A Hat

Chill Wills had to be one of the worst actors that was ever allowed on TV or the movies. He usually got to play a bigoted, abusive, loudmouth drunken slob in everything he ever did.

Gene Evans got to be the philosophical country cowboy in this episode. Often he played the same kind of characters as Chill Wills. If you actually listen to what he is saying, it is pretty dumb TV stuff, ripped from a hundred other Westerns.

These two opposite characters collide due to a drunken party at a saloon. The story itself is about the contrast between the two characters. Matt Dillon and Red Conniston's (Chill Wills) Indian son make the difference. It is your basic morality play.

If you like Chill Wills or Gene Evans it might be entertaining, otherwise you are waiting for the gunfight at the end.

An amazingly well written script combines with a strong ensemble cast to create a rare quality portrayal.

Though his lack of dialogue almost rendered Gene Evans as a bit player, the entire episode is founded upon his character of Clint Sorils, a hardscrabble mountain man who's bark is so tough that it hides almost entirely a heart of gold.

There is a particularly poignant scene where Kitty is attending Sorils' bedside and in a state of delirium, Sorils speaks out to his long departed wife. In that exchange, Kitty becomes quite emotional at the raw beauty of the words he speaks to her, projecting them to the woman he loved and lived with, mistakenly thinking she was by his side.

That scene by itself cements the excellence of this episode, but it accompanies many other fine acts. It also proves again that an actor can take few words and scenes and turn them into a memorable tour-de-force. And as fine an actor as Amanda Blake truly was, it didn't take much acting on her part to summon the emotional response the scene demanded.

Gene Evans was essential to play this role, as he completely owns the physical chops to play such a rugged man, who's immense size and strength is exceeded only by his character and compassion. Ultimately, the episode boils down to men of character standing up to men of weakness and amorality.

The writing and the acting take this episode to a level of quality rarely seen in theater. This script could be portrayed in a movie, on a summer theater stage, or on television, and be equally appreciated for its depth. It's a must watch episode.

"Gunsmoke" A Hat (1967)

This episode contains some of the most beautiful poetry and moving philosophy I have ever heard in a TV episode of any kind, written by Ron Bishop. Bishop wrote a number of episodes for Gunsmoke and other similar shows. The character of Sorils, gunfighter, crude and stubborn man, describes a "Divine Experience" up in the mountains. The philosophy of Gunsmoke and Ron Bishop comes through continuously, even given the "owning" philosophy of men towards women in those days. This episode has moved me like no other. I wish I could meet the writer, Ron Bishop, and thank him for imparting such a beautiful piece of wisdom and life to us all in a simple hour-long TV show. This episode is like reading a prayer book, over and over again, in five small lines. This episode shows that all men, and women, have something they hold dear in their hearts. Something. Some days. Even if it is just five small days.

Story line: Clint Sorils (Gene Evans), a gunfighter, has been shot over a stray bullet through his hat, is lying in bed with little hope of recovery. Some of the townspeople don't want him in town and send an emissary, Mr. Brewer, to tell Matt Dillon that they don't want him in town. Here is some of the dialogue (paraphrased in part):

Brewer: "Clint Sorils is a gunfighter."

Dillon: "That's probably what he will be remembered for. A lot of people probably forget that it was him and men like him that opened up this country, hunting, trapping."

But Sorils took a gun and killed a man.

In self-defense, yes...

Why jeopardize the health of a town for a crude mountain of filth like that?

Mr. Brewer, he has the legal right to be here. ...

Very simple Mr. Brewer. Just tell them he stays. In the first place, he can't be moved. We don't even know if he's going to live. In the second place, on the outside he may be a mountain of filth, inside he's a man."

Later, in the company of Miss Kitty, Sorils begins to recall his beloved squaw Amy and the finer times in his life, as a religious experience. He begins to recite a story of "five days of silence" in the mountains, with "no need" to talk, and sheep whose feet are "like prayer books" and the great happiness he felt at the time.

"Five days. I recall five days when no one talked. No need. Mountains pushing God higher. Elk. Moose low to the willow. Mountain sheep climbing and looking back, as if they had prayer books on their feet. (Hesh maomi) Don't lie. Don't quit. (wheezes) Amy. Amy. (I know you?) You couldn't die. But the hardest piece of day mo. Not you Amy. Oh Amy.

Remember our first Spring? And that meadow we has? Furs all around and that meadow. And the snows just gone now. And us lying there and all the time close swallows and even a sky fox. A girl don't need no more than that, does she? And there was a time I shot the supper grouse. The hen had chicks. I didn't know. Chicks. I always liked young-uns. Always... liked 'em. We never had no young-uns Amy. Why? A woman always will have them.

Amy. Oh Amy. You're the best squaw a man ever owned."

I'm surprised the other reviews didn't mention the fact that the twins were evidently raised apart; Ben by their father, and Jed by the boys' Native American mother.

The father only considered the son he raised, Ben, the one who was killed, to be his son.

Jed actually had more in common with Sorils than he did with his father, because Sorils had lived with a tribe, too.

I have been binging on Gunsmoke for two weeks and of the color episodes this is by far the best. Truly enjoyable from the acting to the story telling. A must watch episode.