James Stewart Sings--and Plays the Accordion--in Night Passage

Night Passage (1957) should have been the sixth Western starring James Stewart and directed by Anthony Mann. The duo's earlier collaborations included some of the finest Westerns ever made (e.g., Winchester '73, Bend of the River). However, according to Jeanine Basinger's biography Anthony Mann, the director withdrew from the picture at the last minute because he felt the script was weak. Mann's decision created a rift between James Stewart and him, and the pair never worked together again. Journeyman director James Neilson took over the movie.

The opening scenes of Night Passage play like a classic Mann Western. Stewart stars as Grant McLaine, who makes his living by playing the accordion after being fired by the railroad five years earlier. It turns out that Grant, who was responsible for the railroad's security, let an outlaw named The Utica Kid ride away. Now, however, the railroad's boss (Jay C. Flippen) wants to re-hire Grant to stop a gang that's been stealing the company's payrolls on a regular basis.

De Wilde, Stewart, and accordion.

As in earlier Mann Westerns, colorful characters abound. Miss Vittles (Olive Carey) is a sly old lady who follows around gold prospectors like a mobile chuckwagon business. Paul Fix plays a worker sandwiched between his wife (Ellen Corby) and one of the "professional ladies" in the railroad camp. Brandon De Wilde, who played the youth Joey in Shane, plays another Joey here.

Alas, most of these characters are quickly forgotten when Grant agrees to guard the latest payroll train. To no one's surprise, the outlaw gang attacks the train, but can't find the money. So, they kidnap the railroad boss's wife and hold her for a ransom of $10,000. Grant, who has cleverly hidden the payroll with Joey, gets hit on the head and left for dead. He's just fine, though, and sets out to recover the money and free the hostage.

Night Passage is a solid Western, but it's also not a very memorable one. Although written by veteran Western screenwriter Borden Chase, it lacks the overarching themes (e.g., redemption, family, civilization, etc.) that elevated the Mann-Stewart films. There are also too many characters jammed into the story, leaving some of the cast stuck with stereotypes--in particular, Dianne Foster as the "good girl" and Dan Duryea's as the psychotic outlaw leader.

Audie Murphy as Utica.

Then, there is the miscasting of Audie Murphy as The Utica Kid and James Stewart's accordion. Murphy was at the peak of his acting career, so his hiring probably made sense from a box office perspective. However, The Utica Kid is an ambitious, quick-witted cynic with conflicted morals. That clashes with Murphy's established earnest on-screen persona and he lacks the acting chops to pull off the role. It's also interesting to note that he doesn't appear until 35 minutes into the 90-minute movie.

That brings us to the aforementioned accordion. James Stewart plays the accordion (as he did as a youth) and sings in Night Passage (although his accordion playing was dubbed over by a professional). If you want to hear Stewart crooning songs like "You Can't Get Far Without a Railroad" (with music by Dimitri Tiomkin), then Night Passage is required viewing. To be honest, the legendary star can carry a tune, though it's understandable why he didn't become a singer. The accordion, though, is another matter. Stewart's character has to lug it all over the Wild West--on his horse, on the train, on his back. The only reason seems to be so he can play a familiar family tune for Utica--who turns out to be his brother.

The challenge with a movie like Night Passage is imagining how good it could have been. With Anthony Mann's directing, a key casting change, a better screenplay, and less accordion playing, it might have ranked with the best Westerns of the 1950s.

James Stewart is The Man From Laramie

James Stewart as Lockhart.

Shortly after Will Lockhart delivers a load of supplies in the small town of Coronado, he runs afoul of Dave Waggoman. The son of a wealthy rancher, the psychotic Dave punishes Will for inadvertently trespassing on Waggoman land. Dave burns Will's wagons and kills several of his mules.

The elder Waggoman (Donald Crisp) reimburses Will (James Stewart) for his losses and even offers him a job. However, Will has no intention of working for anyone nor leaving town. He is driven by revenge, having arrived in Coronado to find out who sold repeating rifles to the Apaches that killed his younger brother. It's inevitable that Will will clash again with Waggoman, his out-of-control son, and the foreman (Arthur Kennedy) who runs their ranch.

