Review: Deadwood (by David Milch)


“Be in my joint in two hours—we’re forming a fuckin’ government.” — Al Swearengen

David Milch’s Deadwood is one of those rare television series that feels less like a conventional prestige drama and more like being dropped into a living, breathing, filthy historical world. Set in the rough gold-rush settlement of Deadwood, South Dakota, during the 1870s, the HBO series takes the familiar pieces of the Western—lawmen, gunfighters, prospectors, saloons, prostitutes, corrupt businessmen, and murder—and turns them into something far richer than a genre exercise. It is a Western, but it is also a story about the difficult, often ugly process of creating a society in the middle of chaos. Civilization in Deadwood is not built by noble speeches or clean acts of heroism. It is assembled through greed, fear, business deals, compromise, bloodshed, exploitation, loyalty, and the occasional act of real compassion.

The show’s biggest strength is its ability to make Deadwood itself feel like one of television’s great settings. At the beginning, the camp exists outside the reach of formal American law, which means everyone who arrives sees an opportunity. Some people come looking for gold. Others come looking to escape old lives, make money, gain power, or take advantage of people too desperate to protect themselves. Every character has a different idea of what Deadwood should become, and the series finds drama in the collision between those competing visions. A claim dispute, a murder, a business arrangement, an illness, a newspaper article, or even a random rumor can become part of the larger struggle over who gets to shape the town’s future.

At the center of that struggle is Seth Bullock, played by Timothy Olyphant with an intensity that makes him seem like he is always one bad conversation away from throwing somebody through a window. Bullock arrives in Deadwood with his friend and business partner Sol Star, hoping to start a hardware business and leave behind his past as a lawman. He wants a calmer, more stable existence, but the town almost immediately drags him back toward violence and public responsibility. Bullock has a powerful sense of justice, but he is not a smooth, patient hero. He is rigid, angry, stubborn, and frequently driven by instinct before reflection. Olyphant gives him a clenched physicality—the hard stare, the tense posture, the barely restrained frustration—that makes it clear Bullock is always fighting to keep the more destructive side of himself under control.

That is what makes Bullock such a compelling protagonist. Deadwood never treats him as a simple white-hat sheriff who comes to tame the frontier. He is more decent than many of the people around him, but he is not uncomplicatedly good. His moral certainty can become self-righteousness, and his willingness to defend the vulnerable can slide into an urge to control a situation through force. At times, Bullock’s anger is justified; at other times, it is frightening. Olyphant’s performance works because he does not try to make Bullock effortlessly likable. Instead, he makes him believable as a man who wants order, justice, and dignity in a place that seems designed to expose every violent impulse he is trying to bury.

If Bullock represents Deadwood’s rough version of moral order, Ian McShane’s Al Swearengen represents its ruthless understanding of power. As the owner of the Gem Saloon, Swearengen initially appears to be the obvious villain: a man who profits from vice, manipulation, intimidation, and murder. McShane gives him such enormous control over the role that every scene becomes more charged when Swearengen walks into it. His speech has a strange, unforgettable rhythm, moving between elaborate insults, sly observations, sudden bursts of rage, and dry comedy. He is part Shakespearean king, part criminal entrepreneur, and part exhausted manager trying to hold together a business and a town full of people who are constantly making life harder for him.

What makes Swearengen one of television’s greatest characters is that the series refuses to flatten him into a conventional bad guy. He is undeniably brutal, often monstrous, and capable of treating human beings as disposable pieces in a larger game. The show never asks the audience to forget that. But as Deadwood faces pressure from outside business interests, political maneuvering, and wealthy figures who see the camp as a resource to be absorbed, Swearengen’s investment in the town becomes clearer. He does not become a hero, but he develops into something more complicated: a man whose selfish ambition is inseparable from a practical, almost territorial loyalty to Deadwood. He understands that the camp can only survive if its people occasionally work together, even if he usually has to manipulate them into doing so.

