. Three riders appear on horseback. The dialogue begins and it's good, the camera moves right along with the riders. The lighting is remarkable as the faces well-saturate the negative [something anyone who has attempted photography in bright sunlight will appreciate]. In town, this gang's leader is in the saloon making time with the ladies. Bickford establishes his character in this sequence as one who is harder and more heartless than anyone else in westerns. He'll tell the sheriff he's going to rob the bank (across the street). A high establishing shot shows the whole town, then a shot tracks with Bickford approaching the bank as his gang rides up. This is cinema, a montage of perceptions that completely fill the viewer's consciousness. This film is very, very good.

George Robinson's photography is extraordinary, with fine compositions and contrasts. His vistas are jam packed and firmly place the viewer into this nothingness. The actors' beards progress with the time frame, and the place is so dirty you'll run for the Pledge.

It's filled with those two second throwaways that tell so much about the characters but do nothing to advance the plot. Such as when the gang leans on the teller's counter, one cowboy's boot scuffs at the bottom for a bar rail. At the saloon, a short skirted woman dances for the patrons, a low angle shot gives a glimpse of garter. The sheriff, seated nearby, drops something and pretends to pick it up. He stares lecherously at the dancing knees. Yet, a moment later, when Bickford invites him to drink, the sheriff's back on his moral high horse. Bickford bites and slaps the girl, after all this is pre-code.

The characters are complex and juxtaposed images abound. Charles Bickford's portrayal is unforgettable. Here is a picture that deserves recognition as one of the classics, a film that transcends its primitive equipment. Makes one wonder what else is locked up in the vaults of the Big U.

I viewed this film as a historical piece on locations. It is footage of the town of the old mining town of Bodie, pre-fire which destroyed 90% of the remaining town in 1933. It is now a state park and the official ghost town of Calif. Having visited several times, it was amazing to see actual businesses and buildings that no longer stand. And the ones that do - 80 years later. The church that is seen in several of the exteriors is still there today, but none of the buildings seen between it and the main street exist. This would have been, in 1929, a long way to travel for a location shot with crew and equipment. I'm glad they did.

There is something captivating about this, the second film adaptation of Three Godfathers. For one, the settings bear the marks of reality.the dusty western town surrounded by vistas of nothingness.the gritty contrast thrown into stark relief by the desert sun. I kept wondering why this film's settings seemed like the real west(or at least my imaginings of it) so much more than today's westerns. Perhaps it was merely the fact that this film, from '29 was only that many years from the real thing. Another early talkie which benefits from the technological limitations of the time. No music scoring.just the plodding of boots, horse's hooves, and the spare dialogue of the three characters. It brought home the isolation of the main characters and the desolation of their surroundings. Yes, the ending was symbolically top-heavy and dialogue was stagy, but there was still that economy of story Hollywood so sadly lacks now. Point made, fade out.

The Three Godfathers Story has been made seven, count them, seven times for the big and small screen including three silent versions. This one which was directed by William Wyler before he hit the big time is one no frills western, very much suggested by the work of gritty silent screen cowboy William S. Hart. In fact I'm surprised Hart never did a film version of this story himself.

If the three outlaws were bound for hell as suggested by the title Hell's Heroes, they certainly redeem themselves here. The only other versions of this story I've seen are the other two big screen sound films. Unlike those two, peripheral characters are reduced to ciphers and the story concentrates on the outlaws who after they robbed the bank in New Jerusalem, find a dying mother giving birth on the desert. As in the other versions the three promise to get the baby back to civilization and the nearest civilization is what they just left in New Jerusalem.

The three outlaws are Charles Bickford, Raymond Hatton, and Fred Kohler. All three have been screen villains so no heroic behavior is expected of them by the audience especially Kohler. Hatton was more known for rustic oldtimers though and he's the sentimental one who gets his friends to start thinking about doing the right thing by the infant.

There's an additional reason for them doing the right thing here that is not in either of the other versions which I won't reveal.

Certainly William Wyler's direction marked him as a man who would go on to bigger things than grind them out westerns. This is one of those, but Wyler and the material rise above it.