Reedmalloy
Joined Nov 2008
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Reedmalloy's rating
The reviews that have thus far been written here about "The Walking Hills" (except for a few clunkers) do it justice. It is a compact piece of good film-making and quality entertainment. The quality of the acting makes the subsequent plot twists believable without hitting you over the head in their revelations.
Not much is said about Alan Le May's script, however. He is little remembered today except possibly as the writer whose novel ''The Searchers" was turned into John Ford's great western. I grew up reading everything he wrote and found Le May a skilled story-teller who always remembered that the story was the whole point of it all.
Le May crafted subtly complex stories about frontier Texas (despite being from Indiana) before Larry McMurtry was even born. His westerns are an easy-reading blend of his own knowledge of human nature, Louis L'Amour's (whom he preceded) formula romance, and a Hemingway style prose. His characters were given names and personalities that ring absolutely true, and he treats readers as adults capable of putting two-and-two together themselves. The only writer I ever found to rival him in creating an elusive combination of complexity and subtlety in a sagebrush saga is Frank X. Tolbert, much of whose work reads like Le May's.
Such is the case with "The Walking Hills". Le May fleshes out his plot with details, but just enough to elucidate motivations while keeping the story moving. He never goes too far or too often, and as others noted, some of the character "back-stories" (such as Johnny's and Cleve's) tell just enough to give them a purpose while others (those of Chalk, Old Willy, and Josh) are left to the imagination of the viewer. Le May didn't throw a detail into the plot that wasn't wrapped up by the end, and in the natural course of events. Pretty good stuff.
As a side-note to reviewer "bkoganbing", Ella Raines' husband was ROBIN Olds, a legendary character himself, and he never flew jets in Korea, much less became an ace there. In fact Ella went behind his back and used her friendship with people of influence to keep him out of that war, which may have played a part in their eventual separation when he went on to become an icon in the Vietnam War.
Not much is said about Alan Le May's script, however. He is little remembered today except possibly as the writer whose novel ''The Searchers" was turned into John Ford's great western. I grew up reading everything he wrote and found Le May a skilled story-teller who always remembered that the story was the whole point of it all.
Le May crafted subtly complex stories about frontier Texas (despite being from Indiana) before Larry McMurtry was even born. His westerns are an easy-reading blend of his own knowledge of human nature, Louis L'Amour's (whom he preceded) formula romance, and a Hemingway style prose. His characters were given names and personalities that ring absolutely true, and he treats readers as adults capable of putting two-and-two together themselves. The only writer I ever found to rival him in creating an elusive combination of complexity and subtlety in a sagebrush saga is Frank X. Tolbert, much of whose work reads like Le May's.
Such is the case with "The Walking Hills". Le May fleshes out his plot with details, but just enough to elucidate motivations while keeping the story moving. He never goes too far or too often, and as others noted, some of the character "back-stories" (such as Johnny's and Cleve's) tell just enough to give them a purpose while others (those of Chalk, Old Willy, and Josh) are left to the imagination of the viewer. Le May didn't throw a detail into the plot that wasn't wrapped up by the end, and in the natural course of events. Pretty good stuff.
As a side-note to reviewer "bkoganbing", Ella Raines' husband was ROBIN Olds, a legendary character himself, and he never flew jets in Korea, much less became an ace there. In fact Ella went behind his back and used her friendship with people of influence to keep him out of that war, which may have played a part in their eventual separation when he went on to become an icon in the Vietnam War.
It's not good form to comment on other reviewers but I make a brief exception here. It's one thing to dislike something for articulable reasons, but quite another to characterize it as 'creepy' (one of the most egregious but casually tossed around deprecations made these days) without stating why. For me it says more about the commentator than the target.
Not to mention that reducing Harmon's role as a 'dog catcher' illustrated the point of the episode! That said, this episode was formulaic, predictable and looked very much like a pilot for a spin-off. Nevertheless I found it fun and informative. Though I love them, Jack Webb's public service shows tend to be clunky in dialog but this one was better than usual. It was corny, but when the injured firefighter at Rampart gave up his place in line, so to speak, for treatment of the goat, I gave him my applause.
If nothing else, watch this one for the by-play between all the ER professionals, Brackett and Dixie in particular. David Huddleston makes a great case for DVMs as well, and humanizes Brackett in the process.