The relationship between Bullock and Swearengen gives the series much of its electricity. They are rivals, reluctant allies, ideological opposites, and men who recognize certain necessary qualities in each other. Bullock sees Swearengen as a moral disease at the center of the camp. Swearengen sees Bullock as an unpredictable nuisance, but also as someone with the strength and authority to be useful. Their confrontations work because neither man can completely dominate the other. Olyphant and McShane create a tension that goes beyond physical threat. Their conflict reflects the show’s larger question: can Deadwood become a place governed by something closer to law and principle, or will it always belong to the people with the most money, violence, and influence?

Still, Deadwood would not be nearly as great if it were only the Bullock and Swearengen show. Its ensemble is one of HBO’s best, filled with actors who make the camp feel populated by people with histories, grudges, private fears, ambitions, and complicated ties to one another. John Hawkes is excellent as Sol Star, Bullock’s business partner and closest friend. Sol is quieter and more patient than Bullock, but Hawkes never lets that quietness fade into the background. He gives Sol an intelligence and decency that make him a crucial moral and emotional counterweight to Bullock’s volatility. His friendship with Bullock is one of the show’s most believable relationships because Sol understands the good in Bullock without ignoring the damage Bullock’s anger can cause.

Molly Parker is equally strong as Alma Garret, a wealthy widow who gradually becomes much more than an outsider caught in Deadwood’s orbit. Alma could have been written as a standard symbol of refinement in a crude frontier town, but Parker gives her tremendous resolve, intelligence, and emotional restraint. Her story is about survival in a different but no less dangerous form. She is forced to navigate grief, addiction, business interests, motherhood, and the expectations placed on a woman in a violently male world. Her relationship with Bullock is complicated in the best way because it is built from longing, frustration, guilt, repression, and circumstance rather than easy romance.

Anna Gunn brings similar depth to Martha Bullock, who becomes increasingly essential as the series develops. Martha could have been pushed aside as merely the protagonist’s wife, but Gunn makes her one of the clearest-eyed people in the camp. She understands the weight of family, grief, responsibility, and compromise, and she gives the character an emotional firmness that Bullock himself often lacks. Martha does not need grand speeches to establish her strength. Her endurance and intelligence gradually make her one of the show’s most quietly powerful figures.

Robin Weigert’s Calamity Jane is another unforgettable character, and one of the series’ most heartbreaking. Jane is loud, drunk, funny, self-destructive, and seemingly incapable of admitting how deeply she cares about people without covering it in profanity or sarcasm. Weigert finds the sadness beneath every messy outburst. Her love for Wild Bill Hickok, her loyalty to those who treat her with kindness, and her profound discomfort with herself make Jane much more than a colorful Western side character. She can be hilarious one minute and devastating the next, which is exactly the emotional balance Deadwood handles so well.

The supporting cast is so strong that the show continually finds new ways to make minor characters feel essential. Gerald McRaney brings a cold, weathered authority to George Hearst, the wealthy mining magnate whose arrival makes Deadwood’s conflicts larger and more dangerous. Hearst is not simply another local schemer. He represents the corporate and political forces that can crush a place like Deadwood from the outside, turning its chaos into something colder and more organized. McRaney plays him with a calm menace that is often more unsettling than open rage. He does not need to shout to make it clear how much power he has.

Brian Cox is terrific as Jack Langrishe, the theatrical and charismatic impresario whose arrival adds another kind of intelligence to the camp. Langrishe can be charming, funny, and seemingly generous, but Cox always lets the audience see the calculation behind the performance. He understands how to survive around men like Swearengen and Bullock because he knows that people are always playing roles, especially when power is on the line. Garrett Dillahunt also does remarkable work in two very different roles. He first appears as Jack McCall, the disturbed and dangerous killer whose actions leave a permanent mark on the camp. Later, he returns as Francis Wolcott, a polished, educated, deeply unsettling man whose manners barely conceal something vicious underneath. Dillahunt’s ability to make those roles feel so distinct is one of the more impressive acting achievements in the series.