Made in 1955, The Man From Laramie is the last of five Westerns directed by Anthony Mann and starring James Stewart. It's also the least memorable of the quintet, but keep in mind that three of the other four are among the best Westerns made in the 1950s (Winchester '73, Bend of the River, and The Far Country). The Man From Laramie pales in comparison only because it's a more conventional tale of revenge, as opposed to a treatise on the civilization of the Old West and the importance of family.

Arthur Kennedy as Vic.

Of course, there's nothing conventional about any Anthony Mann Western. Therefore, it should come as no surprise that many critics view The Man From Laramie as a Western retelling of King Lear. To be sure, there are thematic similarities: Waggoman bequeaths his ranch to his son Dave and to his foreman Vic (Kennedy) and then has second thoughts about his decision. Although one could say it's inspired by Lear, The Man From Laramie is not really based on it. (For a better Shakespearean Western, check out Delmer Daves' Jubal).

Arthur Kennedy, who also teamed with Stewart and Mann in Bend of the River, portrays the most interesting character. Vic, the foreman, has invested his life in the ranch under the impression that he's a "son" to the elder Waggoman. However, when Waggoman makes it clear that Dave is his only true son, Vic starts to have other ideas. A couple of bad decisions place him into an uncomfortable position and we get to watch as he tries to squirm out of it. Kennedy is very convincing, almost to the point that one wishes that Vic will succeed with his plan.

Cathy O' Donnell.

The supporting cast is inconsistent. Alex Nichol makes Dave so unhinged that it's difficult to fathom why anyone--even a loving parent-- would leave him in charge of the Waggoman ranch. Cathy O'Donnell doesn't have a lot to do as the female lead, but she and Stewart are appealing together while never sharing a romantic scene (his character is more interested in her than she in him). Frankly, it's refreshing to not inject a love triangle in a Western already packed with subplots about revenge, family discord, and dynasty-building. O'Donnell didn't appear in a lot of movies, though she held her own in quality films like Detective Story and The Miniver Story.

The Man From Laramie may not be required viewing, but it's a worthwhile Western. It's also notable for one of the most violent scenes in a 1950s Western when Stewart gets his hand shot at close range. No details are shown, but Stewart's acting is so good that you'll cringe throughout the scene. Don't say I didn't warn you!

Here's a clip from The Man from Laramie, courtesy of the Cafe's YouTube channel:

The Five Best Western Directors

Stewart in Winchester '73.

1. Anthony Mann - Mann helped define the "Adult Western" of the 1950s with his seminal work Winchester '73. His output included five outstanding Westerns with James Stewart and classics with Gary Cooper (Man of the West) and Henry Fonda (The Tin Star). His heroes were often hard men with a questionable past seeking redemption (e.g., Bend of the River). He painted his tales against a backdrop of an American West in transition, in which budding towns would compete with the cattle empires.

2.  John Ford - Ford was a dominant figure in the Western genre for four decades. He brought prominence to the Western with Stagecoach, paved the way for Adult Westerns with his Cavalry Trilogy, and directed two iconic films late in his career (The Searchers and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance). Ford's incorporation of Western landscapes (he shot several masterpieces in Monument Valley in Arizona) became his trademark. In fact, a popular lookout was named after him: John Ford Point. I suspect many film fans would have Ford at No. 1.

Eastwood in For a Few Dollars More.

3.  Sergio Leone -With Mann, Ford, and Hawks in the twilight of their careers in the '60s, Italian filmmaker Sergio Leone reinvented the Western genre visually and thematically. His protagonists were morally questionable men who usually did the right thing, even while portraying themselves as profiteers (e.g., Clint Eastwood in For a Few Dollars More). He showed the big towns, but also the decrepit shacks amid the dusty, windswept plains--where a bounty hunter or an outlaw could buy a shot of cheap whiskey. Like Mann and later Peckinpah, Leone was intrigued with the last days of the Old West and the men who didn't want to tame it.

4.  Sam Peckinpah - An uneven director, Peckinpah was at his best when working in the Western genre. While his films also took place in the dying days of the Old West, they focused on the relationships among the characters:  two old friends in Ride the High Country, a band of outlaws in The Wild Bunch; and an unlikely businessman, a prostitute, and a would-be preacher in his masterpiece The Ballad of Cable Hogue. In the former two films, most of the characters are unwilling to adapt to the coming of civilization. However, the hero of Cable Hogue embraces it and finds happiness in doing so (though the ending is bittersweet).