Not to mention that reducing Harmon's role as a 'dog catcher' illustrated the point of the episode! That said, this episode was formulaic, predictable and looked very much like a pilot for a spin-off. Nevertheless I found it fun and informative. Though I love them, Jack Webb's public service shows tend to be clunky in dialog but this one was better than usual. It was corny, but when the injured firefighter at Rampart gave up his place in line, so to speak, for treatment of the goat, I gave him my applause.
If nothing else, watch this one for the by-play between all the ER professionals, Brackett and Dixie in particular. David Huddleston makes a great case for DVMs as well, and humanizes Brackett in the process.
In the opening scene of They Came to Cordura we are introduced to all the historical context in the script. First is an Army aviator grabbing a hot meal. Next a headquarters type mentions to the reporters that after winning a fight over Mexican government troops at Carrizal, a large group of Villistas under a couple of "generals" has taken refuge at a ranch called Ojos Azules. Gary Cooper's character Major Thorn enters the scene and we are given a hint of the scorn held for him due to his behavior during Villa's attack on Columbus, New Mexico. Colonel DeRose (Edward Platt) snubs his attempt at a handshake. The reporters are perplexed that a major is an "Awards officer" after being executive officer of the regiment commanded by a 63-year-old colonel. We find out that there was another battle the day before at Guerrero, and that his nomination of one of the participants for the Medal of Honor had been approved. Finally, Colonel DeRose reads a recent dispatch about the bombardment of Verdun in the real war dated "April 17, 1916."
Working backwards from "April 17, 1916", pretty much all of this is in error in some context, but just like World War II films that depict every Marine as having seen action on "Guadalcanal, Tarawa, and Iwo Jima," it is just name-dropping in an effort to sound authentic. Apparently either novelist Glendon Swarthout, director Robert Rossen, or both read a thing or two about the "Punitive Expedition," jotted down a few dates and names, and then set their book/movie in it. While the errors are nothing in themselves—not one person in a thousand knows the difference any more, and probably not too many more even in 1959—they do make the context of their theme of the nature of courage and cowardice ring hollow to me.
I have the novel and wondered long ago why Swarthout chose the Punitive Expedition to begin with. It seemed a bit of a cop-out not to use his personal experiences in WWII as a basis, except that perhaps he was wary that, WWII being a recent conflict, many might not buy his premise that heroes in combat are the craven when it comes to needing "real" courage: i.e. dealing with "real life," while those who shun danger (in his case, those relieved from potential combat duties because they have such exceptional skills as "writing") are actually the real heroes. His story raises the question that since he depicts Thorn's assignment as an "awards officer" (despite being senior in grade) as a form of subtle punishment, maybe Swarthout perceived being assigned that duty himself as being for the same reason?
Okay, maybe that's a tad cynical, except I defy anyone to determine that four out of any five recipients of the Medal of Honor were criminal brutes with no other redeeming characteristics. Don't yell at me—Swarthout and Rossen put forth the premise.
So let's start there with our quick review of goofs. No Medals of Honor were awarded or even considered in the Punitive Expedition. In fact the expedition was remarkably free of medal awards until the Silver Star was created in 1932, post-awarded to a number of senior leaders of the expedition. Regiments didn't have executive officers in 1916—they had lieutenant colonels. The only "major" noteworthy at the battle in Columbus was Maj. Frank Tompkins, who collected a troop of cavalrymen during the fight and pursued a force ten times their size into Mexico.
A battle occurred at Guerrero on March 29, a notable American success against Villistas led by a 63-year-old colonel. A mounted charge was even attempted by part of the 7th Cavalry but their mounts were worn out by an all-night 55-mile march through a mountain snowstorm. The Villistas fled anyway when they observed the approaching column—something they did in every engagement of that campaign. The Villistas never made a Cordura-like stand anywhere nor inflicted heavy casualties on haughty Americans foolish enough to charge fortified walls on horseback. A mounted charge against a high wall is so pointless (there is no shock power against a solid 12-foot obstruction) it's tantamount to a libel.