Keith Carradine gives Wild Bill Hickok a tired, melancholy gravitas that makes the legendary lawman feel human rather than mythical. He is aware of his reputation, perhaps exhausted by it, and Carradine captures the loneliness beneath the public image. Jeffrey Jones is wonderfully eccentric as A. W. Merrick, Deadwood’s nervous but idealistic newspaper editor. Merrick’s love of language and belief in the importance of a free press make him both funny and unexpectedly vital. In a town shaped by violence and backroom deals, the act of recording events and trying to tell the truth becomes its own form of resistance.

Kim Dickens is excellent as Joanie Stubbs, a woman carrying deep emotional scars while trying to carve out independence in a world that treats vulnerability as an invitation to exploit someone. Her performance brings tenderness and pain to a character who could have easily been reduced to a plot device. Brad Dourif is another major presence as Doc Cochran, the camp’s exhausted, haunted physician. Dourif makes him funny, strange, compassionate, and spiritually worn down by everything he has seen. Jim Beaver is equally memorable as Whitney Ellsworth, the gruff prospector who gradually reveals himself to be one of the show’s warmest and most honorable people. Powers Boothe’s Cy Tolliver, meanwhile, offers a sharp contrast to Swearengen. He is just as ambitious and cruel, but he lacks Swearengen’s strange capacity for loyalty and for understanding that a town, however dirty and violent, is still an ecosystem that must be maintained.

Milch’s writing is famous for its dense, ornate, profanity-heavy dialogue, and it can take a little time to adjust to the show’s rhythm. These characters do not speak in the clean, direct language of a standard television Western. They circle around their meanings, launch into bizarrely poetic insults, turn routine negotiations into verbal duels, and sometimes say more through implication than through plain statements. But once the language clicks, it becomes one of Deadwood’s greatest pleasures. The dialogue gives the show its own identity. It makes the town sound as alive and unpredictable as it looks.

That stylized language also supports what Deadwood is really about. The series is not interested in selling a clean myth of American rugged individualism. It shows the frontier as a collision between people who need one another and often cannot stand one another. Deadwood grows through compromise, manipulation, sacrifice, corruption, and a slow recognition that nobody can survive entirely alone. Even the most vicious people become tied to a larger network of obligations. The show understands that communities are not built by saints. They are built by flawed, wounded, selfish people who occasionally discover that cooperating is better than destroying each other.

The original series ended after three seasons, which leaves it with an undeniably unfinished quality, but that does not lessen its accomplishments. If anything, the lack of a neat conclusion suits the show’s view of history. Deadwood is always changing, always threatened, and never fully settled. The later film provides a welcome return to the characters and offers some emotional closure, but the series remains the core achievement.

Deadwood is demanding television, but it is never hollow television. Its violence has consequences, its humor is vicious and surprisingly warm, and its characters become richer the more time the audience spends with them. Timothy Olyphant gives Seth Bullock the rage of a man trying to force order onto a world that resists it. Ian McShane turns Al Swearengen into a full, contradictory human being rather than a one-note villain. Around them, Milch assembled an extraordinary ensemble that makes every saloon, storefront, street, and muddy patch of ground feel inhabited. People may start the show for the gunfights, the outlaw mythology, and the famously inventive profanity, but the reason Deadwood endures is its people. It understands that civilization is not born cleanly. It is dragged into existence, often unwillingly, by damaged people trying to make a home in a place that barely resembles one.

Review: Chiefs (dir. by Jerry London)


“It’s gonna take a lot of good people to make this place decent again.” — Hugh Holmes

Chiefs, the 1983 CBS miniseries adapted from Stuart Woods’ Edgar Award-winning novel, triumphs as a faithful yet inventive translation of a sprawling literary thriller into television’s constrained canvas. Unfolding across four decades in Delano, Georgia (1924-1963), it chronicles three generations of deeply flawed police chiefs pursuing a serial killer who targets young boys, their quest shadowed by the American South’s seismic shift from Jim Crow’s iron grip to the civil rights revolution.