Delmer Daves' The Hanging Tree.

5.  Howard Hawks and Delmer Daves (tie) - A tie may be a bit of a cheat, but it was impossible to omit either of these two from our list. Neither director specialized in Westerns, but they made important contributions to the genre. Hawks' Red River (1948) paved the way for Mann's dark Westerns. His Rio Bravo is one of the most fondly remembered Westerns of the 1950s. And after other Western directors had hung up their spurs, Hawks continued to make Westerns with John Wayne up until 1970. Delmer Daves, another versatile director, dabbled in the Western genre often, his films ranging from intriguing (the Shakespearean Jubal) to unique (Cowboy with Jack Lemmon and Glenn Ford). He secured his place on this list, though, with two beautifully-crafted classics: the thriller-like 3:10 to Yuma and The Hanging Tree, a tale of redemption and love.

Honorable Mentions:  Budd Boetticher, John Sturges, Clint Eastwood, and Henry Hathaway.

Anthony Mann's The Heroes of Telemark

If not for a small band of Norwegian commandos, Adolf Hitler might have had an atomic bomb before the U.S.--leading to a very different outcome for World War II. The Norwegians' exploits form the basis for the fascinating premise of Anthony Mann's The Heroes of Telemark (1965).

The film opens in Oslo, Norway, in 1942 with the Germans manufacturing "heavy water" in a fortified factory surrounded by snow-covered mountains. The lead scientist. who doubles as spy for the Allies, smuggles a microfilm to guerrilla fighter Knut Strand (Richard Harris). Knut convinces a philandering physicist, Dr. Rolf Pedersen (Kirk Douglas), to examine the evidence. 

Richard Harris and Kirk Douglas.

Pedersen has his suspicions immediately, but cannot confirm them until consulting with British and American colleagues (to include Albert Einstein). Still, it's no surprise when they all conclude that the Nazis are producing water with a greater than normal amount of hydrogen isotope--a product that is used in creating atomic energy.

The Allies quickly decide that the factory must be destroyed, but its proximity to a nearby village creates the first challenge for Knut and Pedersen. A British bombing of the production facility could be deadly for the town's 6,000 residents. However, the factory's location and high level of security make it an almost impossible task for a ground attack. What will they decide?

Filmed largely in Norway, The Heroes of Telemark benefits mightily from the snowy vistas that frame the action. The scenes of the commandos trudging through snow drifts, with the wind whistling in the background, is enough to make most viewers reach for a hot beverage regardless of the time of year. One of the film's highlights is an exciting ski chase that pre-dates later skiing sequences in On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1969) and Jean Claude-Killy's Snow Job (1972).

Douglas and Harris amid the snow-covered backdrop.

While Kirk Douglas and Richard Harris inject some star power into the proceedings, both are saddled with one-dimensional characters. That's odd considering that Anthony Mann's 1950s Westerns are noted for their emphasis on characterization over action. It's also difficult to buy Kirk's sudden transition from a university professor to a gun-carrying commando who kills bad guys without remorse. On the plus side, Mann packs The Heroes of Telemark with exciting set pieces: the hijacking of a ship; the explosive raid on the factory; and the sinking of a ferry carrying the heavy water.

Ulla Jacobsson.

Although partially based on the real-life Knut's 1954 book Skis Against the Atom, the screenplay takes some liberties with the actual events. Numerous attacks on the water production facility over a period of several years have been condensed into two raids, which makes for a more streamlined plot. However, the inclusion of a renewed romance between Douglas's scientist and his ex-wife (played by Swedish actress Ulla Jacobsson) adds nothing of value of the story.

Stephen Boyd and Elke Sommer were attached as the stars early in the production planning (when the film was to be called The Unknown Battle). Boyd had appeared the previous year in Mann's The Fall of the Roman Empire (1964). After several delays, though, Boyd abandoned the project and, according to some sources, he sued Mann for $500,000 because he missed out on other lucrative roles.