There was a mounted charge at Ojos Azules on May 5, however, the last by a US Army unit until January 1942, but it was hastily improvised by two troops of the 11th Cavalry after their dawn advance into the ranch was detected. Unlike Cordura, it was a resounding American success with no casualties. The battle at Carrizal took place June 21, the last engagement of the campaign. It was not only an embarrassing bloody nose for the US Army but an actual defeat, when 400 Mexican government troops (not Villistas) repulsed an ill-conceived dismounted attempt by 90 Buffalo Soldiers of the 10th Cavalry to force their way through town after being told by both sides not to. Finally the aviator might be an anachronism, because the expedition had run out of flyable airplanes by April 20, but I guess that at least was plausible.
Long story short, Swarthout and Rossen could have set this in World War I to make their point (well, maybe not with Rita Hayworth), but then nobody could make all those snide little innuendos about macho heroes and elderly superannuated colonels, could they?
The cinematography is pretty to look at, so there's that.
Working backwards from "April 17, 1916", pretty much all of this is in error in some context, but just like World War II films that depict every Marine as having seen action on "Guadalcanal, Tarawa, and Iwo Jima," it is just name-dropping in an effort to sound authentic. Apparently either novelist Glendon Swarthout, director Robert Rossen, or both read a thing or two about the "Punitive Expedition," jotted down a few dates and names, and then set their book/movie in it. While the errors are nothing in themselves—not one person in a thousand knows the difference any more, and probably not too many more even in 1959—they do make the context of their theme of the nature of courage and cowardice ring hollow to me.
I have the novel and wondered long ago why Swarthout chose the Punitive Expedition to begin with. It seemed a bit of a cop-out not to use his personal experiences in WWII as a basis, except that perhaps he was wary that, WWII being a recent conflict, many might not buy his premise that heroes in combat are the craven when it comes to needing "real" courage: i.e. dealing with "real life," while those who shun danger (in his case, those relieved from potential combat duties because they have such exceptional skills as "writing") are actually the real heroes. His story raises the question that since he depicts Thorn's assignment as an "awards officer" (despite being senior in grade) as a form of subtle punishment, maybe Swarthout perceived being assigned that duty himself as being for the same reason?
Okay, maybe that's a tad cynical, except I defy anyone to determine that four out of any five recipients of the Medal of Honor were criminal brutes with no other redeeming characteristics. Don't yell at me—Swarthout and Rossen put forth the premise.
So let's start there with our quick review of goofs. No Medals of Honor were awarded or even considered in the Punitive Expedition. In fact the expedition was remarkably free of medal awards until the Silver Star was created in 1932, post-awarded to a number of senior leaders of the expedition. Regiments didn't have executive officers in 1916—they had lieutenant colonels. The only "major" noteworthy at the battle in Columbus was Maj. Frank Tompkins, who collected a troop of cavalrymen during the fight and pursued a force ten times their size into Mexico.
A battle occurred at Guerrero on March 29, a notable American success against Villistas led by a 63-year-old colonel. A mounted charge was even attempted by part of the 7th Cavalry but their mounts were worn out by an all-night 55-mile march through a mountain snowstorm. The Villistas fled anyway when they observed the approaching column—something they did in every engagement of that campaign. The Villistas never made a Cordura-like stand anywhere nor inflicted heavy casualties on haughty Americans foolish enough to charge fortified walls on horseback. A mounted charge against a high wall is so pointless (there is no shock power against a solid 12-foot obstruction) it's tantamount to a libel.
There was a mounted charge at Ojos Azules on May 5, however, the last by a US Army unit until January 1942, but it was hastily improvised by two troops of the 11th Cavalry after their dawn advance into the ranch was detected. Unlike Cordura, it was a resounding American success with no casualties. The battle at Carrizal took place June 21, the last engagement of the campaign. It was not only an embarrassing bloody nose for the US Army but an actual defeat, when 400 Mexican government troops (not Villistas) repulsed an ill-conceived dismounted attempt by 90 Buffalo Soldiers of the 10th Cavalry to force their way through town after being told by both sides not to. Finally the aviator might be an anachronism, because the expedition had run out of flyable airplanes by April 20, but I guess that at least was plausible.
Long story short, Swarthout and Rossen could have set this in World War I to make their point (well, maybe not with Rita Hayworth), but then nobody could make all those snide little innuendos about macho heroes and elderly superannuated colonels, could they?
The cinematography is pretty to look at, so there's that.