Woods’ debut novel uses the murders as a piercing allegory for societal rot—Delano a claustrophobic organism where racism, class divides, and omertà-like codes nurture evil. The miniseries scores a major win by distilling this 400-page epic into six compelling hours, preserving the book’s generational rhythm and thematic spine while leveraging TV’s strengths in visual dread and ensemble intimacy. Yet, as a TV production, it inevitably stumbles under the medium’s inherent drawbacks: commercial interruptions, budgetary limits, network sanitization, and episodic structuring that blunt the novel’s novelistic nuance.

Performances drive Chiefs, with Keith Carradine and Brad Davis towering as the absolute standouts, breathing transcendent life into Woods’ most vivid creations and elevating the adaptation beyond its TV trappings. Carradine’s Foxy Funderburke, the killer—a vulpine everyman whose sly charm cloaks bottomless depravity—is nothing short of revelatory. Woods crafts him as Delano’s perfect predator, evading justice across decades because prejudice and small-town loyalty provide endless cover; the miniseries unleashes Carradine’s eerie genius, his lanky frame slinking through scenes with piercing eyes and smirks that chill deeper than any scream. Watch him whistle casually amid shadows or flash a fox-like grin during backyard chats—it’s understated psychopathy at its peak, a masterclass in menace that makes Foxy scarier than modern slashers, his longevity indicting the chiefs’ every failure. Carradine doesn’t just play the monster; he inhabits its everyday skin, sly pauses and folksy drawl turning every frame into taut wire. It’s career-best work, haunting long after credits, the performance that cements Chiefs as essential viewing.

Matching that blaze is Brad Davis as Sonny Butts, the post-WWII chief whose war-hero shine curdles into tyrannical fury—one of the most volcanic turns in ’80s TV. Woods luxuriates in Sonny’s hypocrisy: brutalizing Black neighborhoods, shaking down suspects, half-chasing the killer amid integration’s tremors, his “heart of darkness” blending trauma with bigotry. The adaptation amps kinetic brawls absent in prose, but Davis owns it all—brooding intensity erupting in guttural snarls, trauma-flashed eyes, coiled physicality that dominates every standoff. His Southern accent locks authentic, chortles flipping to wide-eyed betrayal in heart-stopping beats; Sonny becomes tragically magnetic, a damaged bully whose rage mirrors Delano’s resistance, derailing justice while stealing the show. Davis channels raw, Brando-esque power without caricature, making mid-century arcs electric—visceral theater that rivals Carradine’s creeps for MVP crown.

The supporting ensemble holds strong but orbits these twin suns. Wayne Rogers brings MASH-grit to Will Henry Lee, the 1920s everyman chief, his weary resolve fitting the book’s naive obsession amid lynch-mob shadows. Stephen Collins’ crisp poise suits Billy Lee, the ambitious son bridging eras with subtle unease. Billy Dee Williams layers charismatic fire into Tyler Watts, the trailblazing ’60s Black chief, urgent under threats. Charlton Heston’s gravelly narration as Hugh Holmes anchors the old guard. Solid work all, but Carradine and Davis are the revelation, their chemistry with the killer-chief dynamic supercharging Woods’ prose.

Thematically, Chiefs touts adaptive victory: murders scalpel Southern sins—killer’s span enabled by whitewash, chiefs’ flaws (naivety, rage, complacency) echoing Jim Crow’s throes. Woods’ restraint (dread over gore) translates via Jerry London’s direction: TV-budget grit evokes Roots-sweep—rally torches, unearthed graves—pruning romances tautens pace, foregrounds racism’s backbone.