There have been other films, books, and documentaries produced about the courageous men who ensured that Nazi Germany never developed an atomic bomb. The Heroes of Telemark may not be the most accurate version, but it's a well-made, atmospheric adventure that serves as a good introduction--and it looks fabulous on Blu-ray. Sadly, it was also Anthony Mann's last completed film. He died while directing the Cold War thriller A Dandy in Aspic in 1967 with star Laurence Harvey completing it.

Allied Vaughn Entertainment provided a review copy of The Heroes of Telemark Blu-ray.

The Mount Rushmore of Film Directors

Hitchcock on Mount Rushmore--from
the North By Northwest poster.

If there was a Mount Rushmore of great American directors, who would you put on it? I pondered this question recently and then posed it to three other classic movie bloggers whom I admire. I gave them two criteria: (1) They could only pick four directors...because it's Mount Rushmore; (2) Their decisions had to be based on the directors' American-made films (after all, we're talking about an American monument here). Thus, directors such as Alfred Hitchcock and Fritz Lang could be considered--but not international greats like Federico Fellini, Luis Bunuel, and Akira Kurosawa. (And, yes, when I say "American," I am referring to the   U.S.--not all of North and South America.)

The Master of Suspense.

Personally, I had little trouble in coming up with three of my four choices. I consider Alfred Hitchcock to be the greatest film director...period...based on his storytelling skills, the complexity of his film's themes, and the body of his work. I don't think another director will ever be able to replicate the astounding number of superb films he made between 1940 and 1964--a period that included Rebecca, Notorious, Shadow of a Doubt, Rear Window, Vertigo, North By Northwest, Psycho, and Marnie. My second choice is Billy Wilder, possibly the most versatile of all filmmakers. He made classic film noirs (Double Indemnity), sophisticated comedies (Some Like It Hot), screwball comedies (One, Two, Three), and courtroom dramas (Witness for the Prosecution). His best films integrated drama and comedy so expertly that they created something uniquely Wilder (e.g., The Apartment, Stalag 17). That brings me to my third choice, a director whose films gave rise to a now common adjective "Capraesque," which one online dictionary defined as "of or evocative of the movies of Frank Capra, often promoting the positive social effects of individual acts of courage." Capra's film's restored faith in human nature when America needed it most--during the Great Depression and after World War II. He also helped make stars out of Gary Cooper and James Stewart. That brings me to my final spot and I struggled mightily here. I considered Richard Brooks, Samuel Fuller, Michael Curtiz, Robert Wise, and Otto Preminger. In the end, though, I went with Anthony Mann. A versatile director like Wilder, Mann helped define film noir in the 1940s with tough, dark films like Raw Deal and T-Men. In the 1950s, he reinvigorated the Western genre with five superb films starring James Stewart. Mann's protagonists were cynical men with violent pasts who found redemption, often by becoming part of a forgiving community (The Far Country, Bend of the River). In many ways, Mann's protagonists paved the way for the flawed "heroes" that dominated American cinema in the 1960s and 1970s.

Ernst Lubitsch.

The Lady Eve, Lady Eve's Reel Life: If not Mount Rushmore, these four filmmakers at least deserve to have their faces carved in stone on the hillside under the Hollywood sign. Here’s why: Alfred Hitchcock was a master of the art of what he called “pure cinema”-- visual storytelling (consider the famed crane shot in Notorious that zooms in on the key in Ingrid Bergman’s hand). And no one has surpassed his ability to draw the viewer so completely into a film or, at times, to identify with the villain (Robert Walker retrieving his lighter in Strangers on a Train, Anthony Perkins sinking a car into a swamp in Psycho). Long touted “the master of suspense,” Hitchcock was, more than anything, a cinematic genius (see also Rear Window and Vertigo). The comedies of Ernst Lubitsch literally sparkle (even the screen itself seems luminous). Brimming with charm and sophistication, his films offer a knowing yet sympathetic glimpse into human yearnings and foibles. His best work (the likes of Ninotchka, The Shop Around the Corner and To Be or Not to Be) has rightly been likened to the soufflé, a deceptively lighter than air concoction that is also deliciously rich and deeply satisfying. "Screwball" comedy existed before Preston Sturges started writing and directing his own films, but he took the concept into another realm. Original and decidedly eccentric, his best films neatly weave sly commentary on social values into byzantine plots involving cockeyed characters who rattle off snappy/smart dialogue at a mile a minute. Unique barely describes The Great McGinty, The Lady Eve, Sullivan’s Travels, The Palm Beach Story, Unfaithfully Yours.... Billy Wilder, like Hitchcock, was a top filmmaker from the ‘40s to the ‘60s. But Wilder began his career as a journalist and so, naturally, his films are marked by strong screenwriting and fine-tuned dialogue. His cynical world view made him a natural for noir, and Double Indemnity stands as a pillar of the genre. But Wilder wasn’t one to be pigeon-holed, as his wild, satirical romp Some Like It Hot would prove. Noir, farce, drama or “dramedy,” Wilder had as much range as he had skill.

Frank Capra.

Annmarie Gatti, Classic Movie Hub Blog:  If I could put four American directors on Mount Rushmore, who would they be???  Well, that's a really tough question...and one that will probably have me second guessing myself for quite some time--but, that said, after much "agony" and deliberation, my picks would be Frank Capra, Billy Wilder, Alfred Hitchcock and John Ford. Here's why:  Frank Capra--for creating some of the most beloved 'feel-good' films of all time that champion the common man and the basic goodness of human nature. Billy Wilder -for his use of script to drive the story (vs elaborate cinematography) and his ability to push the boundaries of mainstream entertainment by expanding the range of acceptable subject matter. Alfred Hitchcock--for his belief in the superiority of suspense over surprise, and his cinematic approach to filmmaking that communicates via images and editing to maximize fear and anxiety. And, last but not least, John Ford--for his sweeping visuals and dramatic vistas, master storytelling, and iconic portrayals of heroes and anti-heroes of the American West. 

D.W. Griffith.

Cliff Aliperti, Immortal Ephemera:  My Mount Rushmore of American directors? Difficult. I approached my selections thinking not necessarily of my favorites, but of the four I'd consider most iconic in their representation of America and the American film industry, while being among my favorites. Faces I'd carve in stone and be happy to leave there forever. That has to start with D.W. Griffith. For all of the issues over the content of The Birth of a Nation (1915), at least the movie is strong enough to warrant our talking about it a hundred years later, fighting over the same issues that incensed a hundred years ago. Griffith's early features that follow Birth are reliably accessible, well-told stories that at least perfect technique if not actually innovating it. If there were no Griffith, silent film would have been a much tougher sell for me during my formative movie-watching years, so Griffith gets the first nod just for all that he’s responsible for exposing me to. It gets more difficult from there because I've seen so many more films in the decades that follow, but two directors whose work I think of as intrinsically American are King Vidor, whose stories are so wonderfully visual while being grounded by the American Dream, and Frank Capra, who relied more on situation and dialogue to show the everyman overcoming bigger challenges. If Vidor had only done his war, wheat, and steel trilogy—The Big Parade (1925), Our Daily Bread (1934), and An American Romance (1944)—he'd have done enough, but that doesn't even include his best film, The Crowd (1928). Capra kept telling the same story by the time of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), and Meet John Doe (1941), with his underdogs fighting for their place in so many of his other films as well. If Griffith led me to enjoy more silent films then it was Capra, even earlier in my film watching years with titles like Mr. Smith and It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), who allowed me to accept “old” black and white movies as if they were no different from last week’s release. A similar underdog spirit goes to the fourth face on my Rushmore, William Wellman, who could masterfully handle topics from any genre no matter the size of the movie and always seemed to have a great time doing it. A working-class director in that he reveled in the work, Wellman's characters could be as light as his subject matter was heavy. Out of his Great War experiences, he was dedicated to portraying male camaraderie, but I think he had an even keener insight into female characters, especially during the Depression years.

James Stewart and Anthony Mann Team Up for Winchester '73

I think it's fair to say that Winchester '73 ushered in the "adult Western" of the 1950s. Although there were earlier Westerns with flawed heroes, hard-edged films like Winchester '73 reinvented the genre. Their protagonists were rugged men--often with a dark past--focused on revenge (Rancho Notorious), redemption (Bend of the River), or complex "family" relationships (Man of the West). Visually, these films often surrounded their characters with sweeping vistas that seemed to overwhelm the human element. Yet, for all the scenic splendor, this was a grittier West with cowboy hats stained with sweat and rundown desert bars populated by opportunists. One could almost say that these "adult Westerns" reflect the influence of film noir on the traditional oater.