Yet television’s pitfalls drag it earthward, exposing media frailties the novel evades. Network TV demands commercial breaks, fracturing tension—cliffhangers feel forced, mid-episode lulls kill momentum where Woods’ chapters flow seamless. Budget caps hobble scope: no sweeping location shoots, recycled sets make Delano static vs. book’s vivid evolution; period details (cars, garb) ring true but cheapen under fluorescent lighting. CBS sanitization softens edges—Woods’ grayer morals binarize (heroes nobler, Sonny’s bigotry punchier for prime time), racial arcs gain clunky exposition (“We can’t let ’em take our way of life!”) where prose implies slyly. Episodic format sags pacing: generational pivots drag with filler (subplots padded for hours), killer’s decades-long credulity strains more on screen, visuals exposing logistical gaps the page glosses. Accents waver under non-native casts, a TV-casting haste; direction, competent, lacks cinematic flair—static shots, TV-gloss lighting mute novel’s sweaty dread. Ensemble shines brightest via leads, but supporting roles flatten into types, ensemble dilution print sustains. Flaws compound: preachiness in ’60s beats (TV’s social-message itch), conveniences (plot devices for act breaks), and era-inaccurate tweaks (anachronistic attitudes) betray source fidelity.

In the end, Chiefs succeeds more than it fails as an adaptation—capturing Woods’ generational prisms and Southern reckonings with enough fidelity and flair to transcend its era’s TV limitations, delivering cathartic release amid rising dread, propelled by Carradine and Davis’ unforgettable peaks. Its triumphs in atmosphere, those two volcanic turns, and thematic resonance outweigh the medium’s drags: clunky pacing, sanitized nuance, and budgetary blandness. Remarkably, it presages the true-crime boom on television decades later, laying groundwork for anthology masterpieces like True Detective, The Killing, and Fargo. Like those, Chiefs blends procedural hunts with existential rot, flawed antiheroes navigating moral quagmires, and killers embodying societal fractures—here, racism as the true long-game predator, with Carradine’s Foxy as proto-Rust Cohle eerie. Where modern series revel in cinematic polish and nonlinear flair, Chiefs proves the blueprint: small-town secrets, generational hauntings, justice as bloody evolution.

Song of the Day: I’m Easy by Keith Carradine


Since today would have been Robert Altman’s 101st birthday, it only seems right that today’s song of the day should come from his best film.  In this scene from 1975’s Nashville, Keith Carradine sings I’m Easy as Altman’s camera finds each of his lovers in the audience, all convinced that Carradine is singing expressly to them.

This song won Nashville it’s only Oscar.  It also made Keith, who wrote the song, the only Oscar winner amongst the fabled Carradine family.

 

Film Review: Old Boyfriends (dir by Joan Tewkesbury)


In 1979’s Old Boyfriends, Talia Shire plays Dianne Cruise.

A sociology professor (or so she claims at one point), Dianne is struggling with an unhappy marriage and trying to recover from a recent breakdown.  After deliberately crashing her car, she leaves her husband and goes on a trip across the country.  She sets out to track down three ex-boyfriends.

Jeff Turrin (Richard Jordan) was her college boyfriend, the one who asked her to marry him three times.  Jeff is now working as a director.  When we first see him, he’s shooting a commercial for a political campaign in which Sam the Fisherman (Gerrit Graham) complains that the current governor of Colorado is a “long-hair” who gets in the way of small businessmen like himself.  Dianne shows up on the set.  Sam hits on her.  Interestingly, it takes Jeff a while before he recognizes her.  (Jeff comments that Dianne used to have longer hair but still, it seems like Jeff should be able to recognize someone to whom he proposed marriage three times.)

After having an affair with Jeff, who is in the process of getting a divorce, Dianne tracks down Eric Katz (John Belushi), the aspiring musician who humiliated her in middle school by telling everyone that she was “easy.”  Eric owns a formal wear store and he still performs with his band. (Belushi sings the Hell out of Jailhouse Rock at one point.)  He mostly performs at proms.  As he explains it to Dianne, most of his customers are teenagers looking for prom outfits so it only makes sense that he should perform for them as well as dress them.