Plotwise, Winchester '73 is a revenge tale about Lin McAdam (James Stewart), a sharpshooter obsessed with tracking down and killing a man that calls himself Dutch Henry Brown. Although it quickly becomes apparent that Dutch Henry is a bad man, Lin's reason for revenge isn't revealed until near the film's conclusion (a plot device used later in Once Upon a Time in the West). It's important to note that Lin is not a lawman and he doesn't want to capture Dutch Henry for a reward. He wants to kill the man.

Stewart at his most intense.

This premise could have backfired if not for the casting of the always likable James Stewart as Lin. It was a decision that benefited both the film and the actor. For Stewart, his intense performance was a stark contrast to most of his pre-World War II roles (though it was a natural extension of his performances in films like Rope and even the darker parts of It's a Wonderful Life). It opened a whole new career arc for the actor, who starred in a number of successful Westerns throughout the 1950s and 1960s--including four more helmed by Winchester '73 director Anthony Mann.

A touch of noir from director Mann.

Prior to 1950, Mann had carved out a career making what are now regarded as classic "B" film noirs (e.g., Raw Deal and T-Men). His first Western, Devil's Doorway starring Robert Taylor, was made prior to Winchester '73. However, it was temporarily shelved after a poor press screening and released--with little fanfare--later in 1950. Still, Universal and Stewart had seen a print of Devil's Doorway and decided that Mann was...their man. Stewart once said that Mann, like John Ford, knew that "a Western has to be a visual thing."

Stewart and Mann regular Jay C. Flippen.

Ironically, James Stewart initially agreed to a two-picture deal at Universal only so that he could star in Harvey. Stewart was keen to play the role of Elwood P. Dowd after substituting briefly for Frank Fay in the original Broadway stage production. In the DVD commentary for Winchester '73, Stewart credits his agent Lew Wasserman for suggesting the Western, noting that the script had been rejected by other studios. To keep the budget down, Stewart accept a percentage of the film's profit--a wise financial move that quickly became the standard for big stars.

Shelley Winters as Lola.

While Mann's directorial flourishes (e.g., the mountain shoot-out) dominate much of Winchester '73, the film's narrative style has always fascinated me. The script, penned by Robert L. Richards and Borden Chase, weaves three interconnecting storylines: Lin's pursuit of Dutch Henry; the former dance hall girl Lola (Shelley Winters) who plans to marry a rancher (Charles Drake); and Dutch Henry teaming up with the gleefully bad Waco Johnny Dean (Dan Duryea) for a robbery. In the film's opening scenes, Lin meets Lola briefly and has a confrontation with Dutch Henry. Then, we follow separate subplots until Lin and Lola reunite during an Indian attack. They separate again, with Lin still looking for Dutch Henry and Lola eventually meeting Waco Johnny Dean, whose gang includes her fiance Steve. As the film ramps up to its conclusion, Lin's search leads him to the same town where Dutch Henry and Waco plan to rob the bank.

In addition to Rock Hudson, Anthony
(Tony) Curtis has a small role.

To add to this rich narrative structure, Lin's Winchester rifle--which he wins during a centennial celebration--changes hands seven times: from Lin to Dutch Henry to an Indian trader (John McIntire) to an Indian leader (Rock Hudson) to Steve to Waco to Dutch Henry to Lin. Whew!

Although it's an exceptional, highly influential film, Winchester '73 is not my favorite James Stewart-Anthony Mann Western. That would be The Far Country or Bend of the River. Those films offer more thematic depth, exploring the importance of family and the power of redemption. They are also in color, which provides Mann with another tool for visual expression. But the fact remains that those Westerns might never have been made if not for the success of Winchester '73.

The same could be said of a lot of other Westerns that followed in its wake.

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This post is part of The James Stewart Blogathon hosted by the Classic Film & TV Cafe. We strongly encourage you to check out all the great posts in this blogathon by clicking here for the complete schedule.

Reign of Terror (1949)

Anyone interested in the works of Anthony Mann would be well advised to take a look at his unusual 1949 film Reign of Terror (also known as The Black Book). The film, which takes place in France in 1794, five years after the French Revolution, opens with the public condemnation and execution of Danton, engineered by Maximilien Robespierre (Richard Basehart). Immediately afterward, Robespierre finds that his secret black book, containing a "hit list" of the other rivals he intends to denounce and persuade the street mobs to condemn to the guillotine, has been stolen.

Robespierre wants to be proclaimed absolute dictator of France in a few days' time, but he realizes that if his enemies make public the contents of his black book, this will never happen and he himself will almost certainly be condemned for his aspirations to power. To find the missing book, he sends for a judge from Strasbourg known for his harsh sentencing of enemies of the Revolution (500 condemned in one month alone). This "hanging judge" is assassinated, however, and his place taken by an impostor intent on exposing Robespierre's treachery, Charles D'Aubigny (Robert Cummings). The rest of the movie is essentially a thriller that details D'Aubigny's attempts, aided by his mistress Madelon (Arlene Dahl), to avoid detection and find the missing book.

Those familiar with the films noirs of Mann from the late 1940s and the Westerns he made in the 1950s, considered landmarks of their genres, will recognize elements of both in Reign of Terror. Made almost at the end of Mann's series of noirs and just before his first Western, it can in many ways be seen as a transition between the two. Themes found in Mann's versions of both those genres are also present in Reign of Terror—impersonation, underworld power struggles, loyalty and betrayal, order versus anarchy, the crushing of ordinary people by the lawless, interpersonal conflict that can erupt into what for its time must have been quite shocking physical violence. D'Aubigny might almost be an undercover agent in one of Mann's noirs, like Dennis O'Keefe's character in T-Men, and Robespierre the leader of a criminal gang the agent infiltrates. Similarly, he resembles one of the heroes portrayed by James Stewart in the Westerns, a man trying to bring a criminal to justice, as in The Naked Spur. The black book itself acts as the movie's "McGuffin," in the same way as the stolen loot O'Keefe seeks to retrieve in Raw Deal or the rifle James Stewart tries to track down in Mann's very first Western, Winchester '73.

The rather bland Cummings might seem a surprising choice to play the hero in a romantic intrigue, but he is actually good, playing the role straight, his voice pitched lower than usual, in a restrained performance quite different from the glib, almost camp persona of his 1950s television sitcoms. Basehart is even better as the notorious Robespierre. The highlight of his performance comes near the end of the film with his impassioned speech to the bloodthirsty mob after the contents of the black book are indeed revealed. When he tells the mob that to die for liberty would be a privilege, is he sincere or is it a clever ploy devised by a master strategist to win their sympathy and save his own life? The scene is especially intriguing coming soon after another scene in which he attempts to cajole a young boy into revealing the whereabouts of the black book with gentle, silver-tongued blandishments as cunning as those of the serpent in the Garden of Eden. Film noir stalwart Charles McGraw also makes a strong impression as Robespierre's uncouth, sadistic chief henchman. But the acting honors in the movie surely must go to Arnold Moss as Robespierre's ally/rival Fouché. He is by turns menacing, sarcastically flippant, and slyly calculating. One moment he seems trustworthy, the next moment entirely duplicitous.

Robert Cummings and Arnold Moss search for the black book.

But the thing that will keep your eyes glued to the screen the whole time is the sheer visual panache of the film. Cinematographer John Alton and Mann made a formidable team in the three noirs they worked on together (four, if you include Mann's uncredited contribution to He Walked by Night, also with Basehart), but to my mind, visually Reign of Terror surpasses even the most impressive of those. The movie may technically be a historical thriller, but it is in many ways a film noir masquerading as a costume picture. The high-contrast lighting, camera placement and movement, dynamic composition, and depth of field all bear the clear stamp of film noir.

At the same time, Mann's use of outdoor locations, uncommon in the generally set- and interior-bound early noirs, points ahead to his Westerns. Near the beginning of the movie is a striking landscape shot of a lone horse rider seen from a distance slowly moving horizontally across a gently arcing hill, the hill and tiny rider silhouetted against a cloudy sky just after sunset, a shot that wouldn't seem out of place in a Western. The film includes a thrilling action sequence that also prefigures Mann's Westerns, in which D'Aubigny escapes Robespierre by jumping through a glass window (which in a Western would most likely have been the window of a saloon). This is followed by an extended chase with D'Aubigny and Madelon in a wagon, pursued by mounted horsemen through the streets of Paris and then through the countryside, again a scene that might have come directly from a Western.