Dianne’s third old boyfriend is Louis Van Til but, when Dianne arrives at his home, she is told that Louis died in Vietnam.  Under the watchful eye of his mother (Bethel Leslie) and his psychiatrist (John Houseman), she starts an obviously doomed relationship with Louis’s sensitive younger brother, Wayne (Keith Carradine).

While Dianne travels around the country, Jeff continues to look for her.  He even hires a private detective named Art Kopple (Buck Henry).

Old Boyfriends is a film that I had been meaning to watch for a while.  (I first read about it in a biography of John Belushi.)  A lot of talent went into making the film.  The script is by Paul and Leonard Schrader.  Director Joan Tewkesbury wrote the script for Robert Altman’s Nashville and indeed, there is an Altmanesque feel to the loose way that the film’s story unfolds.  The cast is full of talented people.  This was John Belushi’s first film after Animal House and Talia Shire’s first after Rocky.  With all that talent, you would think that the end result would be more interesting than it actually is.  The story is intriguing.  The cast is impressive.  But Old Boyfriends falls flat.

Why doesn’t the film work?  A lot of it is due to Tewkesbury’s direction.  She struggles with the film’s frequent shifts in tone and she always seems to be keeping a certain distance from the characters.  Talia Shire is in nearly every scene but the film seems to be determined to just observe her as opposed to actually allowing the viewer to get into her head.  Shire herself never seem to be particularly comfortable with the role and, as a result, none of her visits with her old boyfriends carry much of an emotional impact.  (Unfortunately, they don’t carry much of an intellectual impact either.)  Jordan, Belushi, and Carradine all give good performances but the film itself doesn’t seem to be sure what it wants to say about any of them.

It’s a disappointing film.  It’s not awful but, while watching it, it’s hard not to think about how much better it could have been.  One gets the feeling that Robert Altman, with his eye for quirky detail and his skill with improvisation, could have gotten something worthwhile out of the material.  As it is, Old Boyfriends is an intriguing idea that doesn’t quite work.

The Unominated #21: Southern Comfort (dir by Walter Hill)


Though the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences claim that the Oscars honor the best of the year, we all know that there are always worthy films and performances that end up getting overlooked.  Sometimes, it’s because the competition too fierce.  Sometimes, it’s because the film itself was too controversial.  Often, it’s just a case of a film’s quality not being fully recognized until years after its initial released.  This series of reviews takes a look at the films and performances that should have been nominated but were, for whatever reason, overlooked.  These are the Unnominated.

1981’s Southern Comfort takes place in 1973.  While America tries to wind down its presence in Vietnam, a squad of nine National Guardsmen take part in war games in the Louisiana bayous.  The squad is led by the ineffectual Sgt. Crawford Poole (Peter Coyote) while other members include the trigger-happy Lonnie Reece (Fred Ward), the weed-smoking Tyrone Cribbs (T.K. Carter), the cowardly Private Simms (Franklyn Seales), and the tightly-wound Coach Bowden (Alan Autry).  Poole may be in charge but most of the members of the squad seem to look up to the laid-back and friendly Private Spencer (Keith Carradine).  The newest member of the squad is Charles Hardin (Powers Boothe), a sober-minded transfer from Texas who doesn’t seem to get along with anyone but Spencer.

With the exception of Poole and Hardin, no one takes the weekend maneuvers seriously until they find themselves lost in the bayou and it becomes obvious that Poole has no idea what he’s doing.  When they come across some canoes that belong to some Cajun trappers, they decide to “borrow” them.  When the trappers protest, Reece fires his weapon at them.  Reece’s gun is loaded with blanks but the trappers don’t know that.  They fire back, killing Poole.

The national guardsmen now find themselves lost and being stalked by the trappers, a largely unseen force that always seems to attack out of nowhere.  The men have no idea where they are.  The trappers, on the other hand, have lived in the swamps their entire lives.  The guardsmen bicker and argue over the best way to respond.  Some want to fight back and some just want to get back to civilization.  One-by-one, the men are picked off until only two remain.

Though the film is a somewhat heavy-handed metaphor for the Vietnam War, Southern Comfort is still a deeply affecting and suspenseful mix of horror and action.  Director Walter Hill keeps the action moving at a quick pace and the film, which was shot on location and featured scenes shot during an actual Cajun celebration, perfectly captures the languid yet ominous atmosphere of the bayous.  As soon as the men see those canoes unattended, we know that they’re going to steal them and that they are making the biggest mistake of their lives.  Keith Carradine and Powers Boothe both give powerful performances in the lead roles and the members of the supporting cast — especially Alan Autry and Fred Ward — make a strong impression as well.  I especially liked the performance of Brion James, who has a small role as a one-armed Cajun who is more crafty than he looks.

Being a mix of horror and action, it’s probably not a shock that Southern Comfort was ignored by the Academy.  At the very least, I would have found room for Ry Cooder’s original score and Andrew Laszlo’s haunting cinematography.

Previous Entries In The Unnominated:

  1. Auto Focus 
  2. Star 80
  3. Monty Python and The Holy Grail
  4. Johnny Got His Gun
  5. Saint Jack
  6. Office Space
  7. Play Misty For Me
  8. The Long Riders
  9. Mean Streets
  10. The Long Goodbye
  11. The General
  12. Tombstone
  13. Heat
  14. Kansas City Bomber
  15. Touch of Evil
  16. The Mortal Storm
  17. Honky Tonk Man
  18. Two-Lane Blacktop
  19. The Terminator
  20. The Ninth Configuration

Film Review: McCabe & Mrs. Miller (dir by Robert Altman)


First released in 1971, McCabe & Mrs. Miller takes place in the town of Presbyterian Church at the turn of the 19th Century.

Presbyterian Church is a mining town in Washington State.  When we first see the town, there’s not much to it.  The town is actually named after its only substantial building and the residents refer to the various parts of the town as either being on the right side or the left side of the church.  The rest of the town is half-constructed and appears to be covered in a permanent layer of grime.  This is perhaps the least romantic town to ever appear in a western and it is populated largely by lazy and bored men who pass the time gambling and waiting for something better to come along.

When a gambler who says that he is named McCabe (Warren Beatty) rides into town, it causes a flurry of excitement.  The man is well-dressed and well-spoken and it’s assumed that he must be someone important.  Soon a rumor spreads that McCabe is an infamous gunfighter named Pudgy McCabe.  Pudgy McCabe is famous for having used a derringer to shoot a man named Atwater.  No one is really sure who Atwater was or why he was shot but everyone agrees that it was impressive.

McCabe proves himself to be an entrepreneur.  He settles down in Presbyterian Church and establishes himself as the town’s pimp.  Soon, he is joined by a cockney madam names Mrs. Miller (Julie Christie).  The two of them go into business together and soon, Presbyterian Church has its own very popular bordello.  Sex sells and Presbyterian Church becomes a boomtown.  It attracts enough attention that two agents of a robber baron approach McCabe and offer to buy him out.  McCabe refuses, thinking that he’ll get more money if he holds out.  Mrs. Miller informs him that the men that he’s dealing with don’t offer to pay more money.  Instead, they just kill anyone who refuses their initial offer.

Three gunmen do eventually show up at Presbyterian Church and we do eventually get an answer to the question of whether or not McCabe killed Atwater or if he’s just someone who has borrowed someone else’s legend.  The final gunfight occurs as snow falls on the town and the townspeople desperately try to put out a fire at the church.  No one really notices the fact that McCabe is fighting for his life at the time and, as befits a revisionist western, there’s nothing romantic or dignified about the film’s violence.  McCabe is not above shooting a man in the back.  The killers are not above tricking an innocent cowboy (poor Keith Carradine) into reaching for his gun so that they’ll have an excuse so gun him down.  McCabe may be responsible for making Presbyterian Church into a boomtown but no one is willing to come to his aid.  The lawyer (William Devane) that McCabe approaches is more interested in promoting his political career than actually getting personally involved in the situation.  Mrs. Miller, a businesswoman first, smokes in an opium den with an air of detachment while the snow falls outside.