Receiving credit as producer is the great William Cameron Menzies, noted production designer (Gone With the Wind, For Whom the Bell Tolls) and occasional director (the 1936 version of H. G. Wells's futuristic Things to Come, the 1953 sci-fi classic Invaders from Mars). IMDb lists him as an uncredited art director on Reign of Terror. Even though he doesn't receive formal credit, his hand is evident throughout the film in its production design, and he should receive recognition at the very least as an indirect contributor to the film's strong visual appeal. The baroque bedchamber of D'Aubigny's mistress Madelon, the bakery containing Robespierre's headquarters, Robespierre's torture chamber in the basement of the bakery, his private quarters with their bookcase-lined walls that conceal a secret room—all these settings are tremendously atmospheric, far more so than their economical and rather minimal construction would lead one to expect.

Reign of Terror might fall short of greatness, but it does contain enough spectacular parts to make it a pleasure to watch. Connoisseurs of artistic mise en scène will find much to relish here, and because the film stands on the cusp between Mann's noir and Western periods, admirers of his work will find it indispensable to an appreciation of his development as a director.


This review originally appeared on R.D. Finch's blog The Movie Projector and is reprinted with Mr. Finch's permission.

Into the West: James Stewart, Anthony Mann, and a Bell on the Saddle

James Stewart and director Anthony Mann made five classic Westerns together between 1950 and 1955. In order of personal preference, they are: The Far Country; Winchester ’73 (1950); Bend of the River (1952); The Naked Spur (1953); and The Man From Laramie (1955). Although Stewart plays a different character in each film, his protagonists are social misfits that share traits such as bitterness, shady pasts, and, when necessary, ruthlessness. As cowpoke Jeff Webster in The Far Country, his mottos are: “Nobody ever did anything for nothing” and “I take care of me.”

The Far Country begins in Seattle in 1896 with Jeff and partner Ben (Walter Brennan) loading cattle onto a steamer heading to Skagway, Alaska. The boat hasn’t even left the dock when Jeff runs into trouble with the law when two cowhands accuse him of murder. Jeff avoids capture by ducking into a stateroom. Its occupant, pretty saloon owner Ronda Castle (Ruth Roman), hides him from the authorities (in her bed, no less, with her in it!).

Once Jeff and Ben reach Skagway, their real problems start with Jeff running afoul of Mr. Gannon (John McIntire), the town’s self-appointed judge, mayor, and sheriff. Apparently patterned after the real-life Judge Roy Bean, Gannon provides a semblance of law and order as long as he can make a personal profit. While he holds court at a poker table in a saloon, Gannon tells Jeff: “I’m gonna like you. I’m gonna hang you, but I’m gonna like you.”

As with Winchester ’73 and Bend of the River, the narrative goes down several unexpected paths before the final showdown. But the plot is less important in The Far Country than its characters and theme of civilization overtaking the frontier. Even in a small, isolated goldmining community, its residents dream of making it a “real town” with a school, a church, and a sheriff. The townsfolk don’t like Ronda, because her saloons attract the wrong kind of people. Ironically, the townspeople want Jeff to be part of the community (as does Ben), but Jeff rejects that idea. It could be that Jeff resists the notion of civilization conquering the West. As Ben points out, Jeff always keeps going from place to place—talking of settling down one day, but never doing it. Only when he suffers a personal loss does Jeff finally take action against Gannon and his henchmen and become part of the community.

John McIntire stands out among a fine cast, bringing roguish charm to the role of villain. It’s probably his best part in a long, successful career of supporting performances (including the sheriff in Psycho).

Director Mann is also at the top of his game, pitting the clean vistas of white, snowcapped mountains against the muddy streets of the ugly towns. But it’s the little touches like the bell on Jeff’s saddle that make The Far Country memorable. Ben explains that he bought the bell to hang over the door of the house where he and Jeff will settle down (“I like to know when my friends is coming”). It’s not until the final scene that Mann reveals the important role that the tiny bell (which represents community?) will play in the proceedings. Even after the somewhat too convenient denouement, it’s the tinkle of that bell that lingers in memory.