It’s a dark story with moments of sardonic humor.  It’s also one of director Robert Altman’s best.  The story of McCabe and Mrs. Miller and the three gunmen is far less important than the film’s portrayal of community growing and changing.  Featuring an ensemble cast and Altman’s trademark overlapping dialogue, McCabe & Mrs. Miller puts the viewer right in the heart of Presbyterian Church.  There are usually several stories playing out at once and it’s often up to the viewer to decide which one that they want to follow.  Yes, the film is about Warren Beatty’s slick but somewhat befuddled McCabe and Julie Christie’s cynical Mrs. Miller.  But it’s just as much about Keith Carradine’s Cowboy and Rene Auberjonois’s innkeeper.  Corey Fischer, Michael Murphy, John Schuck, Shelley Duvall, Bert Remsen, and a host of other Altman mainstays all have roles as the people who briefly come into the orbit of either McCabe or Mrs. Miller.  Every character has a life and a story of their own.  McCabe & Mrs. Miller is a film that feels as if it is truly alive.

As with many of Altman’s films, McCabe & Mrs. Miller was not fully appreciated when initially released.  The intentionally muddy look and the overlapping dialogue left some critics confused and the film’s status as a western that refused to play by the rules of the genre presented a challenge to audience members who may have just wanted to see Warren Beatty fall in love with Julie Christie and save the town.  But the film has endured and is now recognized as one of the best of the 70s.

Scenes That I Love: The I’m Easy Scene From Robert Altman’s Nashville


Since today would have been Robert Altman’s 100th birthday, it only seems right that today’s song of the day should come from his best film.  In this scene from 1975’s Nashville, Keith Carradine sings I’m Easy as Altman’s camera finds each of his lovers in the audience, all convinced that Carradine is singing expressly to them.

This song won Nashville it’s only Oscar.  It also made Keith, who wrote the song, the only Oscar winner amongst the fabled Carradine family.

 

I Watched A Winner Never Quits (1986, dir. by Mel Damski)


In 1945, Peter Gray made history when he became the first one-armed major league baseball player.  Gray grew up in poverty in Pennsylvania.  His father was a miner and Peter was one of five children.  He was only seven years old when he lost his right arm in a wagon accident but he loved baseball and he wasn’t going to let his disability keep him from playing.  He learned how to bat and catch and throw with his left hand.  He quit school when he was thirteen and worked for a while as waterboy while playing baseball in the local leagues.  Eventually, he made his way up to the minor leagues and, in 1945, he was called up to the majors.  He played one season for the St. Louis Browns.

The media loved the story of the one-armed baseball player but Peter always said that he resented feeling like he was being put on display whenever he took the field.  He was a competitive outfielder who could catch a ball, remove his glove, and then throw the ball to the infield just as quickly as anyone with two hands.  As a hitter, he struggled because pitchers figured out early on that he couldn’t hit the breaking ball.  After the 1945 season, Peter was sent to back to the minors, where he spent the rest of his career.  Though Peter was known for being an angry player who resented anyone pointing out his disability, he still made time to visit amputees in military hospitals to show them that they could still find success and to encourage them to chase after their dreams.

Peter’s story was the basis of A Winner Never Quits, which I watched on YouTube this weekend.  It was a good baseball movie, starring Keith Carradine as Peter.  What I liked is that the movie didn’t make him into a saint.  Carradine played Peter as being angry and with a definite chip on his shoulder.  Peter had every right to be angry and I’m glad the movie acknowledged that.  In both the movie and in real life, Peter was worried that he was just being treated as a sideshow.  In the movie, his attitude improves when he meets a young boy who recently lost his arm and who looks up to Peter.  Peter remained a friend to the boy and his family for the rest of his life.  A Winner Never Quits is about pursuing what you love and never giving up.  That’s what baseball is all about.  A Winner Never Quits is a good and inspiring baseball movie that’s not just for the fans.